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"He's sleeping," I said, and laid my head on my shoulder and closed my eyes. Henry lifted his hand away, but stared at me sweetly. I smiled at him and he smiled back. Then he stood up slowly as if he saw something in the air. He walked with exaggerated steps, like a hunter sneaking up on prey. He snatched the invisible air and brought his hand to his nose, taking in a delightful whiff. I laughed and he bowed, put his hands behind his back, stepped before me, and then voila . . he held out a tiny magnolia blossom.
The astonishment on my face filled him with delight. I assumed, of course, that he had been keeping it under his shirt, but it was such a wonderful surprise, I couldn't keep the tears from filling my eyes.
"Thank you," I said. "And thank you for the hyacinth you left last night."
He bowed and looked toward the window.
"You have to go back to work?" I mimed the raking of leaves, pruning of hedges, and he nodded. I held out my hand for him to shake. "Good-bye," I said. "Thank you."
He held my hand for a moment and then went to the window. "Be careful," I said. He smiled and then slipped out the window and over the railing, scampering down the gutter pipe like a squirrel. I glanced out the window and saw him hurrying around the corner of the house. Like a dream, he was gone, but my magnolia blossom smelled delicious and wonderful. It filled me with pleasing memories and allowed me to close my eyes and put myself back in the bayou, free to enjoy the world I loved, at least for a few moments.
That night, right after I had my dinner, I had my first bad fright. I hadn't been sleeping well these last weeks as it was. The baby was so active. When I woke each morning now, I felt as if I had been dragged through the swamp by my swollen feet. Just sitting up took great effort, and my lower back ached so badly at times, I had to lie down again. When Gladys saw these symptoms, she began to imitate them to the point that she looked worse than I felt when I saw her in the mornings. She complained about coming up the stairs as if she were really carrying a child, groaning and rubbing her lower back.
One morning when she had gone on and on about how poorly she was sleeping and how hard things were for her, I exploded.
"What are you talking about? Why are you complaining so loudly? I'm the one who is actually suffering," I cried.
She stared at me with ice in her eyes. "How can you say you're the one who is actually suffering? Do you think just pretending to be pregnant is enough? I have developed the ability to feel what you feel, know what you know, and yes, suffer what you suffer so that no one, no one, do you understand, will doubt this child is my child, this birthing is my birthing. And I'm doing all this for you, as much as for the baby. I don't expect any gratitude. That's too much, but at least I expect understanding. So stop your whining. You're not the only one who's been put through turmoil," she snapped, and pivoted to leave me in the wake of her outburst.
I was too uncomfortable to care. Mama told me much of it was normal, but I could see some concern in her face during the last visit, so after dinner, when I felt a little nauseous, I lay down. As soon as I did so, I was stricken with contractions and I became very frightened. I kept waiting for them to end, but they remained intense.
"Mama!" I moaned. What was I to do? The cramps were so severe, I could barely sit up. The pain continued, seizing me in a vise that reached around my stomach to my back, shortening my breath. I gasped, unable to even call out for help, not that there was anyone who would hear me.
Then I heard a sound behind me and turned to see Henry crawling in the window. He saw the grimace of pain on my face and immediately became concerned. He rushed to my side, signing questions, but I didn't have the patience. I groaned and gasped when my stomach tightened again. I had my skirt raised and Henry put his cool palm on my stomach. The tightness amazed and frightened him, too. He pulled his hand away as if my stomach were on fire. I took deep breaths and waited. It eased and I let out a sigh of relief.
Drips of sweat-trickled down the side of my face. Henry found a handkerchief and returned to my side to dab my face. I looked up at him and smiled. My bosom rose and fell with my heavy breaths. I've got to send for Mama, I thought. She didn't tell me this would be happening now. It's too soon.
With his hands and gestures, Henry asked if my baby was coming now.
"I hope not," I said. "It's not supposed to." I shook my head, but another contraction began. And then I felt the warmth leaking down the inside of my thighs. The sensation sent an electric shock up my spine and into my heart. Henry saw the look of terror on my face. Slowly I raised my head and ran my fingers along my leg. When I looked at my fingers, I screamed. They were covered with blood. The expression of fear on Henry's face reinforced my own.
"Mama!" I cried. I struggled to sit up, and Henry rushed to help me. "Madame Tate!" I screamed her name. The blood continued to flow. I tried to walk, but the cramps were so severe, I had to double up. Henry helped me back to the bed. With all the strength I could muster, I screamed again.
"Madame Tate!"
Silence followed. Where was she? She always claimed that every little sound made in this room could be heard below. She said she heard me moaning in my sleep. Why couldn't she hear my scream?
Henry pointed to himself and then to the door, asking me if I wanted him to go for help. I did, but that also meant Gladys would know he had been here and my secret presence and pregnancy had been discovered. Gladys would be furious. I really didn't know what would be worse: my waiting for her to eventually hear my cries or having her know about Henry. With the contractions coming faster and lasting longer each time, and the blood still streaming down my leg, I felt I had no choice. I took a deep breath and nodded, gesturing for him to go fetch Gladys Tate. He opened the door and bounded down the stairs.
I took deep breaths and waited, but instead of hearing Gladys coming, I heard Henry rattling the door below. He came running back up to tell me the door below was locked.
"What? Why?" I moaned.
Henry gestured that he would go out the window, down and around to the front of the house for help.
"No, wait," I cried, holding out my hand. He stood, confused as I tried to think sensibly in the midst of suffering another contraction. It nearly took my breath away. I gasped and gasped, but I kept my hand up so Henry wouldn't leave the room.
I realized that if Henry went busting into the house exclaiming my predicament, everyone would know about my existence up here and the secret would be exposed. Gladys wouldn't go through with her part of our bargain. I couldn't let Henry do that.
When the contraction eased, I gestured for Henry to hand me the pen and paper on the dresser. He did so and I wrote, Mama, come quickly. Then I folded the paper and on the outside wrote, For Catherine Landry. Urgent. I pointed to it.
Henry looked at it, but shook his head. He didn't know who Mama was. But then he smiled at me and gestured that he would find out and get the note to her. He patted my hand and headed for the window. In moments he was over the railing and gone. All I could do was hope that the deaf-mute boy would find a way to Mama.
Another contraction came, but it was of shorter duration. It was followed by a longer respite and then the next contraction was bearable. I took my washcloth and cleaned off the blood. It seemed to be easing, too. As my pain and fear lessened, my thoughts went back to the door below and my anger intensified. Why had Gladys Tate decided to lock that door tonight of all nights?
Stronger, breathing easier
, I rose and went to the top of the short stairway.
