Morning Glory

doesn’t get chilled.'

'I know, I know!' he replied impatiently, wishing she wouldn’t talk about it. He’d read the birth attendant’s instructions until he could recite them verbatim. It was the very images they conjured that rattled him.

Quietly she said, 'Now walk with me.'

'Walk?'

'It’ll bring it on faster.'

If he could choose, he’d postpone it indefinitely. The thought brought a spear of guilt for her plight, and he did as bid. He had never felt as protective as during the following two hours while they strolled the length of the small rooms, back and forth, stopping only for each new contraction. She was intrepid; to be less himself would have made him a burden rather than a support. So he held her hand in the crook of his arm and accompanied her as if they were out for a sojourn on the town green at the height of the season. He teased when she needed brightening. And soothed when she needed support. And talked when she needed talking. And learned what a pledget was when he saw a stack of carefully formed rectangular cotton pads bound in gauze.

At half past two the boys woke up and he dressed them in their warm jackets and sent them out to play, hoping fervently they’d stay out till sunrise.

Shortly past three Elly announced quietly, 'I think I’d like to lay down now. Bring the tug straps, dear.' In the bedroom, with a sigh she rolled onto the clean white sheet and ordered, 'Tie them to the footrail as far apart as my knees.'

His stomach lurched, his salivary glands seemed to kick into overtime and his hands felt clumsy. When the leather straps were knotted, leaving ample leads and loops for her legs, they appeared like trappings in a medieval torture chamber. He found them hideous as he waited for her next contraction. When it hit, it seemed to hit them both. With acute shock, Will felt the sympathetic pain rip through his groin and down his thighs just as it did down Elly’s. It was a hard one, and long, lasting nearly a minute, markedly advanced from those before.

When it ended, she rested, panting, then whispered, 'Wash your hands again, Will, and trim your nails. It won’t be long now.'

Trim his nails? This time he didn’t ask why. He feared he knew. In case trouble developed and he had to help from the inside.

He scrubbed his knuckles until they stung, and snipped his nails to the quick with the sterilized scissor, fighting down panic. Oh God, why hadn’t he gone against her wishes and driven into town for the doctor the minute she’d had her first pain? What if the cord was wrapped around the baby’s neck? What if Elly hemorrhaged? What if the boys came in in the middle of it?

As if his very thought conjured them, the pair clattered into the kitchen, calling for their mother.

Will went out to waylay them, soiling his sterilized hands as he stopped Donald Wade and Thomas with a hand on each chest as they charged for the closed bedroom door.

'Hold up there, buckaroos!' He went down on one knee and gathered them close.

'We got to show Mama somethin’!' Donald Wade held a bird’s nest.

'Your mama’s resting.'

'But, look what we found!' Donald Wade strained toward the door but Will tightened his arm.

'You remember when your mama told you about how that baby was gonna come out someday in the basket?' They stopped struggling and gazed at Will with innocent curiosity. 'Well, the baby’s gonna be born pretty soon, and your mother’s not gonna feel so good while it’s happening, but the same was true when you guys were born, so don’t be scared, okay?' He gently squeezed their necks. 'Now, I want you to be good boys. Donald Wade, you get some cookies and take your brother outside, and don’t come back in till I call you, all right?'

'But-'

'Now listen, I ain’t got time to argue, ’cause your mama needs me. But if you do like I say I’ll take you to the movie house one day soon. Deal?' Donald Wade vacillated, glancing from Will toward the bedroom door.

'To Hopalong Cassidy?'

'You bet. Go on now,' Will gave them each a little shove toward the kitchen and the cookie jar. As soon as they were safely outside, he rescrubbed his hands, jogged back to the bedroom, closed the door with his boot and pushed it tight with a shoulder.

'The boys-I bribed them with a trip to the movie house and sent them outside with a handful of cookies. How’re you?' He moved to the side of the bed and sat on the hard wooden chair.

'I hurt.' She chuckled and cradled her stomach.

He reached as if to brush Elly’s brow.

'Don’t touch me, Will. You mustn’t.'

Reluctantly he withdrew his cleansed hand to sit in misery, waiting, feeling useless.

The next pain lifted her midsection off the mattress and brought Will from his chair to lean over her, watching her face contort as her knees parted and she reached up to grip the iron rails above her head. When she held her breath, he held his. When she grimaced, he grimaced. When she bared her teeth, he bared his. The sixty seconds during her contraction felt longer than his stint in prison.

At its end, she opened her dazed eyes and rolled her head to look at him. 'It’s t-time, W-Will,' she managed. 'Wash me with alcohol n-now, and h-help me find the t-tugs.'

His hands trembled as he moved to the foot of the bed, folded back her nightgown and stared. Oh, Lord. Lord o’ mercy, how she must hurt. She was swollen, distended, distorted beyond anything he’d imagined. He could actually see the bulge caused by the baby’s head just above the apex of her legs. Her genitals appeared inflamed, as if bee-stung, and they were seeping, staining the bedclothes a dim pink. He gulped, but came from his stupor when she reared up and a great gush of transparent fluid flowed from her body, wetting a wide circle on the sheet. The sight of it galvanized him into action. He knew what it was, knew it meant the baby was pressing low, preparing for its arrival into the world.

Suddenly his purpose here became crystal clear, and as it dawned all Will’s fears disappeared. His stomach grew calm. His hands grew steady. The jitters fled, chased away by the realization that he was needed by both the baby and its mother. But they needed him competent.

With a pad of cotton he generously swabbed her stomach, thighs and genitals with alcohol. It stung his own fingers where he’d broken the cuticles with the scrub brush, but he scarcely noticed. For good measure, he swabbed the tug straps before gently lifting her heels and slipping the leather loops snug behind her knees. Then he placed an additional clean folded flannel sheet beneath her.

'W-W-Will,' she panted as another contraction began.

'Yes, love,' he answered quietly, but stood at his post, eyes riveted on her constricting belly, watching it slowly begin to arch, watching her dilation grow with the pain.

'W-W-Wiiiiill!' It tore from her as a rasping cry while the contraction built and peaked. He placed his palms beneath her thighs and helped her through it, feeling her muscles tighten as she lifted. Only when she relaxed did he raise his eyes to her face. Beads of sweat stood on her brow. The fine strands of hair at her hairline were damp and darkened to the color of aged cornsilk. Her lips looked dry and cracked. She wet them with her tongue while he thought of the jar of Vaseline he dared not touch. Before her lips had dried, another pain arrived and with it the sight of the baby’s dark scalp.

'I see her!' Will cried. 'Come on, darlin’, once more and she’ll be here!'

He waited with his hands spread in welcome, chancing not so much as a glance away from the dark hair now clearly visible. Elly’s womb arched, her legs tightened on the straps, her hands on the iron rails. A ragged scream rent the air and Will learned what perineum meant as he watched Elly’s tear. But he had no time to dwell on it, for at the same moment the baby’s head slipped through-facing backward, as promised, facedown and slippery in his waiting hands. Then, as if by some miracle, it turned to the side, following the normal course of events, and he cradled it on his palm, tiny and sleek and red.

'Her head is out, darlin’. Oh, God, she has dark eyebrows.' The distorted face was frighteningly dark and marked from the rigors of birth, but the warning in the book stood Will in good stead as he told himself it was to be expected; the child would not choke from the perineum drawn tightly about its neck. Don’t panic! Don’t try to pull her out!'Easy there, now, little one,' he murmured to the baby. 'I got to clean your mouth out.' As if Nature knew exactly what she was doing, she allowed just enough time for Elly to rest and for Will to run his finger into the baby’s mouth and clear it before Elly bore down and the baby’s lower shoulder appeared, followed by the upper, then, in one grand release, the full birth happened. Into Will’s waiting hands spilled a creature with a