MORE AND MORE VISITORS WERE COMING OUT TO LOOK AT THE babies. Everybody was talking about the newspaperman who came down from St. Louis. The proprietor at Crittenden’s Inn on the square said the St. Louis fellow had been in there for dinner before catching the afternoon train. The man sat by himself in a corner of the room, writing in his book and drinking large quantities of water, flavoring it from a silver flask in his overcoat. He dined on fresh oysters and chicken salad and beef roast with potatoes and gravy and Mrs. Crittenden’s chess pie. Christie heard Mr. Crittenden’s report from Mr. Letcher, who had heard it from Mrs. Humphreys, a War widow who was half blind and yet walked three miles to town every day.
Near the end of the babies’ first week, Mittens Dowdy said, “They be big enough to use a pee-bucket before you know it!” Even little Minnie was stronger. Christie hadn’t tried the cow’s milk on her yet, but the others were taking some in the bottles. Weakening the milk further and adding a bit more sugar seemed to prevent the colic. There was an art to holding the bottles, which were made to fit the hand, with a narrow, crooked neck to prevent all the milk from rushing forth if the tubing popped off. Amanda said the black rubber nipples seemed too hard for babies, but they sucked them willingly. When the holes in the nipples got plugged up, she jabbed her needle into the dark rubber.
Except for James Lake, who always seemed hungry, the babies preferred breast milk, and Mollie preferred Christie’s left breast to her right. She wouldn’t eat from the right one—a sign that she would be left-handed, Amanda allowed. James Lake was going to be a good eater, Christie said, the type of child who would take a bucket of molasses biscuits to school and devour every one. He had more personality than the others; he was the most forceful and demanding. But Emily Sue was her most unusual child—that sassy look and that hint of curl. Christie was relieved to have a girl with curl to her hair. Christie’s own hair was so straight and characterless. She was too old to let her hair down now, but she longed to release it, to let it fly in the wind.
The men were working long hours, getting ready for the spring planting. They complained that Alma’s green beans weren’t cooked down enough and the cornbread wasn’t made to her usual perfection. The women bustled around the babies—washing their dresses and undershirts and diapers, giving them baths and bottles, and keeping the house warm. The door kept fanning. Dust settled everywhere. Someone was always churning, it seemed. Mrs. Willy got such a blissful look on her face when she churned.
“These babies are going to eat you out of house and home,” Dr. Foote said to Christie as he examined the babies on Saturday morning. “I meant to tell you, I won’t be charging my usual fee. I already mentioned this to James when I ran into him down the lane. I told him all Wheeler babies are free.”
“Why, I was afraid you’d charge by the baby,” she said, stupefied by his generosity. “I didn’t know how we could ever pay you.”
“Well, this whole blessed event is my pleasure, Mrs. Wheeler,” he said as he wiggled John Wilburn’s toes. “I won’t take a cent.”
“We’re much obliged, Dr. Foote.”
“If you had called on Dr. Cooley instead of me, I wouldn’t have got to be in on this and have my name in the St. Louis paper.”
“That is an amazement,” Christie agreed, still baffled by how far the news had traveled.
When Alma arrived with Christie’s dinner, Christie said, “Alma, after I get through eating, I may be strong enough to get out and hoe. I feel like hoeing.”
“You ain’t setting foot out in that garden!” Alma cried.
Christie laughed. “I’m just fooling with you, Alma. I’m glad you brought me some onions. I do love a green onion in the spring.”
She ate while the babies slept. The fried chicken was crisp outside and juicy inside; the potatoes were seasoned with black pepper and bacon grease; the cornbread was laced with cracklings cooked tender. Christie ate everything Alma brought.
“Who’s that on the porch now?” Alma said from the kitchen where she was washing the dishes. She strode through the front room, her brogans slamming the carpet, and brought in a set of strangers.
It was a group of five smartly dressed men from town, all apologizing for their muddy shoes. They lined up at the foot of Christie’s bed. Christie recognized Mr. Jenkins, from the Hopewell paper. And the editor, Mr. Redmon, was there. The squat one with a watch chain on his weskit said he was the mayor, Marcus Webb. Christie was astonished to see the mayor right there in her house.
“This is a significant thing you’ve done, ma’am,” said the mayor, pulling down the hem of his coat nervously. “You’ve brought honor to our town.”
Alma stood in the kitchen doorway with a dishrag, looking as intimidated as Christie had ever seen her. Christie herself was speechless. The mayor untied a red ribbon from a scroll and handed the ribbon to one of the men, who rolled it around his fingers, then dropped it on the bed.
Unfurling the scroll, the mayor read aloud. “‘Whereas, I have in me the power to issue proclamations in favor of our fair citizens and their good works; and whereas, Hopewell is the distinguished home of the Wheeler Quintuplets; and whereas, Mrs. Wheeler is the esteemed mother of same, I hereby proclaim Mrs. Wheeler to be Hopewell’s Mother of the Year. And whereas, Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler have brought forth this eighth wonder of the world in the form of five healthy babies at one time, thereby raising the population of our fair city by a significant and goodly number, I hereby declare the Wheeler family to be the First Family of our city, for now and the indefinite future.’
“Congratulations, Mrs. Wheeler,” the mayor said, handing Christie the scroll, which rolled up again on its own. “We wanted to have an official ceremony in town, but realizing you wouldn’t be able to attend, we wanted our good wishes made known immediately. Mr. Jenkins here is writing this up in the Hopewell Chronicle for next week.”
Mr. Jenkins shuffled his feet and lifted his fountain pen. Christie remembered his huge Adam’s apple. He said, “Don’t forget, Your Honor, that the City of Hopewell is taking up a collection for the babies.”
“Oh, I was getting to that! Even as we speak, the merchants are getting together to provide supplies for you in this unusual time, Mrs. Wheeler. You’re going to need extra goods, and your neighbors, the citizens of Hopewell, are rallying to the cause.”
“I don’t know what to say,” Christie said shyly. She wondered what James would think. “The drugstore sent some things we needed,” she said.
Mr. Redmon said, “They’re getting together a whole wagonload of goods—hams and meal and sugar and coal oil, and even furniture from MacNeill’s. Five little beds, I heard.”
“But my husband can build a bed!” Christie protested. She was sure the babies wouldn’t want to be separated. Children usually slept together in a bunch and kept warmer that way.
“We’ll have this news in the paper again,” said Mr. Jenkins. “This time we’ll do you proud.”
A tall man with a dangling forelock and broad, flat face said, “By gravy, we didn’t like the way St. Louis made us out to be so indifferent to such an extraordinary happening.”
“And so the town of Hopewell may be a little slow getting to its feet, but I reckon you are too, ma’am—no offense,” said Mr. Redmon. “Five babies are bound to get you down awhile.”
“I’m weak from laying, but I’m raring to go.” Christie’s enthusiasm made them laugh. “Thank ye kindly. I’m much obliged.”
Mayor Webb handed Christie the newspaper he had been carrying. “Here’s what the St. Louis paper had to say after their man got back up yonder. You can hold on to this.”
Christie glanced at the article. It was on the top page, as if it were the account of an important event, like an election or a battle in a war.
After the men left, Alma exploded with laughter. “Did you ever hear such high talking?” she said.
“You was mighty bashful, though,” said Christie. “I never saw you bashful before, Alma.” She had thoroughly enjoyed the sight of Alma standing back, dumbstruck.
Emily Sue began to cry. Alma picked her up and handed her to Christie. Christie held the baby close and she grew quiet.
Alma swung the dishrag at an early fly that had gotten in. “What-all you reckon they’ll send?” she said. “I swan, Christie. Wait till Wad and them hear about this. Mandy’ll be a-squalling when she finds out she missed seeing the mayor.”
Christie couldn’t believe it. It was like a dream—the stores coming to her, with a wagonload of things she could never have afforded. Fancy goods, novelties like those in the wishbook. Maybe even play-toys and games and slates and books for school.
“The mayor said I did a significant thing,” said Christie, rocking Emily Sue in her arms. “But did you notice how they didn’t hardly even look at the babies? Or pick them up?”
“They didn’t want to get do-do and vomick on their fine suits of clothes,” said Alma with a snort.
Christie was bothered by some things in the St. Louis article. She showed it to Amanda when she arrived. Mr. Roberts had written that the quintuplets were “born to a simple country woman and her yeoman farmer husband.”
Amanda scoffed at that. “He don’t know you, Christie. You ain’t simple. Why, nobody’s as smart as you. You’re smarter than a schoolteacher.”
“And he called our house ‘a humble three-room abode.’ Why, we’ve got six rooms, not counting the loft.”
At suppertime, when James came in from milking—after several more visitors had come and gone—Christie told him about the fellows from town, her words tumbling over themselves in excitement.
“James, they all said I done good!” she said softly. “They’re so proud.”
She played with the ribbon while he studied the lettering on the scroll.
“They’re going to help us feed them,” she said. “We won’t have to worry.”
James moved slowly toward the baby bed, as the news sank in. He patted Christie on the head and stared hard at the babies. A grin he seemed to have been saving up spread over his face.
“I looked out across the field this evening about three o’clock and I counted ten horses in the yard,” he said. “And four buggies. It was looking like a camp meeting over here.”
He sat on the edge of the bed beside Christie to unlace his shoes. “I didn’t know how we were going to manage,” he said. He paused and straightened up, then said, “You know, when I’m out there plowing, staring at a mule’s behind for hours on end, I go over and over it, and it hits me by surprise all over again ever time I put my mind on it. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to what’s happened.”
“Oh, I knew something big would happen when I married you,” she said playfully. “I knew marrying you would turn into something grand.”
“We’re behind on the spring plowing,” he said, laughing into her hair and holding her close for the first time since the babies were born.
“Not yet,” she gasped. She heard steps on the back porch. “And I’m afraid we’d have to crawl under the corncrib to do it.”