trick. You ain’t wore it yet, and I want to see how it looks on you. No matter what you wear, them boys will be all over us. I already told ’em how hot and horny we both been feelin’ lately. . . .”
But a tornado was not the only thing that was threatening to interfere with Ruby’s plans. She was also nine months pregnant with a baby that nobody even knew she was carrying.
Her labor had started at the dinner table this evening. The first contraction had shot through her belly like a red-hot bullet, while she sat eating some of the holiday barbeque and greens that her mother had prepared. The pain reminded her of the time that she’d stepped on a nail with her bare foot at a church event in Baton Rouge. She wanted to scream and roll around on the floor like she had done that time, but she managed not to. She did moan and grit her teeth though.
“Stop screwin’ up your face like that, Ruby Jean. Them greens ain’t that bitter,” her mother scolded, before her teeth chewed a wad of turnip greens to pulp.
Ruby’s father stopped gnawing on a rib bone so he could add his two cents. “And she’d better hurry up and eat everything on her plate. If that storm hits, it might be a while before our next meal.”
“Can I finish my supper in my room?” Ruby asked, already rising. “I don’t feel too good. . . .”
“You don’t look too good neither,” her mother quickly pointed out. “You must have the cramps again,” she added in a whisper, rolling her eyes at her husband, seated directly across the table from her. She could tell from the grimace on his face that this was not a conversation that he wanted to hear. “And I ain’t never seen that many pimples on your face.”
“Yessum. Cramps again,” Ruby responded with a cough and another moan. “And my acne is actin’ up.”
“It must be that homemade lye soap you been scrubbin’ your face with. I’ll get you some witch hazel this weekend. Finish your dinner in your room. But don’t get too comfortable in case we have to haul ass to the root cellar to dodge that tornado,” her mother told her. “And don’t forget to say your prayers.”
“Yessum. Uh, ’night, y’all,” Ruby muttered as she wobbled across the floor, holding her plate with both hands.
Her mother nodded. Her father grunted and kept his eyes on the huge plate of food in front of him. He didn’t look up until Ruby had left the room. Then he stopped chewing and shot a hot look at his wife. “Hell’s bells, Ida Mae. I wish you and Ruby Jean wouldn’t discuss them female issues at the table while we eatin’. That subject is so . . . gruesome,” he complained. “Pass the biscuits, please.”
Ruby’s mother practically threw the bowl with the biscuits at her husband. “Look, old man, you done spent a whole lot of years in this house with eight women—me and them seven daughters we got. What do you expect? You ought to be used to female issues by now.”
“Well, I ain’t! Even though”—Reverend Upshaw paused and glanced over his shoulder toward the doorway—“even though . . . that’s what’s torturin’ poor Ruby Jean today. Her face ain’t never been as bloated as it is now. But there might be somethin’ else goin’ on with her that she don’t want us to know about. After I finish my supper, I’m goin’ to go get Dr. Hollis and have him come take a look-see at her.”
“That ain’t such a bad idea. Maybe I can get him to check my blood pressure,” Ruby’s mother said as she speared a large chicken wing on her plate with her fork. “Don’t forget to take your raincoat and cap with you in case the rain starts back up before you make it over there and back home.”
It was a good thing that Ruby had stopped in the hallway to eavesdrop on her parents’ conversation. Had she not, she would have had a major mess on her hands. There was no way in the world that she would have been able to hide her pregnancy from Dr. Hollis, even though he was
But a tornado was not the only thing that was threatening to interfere with Ruby’s plans. She was also nine months pregnant with a baby that nobody even knew she was carrying.
Her labor had started at the dinner table this evening. The first contraction had shot through her belly like a red-hot bullet, while she sat eating some of the holiday barbeque and greens that her mother had prepared. The pain reminded her of the time that she’d stepped on a nail with her bare foot at a church event in Baton Rouge. She wanted to scream and roll around on the floor like she had done that time, but she managed not to. She did moan and grit her teeth though.
“Stop screwin’ up your face like that, Ruby Jean. Them greens ain’t that bitter,” her mother scolded, before her teeth chewed a wad of turnip greens to pulp.
Ruby’s father stopped gnawing on a rib bone so he could add his two cents. “And she’d better hurry up and eat everything on her plate. If that storm hits, it might be a while before our next meal.”
“Can I finish my supper in my room?” Ruby asked, already rising. “I don’t feel too good. . . .”
“You don’t look too good neither,” her mother quickly pointed out. “You must have the cramps again,” she added in a whisper, rolling her eyes at her husband, seated directly across the table from her. She could tell from the grimace on his face that this was not a conversation that he wanted to hear. “And I ain’t never seen that many pimples on your face.”
“Yessum. Cramps again,” Ruby responded with a cough and another moan. “And my acne is actin’ up.”
“It must be that homemade lye soap you been scrubbin’ your face with. I’ll get you some witch hazel this weekend. Finish your dinner in your room. But don’t get too comfortable in case we have to haul ass to the root cellar to dodge that tornado,” her mother told her. “And don’t forget to say your prayers.”
“Yessum. Uh, ’night, y’all,” Ruby muttered as she wobbled across the floor, holding her plate with both hands.
Her mother nodded. Her father grunted and kept his eyes on the huge plate of food in front of him. He didn’t look up until Ruby had left the room. Then he stopped chewing and shot a hot look at his wife. “Hell’s bells, Ida Mae. I wish you and Ruby Jean wouldn’t discuss them female issues at the table while we eatin’. That subject is so . . . gruesome,” he complained. “Pass the biscuits, please.”
Ruby’s mother practically threw the bowl with the biscuits at her husband. “Look, old man, you done spent a whole lot of years in this house with eight women—me and them seven daughters we got. What do you expect? You ought to be used to female issues by now.”
“Well, I ain’t! Even though”—Reverend Upshaw paused and glanced over his shoulder toward the doorway—“even though . . . that’s what’s torturin’ poor Ruby Jean today. Her face ain’t never been as bloated as it is now. But there might be somethin’ else goin’ on with her that she don’t want us to know about. After I finish my supper, I’m goin’ to go get Dr. Hollis and have him come take a look-see at her.”
“That ain’t such a bad idea. Maybe I can get him to check my blood pressure,” Ruby’s mother said as she speared a large chicken wing on her plate with her fork. “Don’t forget to take your raincoat and cap with you in case the rain starts back up before you make it over there and back home.”
It was a good thing that Ruby had stopped in the hallway to eavesdrop on her parents’ conversation. Had she not, she would have had a major mess on her hands. There was no way in the world that she would have been able to hide her pregnancy from Dr. Hollis, even though he was
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