October 23, 1945
Each morning when Fran walked outside, the hills around the center were even more beautiful with the red oaks and golden maples clinging to their leaves amid the pines. Sometimes the air was so crisp and fresh, she knew if she were to walk up to the top of the hill she could see forever.
Other times fog sat heavy in the hollows and she could barely see Bella out by the fence, waiting to be milked. She didn’t know how anybody could find their way on the mountains then, but whenever that familiar halloo called them out in the early morning fog, the one who came to fetch them never strayed off trail.
Late in October, they made their way to Mrs. Wyatt’s confinement over on Robin’s Branch with fog rising up around them before the sun came over the horizon. At the Wyatt house, Betty stood back to let Fran care for Mrs. Wyatt. Said she’d be on her own soon after she took her exam in a few days. Betty had already made arrangements to go to New York for an extended visit.
When Fran asked what would happen if she didn’t pass the exam, Betty waved away her concerns. “You’ll do fine. You better, because I’m going home for a while. Maybe till the New Year. Been a while since I’ve been home for Christmas.” Betty peered at Fran. “But that means you’ll have to stay here. Becca Hayden could have a Christmas baby.”
Fran’s mother might not be happy about that, but Christmas in the mountains didn’t sound bad at all. She did want to be here to help Becca’s baby come into the world. Besides, nothing was the way it had been last year. Her mother had moved on with her life with her new husband. Fran had moved on too.
She rarely thought about home and the life she had once hoped to have, except when her mother’s letters came in the mail. Her mother refused to believe Fran could be happy in the mountains and always mentioned Seth and how he had yet to marry his English girl. The woman was still in America considering his proposal, but as Fran’s mother underlined in her last letter, they had not found a preacher to say the words.
Fran faithfully answered the letters without mentioning Seth or his English bride-to-be. She told her mother about the fall colors, the crisp apples their neighbors gave them, the stack cake Jeralene’s mother made with caramel icing, and the babies she caught. With each baby, Fran felt more blessed to be using her hands in such a way. Perhaps it had all been the Lord’s plan anyway. That would be what Grandma Howard would say.
She took over care for Woody after he came home from the hospital. The boy endured the healing process with impatient good humor. He didn’t seem at all angry about getting shot. Things happen, he said. The sheriff must have agreed with him, since he decided it had to be an accidental shot. Only Ben seemed unable to accept that.
Not that he talked to Fran about what he thought, but she noted he generally had a gun with him on the rare occasions she did see him. He was busy, Becca told her. Getting ready for winter and without Woody to help, he had to work twice as hard. Fran didn’t doubt that was true, but at the same time, it was plain Ben Locke was taking pains to avoid her.
That was surely for the best. While she couldn’t deny how her eyes sought him out every time she climbed the hill to the Locke house, some things were better nipped in the bud. Everybody would tell her that was so if she were to ask them. Betty. Her mother, whether she knew Ben or not. Even Ben’s mother, who did know Fran.
Ben’s mother and sister welcomed her into their house as a nurse. That was what Betty kept telling her. Only as a nurse-midwife.
That was good. That was what she wanted to be. She had time to think about the future as she sat with Mrs. Wyatt through the long morning, waiting for the baby. It was Mrs. Wyatt’s third child, but Fran worried about how big she was this time. She had suggested Mrs. Wyatt go to the hospital for the birth, but the mother didn’t want to be away from her children. Then Betty, who had delivered Mrs. Wyatt’s other babies with no problems, agreed that a home birth would be fine. So there was nothing for it except to wait for the woman’s labor to advance and hope for another easy delivery.
Mrs. Wyatt’s mother rocked back and forth in front of the fire, and each time her daughter groaned, she gripped the chair arms a little harder. A neighbor came after the other children, a girl of five who kept looking back at her mother as she went out the door and a toddler boy barely walking. The grandmother had food on the table with a white cotton cloth spread over it. Apples and winter squash. Cornbread and butter. Biscuits and sorghum. She told them to grab something to eat if they felt a hunger pang, since nobody knew when the baby would decide to make an entrance. The grandmother hoped it would be soon.
So did Fran. The water was hot and Fran had her instruments ready. She was relieved no chickens had the run of the house the way they did in some of the cabins. It didn’t seem right to have to shoo hens away from her instruments, but as Betty said, the mountain folk could make pets of anything. Even groundhogs.
This house was fairly calm with the father keeping his post on the front porch with his hound dogs. Nobody seemed to mind about Sarge trailing along with Fran and opened the door to him the same as to her and Betty. Even now, Sarge was settled out of the way in the far corner, eating the biscuit the grandmother had pitched his way.
At noon the woman’s contractions got stronger fast. But the baby wasn’t coming. Fran checked Mrs. Wyatt’s pulse and blood pressure. High but not unreasonable with the pain. Then she listened to the baby’s heartbeat and position.
Fran looked over at Betty, who had been the last to visit Mrs. Wyatt. She kept her voice low. “Two heartbeats.”
“Are you sure?” Betty took the stethoscope and listened. “Guess one of these little fellows has been hiding out for a while.”
“Twins. I knowed it.” The grandmother was up from her chair, peering at Fran and Betty. “Is they fighting over who comes out first? If that’s so, them rascals’ll never get along. Be like Jacob and Esau in the Bible.”
Fran hoped they would have the chance to squabble with one another. That would mean they both made it out into the world as healthy babies.
“Twins?” Mrs. Wyatt breathed out the word before another contraction grabbed her.
Fran held her legs to give her some support until the pain passed. “Looks like you’re going to be blessed with two babies.” She kept her voice cheerful. No need worrying the mother about possible complications that might have been better handled at the hospital.
“I can’t have two babies at once.” Tears slid out of the woman’s eyes and down her cheeks. “I can’t.”
The grandmother stepped over to her daughter. “Now, you stop carrying on like that right now, Delora. If’n the Lord gives you two young’uns, he’ll supply you the ability to take care of them.”
“But I’m jest so tired, Ma. I don’t think I can.” She grimaced and grabbed her mother’s hand as another pain began.
“Whatever you have to do, you can.” The grandmother held her hand and leaned down close to the woman. “I give you my strength right here, right now.”
“Your mother’s right, Mrs. Wyatt. You’re doing fine.” Betty stepped up beside her too. “Think about your breathing to help the pain. You can do this. In and out.” Betty glanced down at Fran. “Do we need to call in help to take her to the hospital?”
“I don’t think we have time.” Fran ducked under the sheet draped across Mrs. Wyatt’s legs. Very gently she pushed on the woman’s belly to see if she could move one baby back. The first baby’s head was crowning already. At least it wasn’t a breech birth.
Fran kept her eyes open as she silently prayed. Lord, help my hands to safely guide this babe and the next one too through the rigors of birth, and give this mother strength and these babies love.
Betty was still telling the mother to breathe and Fran realized she had been holding her breath along with the mother. She pulled in a deep breath and let it out. The first baby’s head emerged along with a foot. Not his foot. Fran gently pushed it back and shifted the baby’s shoulders a bit to let him slide on out. Not him at all.
“You have a sweet girl,” Fran told Mrs. Wyatt as she wiped out the baby’s mouth. The baby’s first warbling cry was a joy to hear. She clipped the cord and handed the baby to Betty.
“Where’s the other one?” the grandmother asked. “Or was you wrong about that?”
“Patience,” Betty said. “Give her time.”
“Patience. I’ll call her that.” The mother raised her head to look toward the baby girl.
“Don’t be worryin’ over names.” The grandmother shook the mother’s hand a little. “You got more birthing to do.”
A few tense seconds went by. The mother was so exhausted that Fran wasn’t sure she could push out the second baby, but she should have known better. Birthing takes over a woman’s body and doesn’t turn it loose until it’s done.
A new contraction seized the mother and then she was pushing. Feet showed up first and then seemed to stall. Fran carefully slid her hand inside the birth canal to ease the baby’s arms into a better birthing position. She guided the baby out as quickly as possible.
“A boy.” Fran cleaned his mouth and patted his back. The first baby was still wailing, but this little fellow was silent with his skin looking blue. “Breathe, baby, breathe.” Fran barely whispered the words as she massaged the baby’s chest and then shifted him in her hands and thumped his back again with a bit more pressure. In desperation, she blew into the baby’s face, as if she could give him her own breath.
Joy flooded through her as the baby’s mouth opened and his chest moved. The newborn cry from his trembling lips was the sweetest sound. She closed her eyes for an instant as a thankful prayer rose up inside her.
“He’s breathing.” She wanted to laugh and dance around the room with the crying baby. But instead she handed him off to Betty, who was smiling almost as much as Fran. The mother had fallen back against the pillow with a cry of relief, and the grandmother clapped her hands together, looked up at the ceiling, and praised the Lord.
Later after the mother was settled with the babies, the father fetched home the other children. The oldest stared at the two babies with wide eyes. Then she turned to her little brother. “See, this is why them nurses have saddlebags. To bring the babies.”
On the way back to the center, Betty waited until they were able to ride side by side in one of the creeks before she said, “You handled that well, Fran. We could have lost that baby boy. Might not have been a big tragedy.” Betty looked over at Fran. “Not that I wanted that to happen. I never want to lose a baby, but that poor woman has more than she can handle.”
“Her mother will help her.”
“And the older sister. They learn early to step up to chores here in the mountains, but even with these double babies, we’ll be back up there with Mrs. Wyatt with more babies on the way before many months go by. These mountain people are fertile.”
“You make them sound like a field.” Fran frowned.
“Fertile simply means capable of producing a fruitful crop, and Mrs. Wyatt is well on the way to that.” Betty sounded matter-of-fact. “She has no issue with fecundity. That seems to be a mountain trait.”
“Do they never think about limiting pregnancies? There are methods of birth control.”
“That we are not allowed to offer to them. Mrs. B says how many children to have is not a decision we can make for them. If they ask about prevention, we can advise. Otherwise, we are simply there to help the mothers through the birthing experience and to make sure the baby gets the best start possible under the conditions.”
“We didn’t help her by missing that she was carrying twins.”
“Unusual that we missed that, but it happens.” Betty let Moses stop in the creek and take a long drink. Sarge sat down to wait.
When they started moving again, Betty gave a warning. “You won’t be able to save them all, Fran. You have to accept that. Even with a million prayers, some babies don’t take that first breath.”
“I’m thankful this one did.”
“As am I, but there will come a time when the outcome may be different. Keep that in mind.”