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"Madame Tate!" I called. "Madame Tate!"
It seemed quite a while before I got any response, but finally I heard the key being turned in the lock below and saw the door open. She poked her head in and cried in a raspy loud whisper, "Quiet! You hear me? Quiet."
"Madame Tate, I need you right now," I said.
She stepped-into the hallway and gazed up at me. I was still clutching my stomach and bent over. She was in a formal black dress, wearing a diamond necklace with matching teardrop diamond earrings. Her hair was done up and she wore makeup.
"Lower your voice," she said.
"Why did you lock that door?"
"We have guests, business associates and their wives. I had to show them the house and be sure you didn't just pop out of here. What's wrong?"
"I'm bleeding," I said.
"What? Bleeding?" She paused. "We're bleeding!" she exclaimed, her face in a twisted grimace.
"No, we're not bleeding. I'm bleeding and I've been having contractions. Something's not right. Something's happening," I said.
"Oh, dear me. I have these guests. What will I do?"
"I've sent for Mama," I blurted without thinking. I was so angry about her worrying about her guests and not me, I didn't think.
"Sent for? How?"
"Never mind right now. Something's seriously wrong, I told you. I think I'm having a premature delivery. The contractions are starting again."
"Oh!" she cried, and suddenly clutched her own false stomach. "Contractions! Bleeding! The baby's coming. . . Octavious," she yelled. "Octavious. "She turned from the door, her hand on the jamb and bent over.
"Madame Tate!" I called. "Wait!"
"Octavious!"
She slammed the door shut and then I heard the key turn in the lock.
"Madame Tate!"
Another contraction came rushing through me, tightening so quickly this time, it felt more like a punch in the stomach. My lungs hurt. I tried to take a deep breath. The room began to spin and I lost my balance, stumbling to the right. I fell sideways, landing on the dollhouse, splintering and smashing it with the weight of my body, just managing to break my fall a little with my extended right hand. But the contraction was so severe, I couldn't get up. I lay there, sucking in air.
This close to the floor, I could hear the commotion below: footsteps followed by shouts and exclamations, Octavious's voice, the voices of servants, guests, and then Gladys Tate's moans. With her bedroom right below, I was able to hear her screams. I heard her scream, "Blood! Contractions!"
My own contraction subsided again. I struggled to sit up and then I crawled and pulled myself back to the bed. During my moments of relief, I prayed for Mama's imminent arrival and I asked God to forgive me for any sin I might have committed.
"Don't punish the baby," I pleaded.
When my next contraction came, I muffled my cries by putting my closed fist in my mouth and biting down on my own knuckles and fingers. I couldn't let the people below hear me, not that they would have with all the noise Gladys Tate was making. It was strangely like an echo of my own inner screams and shouts of agony. It was as if my pain did travel through the floor and ceiling below until it settled in her so she could sense when to cry out and when to be silent.
I never found out how Henry located Mama, but he did so. To me it seemed like hours and hours before she came, but later I realized it had been less than an hour. I heard her voice below first and then I heard doors slam and the landing grow very quiet. Soon after, the door below was opened and Mama came bounding up the stairs. I was never so happy to see her face.
I told her what had been happening. She examined me and looked at the bloodstained sheets.
"What's it all mean, Mama?"
"The baby's been stirring a lot. He wants to be born sooner, honey."
"Is it going to happen right now?"
"It's hard to say exactly when, but maybe very soon," she replied. "Maybe very soon."
