Scarlet Carnation: A Novel Read online

  Elena grunted, yelled, and then was panting. The head retreated until May could not make it out in the dark recess.

  “Rest now. You did wonderfully. It won’t be long now.”

  The calm woman nodded at Alexandra and said, “We are ready for your job. The basin of warm water, and the rags that you prepared earlier.”

  “Would you like your leg up or down, between labor pains?” Naomi asked so gently.

  May listened for her cousin’s reply, ready to follow directions. Instead Auntie Diana spoke. “She pointed up.”

  “Will you be okay?” Naomi asked May.

  She nodded, determined to be supportive no matter how heavy the leg grew.

  Naomi nodded back in approval. “You are doing great,” she whispered to May.

  May smiled, so grateful to know that she was being of assistance. And in admiration of Naomi’s kindness and skill.

  Elena gasped. “Another one,” she said in a hoarse voice.

  The laboring woman grunted and strained. May was entranced as the head emerged ever so slowly until a purplish, reddish circle of skin the size of a daisy was showing.

  “I can rub your baby’s hair. I think it will be golden-brown when washed up,” Naomi chatted.

  Elena grabbed her thigh, and pulled her leg to her own chest; May followed, rising to reach the calf and foot dangling in the air. She stood right by Auntie Diana, who was alternating her gaze between Elena’s face and the crown of the baby’s head.

  “Keep going,” Auntie Diana encouraged her daughter.

  And then it ended with a panting Elena. She didn’t lower her leg; the baby stayed where it was.

  The sound of fast, heavy breathing filled the room. They waited in anticipation. Everyone was calm, reassuring May all was fine, but it was like nothing she’d ever witnessed before. She looked at Nana. Her grandmother was beaming. She nodded encouragement but to whom was unclear—to May, Elena, or Auntie Diana? Probably all of them.

  “Argggg,” Elena growled. She curled up, her face powerful and intent.

  May looked at the spot where the baby was emerging. Naomi stretched, while more and more of the head bulged out until the very tips of ears smashed against the scalp were visible. This baby was nearly here. It was a strange color, a mixture of white and bluish-purple.

  “Keep going if you can, Elena. This could be the end . . .”

  Suddenly the whole head was out. In a swift motion Naomi tugged in a few directions and then a whole body was in capable hands, leaving only a white-and-blue cord dangling out of Elena.

  “He’s out! Welcome, little one,” Naomi declared.

  She placed him on Elena, now on her back, her leg somehow out of May’s hands. May felt tears streaming down her cheeks.

  “I can’t believe you are here . . . ,” Elena declared, quickly returning to this world.

  Auntie Diana gazed in adoration, looking as if the infant were Jesus Himself. The circle stood in awe, watching the pair panting together.

  Dazed, May looked around. How much time had passed since she’d entered the room? The baby didn’t cry, but he looked calm and content, his color changing from bluish purple to reddish pink. She saw his little back moving up and down with each breath. A new member of her family that she already loved. Her . . . her? He would likely call her Auntie May. She would call him nephew—though he was a cousin.

  May exhaled and looked at Elena. “That was remarkable. You are so strong.”

  Elena smiled. “I’m glad you are here. You held my leg up?”

  May nodded.

  “It was like a dream. I hardly remember it though it was just a few moments ago,” Elena remarked.

  May felt a movement in her own belly. Most likely a bubble, but it could be the baby. Soon she’d be in Elena’s position but she’d be alone, without the love of her family to cheer her on and give her strength. May swallowed her own fear and sorrow, pushing it down to focus on the joy of this moment.

  Three months later, Elena and May walked to Sunday supper after worship at the Unitarian church. Baby Matthias was wrapped in a blanket knit by Nana. The warm wool kept out the chill of the fall air. He was a perfect bundle of joy.

  “Can I raise a difficult topic?” Elena wondered.

  Curious, tinged with concern, May replied, “Of course.” Perhaps there were challenges between Elena and Peter or Auntie Diana.

  “Have I done something to disappoint or anger you?” Elena asked.

  May’s stomach dropped. She thought she’d been better at hiding her jealous feelings. She shook her head, not able to share her true, but uncharitable, thoughts. Elena nodded, looking resigned, but not satisfied.

  Shame welled in May. Her cousin was only generous and kind. She and Peter were keeping her secret, and allowing her to move in with them after the New Year.

  May’s unpleasant emotions shouldn’t have been apparent to Elena during this time when baby Matthias was the priority. Elena and Peter deserved to be surrounded by joyous and comforting people, not the sullen and depressed.

  “I am sorry, Elena,” May said, hoping her tone conveyed the depth of her feelings. “I want to be happy for you, and I keep telling myself I should be, but each time I look at you my shame overwhelms me. I am angry . . . at John, at myself. I don’t know how I have managed to be in this position. Pregnant, hiding my condition, a servant to my body, lying to my mother and Nana. To Aunt Diana. Am I never going to tell anyone?

  “I’m scared and alone—except for you. But I am so jealous I could burst. And then I am ashamed because you have been nothing but helpful to me. And then I’m afraid that you will hate me back for being so cold.”

  Elena nodded. Her lips drew in and she gazed off into the distance. May’s heart beat fiercely. She’d said too much. Now Elena would abandon her, and for good cause.

  “Oh, May, that is ever so much to manage. I have never been in your position, so I can’t say I understand how you feel. However, I am relieved to know that you don’t think me cruel or insensitive.” Elena teared up. “I’m aware that this cannot be easy for you. I’m sorry that my great joy is coming this close to your profound sorrow.”

  May wiped away the stream on her face. Tears, like so many fluids, flowed more freely than ever before. Tears of anger. Tears of frustration. Tears of fear. In this case they were tears of relief that Elena seemed to hold no resentment for her neediness and sour attitude.

  Elena slid her arm through May’s.

  “I will never hate you. Somehow we must hold my joy and your sorrow at the same time,” Elena said, so sweetly and wisely that May cried even more. “Neither of us wished for these to occur right now. As Nana Lisbeth says, ‘It’s a mystery how God decides what we must bear and when. Our only decision is to choose how we will face it.’”

  May nodded though she was still a jumble of emotion.

  Elena continued, “Our ‘how we will face this’ is together, right?”

  “Thank you,” May said.

  Elena squeezed her arm; they strolled past some particularly gorgeous maple trees. Their bright red and yellow leaves would fall to the earth soon, but in this moment they were painfully beautiful—a reminder of the glory, mystery, and brevity of life.

  The day after Christmas, Boxing Day in England, May followed her mother and grandmother into their church’s sanctuary. Sunlight shone through the large stained glass window over the chancel, making the bright colors and images particularly salient. She took a seat on the aisle and studied the vibrant Sower window.

  In the foreground a farmer casts seeds onto a plowed field bordered by a hard path on one side and thorny ground on the other. In the background his wife guides a plow pulled by two oxen. As a child May decided they were married, which made her love the scene all the more. Small black birds peck at the seeds that landed on the hard path.

  The Parable of the Sower was Nana Lisbeth’s favorite Bible passage, perhaps because this window was in their church. Nana reminded congregants, especially her grandchildren, that this particular image was placed at the front of the church to remind them to be fertile soil for spiritual truths. As Jesus instructed in his brief, profound parable, distractions, skepticism, and disappointments test your deepest convictions, but if you tend to your spirit in good times you will grow deep spiritual roots to keep your faith strong in challenging times.

  May appreciated her Nana’s interpretation of the message in that sacred text—and had added her own when she stared at that image during uninteresting sermons: you reap what you sow and tend, a sentiment she was too well aware of nearly all of the time.

  The baby stirred inside her. It was all she could do not to touch her belly. This had been going on for weeks. And would go on for many more. She had close to three months before this baby would be born. This was the most challenging of times for her.

  Hiding her condition from Momma and Nana Lisbeth, and at work, was a constant weight pressing down on her. She was grateful that the end of her pregnancy was coinciding with the arrival of cold weather and the need for bulkier winter clothes. She only had one more week at home to get through. On the first day of 1916 she would move to Elena and Peter’s home. She’d told Momma and Nana Lisbeth it was to be a help to them, but that was not the true reason.

  Momma and Nana believed the true reason was she had growing pains and needed to be away from them. May didn’t tell them her growing pains were of a physical nature more than a social one.

  This Christmas service began with the children’s choir singing “Mary’s Cradle Song.” May choked up over the line “Wonder baby mine.”

  She telegraphed a message to her belly: Little one, some woman will joyfully call you “mine,” just not me. May found enormous comfort in that sentiment. After she’d felt those movements May became protective of the being growing inside her. She understood why quickening was considered the beginning of life in some religious traditions.

  May sighed and tried to keep her mind on the service, though during the sermon her attention return to her belly when Reverend Simmonds asked them to imagine how afraid Mary must have been, delivering a baby in a manger, surrounded by strangers far from home. He preached that Mary, a mere human, had done that ordinary and extraordinary task: birthed a child who was the greatest of blessings to the world. He reminded them that they were capable of doing the same, in their own fashion.

  May imagined she related to the story of Mary, a woman surprised to be carrying a child, more than most of her fellow congregants. May didn’t subscribe to the virgin birth, but she believed that Jesus’s message of love and compassion for all beings changed the world for the better. May felt a sudden certainty that every baby was a blessing from the Great Creator, so the one growing in her was no exception.

  A flash of grace struck, followed by an instant of pure peace. It was a strange, fleeting sensation that left a beautiful echo in her heart. She took a deep breath and blinked back tears.

  The shadow of that feeling was still with her as she sang the closing hymn, “It Came upon a Midnight Clear.” The third stanza spoke directly to her, offering sympathy for her current plight as well as hope for a better future.

  And ye, beneath life’s crushing load,

  whose forms are bending low,

  who toil along the climbing way

  with painful steps and slow,

  look now! for glad and golden hours

  come swiftly on the wing.

  O rest beside the weary road,

  and hear the angels sing!

  Golden hours would come after she walked this long, weary road. This was her dreary winter with a crushing load, but in the spring things would swiftly change. This baby would be born and received as a gift to an infertile woman who longed for a child. May left church with a poignant sorrow, and yet she was uplifted too.

  CHAPTER 7

  NAOMI

  March 1916

  Naomi rose before the sun and kindled a fire in the oven for their breakfast: oatmeal and dried fruit that she would leave on the stove for Joseph and Maggie to eat before school. In the bathroom, she tested the water from the tap; it was cold, but not so cold she would heat up water on the stove to mix with it. She washed her face, smoothed on face cream, and braided back her hair.

  While the oatmeal cooked she read her Bible. It gave her something important to think about, and an opportunity to remember that all people, always, have challenges to overcome.

  In her room she sighed at a wrinkle in her uniform. Naomi stepped back to see how obvious it was. She shook her head and carried the dress into the kitchen. She didn’t care for ironing but she could not be seen in such a state. She placed the iron on the stove to heat up and pulled down the ironing board. She dampened a cloth and used the iron to quickly smooth out the wrinkle.

  After putting on her white dress she placed the starched white nurse’s cap on her head. Twenty years ago she got her first one—and Naomi was still proud to wear it.

  Her children continued to sleep when she left. She sent a silent blessing to them, as well as Cedric, Willie, and Gramma Jordan, before she stepped into the foggy spring morning and walked to the Booth Home for Unwed Mothers. She didn’t know exactly what her day would hold, but it was always an honor to be God’s hands on earth.

  “May?!” Naomi exclaimed from the doorway when she saw her young cousin sitting upright in the hospital bed.

  May’s already pale face drained of all color. Naomi immediately regretted her unprofessional manner. The right side of May’s mouth raised up and she shrugged. Compassion rose in Naomi. She walked to May and patted her arm.

  “Lisbeth and Sadie are unaware of your condition?” Naomi asked to confirm her suspicion.

  May nodded.

  “Your privacy is assured here.”

  This wasn’t the first time Naomi was acquainted with one of her patients. More than once a young woman from her church, Fifteenth Street AME, had delivered here. Some even stayed in the dormitories for several years, caring for their babies in the only home available to them as unwed mothers. Discretion was an important skill in this position.

  “Thank you.”

  “Would you prefer another nurse?” Naomi inquired even though she wanted to support May in the delivery. “I can exchange patients with Nurse Hand if you like.”

  May shook her head. “I was hoping you would be my midwife. It’s nice to see a familiar, and kind, face,” she replied, her voice high and tight. She looked on the verge of tears.

  Relieved to hear that answer, Naomi sat on the edge of the bed. A clipboard in her hand waited for answers to medical questions.

  “The last time we saw one another was at Matthias’s birth,” Naomi said.

  May nodded.

  “Did you know . . . ?”

  May nodded again.

  More questions swirled in Naomi’s head, but she would not ask them. May would share the intimate details of her situation, or not, as she saw fit.

  “Shall we start with my questions?” Naomi asked.

  May nodded.

  Naomi began with the date of menstruation and ended with the most important query.

  “Will you be taking the baby with you when you leave?” Naomi asked, though she believed she already knew the answer.

  May shook her head. “You can arrange for an adoption,” she stated, but it sounded like a question. “Not you, Naomi, but you the Booth Home.”

  “Yes. All arrangements can be left to us,” Naomi replied, compassion in her voice. She was sad May found herself in this situation. She continued with an often painful, but important question. “Do you want to hold the baby or see the baby after delivery?”

  May nodded. “Will you be there when he is born?”

  Naomi heard the longing in the young woman’s voice. She nodded assurance. “Most likely. Occasionally something unusual causes me to miss the birth, but I usually stay until the end—and will make a special effort to do so with you.”

  Naomi remembered May’s birth, long ago on a train somewhere between Chicago and Oakland. She’d been born many, many weeks premature. Naomi had been just out of nursing school and saw to the precarious delivery in a smoking car on a moving train. She’d managed it without fear only because she was so inexperienced. She’d yet to see all that could go wrong in labor and delivery. Faced with the same situation today, she’d be terrified. It was remarkable that the fragile and tiny newborn grew into this lovely young lady.

  “Will you say a blessing over him . . . or her”—May’s voice cracked—“while I hold the baby. Can you pray for a good, kind family?”

  Naomi teared up as well. She nodded. She’d seen this too many times: young women, good people, facing a hard decision. Most were abandoned by charming men. She wished, not for the first time, for a pill that would protect women from this terrible choice. Too many women used unproved concoctions from dubious sources.

  “How soon will it be?” May asked.

  “That is impossible to tell with certainty,” Naomi replied. “Mother Nature has her own pace. She does not deliver by clocks like the milkman. You started cramping last night?”

  May responded, “I’ve cramped for three nights in a row. However, the first two stopped by dawn. Today, they kept on.” She stopped talking. Closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Naomi put her hand on May’s belly. She felt the tightening of the uterus—rock hard from top to bottom. May’s body was working hard to get this baby out. Naomi waited while the labor pain passed. May exhaled heavily and opened her hazel eyes.

  “I’m sorry. It just overcomes me.”

  “You are doing just what you are supposed to do to get through this. First babies don’t come easily. Have you seen any bloody show?”

  May blushed. “Yes. I have rags in my drawers.”

  “That is a good sign that you are moving along as we would like. I’ll be back with some water and fresh rags. I expect we’ll see this baby by the next dawn, but no guarantees.”

  “Thank you. For your kindness and for being here with me.” She took Naomi’s hand. “I’m so comforted by your presence.”