"Oh, of course, Mrs. Logan. Please call on me for anything," she said and I thanked her.
For Belinda every day seemed harder than the one before it now. She knew she was drawing closer and closer.
"When's the doctor coming, Olivia?" she asked me one evening. "He's never been to see me."
"We're not having a doctor, Belinda. I told you. I have made arrangements with a midwife. It's more discreet." "Why does it have to be discreet?"
"People don't know about the pregnancy. Let's try to keep it that way as long as we can. I'm only trying to protect your reputation," I said.
"My reputation? My reputation?" She laughed and looked at the wall as if someone was standing there, as if the room were crowded with male admirers the way it once was. "Did you hear that? She's worried about my reputation." She laughed again, each roll of laughter coming like a cough and then continuing like uncontrollable hiccups.
"Stop it, Belinda."
"My reputation." She shrieked and laughed madly.
I stepped up to the bed and hovered over her, my hands in fists.
"Stop this nonsense this instant!" I commanded.
Her laughter wound down until it became a subdued sob and then she closed her eyes and sighed as if she had passed away. I stood there, waiting. Her eyes opened and she smiled up at me as if nothing in the world was wrong.
"Please tell Effie I'd like some ice cream-- strawberry. No, butternut crunch with chocolate syrup and some marshmallow sauce."
"Fine," I said.
"I had a pain today, Olivia. It hurt a lot," she said.
"It's no wonder you have pains lying there like some pig in mud, but you know what labor pains are. That's when we've got to become concerned."
"It was a labor pain. It's starting," she said with a nod. "I should see a doctor. I don't care about my reputation."
"I'll call the midwife and she'll examine you tomorrow," I told her and gave Effie her request for ice cream.
The midwife was a Brava who ministered mainly to poor people, but had on occasion handled situations for the well-to-do that had to be kept as secret as possible.
Her name was Isabella and she looked like she was nearly seventy, alt
hough I knew she wasn't much more than fifty-four, fifty-five. She wore her smokegray hair long and stringy to her shoulders. Her face was leathery with wrinkles even in her chin. Belinda gasped the first time she set eyes on her. Later, she told me she thought she was a witch.
"She's put a curse on me!" she said.
"Don't be ridiculous," I told her, but she looked even more maddened after the examination.
Isabella predicted that it wouldn't be much longer before Belinda delivered, maybe a week. As it turned out, she had underestimated, for the very next day, Belinda went into such terrific labor, Effie had to call me home from work. I sent for Isabella immediately, but she was delivering another woman's baby just north of Hyannis. All afternoon, Belinda shrieked and squirmed in her bed. Effie and I did all that we could to make her comfortable, but nothing seemed to help.
"She oughta go to a hospital, Mrs. Logan," Effie finally said.
"The midwife will be here soon," I told her. Samuel, who had come home, too, stood outside the door looking very somber.
"We're making a mistake trying to do it this way, Olivia. Let's just bring her to the hospital."
"She'll be all right, Samuel. Many women have had their children at home. In fact, most have."
"Not these days, Olivia."
"Just go see what you can find out about the midwife. Maybe she's back from Hyannis, Samuel."
He lingered as Belinda screamed again and again, squeezing my hand, pleading with me to do something.