In the spot where a nose should have been was a thin triangular membrane, thin enough to reveal a network of tiny blue veins under it. The membrane fluttered as the baby cried, and when she took a deep breath and gave her first real scream, it shattered, spraying blood-flecked fluid all over Fern’s face. It mixed with salty tears and sweat. She wiped it all from her face, then opened her dress and put the baby to her breast. She sucked hungrily, and Fern watched the jagged edges of membrane flap in and out as the baby nursed.

Addie was busy, cleaning up the afterbirth, seeing to Fern’s bleeding, changing sheets, doing everything she could to keep from having to face the mother. She took the soiled linen to the kitchen, handed the bundle to Harry, brewed two strong cups of tea, and without a word, returned to the bedroom, closing the door behind her. She pulled a chair to the bedside and helped Fern up to sip the tea.

In the aftermath of the birthing activity, she noticed how the wind had picked up; she could hear it roaring against the shutters. The room was cool, drying her perspiration.

“I’ll fetch Doc as soon as the storm breaks, Fern.”

Fern smiled at Addie, her pale face shining with the peace of motherhood.

“She looks strong and healthy enough,” Addie said.

“Martha.”

“Martha.”

Fern watched the baby’s face; Addie looked at the floor.

“There’s doctors, Fern, that can work miracles on things like that.”

“She’ll be fine.”

“Yes, I know.”

“How’s Harry?”

“He’s getting drunk.”

Fern closed her eyes. “Good.”

“You sleep now. I’ll go talk to Harry. Be real careful not to get any lint in her . . . in Martha’s nose, okay?”

“Okay.”

Addie went to the door. She took one look back at the mother and child together on the bed. Asleep. It was a beautiful scene, if one did not look too closely. Addie’s heart skipped a beat. She closed the door gently behind her.

Addie pulled a glass from the cupboard and sat next to Harry at the kitchen table. She poured herself a healthy shot of whiskey and sipped. He looked at her with red-lined eyes.

“They’re sleeping.”

“Fern and the monster.”

“Not a monster, Harry, your daughter. Martha. Listen, there’s doctors . . .”