for the door. “I’m gon’ tell him,” he said. “If he drives off, I’ll just keep going till I get Mr. Frank or somebody else.”
“I’ll go with you,” I said.
We were stopped by the old midwife before we even reached the door. “Ain’t no need to go out there,” she said. “John ain’t gon’ take her nowhere, and that’s all there is to it. No need troublin’ a ol’ man that’s set in his ways.”
“Okay then,” Harvey conceded, stepping around Miss Zadie and taking the flashlight from Wallace’s hand. “I’m gon’ run on and get Mr. Frank.”
“I’m gon’ wait right here,” Sam said. “If Mama gets any worse, I’ll make Mr. Grodin take her. If she dies, I’ll kill him.” To seal his threat, he walked into the front room, snatched the poker from Martha Jean, and glared at Miss Zadie.
Harvey was well on his way before Miss Zadie chuckled and responded in an old woman’s patient voice. “He still wouldn’t take her,” she said.
A knowing glance passed between the two midwives, something I did not understand, but that aroused my curiosity. They did not return to Mama’s room, but instead sat, like a fat woman and a dwarf, in the twin armchairs.
Sam, Martha Jean, and I stood beside the stove with Wallace squatting at our feet, as our guest silently observed us. Miss Zadie, with her stubby little elbows braced on the armrests, fanned her hands and waggled her fingers. “So this is it?” she asked in a dry tone. “It ain’t fit for chickens.”
“Now, Miss Zadie, don’t you go starting on nothing,” Miss Pearl warned. “These chilluns don’t know nothing ’bout you. This ain’t the time.”
The old woman’s head inched upright on her neck with such an effort that I found myself straining my own neck in order to assist her. When she had it as far up as it would go, it bobbed unsteadily a few times, then settled. “When is the time?” she asked.
Miss Pearl said nothing, and the old woman seemed not to expect an answer. She screwed her head around and stared at Wallace. “Come here, boy,” she said, as snuff oozed across her lip and rolled down her chin.
“Nooooo!” Mama screamed, and I could hear Tarabelle in the next room trying to soothe her.
Miss Pearl rose from her seat and padded back across the hall, and Wallace rose from his squat and stood watching Miss Zadie.
“I said, come here, boy,” the midwife repeated, and when Wallace did not budge, she asked, “You scared of me or something?”
“Ma’am,” Sam said, taking a step toward her, “we brought you out here to help our mother. If you can’t do that, I don’t see no sense in you wasting yo’ time or yo’ husband’s.”
Miss Zadie grunted and wiggled into a standing position. With her back stooped and her head lowered, she made her way across the floor toward the four of us. She stopped in front of Martha Jean, went through the painstaking effort of lifting her head, then raised a vein-rippled hand and stroked my sister’s face.
Martha Jean did not draw back, but I flinched enough for the both of us. Martha Jean drew a short line across her chest with a finger. “Name?” she signed, oblivious to the weakening moans coming from the bedroom.
The midwife seemed not to hear them, either. She dropped her hand from Martha Jean’s face, surprise registering behind her thick lenses. “So, this is the deef one,” she said. “I heard Rozelle had a deef and dumb. Looks just like her mama, too, don’t she?”
Sam stepped in front of Martha Jean, pushing her back slightly. “Miss Zadie, I don’t know you,” he said, “but I always heard you was a pretty decent midwife. Everybody say so. They say you delivered half the babies in Pakersfield. How is it you can’t help Mama?”
She did not look at Sam. She took two awkward steps toward the stove as her tongue sank beneath her lower lip, and then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, she spat a mixture of saliva and snuff right
“I’ll go with you,” I said.
We were stopped by the old midwife before we even reached the door. “Ain’t no need to go out there,” she said. “John ain’t gon’ take her nowhere, and that’s all there is to it. No need troublin’ a ol’ man that’s set in his ways.”
“Okay then,” Harvey conceded, stepping around Miss Zadie and taking the flashlight from Wallace’s hand. “I’m gon’ run on and get Mr. Frank.”
“I’m gon’ wait right here,” Sam said. “If Mama gets any worse, I’ll make Mr. Grodin take her. If she dies, I’ll kill him.” To seal his threat, he walked into the front room, snatched the poker from Martha Jean, and glared at Miss Zadie.
Harvey was well on his way before Miss Zadie chuckled and responded in an old woman’s patient voice. “He still wouldn’t take her,” she said.
A knowing glance passed between the two midwives, something I did not understand, but that aroused my curiosity. They did not return to Mama’s room, but instead sat, like a fat woman and a dwarf, in the twin armchairs.
Sam, Martha Jean, and I stood beside the stove with Wallace squatting at our feet, as our guest silently observed us. Miss Zadie, with her stubby little elbows braced on the armrests, fanned her hands and waggled her fingers. “So this is it?” she asked in a dry tone. “It ain’t fit for chickens.”
“Now, Miss Zadie, don’t you go starting on nothing,” Miss Pearl warned. “These chilluns don’t know nothing ’bout you. This ain’t the time.”
The old woman’s head inched upright on her neck with such an effort that I found myself straining my own neck in order to assist her. When she had it as far up as it would go, it bobbed unsteadily a few times, then settled. “When is the time?” she asked.
Miss Pearl said nothing, and the old woman seemed not to expect an answer. She screwed her head around and stared at Wallace. “Come here, boy,” she said, as snuff oozed across her lip and rolled down her chin.
“Nooooo!” Mama screamed, and I could hear Tarabelle in the next room trying to soothe her.
Miss Pearl rose from her seat and padded back across the hall, and Wallace rose from his squat and stood watching Miss Zadie.
“I said, come here, boy,” the midwife repeated, and when Wallace did not budge, she asked, “You scared of me or something?”
“Ma’am,” Sam said, taking a step toward her, “we brought you out here to help our mother. If you can’t do that, I don’t see no sense in you wasting yo’ time or yo’ husband’s.”
Miss Zadie grunted and wiggled into a standing position. With her back stooped and her head lowered, she made her way across the floor toward the four of us. She stopped in front of Martha Jean, went through the painstaking effort of lifting her head, then raised a vein-rippled hand and stroked my sister’s face.
Martha Jean did not draw back, but I flinched enough for the both of us. Martha Jean drew a short line across her chest with a finger. “Name?” she signed, oblivious to the weakening moans coming from the bedroom.
The midwife seemed not to hear them, either. She dropped her hand from Martha Jean’s face, surprise registering behind her thick lenses. “So, this is the deef one,” she said. “I heard Rozelle had a deef and dumb. Looks just like her mama, too, don’t she?”
Sam stepped in front of Martha Jean, pushing her back slightly. “Miss Zadie, I don’t know you,” he said, “but I always heard you was a pretty decent midwife. Everybody say so. They say you delivered half the babies in Pakersfield. How is it you can’t help Mama?”
She did not look at Sam. She took two awkward steps toward the stove as her tongue sank beneath her lower lip, and then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, she spat a mixture of saliva and snuff right
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