The River Girl's Christmas (Texas Women of Spirit Book 4) Page 9
“It’s been a wonderful Christmas,” Zillia said to Soonie, as she wrapped Margo in a shawl for the ride home.
“Yes,” Soonie sighed. “Maybe someday you can come and see us, in Oklahoma.”
“You never know what God will put in our path,” said Zillia. “But for tonight, I’m going to hold on to right now. I can’t imagine a more beautiful time.”
Out they went, to the wagons, with the Christmas stars lighting the way home.
THE END
About the Author
Angela Castillo has lived in Bastrop, Texas, home of the
River Girl, almost her entire life. She studied Practical Theology
at Christ for the Nations in Dallas. She lives in Bastrop with her husband and three children. Angela has written several short
stories and books, including the Toby the Trilby series for kids.
to find out more about her writing, go to http://angelacastillowrites.weebly.com
Excerpt From
The River Girl’s Song
Texas Women of Spirit
Book 1, Available on Amazon in paperback, Kindle and audio.
http://www.amazon.com/The-River-Girls-Song-Spirit-ebook/dp/B00X32KBL0/ref=pd_rhf_gw_p_img_1?ie=UTF8&refRID=18DCQ0M4FSR2VYKTRJ15
1
Scarlet Sunset
“We need to sharpen these knives again.” Zillia examined her potato in the light from the window. Peeling took so long with a dull blade, and Mama had been extra fond of mash this month.
Mama poured cream up to the churn’s fill line and slid the top over the dasher. “Yes, so many things to do! And we’ll be even busier in a few weeks.” She began to churn the butter, her arms stretched out to avoid her swollen belly. “Don’t fret. Everything will settle into place.”
“Tell that to Jeb when he comes in, hollering for his dinner,” muttered Zillia. The potato turned into tiny bits beneath her knife.
“Don’t be disrespectful.” Though Mama spoke sharply, her mouth quirked up into a smile. She leaned over to examine Zillia’s work. “Watch your fingers.”
“Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.” Zillia scooped the potato bits into the kettle and pulled another one out of the bag. Her long, slender fingers already bore several scars reaped by impatience.
“Ooh, someone’s kicking pretty hard today.” Mama rubbed her stomach.
Zillia looked away. When Papa was alive, she would have given anything for a little brother or sister. In the good times, the farm had prospered and she chose new shoes from a catalogue every year. Ice was delivered in the summer and firewood came in two loads at the beginning of winter. Back then, Mama could have hired a maid to help out when the little one came.
She and Mama spent most of their time working together, and they discussed everything. But she didn’t dare talk about those days. Mama always cried.
“I might need you to finish this.” Mama stopped for a moment and wiped her face with her muslin apron. “I’m feeling a little dizzy.”
“Why don’t you sit down and I’ll make you some tea?” Zillia put down her knife and went to wash her hands in the basin.
Water, streaked with red, gushed from beneath Mama’s petticoats. She gasped, stepped back and stared at the growing puddle on the floor. “Oh dear. I’m guessing it’s time.”
“Are you sure? Dr. Madison said you had weeks to go.” Zillia had helped with plenty of births on the farm, but only for animals. From what she’d gathered, human babies brought far more fuss and trouble. She shook the water off her hands and went to her mother’s side.
Mama sagged against Zillia’s shoulder, almost throwing her off balance. She moaned and trembled. The wide eyes staring into Zillia’s did not seem like they could belong to the prim, calm woman who wore a lace collar at all times, even while milking the goats.
Zillia steadied herself with one hand on the kitchen table. “We need to get you to a comfortable place. Does it hurt terribly?”
Mama’s face relaxed and she stood a little straighter. “Sixteen years have passed since I went through this with you, but I remember.” She wiped her eyes. “We have a while to go, don’t be frightened. Just go tell your stepfather to fetch the doctor.”
Zillia frowned, the way she always did when anyone referred to the man her mother married as her stepfather. Jeb had not been her choice, and was no kin to her. “Let me help you into bed first.”
They moved in slow, shaky steps through the kitchen and into Mama’s bedroom. Zillia hoped Mama couldn’t feel her frenzied heartbeat. I have no right to be afraid; it’s not me who has to bring an entire baby into this world.
Red stains crept up the calico hem of Mama’s skirts as they dragged on the floor.
A sourness rose in the back of Zillia’s throat. This can’t be right. “Is it supposed to be such a mess?”
“Oh yes.” Mama gave a weak chuckle. “And much more to come. Wait until you meet the new little one. It’s always worth the trouble.”
Mama grasped her arm when they reached the large bed, covered in a cheery blue and white quilt. “Before you go, help me get this dress off. Please?”
Zillia’s hands shook so much she could hardly unfasten the buttons. It seemed like hours before she was able to get all forty undone, from Mama’s lower back to the nape of her neck. She peeled the dress off the quivering shoulders, undoing the stays and laces until only the thin lace slip was left.
Another spasm ran through Mama’s body. She hunched over and took several deep breaths. After a moment, she collected herself and stumbled out of the pile of clothing.
When Zillia gathered the dress to the side, she found a larger pool of blood under the cloth. Thin streams ran across the wood to meet the sunlight waning through the window panes. “There’s so much blood, Mama, how can we make it stop?”
“Nothing can stop a baby coming. We just have to do the best we can and pray God will see us through.” “I know, Mama, but can’t you see . . . I don’t know what to do.” Zillia rubbed her temples and stepped back.
Mama’s mouth was drawn and she stared past Zillia, like she wasn’t there.
Mama won’t want the bed ruined. Zillia pulled the quilt off the feather tick and set it aside. A stack of cloths were stored beneath the wash basin in preparation for this day. She spread them out over the mattress and helped her mother roll onto the bed.
Thin blue veins stood out on Mama’s forehead. She squeezed her eyes shut. “Go out and find Jeb, like I told you. Then get some water boiling and come back in here as fast as you can.”
Zillia grabbed her sunbonnet and headed out the door. “God, please, please let him be close. And please make him listen to me,” she said aloud, like she usually prayed.
Parts of her doubted the Almighty God cared to read her thoughts, so she’d speak prayers when no one else could hear. At times she worried some busybody would find out and be scandalized by her lack of faith, but unless they could read thoughts, how would they know?
None of the urgency and fear enclosed in the house had seeped into the outside world. Serene pine trees, like teeth on a broken comb, lined the bluff leading to the Colorado River. Before her, stalks littered the freshly harvested cornfield, stretching into the distance. Chickens scattered as she rushed across the sun-baked earth, and goats bounded to the fence, sharp eyes watching for treats.
“Let Jeb be close!” she prayed again, clutching her sunbonnet strings in both fists. She hurried to the barn. Her mother’s husband had spent the last few days repairing the goat fence, since the little rascals always found ways to escape. But he’d wanted to check over the back field today.
Sounds of iron striking wood came from inside. She released the breath she’d been holding and stepped into the gloomy barn.
Jeb’s back was towards her, his shirt soaked through. Late summer afternoon. A terrible time for chores in Texas, and the worst time to be swollen with child, Mama said.
“Jeb, Mama says it’s time. Please go get the doctor.”
Zillia fought for a reply. She couldn’t go for the doctor herself; she’d never leave Mama alone.
Jeb reached for the axe.
“There’s blood all over the floor. She says it’s time, so it’s time.” Zillia tried to speak with authority, like Mama when she wanted to get a point across. “You need to go Jeb. Get going now.”
When it came to farm work, Jeb moved like molasses. But the slap came so fast Zillia had no time to duck or defend herself. She fell to the ground and held her face. Skin burned under her fingers. “Please, Jeb, please go for help!” she pleaded. Though he’d threatened her before, he’d never struck her.
“Shut up!” Jeb growled. “I’ll go where and when I wish. No girl’s gonna tell me what to do.” He moved away, and she heard the horse nicker as he entered the stable.
Wooden walls swirled around Zillia’s head. The anger and fear that coursed through her system overcame the pain and she pushed herself up and stood just in time to see Jeb riding down the road in the direction of the farm belonging to their closest neighbors, the Eckhart family.
They can get here faster than the doctor. First common sense thing the man’s done all day. “Please God,” she prayed again. “Please let Grandma Louise and Soonie be home.”
###
Blood, scarlet like the garnets on Mama’s first wedding ring, seemed to cover everything. The wooden floor slats. Linen sheets, brought in a trunk when their family came from Virginia. Zillia’s fingers, all white and stained with the same sticky blood, holding Mama’s as though they belonged to one hand.
The stench filled the room, sending invisible alarms to her brain. Throughout the birth, they had played in her head. This can’t be right. This can’t be right.
The little mite had given them quite a tug of war, every bit as difficult as the goats when they twinned. Finally he’d come, covered in slippery blood that also gushed around him.
Over in a cradle given to them by a woman from church, the baby waved tiny fists in the air. His lips opened and his entire face became his mouth, in a mighty scream for one so small. Zillia had cleared his mouth and nose to make sure he could breathe, wrapped him in a blanket, and gone back to her mother’s side.
Mama’s breaths came in ragged gasps. Her eyelids where closed but her eyes moved under the lids, as though she had the fever. Zillia pressed her mother’s hand up to her own forehead, mindless of the smear of red it would leave behind.
The burned sun shrank behind the line of trees. No fire or lantern had been lit to stave off the darkness, but Zillia was too weary to care. Her spirits sank as her grasp on Mama’s hand tightened.
At some point Mama’s screams had turned into little moans and sobs, and mutterings Zillia couldn’t understand. How long had it been since they’d spoken? The only clock in the house was on the kitchen mantle, but by the light Zillia figured an hour or more had passed since Jeb left. When the bloody tide had ebbed at last, Zillia wasn’t sure if the danger was over, or if her mother simply didn’t have more to bleed.
A knock came at the door. The sound she had waited and prayed for, what seemed like all her life. “Please come in.” The words came in hoarse sections, as though she had to remind herself how to speak.
The door squeaked open and cool evening air blew through the room, a blessed tinge of relief from the stifling heat.
“Zillia, are you in here?” A tall, tan girl stepped into the room, carrying a lantern. Her golden-brown eyes darted from the mess, to the bed, to the baby in the cradle. “Oh, Zillia, Jeb met Grandma and me in town and told us to come. I thought Mrs. Bowen had weeks to go, yet.” She set the light on the bedside table and rushed over to check the baby, her moccasins padding on the wooden floor.
“No doctor, Soonie?” Zillia croaked.
“Doctor Madison was delivering a baby across the river, and something’s holding up the ferry. We passed Jeb at the dock, that’s when he told us what was going on. The horses couldn’t move any faster. I thought Grandma was going to unhitch the mare and ride bareback to get here.”
In spite of the situation, Zillia’s face cracked into a smile at the thought of tiny, stout Grandma Louise galloping in from town.
An old woman stepped in behind Soonie. Though Grandma Louise wasn’t related to Zillia by blood, close friends called her ‘grandma’ anyway. She set down a bundle of blankets. A wrinkled hand went to her mouth while she surveyed the room, but when she caught Zillia’s eye she gave a capable smile. “I gathered everything I could find from around the house and pulled the pot from the fire so we could get this little one cleaned up.” She bustled over to the bedside. “Zillia, why don’t you go in the kitchen and fill a washtub with warm water?”
Though Zillia heard the words, she didn’t move. She might never stir again. For eternity she would stay in this place, willing her mother to keep breathing.
“Come on, girl.” Grandma Louise tugged her arm, then stopped when she saw the pile of stained sheets. Her faded blue eyes watered.
Zillia blinked. “Mama, we have help.” Maybe everything will be all right.
Grandma Louise had attended births for years before a doctor had come to Bastrop. She tried to pull Zillia’s hand away from her mother’s, but her fingers stuck.
Mama’s eyes fluttered. “Zillia, my sweet girl. Where is my baby? Is he all right?”
Soonie gathered the tiny bundle in her arms and brought him over. “He’s a pretty one, Mrs. Bowen. Ten fingers and toes, and looks healthy.”
A smile tugged at one corner of Mama’s pale lips. “He is pink and plump. Couldn’t wish for more.”
Grandma Louise came and touched Mama’s forehead. “We’re here now, Marjorie.”
Mama’s chest rose, and her exhaled breath rattled in her throat. Her eyes never left Zillia’s face. “You’ll do fine. Just fine. Don’t . . .” She gasped once more, and her eyes closed.
Zillia had to lean forward to catch the words.
“Don’t tell Jeb about the trunk.”
“Mama?” Zillia grabbed the hand once more, but the strength had already left her mother’s fingers. She tugged at her mother’s arm, but it dropped back, limp on the quilt.
A tear trickled down Grandma Louise’s wrinkled cheek. “Go on to the kitchen, Zillia. The baby should be nearer to the fire with this night air comin’ on. Soonie and I will clean up in here.”
“I don’t want to leave her,” Zillia protested. But one glance at her mother’s face and the world seemed to collapse around her, like the woodpile when she didn’t stack it right.
How could Mama slip away? A few hours ago they’d been laughing while the hens chased a grasshopper through the yard. They’d never spent a night apart and now Mama had left for another world all together. She pulled her hand back and stood to her feet. She blinked, wondering what had caused her to make such a motion.
Soonie held the baby out. His eyes, squinted shut from crying, opened for a moment and she caught a hint of blue. Blue like Mama’s.
Zillia took him in her arms. Her half-brother was heavier then he looked, and so warm. She tucked the cloth more tightly around him while he squirmed to get free. “I have to give him a bath.” Red fingerprints dotted the blanket. “I need to wash my hands.”
“Of course you do. Let’s go see if the water is heated and we’ll get you both cleaned up.” Tears brimmed in Soonie’s eyes and her lip trembled, but she picked the bundle of cloths that Grandma Louise had gathered and led the way into the kitchen, her smooth, black braid swinging to her waist as she walked.
Zillia cradled the baby in one arm, and her other ha
nd strayed to her tangled mess of hair that had started the day as a tidy bun with ringlets in the front. What would Mama say? She stopped short while Soonie checked the water and searched for a washtub. Mama will never say anything. Ever again.
The baby began to wail again, louder this time, and her gulping sobs fell down to meet his.
Zillia sank to the floor, where she and the baby cried together until the bath had been prepared.
As Soonie wrapped the clean baby in a fresh blanket, Jeb burst into the house. He leaned against the door. “The doctor’s on his way.” His eyes widened when he saw the baby. “That’s it, then? Boy or girl?”
“Boy.” Soonie rose to her feet. “Jeb, where have you been? I saw you send someone else across on the ferry.”
Jeb licked his lips and stared down at the floor. “Well, ah, I got word to the doctor. I felt a little thirsty, thought I’d celebrate. I mean, birthing is women’s work, right?”
The bedroom door creaked open, and Grandma Louise stepped into the kitchen. Strands of gray hair had escaped her simple arrangement. Her eyes sparked in a way Zillia had only witnessed a few times, and knew shouldn’t be taken lightly.
“Your thirst has cost you dearly, Jeb Bowen.” Grandma Louise’s Swedish accent grew heavier, as it always did with strong emotion. “While you drank the Devil’s brew, your wife bled out her last hours. You could have spared a moment to bid her farewell. After all, she died to bring your child into the world.”
Jeb stepped closer to Grandma Louise, and his lips twitched. Zillia knew he fought to hold back the spew of foul words she and her mother had been subjected to many times. Whether from shock or some distant respect for the elderly woman, he managed to keep silent while he pushed past Grandma Louise and into the bedroom.
Zillia stepped in behind him. Somehow, in the last quarter of an hour, Grandma Louise had managed to scrub away the worst of the blood and dispose of the stained sheets and petticoats. The blue quilt was smoothed over her mother’s body, almost to her chin. Her hands where folded over her chest, like she always held them in church during prayer.