The room smelled of sickness and blood and sorrow. The doctors said I could hold the babies for as long as I wished. Nestling them in my arms, I studied their tiny eyes, noses not even the size of a small button, and rosebud mouths, trying to memorize each feature. They looked as though they were asleep, and so similar to Tim when he was born, I wondered if the doctors were mistaken. Surely at any moment I would see some movement and they both would open their eyes and begin to breathe again.
Dr. Montgomery patted my arm and spoke of God’s will. Dr. Gould described the extra difficulties with multiple-birth babies. Annie held my hand and cried as though it had been her own little one taken away. Jesse stared at the floor with hooded eyes like he’d encountered a battle he had no idea how to fight.
Tears weren’t enough to allay a sorrow as deep as this. I remembered my parents, burying three babies not long after they were born, and felt a new respect for the stoic way they had returned to daily life. Then there were the other times when the voices of children born to family or friends were stilled by the gray hand of death. I’d been among those who brought food and spoke words of comfort to grieving parents. For them, life would never be the same again. Why must such a terrible price be paid by innocents?
When the doctors pressed me, I kissed each of my babies good-bye. Dr. Gould handed me a glass of water, into which he’d mixed a strong dose of laudanum to bring the peace of sleep.
Before I drank it, I clutched Jesse’s hand. “They must have names before we bury them.” I thought for a moment. “Montgomery and Gould. For the doctors who tried so hard to save them.”
“Yes, sweetheart. Whatever you want is fine with me.”
The next day, our babies were buried. I insisted on a single pine box no bigger than my footstool, for I couldn’t bear the thought of them being under the ground alone. Jesse, Frank, and Annie went to the cemetery. I stayed at home, too weak and sick at heart to ask permission from the doctors to leave my bed.
Polly Eastman brought food and offered to keep Tim until my strength returned.
“Thank you,” I told her. “I won’t forget your kindness.” Neighbors stopped by to comfort me. I spoke only enough to make the correct reply and accept their awkward condolences. It didn’t matter what anyone said. My babies were gone and I sensed the tendrils of darkness hovering around my bed like living things. Wild animals that waited to devour me.
When Polly brought Tim to see me, I couldn’t rouse myself enough to respond with more than a silent, detached hug, but Jesse wrapped his arms around his son.
“I’ll take him outside to the barn.”
I nodded and turned my head away.
Over the next few days, my comfort lay in the few drops of laudanum that brought a dreamless sleep. It shielded my mind like a heavy curtain blotted out light. Jesse helped me to sit in a chair by the bed for a while each day and I stared out the window. It didn’t help to see the sun, for the pull of something dark and sinister threatened to swallow me.
A week later, Annie came to see me. She held Robert, who she’d bundled against the cold of an early March day. “I’m so sorry to bother you, Zee, but I’m frantic and need your advice.” Her lip trembled, and her cheeks were pale.
Seeing her baby made me wince. I longed for the comfort brought by laudanum, but roused myself enough to say, “What is it?”
“I’ve tried and tried with Robert. He wails from hunger, yet I cannot do much to help him. Frank refuses to hire a wet nurse. He thinks it could bring danger into our home. Dr. Montgomery says he’s seen cases where boiled cow’s milk can be given to an infant. Do you know how this is done?”
I pulled the tatters of my wits about me to think. “Some people use a rag dipped in milk for the baby to suck. Others use a spoon to trickle liquid into the infant’s mouth. I’ve heard of rubber nipples attached to a bottle, but I’ve never seen one.”
Robert began a weak, mewling cry.
Annie looked as though she might cry too. “He’s so hungry, yet I can’t help him.”
I heard the baby, but had to close my eyes against the sight of a living child. It seemed too much to bear. I wanted Annie to take Robert away from me, so I could erase the sound of his cries with more laudanum. The pitiful wailing continued and got louder, more frantic. Then something happened in my battered body—an unmistakable tingling pressure in my breasts.
My eyes opened. “Give him to me.”
Annie stared. “What?”
“Give him to me. I can feed him.”
I untied the bodice of my gown and took the baby from Annie. The infant turned his head toward me, rooted, then latched. At first hesitant, then more eager, he suckled. The cramping pull from my womb was almost painful, but the baby ate as though he’d been long starved. I looked down at him and touched his soft cheek, my tears falling in silent drops. I cried for Robert and for my own babies. I cried for Jesse and for Tim and for myself. Yet as others had done before me, I had to move on with life.
Annie continued to bring Robert to me over the next many months. He grew rosy and plump, and each time I nursed him, I fancied my own babies were smiling from within Robert’s precious face.
As I occupied myself with him, my body healed. Despite all that had happened, I couldn’t help but notice that the dreaded restlessness had returned to my husband. Frank and Annie had started to attend the Methodist church every Sunday and became friends with other parishioners, while Jessie brooded over a chasm growing wider between him and his brother.
When Frank stopped by one evening and asked Jesse if he’d like to go sit on the front porch with the Eastmans, Jesse shook his head. “What pleasure do you get from talking about crops and spouting Shakespeare? I can’t think of anything more boring.”
“I like talking with Charles. It makes me feel like I’m part of this town. Like I belong here.”
“You know better than to get friendly with people who aren’t our kin. What if they discover who you are? No one can be trusted.”
“Well, I say you’re wrong,” Frank glowered, shook his head, and walked out.
Jesse went to the table and slammed his hand on it. The dishes rattled.
“I’m going out to feed the horses,” he called over his shoulder.
The lines around his mouth worried me. I knew Jesse still mourned for our babies. He’d told me he couldn’t get their faces from his mind. Even when he lifted Tim in front of him on the saddle and cantered his horse along the path near the house, I could see a shadow of grief following him.
On a sunny afternoon, I hung clothes on the line. while Tim napped. When I dragged the empty basket to the house, I found Jesse on the porch. He handed me one hundred dollars. “For the rent and the doctor.”
I stared at the money. “Where did this come from?” “I sold Red Fox.”
My mouth gaped, and I dropped the bills. Jesse knelt to gather them before the breeze could.
“But why? You loved that horse.”
“We needed the money. You might as well hear it now. I’ll be leaving for a while, and I had to have some cash. I’ve got to get away from here. And”—he slapped at a persistent summer fly—“I’m asking Frank to go with me.”
“He won’t go, Jesse. He’s happy here.”
“He’s my brother. He’ll do it.”
Tears filled my eyes at the look on his face when he walked away. Jesse left the next morning—alone.
When Jesse returned, dark hair bristled over his lip and chin, but he wore his hat cocked to the side. His whiskers scratched my face when he kissed me and then he gave a bear-growling hug to Tim. He handed our son a peppermint stick and sent him off to play.
We sat at the kitchen table, and Jesse took my hand. His fingers were ragged and rough, as though he’d been baling hay without wearing gloves.
When he spoke, his blue eyes hardened. “I sent a letter asking John Edwards to meet with me. He didn’t even bother to answer it. Ever since publishing his book, he seems to have forgotten all about what I’m still trying to do for the South.”
“Jesse, your brother is making a fine life here in Tennessee. Why can’t we do the same? Instead of fighting old battles, you could work the farm as he is and forget about the past.”
“Forget it?” Jesse’s face reddened. “How can I ever forget the past? How can you forget it?”
“I have to forget or I’ll go mad.” I squeezed his hand. “Remember, nothing from the past can break us as long as we’re together.”
He leaned over and pressed his lips to mine. “At least you haven’t deserted me.” A half smile played at his lips. “I’m afraid I’ve become what I am, and there’s no going back now.” He sighed and rose from his chair. “Could you fix me something to eat while I take care of my horse?”
Over the years, I’d seen Jesse filled with many emotions: playfulness, passion, even anger. But I’d never seen him quite so empty.
I tucked Tim into bed and fixed Jesse a simple dinner of cold chicken, corn, and tomatoes. When he returned from the barn, listless and silent, I rubbed the tight knots in his back until he’d cleaned every morsel from his plate.
“It’s too warm in here,” I said. “Let’s sit together on the porch.”
He followed me outside, and we settled into the wooden rocking chairs. Evening had softened the day’s heat. Night creatures chirped, and an owl hooted from behind the barn. I rocked back and forth while the cool breeze fanned my face. Jesse sat still as a stone, his countenance naked with despair
After a while, I stood and reached for his hand. “Dearest, come with me.” I knew he needed the comfort only a wife could give. I led him to our bed and blew out the lamp.
When the first light of day peeped through the window, I got up to put the iron skillet on the fire. By the time ham sizzled and popped, Jesse appeared. He put his arms around me, and I noticed a glimmer of light had returned to his eyes.
“You understand like no one else, Zee. I don’t know what I’d do without you. Thanks for giving me more than I deserve.” He kissed me and patted my back. “Buck’s out at the barn. I have a few things to talk over with him, but I’ll be back soon for some of that ham.”
He went out the door whistling. If I squinted my eyes, he looked almost as young as he had on the day he asked me to marry him.
I dressed Tim and cut up some ham and a biscuit for him to eat. Then I fixed a plate for Jesse and cleaned up the kitchen mess. Just as I wiped out the skillet, Jesse came through the door, rubbing the back of his neck.
“I have the perfect opportunity to make some quick money, but Buck says he won’t go. He’s grown fat and lazy here in Nashville. The will to take a chance seems to have gone plum out of him. I talked until I ran out of things to say, but he won’t budge an inch. He likes things just the way they are.”
I patted stray crumbs from Tim’s mouth. “Did that change your mind about leaving?”
He looked at me and rolled his eyes. “When did I ever let any other man influence me? I’m master of my own fate. We need money, and if things go as well as I think, I can get enough to buy the land we want and build our own house. Doesn’t that sound good to you?”
I wanted to tell him I’d rather rent a small place right in the middle of town than have him leave again. I wanted to tell him he’d been promising that we’d have the money for our own house for years. I wanted to … but I didn’t.
Within days of our conversation, Jesse left. Frank watched him go, his shoulders hunched with Annie’s arm tucked around his. She looked up at him and smiled her gratitude. I rubbed an ache in my lower back and put Tim down for a nap.
A few weeks later, I discovered I was once again with child.