Whitefern (Audrina 2)

“Of course not.”

“Then pray tell me how you intend to convey the situation we are now in. It is supposed to be happening to you.”

“Oh!” I moaned. Of course, she was right. Dislike her as much as I did, I still had to give her credit for keeping her cool and never losing sight of what we had to do.

“But he should know,” I offered weakly. Sylvia was crying so hard. It made me shudder.

“Clean this up. I will call him when I get a moment here. Your husband and I planned for how to handle this.”

“Why wasn’t I part of that planning?”

“Do you want to have a long discussion about it, or do you want me to care for your sister?”

“Okay,” I said.

I ran out for the mop, and while she got Sylvia back into the bed, I cleaned the floor. I put the mop and pail aside. Sylvia looked like she was having trouble breathing. Her eyes rolled with the panic she was feeling.

“Is she all right?”

“Of course she’s all right. Keep this cool washcloth on her forehead, and hold her hand. The first birth for any woman is always the most difficult. Her next one will be easier.”

“Next one?”

“You never know,” she said, and went to call Arden, leaving me alone with Sylvia. Now I was sorry I had even mentioned calling Arden. Sylvia was clawing at my wool belly, begging me to stop the pain.

“It will get better as soon as the baby comes,” I said, and repeated it like a chant. I had read about deliveries and seen them acted out in movies, but nothing had prepared me for this. Sylvia’s screams were so loud I was sure people working on the grounds outside would hear. I had no idea what else to do. I went to the door to look down the hall for Mrs. Matthews, but she was nowhere in sight.

“Papa!” Sylvia screamed. “Papa!”

I returned to her side and took her hand again while I dabbed her forehead with the cool cloth. What if her heart stopped? I thought. Momma had given birth too soon and died. History was repeating itself. If she died, I wouldn’t care about our precious reputation. I’d call the police and have Mr. Price arrested, stroke or no stroke, I vowed.

As casually as she would have entered Sylvia’s room weeks ago, Mrs. Matthews returned.

“She’s in too much pain,” I said. “Isn’t there anything else we can do?”

“We? No. There’s nothing else to do but let nature take its course.”

She took Sylvia’s blood pressure and then suddenly seized her shoulders and shook her so hard Sylvia stopped screaming.

“Now, you listen to me, Sylvia. The baby is coming. Here’s what I want you to do,” she said, and began to give her instructions. She already had the bed changed into what looked like a hospital bed now, with something protecting the mattress. Beside it was a pan in case Sylvia threw up. Mrs. Matthews had moved a table and all the medical supplies she needed, turning the room into a delivery room. I felt helpless standing by and watching her as she told Sylvia to push. Sylvia’s eyes were still wide open and wild with fear and confusion. Her face was flushed, her forehead beaded with sweat. I continued to dab it with the washcloth. She looked at me with such pleading. I had always been there to help her, to wash her cuts and bruises, to hold her and make her feel better again, but there was nothing I could do for her now that would ease the pain.

“Why is the baby hurting me, Audrina?”

I looked to Mrs. Matthews. “It’s supposed to hurt,” she said sharply. “Just do what I tell you, and it will stop when the baby comes out.”

Sylvia looked at me to see if I believed it. I smiled and nodded to reassure her, and for a few moments at least, she calmed.

“What did Arden say?” I asked, my heart racing with the anxiety and tension Mrs. Matthews had predicted I would experience.

“He’s on his way,” she said, sounding annoyed that she had to reply.

Sylvia started to scream and cry again. Mrs. Matthews gazed at her with a wry smile on her lips, reminding me of my aunt Ellsbeth, who had seemed to enjoy Vera’s pain before her miscarriage. Agony was the perfect and just punishment for a woman who transgressed. I thought Aunt Ellsbeth saw herself as the voice of an angry God, enraged at the violation of one of his commandments. But Sylvia hadn’t transgressed. She had been transgressed against. Yes, God had punished Mr. Price by giving him a stroke, but now, if anything, Aunt Ellsbeth’s angry God should show mercy and reduce Sylvia’s pain to almost nothing.

“She’s not trying,” Mrs. Matthews suddenly said. There was a little panic in her face. “I don’t like this. It’s almost as if she is deliberately holding the baby hostage in her birth canal.”

“She can’t do that, can she?”

Mrs. Matthews turned to me with the strangest look in her eyes. For a moment, I thought she had gone mad. It was as if Sylvia’s failure to do everything exactly as she wanted reflected badly on her. “There’s something else going on here,” she said.