The baby gushed out into Addie’s waiting hands. Fern fell back against the pillows, her eyes rolling. Addie noted it was a girl, and laid the baby down on the sheet. She quickly ripped the hem of her dress and tied the umbilical cord.

“It’s a girl, Fernie. A baby girl!” So announced, the child took a mighty breath and let out with a cry.

“A girl,” Fern sighed, trying to smile.

Addie ran to the kitchen for a knife, signaled to Harry who had just come in. “A girl, Harry.”

“A girl?” His face brightened. It was over, and they had a baby girl. Addie bustled back inside the bedroom, Harry following her. He was not prepared for the mess he saw. It made him sick to the stomach. He’d seen plenty of birthings—cattle, sheep, dogs and cats, but never so much blood. And this was from his wife!

Addie cut the cord, then lifted up the baby. “Look, Harry, a baby girl!”

They both looked, and Addie’s arms went limp. She almost dropped the child.

“Oh my God,” she breathed quietly.

“I knew it, I knew it. I knew it!” Harry’s voice shook with emotion, with grief.

“Addie? Harry? Give me my baby.” Fern leaned up weakly on an elbow, looking at their faces. Something was wrong. Oh, God, something was terribly wrong. “What is it?”

The two stood there, looking at the child crying and waving its little arms and legs. They looked at each other, then at Fern. Addie’s face was a mask of misery and pity; Harry’s had that strange grimace of distaste drawing his lips away from his teeth. “Oh, God, what’s wrong?”

7

CHAPTER 7

Doctor Withins knocked on the screen door, startling Martha out of a television-induced drowse.

She scrambled to her feet quickly as the doctor came in, smoothed down her housedress, and patted at her hair.

“Hello, Martha!” The doctor was a big burly man, a country doctor, with a wide-open face and big bear hugs for all his patients. Everyone in the community knew and relied on Doctor Withins; he was even known to help a horse or a cow in trouble. Martha was a regular on his list; he stopped by periodically to give her a checkup and make sure she was all right. “It’s that time again.”

“That time,” Martha repeated, delighted. She’d always loved Doctor Withins.

“How are you feeling?”

“Good!” Martha’s eyes lit up. “Baking bread for Mr. McRae, got television, making friends.”

“Well! Isn’t that nice. Come sit down here, loosen the buttons on your dress.” He set his black bag on the table and withdrew a stethoscope. “Friends, huh? So you’re getting out a little more?”

“Went shopping.”

“That’s good. Take a deep breath. Good. Another one. Okay, now cough. Again. Again. Good. How are your feet?”

Martha held up her swollen ankle. “Hurts.”