Miss Julia Rocks the Cradle by Ann B. Ross

that when babies come on they own like this, they don’t have no problems.”
    Lillian worked around Hazel Marie, humming softly to calm her, then said, “One more, little mama, an’ we have us a baby.”
    “Ah-h-h,” Hazel Marie said, her neck extended and her hands scrabbling on the plastic beneath her. With a sudden gush, a tiny, wet baby slid out onto the warm blanket that I’d put in place. I thought I’d faint dead away.
    “Gimme something!” Lillian said, then took the hem of her robe and wiped the baby’s face. She held it up by its heels and gently patted its back until it emitted a quavery cry.
    Hazel Marie lifted her head. “Is it here? Is it all right? Let me see, let me see.”
    “We gonna give her to you. Jus’ wait a minute—this fine girl gonna have her mama in a minute. Law me, jus’ look at that head of hair.”
    I took a look and was amazed at the thatch of black hair on that infant’s head. Was that normal? I didn’t know, but one thing was for sure: Mr. Pickens had made his mark.
    “Miss Julia,” Lillian said, turning to me, “we need us some string and some scissors, quick as you can.”
    String and scissors, string and scissors. I ran to the kitchen, my bare feet slapping on the floor. My mind was going ninety miles an hour while my heart fluttered in my chest as I tried to think what I could find. “Scissors, scissors,” I said to myself, pulling open a drawer.
    I grabbed Lillian’s kitchen shears, then stopped. String? What kind of string? Sewing thread? My sewing box was upstairs, and the rough twine in the pantry wouldn’t do.
    Lloyd’s shoelaces! There they were on the counter, still in their wrapper. I snatched them up and ran back to the living room, the wet hem of my gown flopping around my ankles.
    “Perfect!” Etta Mae said, as I handed them to her. She knelt down, tore off the wrapper, then looked at Lillian. “What do I do with it?”
    “Tie it on real tight here and here,” Lillian said, pointing, but I didn’t look to see where.
    “Now cut it right about here,” Lillian said, guiding the kitchen shears, as Etta Mae did the snipping. Lillian whispered a few more words of instruction, then she wrapped the baby in the warm blanket and laid it in Hazel Marie’s arms.
    There is nothing in this world more beautiful than a mother’s face as she holds her newborn. I could’ve cried, as she was doing, with relief, until I remembered that we had another one to go. Or rather, to come.

Chapter 12

    By this time I was shaking all over, my hands trembling and my heart racing. Yet a swelling relief flooded my soul—we’d delivered a baby with no trouble at all. I sank down in a chair, unable to stand a minute longer. You’d think I’d had that baby myself.
    Lillian and Etta Mae were sitting back on the floor, resting as Hazel Marie crooned to her new little girl.
    “What’re we waiting for?” I asked. “Can’t we do something and get this over with? Or maybe,” I went on brightly, “it’ll wait till some help gets here.”
    “No’m,” Lillian said with her hand on Hazel Marie, “’less they comin’ in the door right now, ’cause she crankin’ up again.”
    And she was, her face getting that intense look on it and a low moan coming from her throat.
    “Miss Julia,” Lillian said as she hunched over Hazel Marie’s nether parts, “take that baby an’ hold it while this one’s a-comin’.”
    Never in my life had I held a newborn and I didn’t know how to hold it or what to do with it. But Hazel Marie was now concentrating on the next one, so I had to take up the little bundle whether I knew what I was doing or not.
    Easing stiffly onto a chair, I cradled the baby in my arms, so fearful of doing some irreparable damage that would maim it for life. I could feel it move inside the blanket, although there was more blanket than baby, and I was afraid the baby would slide right out of my arms. Then it starting mewling, sounding like a kitten. “Is