That day in a stranger’s kitchen, Lilly suddenly realized she was the only person in the house. Where had all the children gone, and where was the expectant mother? Back through the narrow dogtrot and with a little leap down to the stoop, she saw the children gathering around their father. He was doling out penny candy, one stick at a time. The littlest one sat astride a sister’s hip, making give-me motions with her fingers smacking her palms. A smile stretched ear to ear on the little one’s face when Mr. Pratt broke a stick in half and stuck it in her greedy paw. So it appeared there were five children counting the older boy.
“Mr. Pratt,” she called out from the stoop, “where is Mrs. Pratt?”
“My, my,” he said. “I near forgot all about her. Geraldine! Where you at? I brung the doc.”
Lilly was becoming decidedly uneasy. She should have asked more questions before she agreed to come along to this place six miles from nowhere. This should be Mrs. Pratt’s sixth delivery. Unless she was severely run-down or ill, her
labor probably wouldn’t last long
—why wasn’t she already abed? Short, rapid deliveries could be as dangerous to the baby as overlong ones.
As Lilly watched, a young, stout-looking woman emerged from a scraggly garden bordered by a broken-down fence. She carried a heavy-bladed, short-handled, one-eyed hoe.
“Don’t bust a gut, Dweezil,” she said, continuing across the yard. “It’ll be a time yet.”
The children, except for the biggest boy, followed her across the yard like ducklings after a hen. “You’uns wait out here for a spell,” she said to the children. “I need to visit with the lady.”
She followed Lilly into the house, the hoe still resting on her shoulder.
“I’m Dr. Corbett,” Lilly said. “I’ll be taking care of you.”
“A doctor, you say,” the woman said. “I thought you were kindly dressed up for a granny woman.”
“Can we sit?” Lilly asked. “I have a few questions.”
“Land sakes,” the woman said, setting the tool down with a thunk. A clod of dirt broke apart on the floor. She didn’t pay it any mind. “I didn’t plan to bring this into the house. I’m kindly nervous about this whole undertaking, but I reckon it’s time to play the fiddle or pay the fiddler or how-some-ever that goes.” She stepped back to the open door. “Dweezil
—come and take this here mattock. I seen a copperhead long as a man’s arm out there among them dried-up cucumber vines.”
She turned her big, velvet-brown eyes on Lilly. “Dweezil Pratt
—wouldn’t it make you poor to pack a name like that?”
The balding Mr. Pratt reached up from the low stoop and took the hoe. “I’ll get that snake for you, sweet thing.”
“Thank you, darlin’,” she said, drawing the words out slow as molasses from a spoon.
They watched the kids take off toward the garden in their father’s wake. The least one bobbed like an apple on her sister’s skinny hip.
Geraldine laughed low in her throat. “There weren’t really a snake, but this’ll give us a minute.”
The young woman had a handsome, if not pretty, face with a square chin and high cheekbones that would age well. The light was beginning to dawn on Lilly. Geraldine was decidedly not the first Mrs. Pratt.
The chair Geraldine offered her was possibly the best one in the room. It listed to the right on two short legs, keeping Lilly slightly off-balance.
“Have your pains set in yet?”
Geraldine rubbed her stomach. “Ow-wee, yes. I was trying to walk them off in the yard there. Dweezil was gone half the day. The baby catcher don’t live that far away. I was praying for all I was worth that Dwib didn’t have to birth this young’un. The girls, they’re all too young to be much help.” Her face twisted in a grimace. “Excuse my poor manners. I’m talking like you been formally introduced and all. Dwib’s Dweezil’s eldest and his only boy. I got high hopes for this’un here.” She crossed her fingers and held them aloft, then said, “Ow-wee” again, this time stretching it out into a moan. “It didn’t hurt near this bad until I set eyes on you.”
“Is this your first, Geraldine?”
“Ooh-ahhh,” she said. “First and last.”
If Lilly had a nickel for every time she’d heard that, she’d have a jar full of nickels. She helped Geraldine into a nightdress and had her keep walking as she prepared the bed with the stack of newsprint the family had been saving since early winter. There were no extra linens. There was really not much of anything at hand.
Mr. Pratt came back and forth with buckets of water to fill a kettle and a big cook pot on the kitchen stove. He tied two strong knots in the corners of a sheet and draped it around the bedposts. Obviously he had been through this before.
Geraldine was soon in active labor. “I wisht I’d never met you, Dweezil Pratt,” she panted, tugging on the knots.
“You don’t mean that, sweet thing,” Mr. Pratt said as he stroked the hair from Geraldine’s forehead. “Do you want me to leave, sugarplum?”
“I want you to go far, far ’way,” Geraldine said through gritted teeth. “I don’t ever want to see your ugly mug again.”
“I hate to leave her,” he said to Lilly, “but this part is always hard for me.”
“We’ll be fine,” Lilly said. “Maybe you could draw some more water and fill the washtub.”
“Me and Dwib will put it by the back door. I’m ever so grateful you was willing to come. You were my last hope after I found out the baby catcher was busy having a baby of her own.” He wiped his forehead on the sleeve of his shirt. “Whew, what a day.”
Geraldine planted a foot in the middle of her husband’s chest and shoved him off the bed. “Shut up, Dweezil. I’m the one’s doing all the work here.”
He scrambled up and indicated one of the wild-haired children milling around the open door. There was no screen. “I’ll leave Suzy a-setting on the porch. She’ll come to the barn and fetch me you need anything. The rest of you young’uns come with me.”
Lilly could tell he was glad to show them his back as his wife groaned and pulled on the knotted sheet.
Less than two hours later, with one last mighty push, Geraldine’s healthy baby boy was born. Her youth and muscular build had made easy work of the delivery. Crying out, she reached for the infant, snuggling him against her chest, following mothering instincts ages old.
Lilly worked quickly to cut the cord, deliver the afterbirth, stem the bleeding, and clean up both mother and baby. She wished all births were so uncomplicated.
Geraldine praised the Lord and asked for Dweezil.
“I thought you never wanted to see him again,” Lilly joked.
“I reckon I didn’t there for a minute,” she said, her countenance turning serious. “He ain’t a bad man to be tied to. He’s not mean or nothing.” She shifted the baby in her arms, letting his tiny searching mouth find purchase. “Poor Dweezil. His wife up and died on him, and I weren’t doing nothing but taking up space at my daddy’s table
—just withering on the stem. My folks had about given up on me ever having a
place to set up housekeeping.” She tossed her thick auburn hair over one shoulder. “It’s not like I’m a beauty.”
Lilly undid the knots in the corners of the last clean sheet and expertly exchanged it with the soiled one on the occupied bed. She wadded the newsprint, stuffed it in the fireplace, and struck a match, listening to the whoosh before turning away from the sudden metallic reek of blood and printer’s ink. After washing her hands for the umpteenth time, she sat on the edge of the bed, watching the baby nurse.
“Geraldine, you just did an amazing thing. You are precious in God’s sight.” She put her hand on the young mother’s knee. “I’ve never attended a better birth.”
Maybe it was the slant of the sun coming in through a crack in the wall or maybe it was from within, but Geraldine glowed. “Really?” she asked. “The best?”
“The best bar none,” Lilly said, giving her knee a light pat. “Do you want me to call your husband now?”
“He’ll be so proud,” Geraldine said, cupping the baby’s chin in one hand, burping him with the other. “Dweezil Jr. will bind the whole family together
—make it all worth it.”
She ducked her head, suddenly shy. “At least I hope it does so
—it ain’t like I have much choice.”
Lilly often thought of Geraldine and sometimes wondered why she’d never been called back to that hardscrabble cabin hidden deep in the shadow of Devil’s Shoestring. Now, as she limped through the door of her own house, she thought again of Geraldine’s words.
“It ain’t like I have much choice.”
Perhaps Geraldine didn’t feel she had a choice, but Anne
Becker did. Because of her training, she could support herself and her daughter if she so chose. Lilly hoped Anne had the strength to do the right thing, whatever that might be. It was not for Lilly to say.
The screen door squeaked
its familiar welcome as Lilly pushed it open. The scent of supper tickled her nose. Oh, if Armina had made chicken and dumplings, Lilly would be in heaven. She leaned against the wall just inside the door and kicked off the shoe that was so offending her stone bruise. “Kip,” she said as he bounded up, “go fetch my slippers.”
Of course, all Kip heard was
fetch
. Whining, he leaped hopefully against the door she had just come through. Lilly hobbled back outside and found a short stick to cast about the yard for Kip. He ran and fetched, ran and fetched until finally he wound down and sat panting at her feet. When she tried to take the stick, he growled his mock growl and tugged against the pull.
“Oh, Kip, let me sit a minute.” She scooped him up and he rode her hip to the lawn chair under the shade of a maple tree. Once they were seated, he dropped his stick onto the wide wooden arm of the chair. He sat in his usual stance, back to her, rump pushed up against her belly, ears perked, eyes alert and tracking. She stroked his head and ran her fingernails up and down his back in the scratching motion he loved. The repetitive action calmed them both.
Lilly couldn’t imagine life without Kip. He was not the first dog her husband had given her, but he was the best.
Many years ago, when she was just a girl, Tern had helped her rescue a beagle and her one remaining pup. The other puppies had been drowned in a pond
—cast there in a gunnysack tied at the neck with baling twine. Though the mother dog belonged to Tern’s family, he let Lilly keep her as well as the pup. Steady had lived a long and fruitful life. Lilly still missed her, but sweet, energetic Kip eased the sore spot in her heart.
Kip came about in a different way. When Lilly and Tern had been married for only a short time, he was called to a mining accident in Pennsylvania. As he polished his shoes and packed his duffel in preparation, Lilly had become weepy
—nearly distraught with an overwhelming high-lonesome feeling.
“Honey,” Tern had said, taken aback by her distress, “I’ll be back before you know it. You’re so busy at the clinic, you’ll not have time to miss me.”
“I know,” she’d said, mopping the tears that would not
stop no matter how hard she dug her nails into the palm of her hand. She didn’t want her husband to think of her as weak
—a weeping sob sister. She didn’t understand why she was carrying on so, but just the thought of him boarding a train
—hurtling off into who knew what dark danger
—unnerved her. She paced about their bedroom, folding his shirts just the way he liked before wrapping them in tissue paper to prevent wrinkling. At the last moment, she tucked a length of her blue hair ribbon into the front pocket of the first shirt in the stack, where he would find it unexpectedly. It would remind him of how lonely she would be without him.
At the train station, she’d turned into a puddle of tears again, clinging to the lapels of his coat, biting back the words that would beg him not to go. He’d found a private place a few steps away from the hectic platform, enveloping her with his strong arms, kissing away the tears from her cheeks.
“Sweet girl,” he’d murmured in her ear. “What’s all this about? Where’s my feisty, independent woman?”
Lilly turned in his arms, leaning into the strength emanating from him, hoping to absorb it, hoping to pull herself together. “I don’t know, Tern,” she said shakily. “I feel like you’re going off to war or something.”
Draping his arms over her shoulders, he pulled her close, resting his hands lightly at her waist. She covered them with her own and bowed her head. “I never expected to be this despondent over you.”
“But I’m not even gone yet.”
“You were gone to me the minute you got that telegram
from Washington. You were gone when you got your duffel bag down from the shelf.”
“I’ll be back,” he said gruffly, resting his chin on her shoulder. “You know that, right? I’ve promised you I’ll always come back.”
With a great screeching of brakes and belching of smoke, the train pulled into the station. Tern disengaged her gently and kissed her softly. “I have to go.”
“Wait, Tern. We didn’t pick a Scripture to bless your journey.”
“Lilly, we don’t have time now. My Bible’s clear down in the bottom of my bag,” he said. “We should have done this last night.”
Lilly stood beside him, holding his hand tightly. She took a deep breath and cleared her mind, waiting for the proper verse for such a moment as this. “I don’t remember exactly where this is, but I know it’s from Isaiah. Mama gave me this one when I left for school: ‘Fear not: for I have redeemed thee, I have called thee by thy name; thou art mine.’ . . . Oh, I can’t recall the rest. It’s about keeping you safe.” She gave him a wobbly smile and straightened his lapels. “Look it up when you get there
—promise?”
He put his knuckle under her chin and lifted her face to kiss her swollen eyelids and tenderly caress her lips. “I promise. Now you have to let me go so I can get ready to come back.”
“I’m sorry to carry on so, Tern.”
“It’s a little thing called love, baby; may it ever be so.” He
lifted her off her feet, twirling her around, not caring who saw. He didn’t set her down on the platform until she was laughing aloud.
People were staring. One woman frowned. “Well, I never,” she said through prim lips.
“Go,” Lilly said, playfully shoving his shoulder. “Go before you get us arrested.”
“I know the law. You can’t put a guy in the slammer for being in love.” He doffed his hat to the frowning woman. “Begging your pardon, ma’am. Didn’t mean to cause offense, but my girlfriend here’s a little tipsy. I was trying to straighten her out.”
The lady gave Lilly a stern look. Lilly shook her head, hiding a smile behind her gloved hand, praying she didn’t see that woman in the office anytime soon.
Tern walked away backward, locking eyes with Lilly until the porter took his duffel and called out, “All aboard!”
Kip came two days later, brought by a huckster. In broken English the man relayed how he had found the tiny puppy left to die in the weeds by the side of the road. It had been run over. The huckster had docked its fractured tail and clipped its dewclaws on the spot. He’d sold the pup to a “beeg” man outside the depot in Jackson. The man paid him “much lira to deliver it to the preety lady doctor in Skeep Rock.”
“He’s leg, it is broken,” the huckster said. “The beeg man say you can fix.”
The peddler unhitched the long-eared mule from his
traveling grocery store and stayed for supper. His own dog, a black-and-white shepherd with a beautiful full ruff, never strayed from his feet. Lilly put his bowl and water dish under the huckster’s chair.
“Blackie, we go now,” he said as soon as he had finished sopping up the last bit of gravy with his biscuit. With one finger he flipped the puppy’s ear. “I think is terrier. You think?”
Lilly took in the almond-shaped, dark-rimmed eyes; the V-shaped, forward-carrying drop ears; the black nose; the long, sloping shoulders. The puppy’s coat was all over white with one ginger ear and a gingered spot around his left eye. Her mentor in college had such a dog. As she remembered, it had been a challenging, busy, strong-willed animal.
“I think you’re right. He’s definitely a Jack Russell. I believe you’ve brought me a bit of trouble.”
Bundled in an old, thin towel and held in Lilly’s arms, the puppy chose that moment to kiss her chin with one light lick of his pink tongue. The bargain was sealed.
“Jack is good,” the huckster said.
“Is very good,” Lilly replied.
That evening, she carried the puppy to her surgery. After giving him a small portion of pain medication, she set the crooked leg, making splints from tongue depressors. The animal lay quietly, as if he knew she meant to help, and only whimpered a little when she carried him back home.
She named him in honor of the only other Jack Russell she’d ever known, and because she liked the way the word felt when it left her mouth
—the little puff of air at the end.
Kip.
A dog needed a strong name to call him back in from his wanderings.
She’d prayed this one would live long enough to wander, for Kip wouldn’t take nourishment, not even water. She put the water dish up under his mouth, but he turned his head like it was too much effort to drink. Lilly had despaired until she thought of the leftover chicken noodle soup in the icebox. She heated half a cup and poured it in a saucer. Kip turned his head again. Sitting on the floor, she lifted him to her lap. Swirling her finger in the soup, she laid it against the puppy’s mouth. His pink tongue darted out and he licked her finger clean. Over and over the puppy nursed until finally she spooned a bit of the broth into her cupped palm and let him drink until he was sated.
Tummy full, Kip slept on her chest that night like a newborn baby comforted by the
lub-dub
sound of its mother’s heartbeat. It was the only way she could get a bit of rest, for he whined piteously every time she left his side.
For three days he slept in a basket under her desk at the office and by her side at night. Lilly knew she was starting a very bad habit, but she didn’t care. They were good for each other. On the fourth morning he woke up in a sunny mood, chasing sunbeams across the kitchen floor on three legs and a splint. He’d been sunny ever since.
“Sister,” Mazy called from behind a window screen, breaking her reverie. “I’ve been looking all over for you. Come in. There’s a surprise.”
Armina bustled about the dining room, folding napkins,
dishing up delicious-smelling chicken and dumplings and filling water glasses, nearly her old self again. In Lilly’s chair was a package wrapped in brown paper and tied with white string. The return address simply said,
Tern Still
. The postmark read,
Lexington, Ky.
Mazy clapped her hands. “I thought you’d never get home. I almost opened it myself.”
Armina pointed a serving spoon toward Mazy. “Eat first. I ain’t heating this up again.”
“Wonder what it is,” Mazy said, cutting a piece of stewed chicken with knife and fork. “It’s something romantic, I’m sure.”
“I don’t know,” Lilly said, looking at the package, which Mazy had placed in the center of the table. “It looks like a couple of shoe boxes.”
“Maybe it’s a hatbox!” Mazy said, plumping her short, tight curls. “I surely hope it’s a hatbox.”
Lilly savored the moment, trying her best to leave the worries of the day
—Anne and her distress, the innocent baby Glory, the menacing stranger
—alone for the moment. There was always trouble of some sort
—it was the nature of her business. But for now her supper was tasty, refueling her body, and a good part of her family was present, refueling her spirit.
Mazy removed the dirty dishes and refilled the glasses. She pushed the waiting package in front of Lilly. “Open this before I explode.”
“We should have dessert first,” Armina teased. “We bought oatmeal cookies at the store today.”
“I thought you were never leaving the house again, Mazy,” Lilly said.
“Oh, Lilly, we wore hats. Didn’t we, Armina? We had fun trying them on.”
“Let me see,” Lilly said, all smiles. “I’ve never seen you in a hat, Armina.”
They disappeared into Lilly’s room and came back sporting two of her frilliest chapeaus. Armina’s was a black beret with red drooping feathers. “I look like a rooster,” she said, tilting back her head. “Cock-a-doodle-doo.”
Mazy looked positively fetching in the gray felt cloche with cascading yellow ribbon Lilly had purchased in Chicago while on an excursion with Tern. She put a straw skimmer atop Lilly’s head. “Now,” she said, “it’s officially a party.” She handed Lilly a pair of scissors. “Sister, open your package.”
The paper fell away to reveal two shoe boxes. Mazy’s face fell, then brightened. She clasped her hands to her heart. “I’ll bet they’re opera pumps
—probably kid high heels. If so, I’m stuffing tissue in the toes and wearing them to church.”
Lilly lifted the first lid and took out a pair of lady’s high-topped shoes, size six. They were two-toned brown with laces
—decidedly fashionable. An advertising brochure sported a picture of the shoes and boasted:
The burning and aching caused by stiff soles are entirely prevented by the RED CROSS SHOE, for it bends with the foot. RED CROSS SHOES are made of pinch-free, flexible, noiseless leather. Try them
—you’ll like them. We guarantee.
Lilly sighed. She could feel Tern’s presence as strongly as if
he were sitting in the chair across from her. He was the most thoughtful man.
Armina rubbed the smooth leather toe of one shoe. “How nice,” she said.
“Try the other box,” Mazy said.
“Forevermore,” Lilly said as she unearthed a pair of low-cut canvas shoes. She examined the thick rubber soles. “I think these are plimsolls
—deck shoes for boating.”
“Well,” Mazy said, “won’t they be handy the next time it rains?”
Lilly slipped the canvas shoes on her feet and clomped around the room. They were decidedly unattractive, but they felt as relaxing as house slippers. “Oh, my goodness, these are wonderful.”
“You look like a duck,” Mazy said.
Armina set about unlacing the leather high-tops and pulling wads of paper out. “More like a goose the way you’re high-stepping.”
“They feel so good,” Lilly said, her stone bruise easing already. “I’m sure I’ll get used to the looks.”
Mazy sat at the table, resting her chin in her hands. “I was so hoping for a hat.”
“There’s something in the toe of this’n here,” Armina said, giving the shoe a mighty shake.
Silk scarves flowed smooth as melted butter from the throat of the boot. One of Tern’s calling cards followed. The note on the back said,
To my love
—both comfort and beauty. See you soon. Your loving husband.
Mazy pounced. “There are three,” she said, raking a long rectangular cloth from the pile. “I claim this one.” She removed her hat and wrapped the shiny white fabric, shot through with threads of gold, over her tightly wound curls, tying the tails under her chin. “Do I look like Cleopatra?”