Morning Glory

Chapter 13

Elly went into labor near noon of December fourth. She’d had a low backache all morning, then a bloody show, and by dinnertime her first two distinguishable contractions had come, fifteen minutes apart. The second hit hard enough to perch her on the edge of a chair, trying to catch her breath for the better part of a minute. When it ended she braced her back and rose awkwardly, then waddled into the front room.

Will was working on the bathroom, sitting crosslegged on the floor, whistling. He had cut a doorway through the front-room wall and sectioned off an end of the porch, which already had a window installed and the pipes jutting up from the crawl space underneath. With his first check he had proudly purchased bathroom fixtures-used, though neither Will nor Elly cared in their excitement over the prospect of having such a room. The sink and stool were stored elsewhere, but the tub was in place, standing inside the skeletal walls which, too, awaited finishing after the pipework was done.

Elly paused in the bathroom doorway, watching Will, listening to him whistle "In My Adobe Hacienda," which they’d been hearing on the radio lately. Wielding a pipe wrench, he faced the far wall. His cowboy hat sat at a jaunty angle on the back of his head. Sawdust coated its brim, and the back of his blue shirt was smudged with dirt from lying on his back in the crawl space. She smiled as he hit several sour notes.

He gave the wrench a last mighty tug that interrupted his song, then set it down with a clatter and tested the pipe junction with his fingers, picking up the tune again, softly, through his teeth. He got to one knee and picked up a copper elbow joint, bending forward while figuring the height at which it should adjoin the pipe connections on the tub.

"Hey, you," she greeted amiably, wearing an appreciative smile.

He twisted at the waist and sent her an answering grin. "Hiya, doll."

She laughed and leaned against the doorframe. "Some doll, shaped like a bloated horse."

"C’m’ere." He fell to his seat, legs outstretched, leaning against a wall stud and reaching out one dirty hand. They grinned at each other silently for a long moment. "Over here." He patted his lap.

She boosted off the doorframe and picked her way through tools and pipes scattered upon the floor to stand above him.

"Right here." He patted his lap again as she turned sideways.

"No, not that way-this way." He grabbed her ankle and planted it beyond his far hip, grinning suggestively. "Come on down here."

"Will… the boys," she whispered, throwing a cautious glance over her shoulder at the doorway.

"So what?" Gripping her hands he forced her to straddle him with her skirt bunched up to midthigh.

"But they might come in."

"So they find me kissing their mother. Be good for ’em." He linked his wrists behind her waist and settled her paunch against his belly while she crossed her arms behind his neck.

"Will Parker…" She smiled into his upraised face. "You’re the crazy one, not me."

"Damn right, woman. Crazy for you." He lifted his mouth for a long, involved kiss-lips, tongues, and plenty of head motion. It was something new for Eleanor, necking in the middle of the day. With Glendon there had been restraint during daylight hours, perhaps even less than restraint, for the idea of an interlude like this never entered their heads. But with Will… oh, her Will. He was insatiable. She couldn’t carry a stack of clean laundry through his vicinity without being waylaid, and pleasantly so. He was a devilishly good kisser. She’d never before given much consideration to the quality of kisses. But straddling Will’s lap, with his mouth wide, sucking gently on hers, with his silky tongue stroking everything reachable within her mouth, she appreciated his skill. He didn’t simply kiss. He lavished, then lingered, then drew away by slow degrees, as if he would never tire of her. Sometimes he murmured wordlessly, often nuzzled, making parting as sweet as joining had been.

The kiss ended with all due reluctance, and with Will’s nose buried in her collar, his hat fallen to the floor.

"My hands are dirty or you know where they’d be, don’t you?"

Eyes closed, face tilted up, she held his head and lightly raked his skull the way he loved. "Where?"

He closed his teeth on her collarbone, chuckled and teased, "In the kitchen, building a sandwich. I’m starved."

She laughed and pushed away in mock rebuff. "You’re always starved. What do you think I came in here for?"

"To call me for dinner?" He leaned back and grinned into her happy green eyes.

"What else?"

"And instead you pinned me to the floor and wasted all this time when I could’ve been eating?"

"Who wants to eat when you can neck?"

He feigned disgust and reached for his hat, plunking it on his head. "Here I am, minding my own business, puttin’ in a bathroom, when out of nowhere this woman jumps me. I mean, I got my wrench out and I’m connectin’ pipe and not botherin’ a livin’ soul when-"

"Hey, Will?" she interrupted teasingly. "Guess what."

"What?"

"Dinner’s ready."

"Well, it’s about time." He tried to rise, but she remained on his lap.

"Guess what else."

"I dunno."

"My labor’s started."

His face flattened as if she’d struck him across the Adam’s apple with the pipe wrench.

"Elly. Oh, my God, you shouldn’t be sitting here. Lord, did I hurt you, pulling you down? Can you get up?"

She chuckled at his overzealous reaction. "It’s all right. I’m between pains. And sitting here took my mind off ’em."

"Elly, are you sure? I mean, is it really time?"

"I’m sure."

"But how can it be? It’s only December fourth."

"I said December, didn’t I?"

"Yeah, but-well, December’s a long month!" His brow furrowed as he carefully boosted her up and followed. "I mean, I thought it’d be later. I thought I’d have time to finish the bathroom so it’d be ready when the baby came."

"It’s a funny thing about babies." She held his dirty hands and lifted a reassuring smile. "They don’t wait for things to get done. They just come whenever they feel like it. Now listen, I got some things to get ready, so if you’d fix the boys’ plates and your own it’d sure be a help."

Will became a bundle of nerves. She shouldn’t have found it amusing, but couldn’t help smiling covertly. He balked at being out of her sight, even for the short time it took him to settle the kids at the table with their plates. Instead of filling a plate for himself he followed her to the bedroom, where he found her stripping the bed.

"What’re you doing?"

"Getting the bed ready."

"Well, I can do that!" he reprimanded sharply, clumping inside.

"So can I. Will, please… listen." She dropped the corner of the quilt and clasped his wrist. "It’s best if I move around, all right? It could be hours yet."

He elbowed her aside and began jerking the soiled bedclothes off the mattress. "I don’t see how you could’ve just sat there on the bathroom floor letting me make jokes while it was already started."

"So what else should I do?"

"Well, I don’t know, but Jesus, Elly, there I was, pulling at your ankles, making you sit on me." She moved as if to resume her chore, and he erupted. "I said I’ll fix the bed! Just tell me what you want on it."

She told him: old newspapers against the mattress, covered by absorbent cotton flannel sheets folded into thick pads, and finally the muslin sheet. No blankets at all. It looked so stark and foreboding, the sight of it scared him worse than ever. But while he stood staring she had a new surprise in store for him.

"I want you to go down to the barn and get a pair of tugs."

"Tugs?" His unblinking eyes grew round.

"Tug straps. From Madam’s harness."

"What for?"

"And you might as well start carrying water. Fill the boiler and the reservoir and the teakettle. We need to have both warm and cold on hand. Now go."

"What for? What d’you need those tug straps for?"

"Will… please," she said with forced patience.

He raced down to the barn, cursing himself for not getting the running water in before this, for not hooking the water heater up to the wind generator, for not realizing babies sometimes come early. He tore the spare harness from the wall and fumbled with the leather, removing the tugs. Less than three minutes later he panted to a halt at the bedroom door to find her poised on the edge of a hard wooden chair, back arched, eyes closed, her hands gripping the edge of the seat.

"Elly!" He dropped the tugs and fell to one knee before her.

"It’s all right," she managed, breathless, her eyelids still closed. "It’s going away now."

He touched her kneecaps, quaking with fear. "Elly, I’m sorry I shouted before. I didn’t mean to. I was just scared."

"It’s all right, Will." The pain eased as she opened her eyes and slowly sank back in the chair. "Now listen to me. I want you to take that harness and lay it out flat on the porch floor and scrub it hard with a brush and that yellow soap. On both sides. Scrub good around the buckles and even in the buckle holes. And scrub your hands and fingernails at the same time. Then bring the tugs inside and boil them in the dishpan. While they’re boiling in one pan, I want you to boil the scissors and two lengths of hard string in a separate one. You’ll find them in the kitchen in a cup next to the sugar bowl. Then as soon as the water is hot, bring some in here, and the yellow soap so I can take a bath."

"All right, Elly," he answered meekly, rising, backing away doubtfully.

"And put the boys down for a nap as soon as they’re finished eating."

He followed her instructions minutely, rushing from task to task, afraid something would happen while he wasn’t at her side. When he brought the empty washtub into the bedroom he found her drawing fresh white baby clothing from the bureau drawer-a tiny flannel kimono, a receiving blanket, an undershirt, a diaper. He stood and watched as she lovingly catalogued each item and placed it on a stack. Next came the pink shawl she’d crocheted herself, and a pair of incredibly small booties to match. She turned and found him watching.

Her smile was so peaceful, so unafraid, it brought a measure of ease to him. "I just know it’s going to be a girl," she said.

"I’d like that, too."

He watched as Elly got the laundry basket from behind the bedroom door, emptied it of dirty clothes and prepared it with a white pad, followed by rubber and cotton sheets. Then came the pink shell-designed shawl and lastly a white flannel receiving blanket. "There." She smiled down at the basket with the same pride a queen might have exhibited over a golden cradle lined with swansdown.

He set the washtub down without dropping his eyes from her, stepped around it and touched her tenderly, below one jaw. "Rest now while I bring the water."

She looked into his eyes and told him, "I’m awful glad you’re here, Will."

"So am I."

It wasn’t strictly true. He’d rather be in the car on his way to fetch the doctor, but it was too late for discussing that. He filled her washtub and went to the kitchen to clean up the lunch dishes. Returning to the bedroom minutes later, he found Elly standing in the washtub, covered with soap. She stood at half-profile to him, presenting a view of her back and the side of one breast. He’d never seen her naked before. Not out of bed. The sight stirred him deeply. She was misproportioned, bulky, but the reason for it lent her a different feminine beauty from any he’d ever witnessed. She passed the cloth down her stomach, between her thighs, cleansing the route for the awaited one, and he stood watch, unabashed, without a thought of turning away. Suddenly she was seized by a new pain and dropped into a half-crouch. Her fist closed around the washcloth, sending lather plopping into the water. Will moved as if propelled by black powder, across the room to slide an arm around her slick body, supporting her through the brunt of it. When it began ebbing, he eased her lower until she rested on the edge of the tub, panting.

He felt helpless and distraught, wanting to do more, needing to do more than simply comfort. He wished he could bear the next pain himself.

When it was over, she wilted. "That was a strong one. They’re comin’ faster this time than when Thomas was born."

"Here. Kneel down."

She knelt and he rinsed her back, arms, breasts, relieved to be doing something concrete. He held her hand as she stepped over the rim of the tub, then dried her back.

"Thank you, Will. I can finish." While he carried the tub away she dressed in a clean white nightgown and beneath the bed found a white cloth sack from which she drew several large folded dried leaves. Taking them, she followed Will to the kitchen. She stood a moment, watching him spill her bathwater at the sink. With the dipper he rinsed the tub, then mopped it with a rag. Only then did he turn and find her standing behind him, watching.

"Should you be out here?"

"You mustn’t worry so, Will. Please. For me?"

"That’s not an easy order."

"I know." She could see on his face how difficult it was for him to remain stalwart, and loved him for his valiant effort. "But now I need to talk to you about what to expect, what to do."

"I know it all." He set the tub down. "I read it in the book so many times that it might as well be branded on my arm. But reading it and doing it are two different things."

She moved close to him and touched his hand. "You’ll do fine, Will." Calmly she found a kettle into which she put the leaves, covering them with water from the teakettle. She set them to simmer on the rear of the range.

Will watched, feeling his stomach tensing more each minute. "What’s that?"

"Comfrey."

He was almost afraid to ask. It took two tries before his throat released the sound. "What for?"

"Afterwards, if I tear, you got to make a poultice of it and put it on me. It’ll draw the skin back together and help it heal. But you got to remember-don’t waste no time on me till you seen to the baby, understand?"

If she tears. The words shook him afresh. It took an effort for Will to concentrate on the remainder of her instructions.

"Only use the sterilized rags I laid on the dresser. Everything else you need is there too. Scissors, strings, pledgets, alcohol and gauze for the baby’s cord, and Vaseline for under the cotton when you bandage her. You’ll do that after you give her a bath. Make sure you keep enough warm water for that, and a tubful of cold for the sheets, ’cause you’ll have to change them when it’s over. When you give her a bath don’t use the yellow soap, but the glycerine. Make sure you hold her head all the time-soon as it comes out of me, and while you’re waiting for the rest of her body to be born, and when you give her a bath, too. But, Will, you got to remember, through it all, the baby comes first. The most important thing is to get her breathing, then bathed and dressed and warm so she doesn’t get chilled."

"I know, I know!" he replied impatiently, wishing she wouldn’t talk about it. He’d read the birth attendant’s instructions until he could recite them verbatim. It was the very images they conjured that rattled him.

Quietly she said, "Now walk with me."

"Walk?"

"It’ll bring it on faster."

If he could choose, he’d postpone it indefinitely. The thought brought a spear of guilt for her plight, and he did as bid. He had never felt as protective as during the following two hours while they strolled the length of the small rooms, back and forth, stopping only for each new contraction. She was intrepid; to be less himself would have made him a burden rather than a support. So he held her hand in the crook of his arm and accompanied her as if they were out for a sojourn on the town green at the height of the season. He teased when she needed brightening. And soothed when she needed support. And talked when she needed talking. And learned what a pledget was when he saw a stack of carefully formed rectangular cotton pads bound in gauze.

At half past two the boys woke up and he dressed them in their warm jackets and sent them out to play, hoping fervently they’d stay out till sunrise.

Shortly past three Elly announced quietly, "I think I’d like to lay down now. Bring the tug straps, dear." In the bedroom, with a sigh she rolled onto the clean white sheet and ordered, "Tie them to the footrail as far apart as my knees."

His stomach lurched, his salivary glands seemed to kick into overtime and his hands felt clumsy. When the leather straps were knotted, leaving ample leads and loops for her legs, they appeared like trappings in a medieval torture chamber. He found them hideous as he waited for her next contraction. When it hit, it seemed to hit them both. With acute shock, Will felt the sympathetic pain rip through his groin and down his thighs just as it did down Elly’s. It was a hard one, and long, lasting nearly a minute, markedly advanced from those before.

When it ended, she rested, panting, then whispered, "Wash your hands again, Will, and trim your nails. It won’t be long now."

Trim his nails? This time he didn’t ask why. He feared he knew. In case trouble developed and he had to help from the inside.

He scrubbed his knuckles until they stung, and snipped his nails to the quick with the sterilized scissor, fighting down panic. Oh God, why hadn’t he gone against her wishes and driven into town for the doctor the minute she’d had her first pain? What if the cord was wrapped around the baby’s neck? What if Elly hemorrhaged? What if the boys came in in the middle of it?

As if his very thought conjured them, the pair clattered into the kitchen, calling for their mother.

Will went out to waylay them, soiling his sterilized hands as he stopped Donald Wade and Thomas with a hand on each chest as they charged for the closed bedroom door.

"Hold up there, buckaroos!" He went down on one knee and gathered them close.

"We got to show Mama somethin’!" Donald Wade held a bird’s nest.

"Your mama’s resting."

"But, look what we found!" Donald Wade strained toward the door but Will tightened his arm.

"You remember when your mama told you about how that baby was gonna come out someday in the basket?" They stopped struggling and gazed at Will with innocent curiosity. "Well, the baby’s gonna be born pretty soon, and your mother’s not gonna feel so good while it’s happening, but the same was true when you guys were born, so don’t be scared, okay?" He gently squeezed their necks. "Now, I want you to be good boys. Donald Wade, you get some cookies and take your brother outside, and don’t come back in till I call you, all right?"

"But-"

"Now listen, I ain’t got time to argue, ’cause your mama needs me. But if you do like I say I’ll take you to the movie house one day soon. Deal?" Donald Wade vacillated, glancing from Will toward the bedroom door.

"To Hopalong Cassidy?"

"You bet. Go on now," Will gave them each a little shove toward the kitchen and the cookie jar. As soon as they were safely outside, he rescrubbed his hands, jogged back to the bedroom, closed the door with his boot and pushed it tight with a shoulder.

"The boys-I bribed them with a trip to the movie house and sent them outside with a handful of cookies. How’re you?" He moved to the side of the bed and sat on the hard wooden chair.

"I hurt." She chuckled and cradled her stomach.

He reached as if to brush Elly’s brow.

"Don’t touch me, Will. You mustn’t."

Reluctantly he withdrew his cleansed hand to sit in misery, waiting, feeling useless.

The next pain lifted her midsection off the mattress and brought Will from his chair to lean over her, watching her face contort as her knees parted and she reached up to grip the iron rails above her head. When she held her breath, he held his. When she grimaced, he grimaced. When she bared her teeth, he bared his. The sixty seconds during her contraction felt longer than his stint in prison.

At its end, she opened her dazed eyes and rolled her head to look at him. "It’s t-time, W-Will," she managed. "Wash me with alcohol n-now, and h-help me find the t-tugs."

His hands trembled as he moved to the foot of the bed, folded back her nightgown and stared. Oh, Lord. Lord o’ mercy, how she must hurt. She was swollen, distended, distorted beyond anything he’d imagined. He could actually see the bulge caused by the baby’s head just above the apex of her legs. Her genitals appeared inflamed, as if bee-stung, and they were seeping, staining the bedclothes a dim pink. He gulped, but came from his stupor when she reared up and a great gush of transparent fluid flowed from her body, wetting a wide circle on the sheet. The sight of it galvanized him into action. He knew what it was, knew it meant the baby was pressing low, preparing for its arrival into the world.

Suddenly his purpose here became crystal clear, and as it dawned all Will’s fears disappeared. His stomach grew calm. His hands grew steady. The jitters fled, chased away by the realization that he was needed by both the baby and its mother. But they needed him competent.

With a pad of cotton he generously swabbed her stomach, thighs and genitals with alcohol. It stung his own fingers where he’d broken the cuticles with the scrub brush, but he scarcely noticed. For good measure, he swabbed the tug straps before gently lifting her heels and slipping the leather loops snug behind her knees. Then he placed an additional clean folded flannel sheet beneath her.

"W-W-Will," she panted as another contraction began.

"Yes, love," he answered quietly, but stood at his post, eyes riveted on her constricting belly, watching it slowly begin to arch, watching her dilation grow with the pain.

"W-W-Wiiiiill!" It tore from her as a rasping cry while the contraction built and peaked. He placed his palms beneath her thighs and helped her through it, feeling her muscles tighten as she lifted. Only when she relaxed did he raise his eyes to her face. Beads of sweat stood on her brow. The fine strands of hair at her hairline were damp and darkened to the color of aged cornsilk. Her lips looked dry and cracked. She wet them with her tongue while he thought of the jar of Vaseline he dared not touch. Before her lips had dried, another pain arrived and with it the sight of the baby’s dark scalp.

"I see her!" Will cried. "Come on, darlin’, once more and she’ll be here!"

He waited with his hands spread in welcome, chancing not so much as a glance away from the dark hair now clearly visible. Elly’s womb arched, her legs tightened on the straps, her hands on the iron rails. A ragged scream rent the air and Will learned what perineum meant as he watched Elly’s tear. But he had no time to dwell on it, for at the same moment the baby’s head slipped through-facing backward, as promised, facedown and slippery in his waiting hands. Then, as if by some miracle, it turned to the side, following the normal course of events, and he cradled it on his palm, tiny and sleek and red.

"Her head is out, darlin’. Oh, God, she has dark eyebrows." The distorted face was frighteningly dark and marked from the rigors of birth, but the warning in the book stood Will in good stead as he told himself it was to be expected; the child would not choke from the perineum drawn tightly about its neck. Don’t panic! Don’t try to pull her out!"Easy there, now, little one," he murmured to the baby. "I got to clean your mouth out." As if Nature knew exactly what she was doing, she allowed just enough time for Elly to rest and for Will to run his finger into the baby’s mouth and clear it before Elly bore down and the baby’s lower shoulder appeared, followed by the upper, then, in one grand release, the full birth happened. Into Will’s waiting hands spilled a creature with a dark face, connected to its mother by a thin, crimped lifeline. Slippery and wet she came, filling his heart with a wild thrum of excitement, his face with a wide beam of wonder.

"She’s here, Elly, she’s born! And you were right. She’s a girl. And… oh… lord, smaller than my hands." Even as he spoke, he rested his precious cargo on Elly’s stomach while she panted in the brief natural respite following full birth. Releasing her grip on the headrail, Elly reached down to touch the baby’s head, lifting her own with an effort and smiling wearily. As her head fell back she laughed and tears leaked down her temples.

"Is she pretty?"

"She’s the sorriest mess I ever seen." He laughed in relief. Until Elly was hit by an aftershock and grunted, straining until her face shook and turned purple. He laid the baby down and tried to help Elly through the second wave of pushing pains. But the afterbirth refused to come. She fell back, panting, near exhaustion, her eyelids quivering. Another pushing pain produced the same results, and Will swallowed the lump of fear in his throat, doing what he knew he must do. He rested one hand in the soft hollow of her stomach, fitting its heel at the top of her womb and manipulating it to create a man-made contraction. She moaned and mindlessly tried to push his hand away. He forced from his mind the fact that he must hurt her to help her. His eyes smarted. He cleared them on his shoulder and vowed he’d never make her pregnant. He reached inside her tender flesh, loosening the afterbirth while kneading her soft stomach. Suddenly he felt a change as her own body took over. Her abdomen contracted and beneath his ministration the afterbirth pulled loose inside, dropping low to create a slight swelling beneath her matted hair. "Come on, Elly-honey, one more push and you can rest." From some hidden source she found the strength for another mighty effort that brought a last gush as her body delivered the afterbirth, severing her completely from the life she’d supported for nine months.

Will’s shoulders drooped. He closed his eyes, sucked in a great lungful of air, dried his brow on a sleeve and praised simply, "Good, honey. It’s all done. Hang on now." His hands were remarkably calm as he tied the first string an inch and a half from the baby’s body, leaving only enough space between it and the second stricture for the scissor to do its work. The silver blades met and the deed was done. The baby was on her own.

Breathe! Breathe! Breathe!

The word resounded through Will’s mind as he picked up the baby and watched it fold into a fetal position within his hands. Through his memory skittered the various directions for shocking a newborn into drawing its first breath. A smart smack. Cold water. Artificial respiration. But to do any of them to a creature so tiny seemed sadistic. Come on, girl, breathe!… Breathe! Fifteen seconds sped by, then thirty. Don’t make me use that cold water. And I’d rather cut off my own hand than slap you.He heard the boys come in and call from the other side of the door. They scarcely registered. His heart raced. Desperation clawed at him. He gave the baby a shake. Breathe, dammit, breathe! Panicking now, he tossed her a foot in the air and caught her as she dropped. A second after she hit his hands her mouth opened, she hiccuped, started flailing with all fours and began bawling in the puniest voice imaginable. It came in undulations-wauu, wauu, wauu-accompanied by a comical face with pinched mouth, flattened nose and the beat of her tiny fists against the air. It was a soft cry, but healthy and wonderfully vexed at being treated so roughly during her first minute in the outside world.

Will looked down into the bloody face, heard the welcome complaint and laughed. In relief. In celebration. He kissed the miniature nose and said, "Way to go, girl. That’s what we wanted to hear." Then, to his wife, "She’s breathing, and beautiful and looks as normal as a one-dollar bill." Abruptly his mood sobered. "Elly, you’re shivering." During the minute he’d concentrated on his duty, she’d been gripped by natural chills. She lay now shuddering, her exposed limbs damp, the bedding beneath her soaked. Lord, a man needed six hands at a time like this.

"I’ll be all right," Elly assured him. "Take care of her first."

It was hard to do, but he had little choice, given the fact that Elly’s directive agreed with those he’d memorized. So far things had gone in perfect, natural order. He’d proceed by the book and hope their luck held. But he paused long enough to lay the baby down and gently remove Elly’s legs from the tug straps, lower them and cover her. He brushed a light kiss on her dry lips, and whispered, "I’ll be back as soon as I get her bathed. You be okay?"

She nodded weakly and closed her eyes.

He crooked the baby in one arm, opened the door with the other and found Donald Wade and Thomas on the other side, holding hands and crying pitifully.

"We heard Mama scream."

"She’s better now-look." Will knelt. The sight of the red, squawling baby stopped their crying with amusing suddenness. "You got a baby sister." Donald Wade’s mouth dropped open. The tears hung on Baby Thomas’s sooty lashes. Neither of them spoke a word. "She just got here."

As one, they resumed bawling.

"I wanna see Mamaaaa!"

"Maamaaa!"

"She’s fine-see?" Will held the door open a crack and let them peek inside for reassurance. All they saw was their mother lying at rest with her eyes closed. Will closed the door. "Shh. She’s restin’ now, but we’ll all go in later and see her, soon as we get the baby a bath. Come on now, you might have to help me."

They followed as if mesmerized. "In the real bathtub?"

"No, the real one ain’t ready yet."

"In the sink?"

"Yep."

They screeched chairs across the kitchen floor and stood one on either side of Will as he lowered their sister into a dishpan of warm water. Her crying stopped immediately. Cradled in Will’s long hands, she stretched, opened dark eyes and peered at the world for the first time. Thomas reached out a tentative finger as if to test her for realness.

"Uh-uh. Mustn’t touch her yet." Thomas withdrew the finger and gazed up at Will respectfully.

"Where’d she come from?" asked Donald Wade.

"From inside your mother."

Donald Wade looked skeptical. "She din’t neither."

Will laughed and gently swished the baby through the water.

"She sure did. Been curled up inside her like a little butterfly inside a cocoon. You seen a cocoon, haven’t you?" Of course they had. With a mother like theirs, the boys had been watching cocoons since they were old enough to say the word. "If a butterfly can come out of a cocoon, why can’t a little sister come out of a mother?"

Because neither could answer, they believed.

Then Donald Wade remarked, "She ain’t got no wink!"

"She’s a girl. Girls don’t have winks."

Donald Wade stared at his sister’s pink skin. He looked up at Will. "She gonna get one?"

"Nope."

Donald Wade scratched his head, then pointed. "What’s that?"

"It’s gonna be her belly button."

"Oh." And after some thought, "Don’t look like mine."

"It will."

"What’s her name?"

"You’ll have to ask your mother that."

The baby hiccuped and the boys laughed, then stood by watchfully while Will washed her with glycerine soap. He spread it over the pulsing scalp, down the spindly legs, between tiny toes and miniature fingers that had to be forced open. So fragile, so perfect. He had never felt skin so soft, never handled anything so delicate. Within the length of time it took to bathe her for the first time the tiny being had worked her way so deeply into Will’s heart she’d never lose her place there. No matter that she wasn’t his own. In his heart she was. He’d delivered her! He’d forced her to breathe her first breath, given her her first bath! A man couldn’t have a heart this full and care about whose seed had spawned the life that was bringing this bursting sense of fulfillment to him. This little girl would have a father in Will Parker, and she’d know the love of two parents.

He laid her on a soft towel, cleaned her face and ears and dried all the nooks and crannies, experiencing a growing ebullience that put a soft smile on his face. She grew chilled and began crying in chuffy, hiccuping spurts.

"Hey there, darlin’, the worst is over," Will murmured. "Get y’ warm in a minute." He surprised himself by delighting in this first monologue to the infant. A person couldn’t not talk to somethin’ sweet as this, he realized.

Will carefully tended her cord, applying alcohol, and a cotton bandage, then Vaseline against her stomach before tying the bandage down and diapering her for the first time. She recoiled like a spring every time he tried to maneuver his hand into position for pinning. The boys giggled. She retracted her arms while he tried to feed them into her tiny undershirt and kimono. The boys giggled some more. When Will reached for one pink bootee, Donald Wade was proudly waiting to hand it to him.

"Thanks, kemo sabe," Will said, and tied the bootee on a skinny ankle. Thomas was waiting to hand him the other.

"Thanks, Thomas," he said, roughing the boy’s hair.

When the baby was ready to present to her mother, Will picked her up carefully. "Now your mother wants to see her, and in about fifteen minutes or so she’ll want to see you, so you both wash your hands and comb your hair and wait in your room. I’ll call you when she’s ready, okay?"

Pausing before the closed bedroom door, Will studied the baby who stared at him with unfocused eyes. She lay still, silent, her fists closed like rosebuds, her hair fine as cobwebs. He shut his eyes and kissed her forehead. She smelled better than anything else in the world. Better than sizzling bacon. Better than baking bread. Better than fresh air.

"You’re somethin’ precious," he whispered, feeling his heart swell with love so unexpected it made his eyes sting. "I think you’n me are gonna git along just fine."

Then he nudged the bedroom door open, stepped inside and closed it with his back.

Elly lay slumbering. She looked haggard and exhausted.

"Elly-honey?"

She opened her eyes and saw him standing with the baby in his arms, his shirt damp in spots, the sleeves rolled to the elbow, his hair messy and a soft smile on his lips.

"Will," she breathed, smiling, holding out an arm.

"Here she is. And more presentable now." He placed the bundle in Elly’s arm and watched her tuck the blanket away from the baby’s chin for a better look. Within him sprang a wellspring of emotion. Love for the woman, welcome for the baby, and in a corner of his soul, the lonely plaint of a man who would always wonder if his own mother had ever held him that way, smiled at him with such sweetness, explored his face with a fingertip and kissed his forehead with the reverence that brought a choking sensation as he looked on.

Probably not. He knelt beside the bed and folded aside the opposite edge of the soft flannel receiving blanket. Probably not. But he’d make up for it by watching Elly lavish this precious one with the love he’d never known.

"Oh, Will, isn’t she pretty?"

"She sure is. Just like you."

Elly lifted her gaze and let it drop as the baby’s fist closed around her little finger. "Oh, I’m not pretty, Will."

"I always thought you were."

The baby’s other hand took Will’s finger. Linked by her, the man and wife shared an interlude of closeness. Reluctantly, Will ended it.

"I’d better tend to you now, don’t you think? Get you washed, and in some clean clothes."

Elly regretfully relinquished the baby, and Will laid her in the basket. Kneeling beside it on one knee, he adjusted the pink shawl around her tiny form, touched her hair with a fingertip and murmured, "Sleep now, precious one."

He rose to find Elly’s eyes on him and experienced a brief stab of self-consciousness. He was a man who’d had to learn how to talk to the boys, who’d taken weeks to feel comfortable with them. Yet here he was, after less than an hour, murmuring soft things to the baby girl who couldn’t even understand. His thumbs went to his rear pockets in the unconscious gesture that said Will Parker was out of his depth.

"I put her on her stomach like you said." Deep love softened Elly’s smile while he stood fidgeting. "I-I’ll get your bathwater and-and be right back," he sputtered.

"I love you, Will," she said. She knew the look well, the pacified one that overcame him when things got too perfect for him to contain. She knew the stance, the thumbs-in-the-pocket, still-as-a-shadow suppression that said things were working inside him, good things he sometimes failed yet to believe. That was when she wanted him close enough to touch.

"Come here first." He approached but stood a safe distance, as if touching the bed would damage her. "Here, beside me."

He sat gingerly on the edge of the mattress and she had to reach up and pull him down before she could give the hug she knew he needed.

"You done good, Will. You done so good."

"I’ll hurt you, Elly, layin’ on you this way."

"Never."

Suddenly they were hugging fiercely. He turned his face against her ear. "Jesus, she’s so beautiful."

"I know. It’s a miracle, ain’t it?"

"I never knew I’d feel that way when I held her the first time. It didn’t matter that she wasn’t mine. It was as if she really was."

"I know. You can love her all you want, Will, and we’ll pretend that she is. A year from now she’ll be callin’ you Daddy."

He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his mouth to Elly’s temple, then forced himself to sit up. "I best get that warm water now, little mother. The boys are waitin’ to come in and see you."

With a soft cloth and the baby’s soap, he sponged Elly’s tired limbs and sore flesh. Of the comfrey he fashioned a poultice, laid it on her torn skin and secured it with a cotton pledget and her plain cotton undergarments. He helped her don a clean white brassiere, clasping it for her before holding a fresh nightgown and watching her slip it on. He changed the bed and lifted Elly back into it before carrying out the soiled sheets to soak and finally going to fetch the boys, who’d waited in their rooms with the mysterious docility lent to children by solemn occasions.

"Ready?"

They nodded silently. Will hid a smile: Donald Wade had combed his own and Thomas’s hair, slicking it down with water until both heads looked flat as wheat in a cyclone.

"Your mother’s waiting."

They paused inside their mother’s bedroom door, holding Will’s hands, glancing up at him questioningly.

"Go on then, but don’t bounce on the bed."

They perched one on each side of Elly, studying her as if she’d turned into a character from one of her own fables, someone magical and shining.

"Hi," she said, taking their hands.

They stared as if mute.

"Did you see your li’l sister?"

"We hepped Wiw give her a baff."

"And we helped him dress ’er."

"I know. Will told me. He said you both done good." They smiled, proud. "Would you like to see her again?"

They nodded like horses making a harness jingle. Elly told Will, "Bring her here, honey."

She was asleep. When he laid her in the crook of Elly’s arm her fist went to her mouth and she sucked hard enough to make noise. The boys laughed and Will knelt beside the bed, leaning forward on his elbows. For minutes they all studied the baby while awe stole their voices.

At last Elly asked, "What should we name her?" She glanced up. "You know a pretty name, Will?" But his mind went blank. "How ’bout you, Donald Wade, what do you wanna call her?"

Donald Wade had no more notion than Will.

"You got a name, Thomas?"

Of course he didn’t. She’d asked him out of courtesy, so he wouldn’t feel left out. Touching the baby’s hair with a knuckle, Elly said, "I been thinkin’ about Lizzy. What you all think o’ that?"

"Lizzy?" Donald Wade scrunched up his nose.

"Lizzy the lizard?" Thomas put in.

They all laughed. "Now, where’d you get that?"

Donald Wade reminded her, "From the story you told us about how the lizard got bumps."

"Oh…" She continued fondling the fine black hair on the baby’s head. "No, this one’ll just be Lizzy. Elizabeth Parker, I think."

Will’s eyes shot to Elly’s. "Parker?"

"Well, you delivered her, didn’t you? Man deserves some credit for a thing like that."

Lord, in a minute he was gonna burst. This woman would give him everything. Everything, before she was through! He reached for the baby’s head and stroked her temple with the back of a finger. Lizzy, he thought. Lizzy P. You’n me gonna be buddies, darlin’.He stretched one hand to Elly’s hair, and circled Donald Wade’s rump with his free arm and touched Thomas’s leg, on the far side of Elly. And he smiled at Lizzy P. and thought, Heaven’s got nothin’ on being the husband of Eleanor Dinsmore.