books he had memorized, he could not remember what he was supposed to do.
“But it’s supposed to be three days yet—” he said stupidly.
“Well, it isn’t,” said Merry. “It’s now. Come, help me up on my feet. I’ve got to walk as much as possible.”
CHAPTER 34
In the inner room, only two of the car interior lights were lit. The other two, headlamps and floodlight on the tripod over the birthing stool, were still dark. There was no fire in the fireplace, and to Jeebee the air seemed cool after being in the smithy. But by the light of the lamps Merry’s face and arms gleamed with a sheen of perspiration.
“I’ve had the enema,” she said, “about half an hour ago. I’m all cleaned out and ready. I’ve been resting a bit, but help me up now. As I say, I’ve got to walk.”
He moved to her automatically, but his mind was still adjusting to the fact that the baby had decided to put in an appearance three days ahead of schedule. He was grateful to Merry for being able to think for both of them in this first moment—for him of disbelief that the moment had actually arrived.
He took her hands and assisted her up off the bed. She could, he knew, have made it to her feet herself, but from here on she should save her strength as much as possible. The walking was good and necessary for her. Standing up from the bed was an unnecessary waste of strength.
She began to walk. “I’ve been having contractions for a while now,” she said. “They were about eight minutes apart to start. Lasting about a minute.”
Jeebee turned to a pad and pencil he had laid ready on a wall shelf, the pencil from his backpack, the pad made of paper scavenged from the ranch. He made a note of the time.
“How fast are they now?” he said with the pencil still in his hand. He looked at the faithful old watch with its hundred-year battery, still on his now sun-browned right wrist.
“Time them,” she answered, “Now. And… now!”
“Six minutes, fourteen seconds,” said Jeebee, looking up from the watch. “How long did you wait before calling me?”
“Not long. Calm down,” said Merry.
Jeebee made himself take a deep breath, “I’m calm—calmer,” he said, “I think.”
“Good,” said Merry. The ending of the word was a little tight between her teeth as a contraction hit her.
“Is there anything at all I can do?”
“You can walk along with me,” said Merry. “I’m a little clumsy.”
Jeebee walked with her.
For the next six hours Merry walked, and intermittently rested, sitting on the side of the bed. Jeebee checked for probably the twentieth time that he had triple sheets below her. Triple sheets with a plastic tarp between each. And he checked both bed and birthing area for cleanliness again. Everything seemed to be the way it should be. Above the birthing stool was the tripod with the crossbar that Merry would be able to hold to during the actual birth.
Her contractions gradually increased, and although she continued to walk, with only short rests, Jeebee himself became worried that she was spending too much of her strength this way. After six hours she gave in to his suggestions and agreed to sit on the edge of the bed for a good fifteen minutes.
The contractions had speeded up now. They were coming more often and lasting longer. They had both thoroughly absorbed the idea that a first birth would be slow, but secretly Jeebee had expected things to happen faster than this. He made an effort of will to put a damper on his imagination, which was threatening to envision all sorts of complications. He reminded himself that now was far too early to start imagining that sort of trouble.
“Sit down, yourself,” said Merry from the bed. “You’ve been on your feet as much as I have.”
“I don’t have a baby inside me fighting to get out,” Jeebee grumbled, still standing in front of her. “Besides we’ve got to keep that bed and stool area sterile.”
But he sat down on the floor at her feet, anyway, crossing his legs and telling himself that she had enough to deal with herself, she did not need to put up with his nervousness.
After a while she got up and walked again, for a little while, and then sat down once more. The contractions were now down to four or five minutes apart and stronger. Jeebee made a note of it while she was resting and before he sat down again himself.
The truth of the matter was he did not really feel like sitting down. The walking was nothing. He was used to walking all day on snowshoes or in his boots if necessary. But with the tension added on, he found a moment of sitting down was welcome, even for him, and certainly it masked his concern for her. He strove to exhibit the same matter-of-fact way in which she seemed to be taking matters.
It’s being helpless, not being able to do anything, he told himself. Men aren’t built to be helpless. Of course, women aren’t either. No creature is.
His concentration on her was so exclusive that he was not aware of the rest of the room. He was standing over her about 5:00 p.m., as she was sitting on the edge of the bed again, and without warning a wedge-shaped, furry head suddenly pushed past his left leg, plunging its nose toward the very center of everybody’s attention.
Wolf had appeared, and evidently Jeebee had failed to latch the inner door. In any case, Wolf had now slipped in without either Jeebee or Merry noticing it. Once inside it was inevitable that, with the active curiosity he had always shown, and that the books had told Jeebee was a prime characteristic of wolf behavior, he had tried to get in on the act.
“Wolf—” Jeebee shouted—and at that moment Merry’s water broke.
The short single shiftlike garment she had made to wear during the birth process was up above her knees. Her amniotic fluid stained the sheet and some even splashed onto Wolf’s intruding face. He disappeared like a flash of lightning, jerking backward out of Jeebee’s sight.
“Are you all right—” Jeebee began to Merry.
“Yes, I’m all right!” said Merry. “You might get me something to clean up a little with—and get Wolf out!”
Jeebee reached to the foot of the bed where he had piled a number of freshly laundered and boiled small pieces of cloth somewhere in size between a washcloth and a towel. He handed one to Merry and, now having a second to spare, glanced over his shoulder. Wolf was clear across the cave, as far as the small dimensions of the cave would let him be, down on the floor licking at his paws and using the dampened paws to scrub at his face, washing it like a cat.
“Get out of here!” said Jeebee. He remembered that a better way of talking to Wolf was, in effect, in Wolf’s own language, essentially. He snarled at the other. And the snarl was possibly one of his best efforts.
Wolf stopped washing his face and looked up. Merry snarled, too, and there was no doubt about the meaning behind Merry’s snarl.
Wolf got to his feet. After they had first met, it had taken Jeebee a few weeks to appreciate how expressive a wolf’s face and body could be. Now, Jeebee read absolute outrage in them. Wolf got to his feet and literally stamped toward the door, looking back over his shoulder with a snort and a facial expression that clearly said, “
He made a stiff-legged exit through the partially opened door into the lower room beyond. Jeebee turned back to Merry.
“Are you really all right?” Jeebee asked. “I could shut the door, but it’ll get awfully stuffy in here.”
“No,” said Merry, handing him back the cloth with which she had been cleaning herself. Jeebee threw it out past the tripod on to the open floor by the fireplace. There would be time to pick it up later. “He won’t bother me again.”
“No. He won’t!” Jeebee said, with feelings that had not reached that particular depth of sincerity since he had climbed up out of the root cellar where he had found canned food, and seen Wolf waiting, possibly with the intention of trying to take the food from him. He had been ready to kill Wolf then if he had to, and he found he was feeling almost as strongly about the other now. Undoubtedly, the moment and feeling would pass, but right now
