flipped the eggs. “Well, you’re quite scandalous. Rumor has it you’re making voodoo dolls out of corncobs.”
“Don’t seem to recall that when they’re sending for me to birth them babies.”
“You’re giving them something to pray for,” laughed Lydia. “They don’t have a thing to do without praying over some misguided soul.”
Midwife Stone buttered another biscuit and chewed noisily for a moment. “You should find yourself a new husband. Someone to keep you company.”
“I’ll do it the minute you do.”
Midwife Stone chuckled and sliced into the eggs Lydia set in front of her. “No need for a husband if you can take care of yourself.”
“I can’t imagine living with another man. William was my one love. I was lucky that way. Most women don’t even get that.”
“Ain’t that the truth.” Midwife Stone scooped up the rest of the egg yolk with her biscuit. “Look at me.”
Lydia sat in the chair across from Midwife Stone. “Truth is, I’ve been wondering what to do next. I hate feeling so useless. I can’t just be Widow Tyler, the Methodist church piano player and Emma and Birdie’s mother for the rest of my life.”
“People in town think other things about you, too.” Midwife Stone’s eyes twinkled.
“I know people think I’m odd.”
“In here all day playing your piano.” She slapped the table with her hand and grinned her half-toothless smile. “It gives ’em all fits.”
They both laughed. Lydia poured them both a cup of coffee. “What do they expect? For me to just sit here waiting to die?”
“Well, it’s true that someone’s always being born or dying. I guess it’s in the years between we have to do something that either helps others or makes us happy. You got a few good years left in you. I feel sure of that. Just keep doing something. Play that piano. All good things come when you do something you love.”
Chapter 9
N athaniel
----
F rances’s labor pains began in the early morning hours on the second day of March. Nathaniel remembered nothing of the journey, but somehow they arrived at the hospital just ten blocks from their apartment in New York City. Frances was whisked away, and his long wait began. He paced the floor for hours, more anxious than he’d ever been in his life. Finally, a nun beckoned to him, her face grim. “Follow me, please, Mr. Fye. The doctor wishes to speak with you.”
They walked down a long hallway until they came to the doctor’s office. The doctor, whom Nathaniel had never met, sat behind the desk. He looked up when they came in and pointed to one of the chairs. “Please sit. I’ve some distressing news.”
Nathaniel suddenly couldn’t feel his feet. The nun steered him into the chair. His heart beat wildly. His stomach churned. Behind the doctor’s head, the clock ticked off the seconds, one by one.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Fye, but there’s been a complication.”
“Are they all right?” Nathaniel said.
“Frances is fine. She lost a lot of blood and needs to rest.”
“And the baby?”
“It’s a boy, but I’m sorry, Mr. Fye, he isn’t going to make it.”
“Isn’t going to make it?”
“He won’t live for more than a few hours. He weighs only a couple of pounds and, well, he was born with severe abnormalities.”
“Abnormalities?”
He spoke in one note, methodical, like reading from a textbook. “An oversized head, which usually indicates excess fluid, and clubfeet. We don’t know what his insides look like; we only know from the past that these kinds of babies don’t live longer than a couple of hours.”
“But why? I mean, how?”
“It’s just something that happens. We don’t understand it. A freak of nature, so to speak.”
A freak of nature? On the wall behind the doctor’s head was a painting of Jesus on the cross. “May I see him?” That was all. He wanted to see him. To hold him, no matter the outcome.
“We don’t recommend it.” The doctor moved a medical journal from
“Don’t seem to recall that when they’re sending for me to birth them babies.”
“You’re giving them something to pray for,” laughed Lydia. “They don’t have a thing to do without praying over some misguided soul.”
Midwife Stone buttered another biscuit and chewed noisily for a moment. “You should find yourself a new husband. Someone to keep you company.”
“I’ll do it the minute you do.”
Midwife Stone chuckled and sliced into the eggs Lydia set in front of her. “No need for a husband if you can take care of yourself.”
“I can’t imagine living with another man. William was my one love. I was lucky that way. Most women don’t even get that.”
“Ain’t that the truth.” Midwife Stone scooped up the rest of the egg yolk with her biscuit. “Look at me.”
Lydia sat in the chair across from Midwife Stone. “Truth is, I’ve been wondering what to do next. I hate feeling so useless. I can’t just be Widow Tyler, the Methodist church piano player and Emma and Birdie’s mother for the rest of my life.”
“People in town think other things about you, too.” Midwife Stone’s eyes twinkled.
“I know people think I’m odd.”
“In here all day playing your piano.” She slapped the table with her hand and grinned her half-toothless smile. “It gives ’em all fits.”
They both laughed. Lydia poured them both a cup of coffee. “What do they expect? For me to just sit here waiting to die?”
“Well, it’s true that someone’s always being born or dying. I guess it’s in the years between we have to do something that either helps others or makes us happy. You got a few good years left in you. I feel sure of that. Just keep doing something. Play that piano. All good things come when you do something you love.”
Chapter 9
N athaniel
----
F rances’s labor pains began in the early morning hours on the second day of March. Nathaniel remembered nothing of the journey, but somehow they arrived at the hospital just ten blocks from their apartment in New York City. Frances was whisked away, and his long wait began. He paced the floor for hours, more anxious than he’d ever been in his life. Finally, a nun beckoned to him, her face grim. “Follow me, please, Mr. Fye. The doctor wishes to speak with you.”
They walked down a long hallway until they came to the doctor’s office. The doctor, whom Nathaniel had never met, sat behind the desk. He looked up when they came in and pointed to one of the chairs. “Please sit. I’ve some distressing news.”
Nathaniel suddenly couldn’t feel his feet. The nun steered him into the chair. His heart beat wildly. His stomach churned. Behind the doctor’s head, the clock ticked off the seconds, one by one.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Fye, but there’s been a complication.”
“Are they all right?” Nathaniel said.
“Frances is fine. She lost a lot of blood and needs to rest.”
“And the baby?”
“It’s a boy, but I’m sorry, Mr. Fye, he isn’t going to make it.”
“Isn’t going to make it?”
“He won’t live for more than a few hours. He weighs only a couple of pounds and, well, he was born with severe abnormalities.”
“Abnormalities?”
He spoke in one note, methodical, like reading from a textbook. “An oversized head, which usually indicates excess fluid, and clubfeet. We don’t know what his insides look like; we only know from the past that these kinds of babies don’t live longer than a couple of hours.”
“But why? I mean, how?”
“It’s just something that happens. We don’t understand it. A freak of nature, so to speak.”
A freak of nature? On the wall behind the doctor’s head was a painting of Jesus on the cross. “May I see him?” That was all. He wanted to see him. To hold him, no matter the outcome.
“We don’t recommend it.” The doctor moved a medical journal from
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