Chapter One:
1902 - First Day of Spring
Anguished cries carried into Pearl’s bedroom. Confused, she up from the small flour-sack mattress stuffed with batting. She looked around, confused why she was not in her bed that lay empty with its covers tossed in a heap at the foot of the bed. Adrenaline pulsed through her body. She tensed as she recalled her mother’s condition and her aunt’s arrival the previous afternoon. Another cry from her mother, and Pearl flung the quilt off. Her pulse quickened as she snatched her robe and slippers and hurried to the kitchen, absent of its usual aroma of bread fresh from the oven. Aunt Marie stood hunched over a cast iron pot of water on the wood stove sending up a veil of steam that fogged the nearby window. Pearl wiped the beads of sweat from her forehead with her sleeve.
“Where’s Mama?”
Without turning, Aunt Marie jerked her head in the direction of the bedroom. “Your mother is in her room. She’s in labor. Her cramps are severe, more than is typical with a second birth.” Aunt Marie went to the sink and pumped water into a glass. “I’m preparing for the delivery.”
“The baby’s coming, now?”
Aunt Marie turned. Dark circles under her eyes showed her lack of sleep. “I expect it won’t be long now.”
“Where’s Papa? Why isn’t he here?”
“He left for the logging camp. Childbirth is no place for menfolk.” Her aunt handed Pearl the water glass. “Go on, and take this to your mother.”
Hurrying to her mother’s room, water sloshed over the top of the glass. She knocked on the pine door before she pushed it open. “Mama.” Pearl edged inside. Stagnant air, heavy with sweat, assaulted her. “Auntie says the baby’s coming.”
Her mother’s face strained in agony. She extended her hand and forced a smile. “That’s right. The baby is letting me know in no uncertain terms. Today is the day.”
Pearl shuddered at the sight of her mother’s distress. She crept to her mother’s side and held the cool water with a shaking hand. “Are you okay?”
Lifting her head and shoulders off the stack of down-filled pillows, her mother grimaced. She took the glass and emptied it in long deep gulps while Pearl supported her head. Handing the glass back to Pearl, her mother sank back onto her bed with a thin smile. “I know you haven’t exactly been looking forward to being a big sister, but you don’t have to worry. Having another baby won’t prevent us from loving you as much.”
Pearl often thought about the impending birth during the past seven months and how the baby would disrupt her happy life. She would no longer be the center of her mother and father’s attention. Their little gem, as Papa often called her. It was only a matter of time before she would be helping care for her new brother or sister. “Why do you want another baby after losing so many?”
Even with her face lined with worry, Mother’s eyes twinkled. “Someday, you’ll understand.”
Pearl didn’t understand. How could she? She only understood after the baby outgrew the bassinet, she’d find a crib in her room next to her bed. Another concession with which she’d have to live. “What about high school? You and Papa promised I could move away after eighth grade. Now I’m going to have to stay here and help take care of the baby.”
Her mother stroked Pearl’s uncombed brown locks. “Is that what you’re worried about? You don’t need to worry. We will make sure you get to go to high school.” Between stabs of pain, she caught her breath. “I promise.”
Aunt Marie dashed in with the kettle of water, steam still floating from the spout. Clean towels and bedding were draped over her arms.
At the sight of her aunt’s intense gaze, Pearl stepped aside. “Is Mama going to be all right?”
With a damp cloth, her aunt dabbed at her younger sister’s face. “Your mother will be fine. I’ve birthed six babies this year and, it’s only March. Since becoming a midwife ten years ago when Eugene started school, I’ve ushered over two hundred babies into this world. Only needed to call on the town’s doctor three times.”
Pearl’s breathing slowed. Her mother tried to reassure her though her face was white as the bed linens. Her words quivered. “I’ll be fine, honey. I’m in good hands. Your aunt’s a fine midwife. She’ll take care of the baby and me. Today is the beginning of spring. It’s a lovely day to welcome the miracle of new life into the world. Our new little gem.”
There it was. The baby wasn’t even born, and he or she already had stolen the nickname Pearl thought was reserved for her alone. Pearl watched her mother wiggle and writhe, moaning from the pain. How could something that caused her mother so much agony be a miracle? How could Pearl possibly focus on her studies while her mother suffered, and with the baby coming anytime? “May I stay home from school? I want to be here when the baby comes?”
Aunt Marie barked without looking at Pearl. “A birthing room is no place for a girl of ten.”
“Please, Mama, I can fetch things for Auntie.”
Her mother held a hand up to her sister. She nodded. “It’s okay. Do as your aunt instructs.”
Without warning, her mother flinched and cried out. Marie moved in and snapped at Pearl. “I suppose you could be useful. Just stay out of my way.”
Pearl clenched her fist. Pushed aside, even before the baby arrived. Why couldn’t her parents be happy with one child? With her? She skulked from the room. Behind the closed door, the commotion came louder and more frightening with each cry. Time moved turtle-like, while her mother’s yelps of pain quickened and grew in intensity. With each outburst, Pearl winced and covered her ears, paralyzed with fear. Her mother’s pain was beyond normal birthing pain. Her aunt had said as much. Pearl’s brain buzzed with memories of promised babies that never came. Grownup words not intended for her ears. Words like miscarriage. A minute later, her mother’s moan, like the bleat of a calf, sent a shudder down Pearl’s spine. She ran back and saw her mother grasping her knees. Her face contorted in pain. The expression on her aunt’s face made Pearl’s blood run cold.
“What’s wrong?”
Her aunt remained focused on the delivery but couldn’t disguise the fear in her voice. “The baby’s coming. It’s breech. The bottom is coming first instead of the baby’s head. I’m afraid the umbilical cord might be wrapped around the baby’s neck.”
Pearl saw panic in her aunt’s eyes. Pearl’s breath became labored, and a bitter taste rose in her throat. Her heart pounded. “Is this baby going to die, like the others?”
Her aunt glared at Pearl. Pearl instantly regretted her question as she studied her mother’s expression. Her aunt’s fear reflected in her mother’s eyes. Guilt stabbed her along with the sharp pain of realization. The baby whom her mother had longed for, for so long, the baby whom Pearl hadn’t yet met and even now, resented, might die even before taking its first breath. A knot tugged at her heart. Pearl straightened. “What do you need me to do?”
“Grab the forceps from my birthing satchel on the chair. It looks similar to large tweezers. Then encourage your mother to keep pushing.”
Pearl’s legs buckled like her under-stuffed rag doll. Her stomach turned upside down, the feeling her mother called green about the gills. She fought the urge to turn and run. She craved a glass of sweet, creamy milk to coat the sourness in her throat. The sight of her mother’s face dripping with sweat forced her to push her worry aside. Pearl grabbed the instrument, then took a washcloth and wiped her mother’s forehead.
“Abbey, I need you to push.” Aunt Marie’s hands moved to her sister’s abdomen. “I’m going to feel for the position of the baby.
Her mother’s words came faint, almost inaudible. “I don’t know if I can.”
Pearl gripped her mother’s hand and pleaded, “Please, Mama, you have to do what Auntie says.” When her mother leaned in, Pearl supported her shoulders and lower back and urged her on.
Aunt Marie bent over her sister.
Pearl gasped as she watched her aunt’s hand disappear inside her mother.
“The baby’s not getting any oxygen. I can’t seem to reach the umbilical cord.” Marie’s voice rose. “We’re losing her.”
Pearl’s eyes widened, fixated on the blood seeping onto the sheets underneath her mother. Who? She wondered. Who were they losing? Did it matter? Losing either her mother or the baby would destroy her. Too frightened to move or look away, Pearl watched her aunt’s quick movements. With a final kneading of the taut belly, her aunt re-inserted her hand into the birth canal. “I’m going to try to maneuver the baby into position. One more time, Abbey. One more time. You can do it.”
Pearl’s mother leaned into her bent knees, and with a sudden burst of energy, emitted a long wail. Marie’s hands moved with care and skill from years of practice. She sighed and eased the baby out. Her face tight. Her eyes dark and focused. She held her breath as the baby’s buttocks and folded legs emerged. Then the upper torso slid into her arms. She cradled the small milky-coated body, keeping its tiny arms close to its sides. Tense, she extended her arms and palms as the baby’s head appeared, blue, silent, and unmoving, with the umbilical cord wrapped around the infant’s neck. For a moment, all sound, even breathing, ceased. Then in a swift movement, Aunt Marie slipped the cord off the baby’s neck and straightened it to allow the lifesaving oxygen to reach the infant.
Pearl glanced at her aunt. She prayed for her mother to live. She prayed for God to give her aunt the wisdom to save the baby. And she prayed for forgiveness for her selfishness. “Please, God, don’t let the baby die.”
Turning the blue-faced infant over, Marie placed a short sharp pat across its bottom. The baby coughed then sputtered. A wail rose from the infant. The cry grew louder with each breath, and each breath brought more color to the baby’s face. Instantly, the veil of fear lifted. A surge of relief brightened the room.
After she clamped off, cut, and tied the umbilical cord, Aunt Marie’s face relaxed. “It’s a girl.” Aunt Marie placed the newborn onto her mother’s chest. Her forehead wet, her hair a matted mess, her mother wore a weary but satisfied smile as she cradled the babe against her bare breast. Pearl felt her cheeks redden, but she didn’t turn away.
Marie wiped her forehead with her sleeve, brought her hand to her chest, and relaxed. Pearl stared at her aunt, awed by her knowledge and ability to handle such a stressful situation. She wondered if she would ever have the strength to cope under such pressure.
Her mother took Pearl’s hand and drew her close. “Say hello to your baby sister, Edna Marie.”
As Pearl bent in to kiss her sister on the forehead, Marie’s frightened whisper, pulled her back.
“Dear, God.” Marie’s hands flew to her gaping mouth.
Pearl’s eyes followed her aunt’s gaze. Blood gushed from between her mother’s legs.
“Your mother is hemorrhaging.”
Pearl didn’t know the word but recognized the grave situation.
“Take the baby” She threw back the rank-smelling sheet and kneaded Abbey’s still swollen belly like she was kneading bread. “How are you doing, Abbey? Are you feeling faint or dizzy?’ Marie turned to Pearl. “Take your mother’s hand. Tell me if it feels cold. That’s a warning her blood pressure is dropping from loss of blood.”
Pearl lifted the baby to her shoulder and reached for her mother’s hand. “She’s shaking, but it’s still warm.”
Marie continued to knead her sister’s belly. Pearl’s breathing mimicked her mother’s uneven short puffs. After several long minutes, Marie blew out a long shallow breath. “You’re going to be okay, Abbey. The placenta is out.”
Pearl thought about all the anguish and pain her mother suffered to give birth to Edna. She wondered why any woman would want to have children. Pearl rocked Edna with a soft cooing. The sound reminded her of the mourning doves that nested in the cedar trees along the edge of the field.
Aunt Marie rubbed her forehead. “It’s okay. I’ll stay a few extra days until she’s regained her strength. Your mother needs her rest, and Edna will sleep for a while too. The birth has taken a lot of energy from both of them.”
Drained, Pearl darted outside to the back porch. She gulped in the crisp air filled with the lingering scent of wildflowers in sharp contrast to the stale rank air of the bedroom. A familiar fluty song drew Pearl’s attention. She searched the branches of the apple tree for the songster. Overhead, a brownish bird with its eyes ringed in white sat atop a bulky nest of twigs, moss, and grass, likely protecting several eggs. Outside, everything was alive. The bird’s singing and the meadow alive with color, alive with life. Like the flowers, her sister began as a tiny seed planted nine months earlier in her mother’s womb. Today, after so much expectation, a new life entered the world like the blossoms of spring. Pearl raced to the meadow as fast as her slippers and bathrobe allowed. She had the perfect birthday gift for her new sister. Her face warmed in the sunlight as she plucked spindly stalks of purple loosestrife and pink fireweed dancing amidst the wild daisies in the tall grasses. She waved away the bees as she gathered daisies before adding orange oriental poppies that peeked through the pastel palette of the other wildflowers.
She raced back to the house, took a Mason jar from the oak Hoosier next to the stove, and filled it with water. She hadn’t asked for a baby sister, but the events of the previous hours changed her. She pledged she would always be there for Edna, no matter what.
Chapter Two
1906-Farewell
Edna stood on her tiptoes and gazed over the railing of the pier at the sleek white boat taking her big sister away. She pointed to the boat and with squinted eyes, studied the large block letters painted in black on the hull near the front. Though she knew most of her ABCs, she didn’t know the word the letters spelled. She slowly called the familiar letters. “I see an A, an L, like in Pearl’s name, and there’s an O-N. I don’t know the others. What does that spell, Mama?”
“It says, Athlon. That’s the name of the steamship.” Her mother squatted next to Edna. “Gracious, not even five years old yet, and you know so many letters.”
Edna raised her chin to the salt-laced air. “Pearl schooled me.”
The engines of the steamship roared to life. A spray of water spewed behind the boat in spits and splatters. Seagulls fought over scraps on the dock, then startled by the roar of the ship’s engine, they lifted into the air and circled the boat. White steam billowed from the large black stack, spewing a cloud into the otherwise clear blue, late-summer sky. The afternoon sun sparkled and reflected off the rolling waves of the inlet. Edna pointed to the water. “Look, Mama. It looks like floating stars.”
Men in waist overalls moved in a quick, practiced ritual along the dock, from pillar to pillar, freeing big heavy ropes from the metal cleats and tossing them to the workers onboard. No longer tied to the pier, the boat slid smoothly away as if on a sheet of ice. The horn blared. Edna jumped at the loud shrill blast. She put her hands over her ears. Though she couldn’t see Pearl, Edna waved in the direction of the departing vessel. She knew somewhere in the crowd gathered on the upper deck of the steamboat; her big sister stood waving back.
Edna continued to watch the departing ship sail away, at first slowly, then as it pulled from its moorage, the boat gathered speed. She fought back her tears and sniffled. “When will I see Pearl again?”
Mother smiled though her lips quivered too. “She’ll be home before Christmas.”
“That’s too long.” Sadness swept over Edna like the waves of the giant ocean that took her sister from her. She still had Mama and Papa, but it wasn’t the same. Pearl always read her stories, taught her songs, and colored with her, and each night when Pearl turned out the kerosene light, she’d whisper, “Don’t worry, I’ll always be here for you.” Pearl had lied. She was no longer here.
Clearing his throat, Papa grumbled through his whiskers. “No point in standing around any longer. Might as well get home and get about our chores before the entire day is wasted.” Without any emotion or waiting for a response, he spun around and marched away from the dock.
Mama reached for Edna’s hand. “Come along. We don’t want to keep your father waiting.”
Not wanting to leave, Edna planted her feet and clung to the railing. Leaving meant accepting her sister was gone. Mother stiffened and reached for Edna’s hand.
“No. I don’t want to. I want to watch the boat.”
Mother put her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes. “That’s quite enough, young lady. It’s time to go.”
Edna wrinkled her brow but released her grip on the cold railing. Mama’s long brown skirt brushed along the wooden planks as she stepped with long strides following her father. Edna dawdled along beside her mother toward the livery stable.
