Jean lay on her side on a mattress on the floor, as still as a held breath.
Elsa knelt beside the mattress. “Hey,” she said, touching Jean’s damp forehead. “Where’s Jeb?”
“Nipomo. Hopin’ to pick peas.” Jean panted. “Somethin ain’t raht, Elsa.”
Not right. Elsa knew what that meant; every woman who’d lost a child did. A mother’s instinct was strong at a time like this.
Loreda came into the tent.
“Help me get her to her feet,” Elsa said to Loreda.
Together they got Jean upright. Jean leaned heavily on Elsa. “I’m taking you to the hospital,” Elsa said.
“No … sense.”
“It’s not nonsense. This isn’t a child with a cough or a fever, Jean. This is an emergency.”
“They … won’t…” Jean’s face tightened as another contraction hit.
Elsa and Loreda got Jean settled in the passenger seat of the truck. “Watch the kids, Loreda.”
Elsa started the engine and hit the lights and they were off, rattling down the muddy road, driving too fast.
“Can’t…” Jean said, clutching the armrest. “Take … back…”
Another contraction.
Elsa turned into the hospital parking lot; the building glowed with expensive electrical lighting.
Elsa slammed on the brakes. “Wait here. I’ll get help.”
She ran into the hospital, rushed down the hallway, and stopped at the desk. “My friend is having a baby.”
The woman looked up, frowned, and then wrinkled her nose.
“Yeah, yeah. I smell,” Elsa said. “I’m a dirty migrant. I get it. But my friend—”
“This hospital is for Californians. You know, the folks who pay taxes. For citizens, not vagrants who want to be taken care of.”
“Come on. Be human.Please—”
“You? Telling me to be human? Please. Look at yourself. You women pop out babies like champagne corks. Find one of yours to help you.” The woman finally rose. Elsa saw how well-fed she was, how plump her calves were. She reached inside a drawer, pulled out a pair of rubber gloves. “I’m sorry, but rules are rules. I am allowed to give you these.” She held out the gloves.
“Please. I’ll scrub floors. Clean bedpans. Anything. Just help her.”
“If it’s as dire as you say, why waste time begging with me?”
Elsa snatched the gloves and ran back to the truck.
“They won’t help us,” she said through gritted teeth as she climbed in. “The good, God-fearing folk of California don’t care about a baby’s life, I guess.”
Elsa drove as fast as she could back to camp, rage trapped inside of her, tightening her breathing.
“Hurry, Elsa.”
At the Deweys’ tent, Elsa helped Jean into the dank interior.
“Loreda!” Elsa shouted.