ON THE BOLSTER BESIDE CHRISTIE THE FIVE BABIES LAY IN A ROW, each wrapped up snugly, like a store package without the string. They used all the outing flannel that Christie had ready for one baby. They were asleep. Alma had buried the afterbirth to keep the dogs from getting it. As she dreamed herself awake, Christie kept telling herself she should have realized what she was carrying. She had felt all those arms and legs thrashing around in her, but she had feared they were connected—a single organism flailing to get free, swelling her womb unbearably. She knew if it had been one freak creature, it would have killed her trying to get out. She hadn’t imagined there could have been five sweet, perfectly formed babies in there. Getting them out had been so uncomplicated, after all, simpler than her previous labors. The sun was shining broadly through the kitchen window, and she felt her smile burst her face open before she even opened her eyes. She felt like giggling with glee, as if she had played a huge joke on everybody in the family.
“Great day in the morning!” cried Wad, barging into the kitchen. “James is out yonder strutting around like a banty rooster.”
“Shut the door,” said Alma. “You don’t want these babies taking cold.” She was folding the quilt she had just taken down from the bedposts.
“Good God a’mighty,” said Wad, standing over the babies. “So that’s what you was a-carrying, Christie.” He tugged at his hat. Christie rarely saw James’s uncle in a moment of awkwardness, and she enjoyed the sight. Wad was thin and fine-boned, with straight, pale brown hair that was lightening into gray. His face was deep-creased, like weathered planks.
Mrs. Willy was asleep on Nannie’s pallet, curled up in her bonnet and dark dress. She stirred under the thunder of Wad’s voice.
“I don’t reckon I’ll be setting much tobaccer for you this time, Wad,” said Christie, trying to adjust her pillows without disturbing the babies. “I’ve got my hands full.”
“Dad-burn it, girl, I need a good pair of hands. I don’t need five more mouths to feed.”
“They’re little. They won’t eat much.”
Christie had already nursed each one of them during the early hours, and now she was starved. “Bring me some sweet-milk, Alma. There’s some down in the cistern.”
“James just brought in some,” Alma said.
“You’re going to have to get you a fresh cow to feed them younguns,” said Wad doubtfully.
“We ain’t feeding them babies cow’s milk,” Alma said to Wad.
Christie struggled to sit up when Alma handed her a glass of milk. The babies stirred, two of them working their mouths—James Lake and the girl with the blond hair that seemed to curve into a topknot.
Alma said, “I’m cooking you some oats.”
“I could eat eggs and bacon,” Christie said. She drank most of the milk.
“You ain’t ready for that,” said Alma. Christie gave her the glass back.
Amanda was at the door. “I just had to see these precious things,” she squealed as she came in. She removed her fascinator and adjusted a hairpin.
“Shut the door,” said Alma.
Amanda’s voice bubbled merrily, like sweet grape juice boiling. She made over the babies with squeals and gibberish until another one woke up. “James said there was two boys and three girls,” she said, touching the one whose eyes were open. “Let me look and see which is which.”
“Them two’s the boys,” said Christie, touching the outer two. “And them three’s the girls. This is James Lake, and this is Emily Sue, and the others we ain’t named yet.”
“How are you going to tell ’em apart?”
“They’re all different,” said Christie. “This one, James Lake, was born first, and he’s got the black hair—”
“Mandy, don’t make her talk. She needs her strength,” said Alma. “And Wad, you’ve gawked enough. Get on out of here and get to work.”
Wad shook his head in wonder. “She done dropped a litter, like a sow and a gang of little pigs.”
“Joseph sent word to your mama, Christie,” said Amanda, glaring at her husband.
Wad wandered into the kitchen, and Christie began to nurse the baby who was awake, the girl with the blond topknot. Wad’s words had jabbed her like a fork.
She managed a smile. “Mama never imagined I could do anything like this,” she said to Amanda.
Another of the babies began fussing, and Amanda picked her up. It was one of the girls, the tiny one who had thin lips and a shallow forehead like Christie’s Aunt Sophie. “There now,” Amanda said, touching the little nose. “It need some titty. Christie, how’re you going to make enough to feed all these?”
Christie didn’t waste her strength answering. It was one of those questions thrown out into the air and left to settle like dust. The little girl at her breast was feeding vigorously. Five babies could drink her dry, Christie thought.
“You done good, Christie,” Amanda said, as she rocked the baby in her arms. “You didn’t suffer anywhere near as bad as I did with Lena.”
“When I had Thurman, I labored over thirty-six hours,” said Alma. “He didn’t want to come out.”
“I think this one’s hungry,” said Amanda, placing the tiny last-born at Christie’s left breast. Christie tried to sit up, but it was awkward, with two babies nursing at once. Alma brought the glass of milk to Christie’s lips.
“Here, finish this,” Alma said.
“I’m hungry,” said Christie, after draining the glass.
“I don’t know if your system’s stout enough for no bacon and egg.”
“I believe I could even eat butter beans,” said Christie.
Alma hooted. “Well, hold your taters, I’ll commence to cooking.”
“Everybody’s going wild up at the house,” said Amanda. “I told ’em they couldn’t come yet till I saw how you were. Little Bunch claims she’s going to move down here, so I guess I’ll have to lock her up, and your little boys are acting like wild horses.”
“How’s Nannie?”
“Well, Nannie cried and wouldn’t eat her oats. She misses you.”
From the kitchen, Wad said, “Are you done feeding them babies yet?” He was at the washstand, behind the pie safe.
“Come on back in here, Wad. I never saw you at a loss for words,” said Christie. Amanda pulled at the sheet to hide Christie’s breasts from Wad’s eyes.
“I ain’t never seen nothing like this,” said Wad. “I ain’t never knowed anybody to have five before.”
“I knowed a woman to have three oncet,” said Mrs. Willy, suddenly awake and walking the floor in a curious nervous gait, her hump seeming to bounce behind her.
“I ain’t never heard of five,” said Alma.
“Nobody has five,” said Amanda, as if the thought had just occurred to her.
Wad said, “You’ve gone and done it, girl, you’ve done the beatin’est thing to hit this country since President Jackson bought it from the Indians.”
“Since that earthquake way back yonder,” said Alma.
Christie felt a little stronger with the glass of milk, and she could smell the intoxicating odor of bacon frying. Mrs. Willy looked drunk. Lack of sleep had affected the old woman. She must be at least fifty, Christie thought. Just as she relaxed against the pillows, two more of the babies woke up and cried.
“They wants their titty!” squealed Amanda happily.
“I’m leaving,” said Wad. “This could keep up all day.”
“You packed manure in on your shoes,” Alma said.
The babies squirmed like kittens looking for a nipple. Christie almost expected them to purr. Already she had studied them closely enough to know each one. James Lake, the oldest and biggest; Emily Sue, his stout, curly-haired sister; the boy with James’s nose; the little girl with the blond topknot; the girl with the faint birthmark on her ear and Aunt Sophie’s shallow forehead. All of them had round, unwrinkled ears and sharp little noses. James Lake had a large, full mouth, and he sucked eagerly; Emily Sue—maybe Christie imagined it—had Susan’s questioning look and her quick responsiveness; the blond one with the most hair had been slow to nurse at first but responded to encouragement. The babies bore no resemblance to the violent, stormy creature she had imagined was inside her. She touched their hands and toes in renewed surprise. She knew James had gone to the barn to fix them a temporary bed. She couldn’t remember what James had said. She didn’t think he had said anything. Surely he did not believe what he saw.
After Christie ate her breakfast, Alma kept the other family members out while Christie tried to doze. Her belly hurt again, and she took some more of the powders Dr. Foote had left. During the nap, one of the babies nursed while Mrs. Willy held him in place. Christie was only half asleep, not daring to roll over.
Mrs. Willy had a touch of sickness—her bowels were running badly—and went to the outhouse. Amanda left, and in a moment of quiet, Christie said, “Alma, you needn’t stay down here and do for me. I hate to depend on you.”
“Just hush and don’t think a thing about it,” said Alma. “We’ve all got a hard time coming. So you just grab your rest.”
“I didn’t know you would be this good to me, after the way I’ve acted.”
Alma stomped across the kitchen, her rag swishing, her big shoes falling like anvils.