Dances Naked Read online

  The baby woke up halfway through the unwrapping but just lay there, staring at the ceiling. I didn’t know whether to be happy or sad that he or she was holding still and not kicking. I still needed to get the crap-encrusted diaper off in order to clean up the source of the stink. I pulled the clout away as gently as I could. Most of it came away with a squishy ‘plop.’ His legs just lay there: slack and leaden, his little penis bright red, and his balls huge. I knew baby boys’ scrotums looked big in relationship to their bodies, but this was ridiculous. “Sarah,” I called gently, trying not to show the panic I felt.

  Sarah stood up straight from her bent over position. She had been listening with her improvised stethoscope for the heartbeat of the unborn baby in Rachel’s belly. She didn’t ask what, but she knew I needed her to see something. She followed my look and gasped. “Good God,” she swore mildly. “Wipe the soft stuff off as best you can then soak his little bottom in the basin. I don’t want you to rub, but let the water do the work on all the stuck on pieces of,” she looked at me then ended her sentence with the silent, mouth-formed word, “shit.” She shook her head then tipped her head toward Rachel who was reclined with eyes closed, letting me know wordlessly that her situation didn’t look too good either.

  Sarah sat back down at the girl’s side but without the makeshift stethoscope. “When was the last time you felt the baby move?” she asked compassionately, as if this was her own daughter who was pregnant.

  Rachel shrugged her shoulders then replied, “I don’t know. I can’t remember, but it was days ago.” A tear was blazing a trail in the dust on her cheek. She knew the baby she carried was dead. “What do we do now?” she asked, her head tilted up, finally brave enough to look Sarah in the eye.

  “Well, there are herbs I can brew that will get the uterus to expel its contents, but the pains will feel just the same as when you delivered your son here. It’s still going to hurt, but Evie here knows a few tricks so it won’t be quite so bad. Just let me know when you’re ready, but I have to tell you, the sooner we get this done, the better your chance of survival.”

  Rachel’s face skewed up as she listened. It was obvious she didn’t understand Sarah’s explanation. I translated it for her into plain and simple childspeak, “Sarah is going to give you a special tea so the baby will come out, but we have to do it right away or you could die.”

  “Oh,” she said dejectedly but with total understanding. “Should I feed the boy first?”

  I looked at Sarah and saw she wanted me to help. “I can do it,” I offered willingly. “You’re going to need all of your strength for the delivery.” I looked over and saw the sweaty shawl in a heap on the floor. I didn’t want to even touch it with my hands much less drape it across my shoulders as a scent diversion so the baby would nurse. Inspiration came to me with the sight of the stack of fresh clouts. “Just a minute,” I said, “Sarah, watch that he doesn’t roll off the table,” even though we both knew he probably didn’t have enough energy to move.

  I rushed out to the well, refilled the ewer, and came back in. I held a clean clout over the basin and poured water over it. I approached Rachel with it and said, “Here, this is an old trick I learned a long time ago.” I intended to use the cloth to wipe her face and neck in order to capture her aroma. She pulled back in shock at being bathed. I doubt that she did it herself much less let anyone else approach her is such a familiar manner. “I’m going to nurse your son but I need your body’s, um, scent so he thinks that he’s getting milk from you. I don’t know if you saw them outside in the pen under the tree, but I have three babies I’m nursing right now so one more won’t be a problem.”

  Rachel’s eyes got huge. “Three?” she asked, “All at the same time? No, that couldn’t be.” She hung her head again and resumed her beaten down woman posture. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t talk so much.”

  “No, you’re fine,” Sarah declared. “But, I need to get the tea brewing. Evie, can you finish up here?” she asked as she cut her eyes over to the lethargic and still feces encrusted baby boy.

  I tossed the clout with the eau d’ Rachel over my shoulder then started soaking the boy’s bottom. “What’s his name?” I asked. I didn’t want her to feel like she shouldn’t speak, especially around other women.

  “Atholl Grant MacLeod Junior,” she replied, almost apologetically. “His father insisted the name be the same as his.” She looked at Sarah, then me, and stuck out her chin in defiance, “But, I don’t think he’ll need to use the ‘Junior’ part of his name. I’m pretty sure his father is dead,” she said then spat on the ground next to the bed, making both Sarah and me jump, “so he’ll be the only one.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut, my hand still on Little Atholl’s belly, and panted, trying to control the overwhelming urge to vomit. This was the son of the man who had robbed me, shot me, attacked Sarah and my little Jenny, killed her two biological brothers, and then was beaten to a bloody pulp by my husband after a grand confrontation involving Julian, Jody, Master Simon, and many Redcoat soldiers. If Captain Atholl ‘Asshole’ MacLeod was dead, and I was pretty sure that he was at least sentenced to die, I couldn’t feel sorry for him. But, I really did feel compassion for his widow and son.

  Sarah understood my shock and asked, “Then who’s the other man? I thought he was your husband?”

  Rachel shook her head quickly as if trying to erase the image of him being her husband. Maybe he had tried taking husbandly privileges and she didn’t want his attentions, or maybe he was just a thug who she was with against her will. Either way, it was obvious that she didn’t care for him. “He’s my brother and,” she started to say more but quickly bit her lip and repeated, “He’s my brother.”

  Sarah went to the cabinet and took out her medicinal box. She rummaged through it and found the right little packets of herbs, took the smallest pot from the hook on the wall, nodded to excuse herself, and went outside to finish her task. The hearth fire was out—it was left cold in the summer. We cooked outdoors when the nights stayed warm. I craned my neck to look through the doorway, watching as she stoked the cooking fire. She brought the kettle to the well, filled it anew, and placed it on the hook of the iron framework above the flame.

  I bundled up the baby boy who still stank but was as fresh as possible without more soaking. He couldn’t help who his father was and I held him no animosity, but I couldn’t bring myself to think of him as anything but ‘baby boy.’ I settled back on the porch bench, the damp cloth still draped over my shoulder, bared my breast, and urged the little tyke to nurse. He started fussing which I took as a good sign. A motionless baby is not a healthy baby unless he’s asleep. This baby felt too warm and probably had a low-grade fever and I knew why. He had an infection in his little, well, not too little because of the swelling, male reproductive parts. We’d have to see what we could do about that later, but right now, he needed fluids. I pinched the skin on his arm and saw that it didn’t fall back right away but stayed raised as a little ridge of flesh. Yes, he was definitely dehydrated.

  His little mouth opened wide as if to cry but no sound came out, no tears. He gnawed on his fist and tossed his head back and forth. I didn’t know if it was because I was not his mother or something else, but Rachel spoke up and explained. “He hasn’t wanted to suckle for a few days now. I didn’t know if it was because,” she halted and looked down at her still swollen belly, “because the baby inside of me was dead or not. Maybe it made my milk bad.”

  I looked up at her as she held onto the doorframe, looking out at the playpen under the tree with my three healthy babies. They were all sound asleep at the same time, which was rare: I considered it a blessing taking into account the current situation. Sarah could use my help with this one.

  Rachel was, or soon would be, a widow, and had a dead baby in her womb. Her one living child didn’t look to be in such great shape either. She was still young and probably could have more children, but she already seemed worn out. “How old are you?” I asked n
oticing the look of amazement on her face when she saw that all three of my babies were the same size.

  “Um,” she halted, biting her bottom lip as if she didn’t know if she should share the truth. “I’m fifteen come winter.” She walked over to the playpen, holding onto the porch as she neared them. “These are all yours? And you had them all at the same time? And they all lived, or were there more?”

  I shook the cloth with the eau de Rachel on it in front of the baby’s face then replaced it just above my breast, but his face was turning toward his mother’s voice. “Rachel, could you come over her and I’ll tell you all about it. Your son is attracted to your voice so if you could talk over here next to me, maybe he’ll nurse.”

  Rachel eased her way over to the bench beside me. I wafted the cloth again and answered, “Yes, all at the same time and there were only the three. They’ve all been very healthy, too; thank you, Lord. Are these your only two?” I asked, not only curious but wanting her to speak so the baby would hear her voice.

  “No, the first one didn’t make it. She was a girl and I thought she was fine but then, well, she died. Then I had him,” she nodded to her son, “and then got pregnant again right away. I didn’t know babies could come so close together.”

  Baby boy had started nursing when he heard his mother’s voice. She grinned at the sight. “You seem to have lots of milk. I hardly had any the last few months. He tried real hard on the suckin’ for a while but it hurt real bad, even made the nipples bleed, but there was hardly any left. And then, he stopped suckin’ at all, so I tried givin’ him some porritch and he did eat just a little. But, then my brother told me he was too little for it and I had to keep nursin’. He didn’t want to believe me and got real mad when I said the milk was all gone.”

  Just then, Sarah came up with the brew. “It needs to steep for a bit longer, but I want you to get cleaned up a little and change your clothes.” Sarah looked over at me and the baby. “It looks like your baby is nursing well. He’ll be fine, I’m sure. After, um, uh,” Sarah squeezed her eyes shut in thought. How could she phrase it without hurting the young mother’s feelings?

  I saved her from faltering in her explanation by interrupting her, which was either rude or gracious, depending on your point of view. “After,” I continued, “you deliver this baby,” I nodded to her belly, “you’ll get more milk. As long as you get plenty of rest, food, and fluids, you’ll have enough new milk to get him back on track, er, um, rather he’ll grow to be a big, healthy boy. Now, do you have a home to go to, someone you can stay with after this is over?”

  “We were on our way to a cousin’s home in New Bern. He said he’d let me and the babies stay with him if I’d do the cookin’ and cleanin’. My brother said he wasn’t too happy about there bein’ two babies, so maybe it’s better that this one,” she looked down at her swollen belly and said softly, “isn’t going to make it.”

  “That is, was, not your decision to make,” I asserted boldly. “Maybe God just wanted this baby up there with Him: did you ever think about that?”

  “No,” she sighed. She sat quietly thinking about what I had just said, then responded, “I think you’re right though. Right now, God could take better care of him or her than I could.” She started twitching in discomfort, as if the bench was covered in odd-sized pebbles. “How much longer? I want to get this over with.” Rachel got up from the bench with the awkward difficulty of a very pregnant woman and limped back to the doorframe, leaning against it for support.

  Sarah came close to speak with me. “I’d better get her set up. It’s going to be a long night and I want to get a little something together for our supper before the real action begins. It looks like it’s a good thing I didn’t cut up both of those hospital gowns,” she remarked. “She can wear the one while I get her clothes washed.”

  Just then, Wren woke up and let me know it was time for her supper. Jenny ran out from wherever it was she had been and picked her up, peeking down her clout to see how wet she was. “I got her for you, Mommy,” she crowed. “Who’s that?” she exclaimed at seeing me with a different baby. She did a double take, looking back to make sure her two brothers were still in the playpen.

  “Oh, he’s just visiting along with his mother and uncle. Now, Grannie is going to be very busy doctorin’ tonight so you and Grandpa Jody and Daddy are probably going to be spending the evening outside or in the barn, okay?” I saw the sad look on her face. “And, I’ll join you every chance I get, but I’m going to help Grannie. I’ll need you to help with all of the babies though. Maybe this little boy can stay in the playpen with the others for a while. Would that be okay?”

  “Three boys!” she shouted, bouncing around with Wren in her arms. “This family just keeps getting bigger and bigger and…”

  I cut her off, “No, they’re just visiting for a few days then they’re going to go stay with their own family. Here, let me have Wren. Would you go and tell your Daddy that I need to talk to him?”

  I switched out babies, put Wren to my breast, and handed over Baby Boy to his eager, smiling mother. She really did love him even if she wasn’t the most demonstrative woman in the world. I think she had just realized that there was hope for the two of them. I interrupted her reverie with an offer. “I’d like to get you all fixed up before we get started with the labor. Have you ever had the full salon treatment?”

  She frowned at what must have sounded like a type of torture. I knew she didn’t know what I was talking about, but I didn’t want to be in close quarters with a laboring woman who hadn’t bathed in Lord only knows how long. “Just trust me, okay? It’ll just be us; all you have to do is sit or maybe stand a little.” I looked around for my number one helper but didn’t see her anywhere. Her radar was keen though so I just called out, “Jenny, would you get me my little wash basin and bar of sweet smelling soap, please?”

  “Okay, Mommy,” she shouted from behind the house somewhere. Seconds later, a green calico flash streaked past us and quickly reappeared with a bundle. “I brought the pink towels, too. Do you want me to heat some water for you? I can do that. Are you going to wash her hair? I’ll go get the comb and brush if you want me to.”

  Jenny was spouting off her suggestions rapid fire like always. Rachel smiled softly at her. I could practically see her visualizing the daughter she had lost when she looked at her. “Yes, dear, that would be fine,” I answered. At least it didn’t look like I was going to meet the resistance that I had feared. From the way Rachel had pulled away from me earlier when I wiped her face, I thought that I’d have to resort to strong-armed means for the bathing.

  Sarah briefly joined our party, bringing with her a cup and a little pot with the labor-inducing brew. “Now this isn’t going to taste very good. I put some honey in it, but I’m not sure that will help. I want you to drink it all within the next ten minutes. Come back in the house for more instructions when you’ve finished getting cleaned up.”

  Sarah saw the frown furrowing the young woman’s brow and offered the only comfort she could. “This um, delivery was going to happen with or without our assistance. At least this way you’re not going through it by yourself and your other baby’s needs will be seen to. He has an infection but if you keep his bottom clean, that will probably take care of the rash. Now, let Evie pamper you and then, when you’ve got this gown on, come on inside.”

  Rachel pulled her lips taut and tried to smile but only managed a grimace. What a time to be selected as queen for a day! She had never received so much attention in her life. Now these women were being nice to her and it was for the gruesome event of the birth of her dead baby.

  While Sarah gave her instructions, I multitasked, nursing my daughter, and moving bits and pieces to clear an area for us. I set up our little day spa on the side of the house so it was out of view of the road and the barn. The newly washed quilts were still on the line and afforded us extra privacy. I brought out a kitchen chair and Jenny toted water. I returned Wren to the box of baby b
oys and began my Queen of Clean chore. I started at the top of Rachel’s head, shampooing her hair twice to cut through the built up oil and crud. After her hair was clean, she relaxed. Jenny busied herself scrubbing feet while I did the best I could with a sponge bath, letting her cover herself with bits of cloth as I worked my way from her neck down to her ankles where I ran into Jenny’s domain.

  “Could you stand up so I can get the back of you?” I asked.

  Rachel looked down at Jenny then over at me. “Can she leave for just a bit? I think I heard my baby cry,” she said softly.

  “Jenny, you heard her—please leave us alone for a few minutes, okay?”

  Jenny opened her mouth to protest. We all knew that no baby had cried. But, my sweet little girl saw the look in my eye and obeyed without complaining. “Yes, Mommy, but I’ll be real close if you need me.”

  “Yes, dear, that’ll be fine,” I said then turned back to my task. Rachel stood up slowly, grabbing the back of the chair to steady herself. She turned around and presented her back to me, the pink towel clutched to her chest. I let out an unintentional gasp. She was scarred from her shoulders to her buttocks. She had been whipped repeatedly, and the scars were in various stages of fading. My eyes went lower and then I couldn’t help but proclaim, “Dear Lord.” She had fresh, red slashes on the back of her legs. Someone had whipped her in the last day or two. “Why?” escaped my lips as I wet the rag and gently started washing her back and shoulders.

  “I wasn’t moving fast enough, at least that’s why he whipped my legs. He said it was the only place he could get to that wouldn’t ruin my dress. He couldn’t punch my face like he used to. He was afraid that someone would come up and see me.”

  I’m sure that she saw the horror in my face. But, instead of clamming up like she would have done earlier, she grinned, happy to have someone to tell the story to. “You see, that’s what happened a long time ago, when I was a couple years younger than Jenny. A fur trapper had just come up to the house to see if we had any cornmeal to trade. He was a pretty, white man but dressed like an Indian. He saw my face all red and puffy and asked what happened. I wouldn’t tell him, but then he heard Grant tell me to shut up when he asked me about it. Well, the trapper sent me inside to pack up some of the cornmeal and then I heard the fussin’ out by the barn. He beat the tar right out of Grant. Well, not exactly tar, but close enough.” Rachel was grinning with the memory. “Yup, Grant never beat me in the face again. It’s a good thing, too, or I wouldn’t have any teeth left. See, he knocked that one out,” Rachel said as she opened her mouth and showed me where a bottom tooth was missing.