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on the window, the wind coming up to blow sheet
after sheet of the downpour against the house. There
was a flash of lightning and then a crash of thunder
that seemed to shake the very foundation of the great
house and rock my bed as well. We could hear the
rain pounding the roof. It seemed to pound right
through and into my heart.
Mama asked Gladys to turn on the lamps. As if
it took all her effort to rise from the bed and cross the
room, she groaned and stood up with an exaggerated
slowness. As soon as she had the lights on, she
returned to her bed and watched me enduring my
labor, closing her eyes, mumbling to herself and
sighing.
"How long can this last?" she finally inquired
with impatience.
"Ten, fifteen, twenty hours," Mama told her. "If
you have something else to do . . ."
"What else would I have to do? Are you mad or
are you trying to get rid of me?"
"Forget I said anything," Mama muttered, and
turned her attention back to me.
Suddenly, at the end of one contraction, I felt a
gush of warm liquid down my legs.
"Mama!"
"It's your bag of waters," Mama exclaimed.
"The baby's going to come tonight," she declared with
certainty. Gladys Tate uttered a cry of excitement, and
when we looked over at her, we saw she had wet her
own bed.
