Secrets of the Morning (Cutler 2)

Charlotte had returned with the pail of hot water and then Miss Emily had sent her for towels and a pair of scissors. I saw her standing by the door, her mouth agape, her eyes wide as she watched the miraculous event unfold.

"What are you doing with the scissors?" I cried when I saw Miss Emily reach back and take it from Charlotte's hands.

"I'm cutting the umbilical cord," she replied, annoyed at my asking.

"Why isn't the baby crying? Don't babies cry when they're first born?" I asked. My face was covered with sweat, some drops getting into my eyes and making me blink.

"Shut up and be patient," she snapped. "Don't forget, it's premature," she added.

"What is it? Is it a girl?"

She didn't reply, but I saw Charlotte nodding. A little girl, just as I had hoped. I closed my eyes and lay back, my head against the pillow as my breathing became more regular.

Suddenly, I heard the tiny cry as Miss Emily washed the baby and wrapped it in a towel.

"Let me see her," I cried.

Miss Emily placed her beside me. I was so tired, I could barely keep my eyes open, but when I gazed at that tiny pink face with a nose and mouth so small, I felt my pain and exhaustion recede, washed away for the moment by an overwhelming sense of elation. Her little fingers were curled and wrinkled like a little old lady's, and she had the smallest ears. She had a small patch of blond hair, my hair, just as I had hoped she would. Her eyes were shut tight. I couldn't wait to see if she had Michael's dark sapphire eyes.

"She's so perfect, so tiny," I said. "Is that a dimple in her cheek?"

"She's too small," Miss Emily muttered. She rolled up the other towels and dropped them in the pail. Then she gazed down at my baby and me. She shook her head and reached down to lift her from my arms.

"Where are you taking her?" I demanded. I was numb with fatigue, unable to resist.

"To the nursery. Where else? You sleep. Later, I will send Charlotte up with something nourishing for you to drink."

I thought she was holding the baby too roughly and I imagined even for a just-born infant, feeling those hard bony arms beneath and around her must be uncomfortable. She grunted and turned her head as if to deny what was happening to her.

"Why can't she stay with me?"

"You might very well roll over on her in your sleep," Miss Emily said, flicking me one of her scornful glances. Then she looked at the baby and shook her head again. "She's too small," she repeated and started away.

"But she is beautiful, isn't she? Isn't she?" I cried. Miss Emily turned only her head and peered back at me over her sharp shoulder.

"She came into this world feet first," she replied.

"What does that mean?" I asked. She didn't answer. She continued out. "What does that mean?" I shouted, but all I heard were her footsteps moving farther and farther away. I wanted to get up and follow her out, but I was so exhausted that even the thought of it was too much. To lie helpless and too weak even to lift my hand or turn my head was an unnerving experience, so unnerving I closed my eyes and fell into a deep sleep.

I dreamt of my baby in my arms. She looked older already, her face fully formed and clearly combining my features and Michael's. Suddenly, she was lifted out of my arms just the way Miss Emily had just done so. My baby held out her arms toward me, but she kept moving away. The baby cried out and I cried for her. The cry in my dreams became a real cry waking me up.

I knew it was raining hard because I heard the torrents pounding the roof and the windows out in the corridor. Then I heard the rumble of thunder and the crack of lightning. It seemed as if the whole great house shook. Just the sounds made me feel cold and wet. I couldn't keep my eyes from closing again and fell asleep to the rhythm of the raindrops caught up in the gusts of wind and sweeping over the building in wave after wave.

When I woke again it was hours and hours later. I sensed someone at my side and turned to see Charlotte. She was holding a glass of what looked like milk, but had a brown tint and some tiny cereal-like things floating in it.

"Emily says you should drink this now," she said. "What is it?" I asked.

"It's a formula she made to help you regain your strength very quickly. It's something my grandmother drank after every one of her babies were born. Emily remembers what she told her to do to make it."

"Probably full of vinegar," I muttered and took it from her. But when I tasted it, it didn't taste bitter. It tasted like there was honey in it. From my life with Momma Longchamp, I knew that some of the old remedies, herbal concoctions and the like, were often better than so-called modern medicines. I emptied the glass in two gulps.

"Have you seen the baby?" I asked Charlotte. She nodded. "She's beautiful, isn't she?"

"Emily said she was too small," Charlotte replied.

"She'll get bigger. I'll nurse her and she'll be healthy and beautiful before long. I didn't want to give birth prematurely," I said, remembering it all now, "but Emily was so horrid to me. I thought she was going to attack me, so I ran and I fell. At least now it's all over and my baby and I will soon be out of here.

"Charlotte," I continued, reaching up to take her hand so she would come closer, "I saw the nursery and I know you were telling me the truth. You did have a baby, a real baby once."