Cutler 05 - Darkest Hour

"Especially when the mother's this young. She ain't grow'd and stretched enough. We're surely going to hafta help it along."
    Mrs. Coons was right. The pain I had felt was not the worst of it. When the worst of it came, I screamed so loud I was sure everyone in the house and even people outside a mile away could hear. I was gasping and clinging to the sheets. Once, I reached for Emily's hand, just for the comfort of holding another human being, but Emily refused to give her hand to me. She pulled it away as soon as our fingers touched. Maybe she was afraid I would contaminate her or even burn her with my pain.
    "Push," Mrs. Coons commanded. "Push harder. Push," she shouted.
    "I am pushing!"
    "It ain't comin' easy," she muttered, and placed her cold hands on my stomach. I felt her fingers digging into my skin, pressuring my stomach. I heard her mumbling orders to Emily, but I was so full of agony at this moment, I couldn't listen to her; I couldn't see her. The room was clouded in a gauzelike red mist. All sounds drifted farther and farther away. Even my own screams seemed to be coming from someone else in another room.
    It took hours and hours. The pain was relentless, my efforts exhausting. Every time I tried to relax, Mrs. Coons was at my ear screaming for me to push harder. In the midst of one particular seizure of agonizing pain, Emily knelt down beside the bed and whispered in my ear.
    "See . . . see how the sins of pleasure are paid for; see how we suffer for the evil we do. Curse the devil; curse him. Drive him away. Say it. Get thee to hell, Satan. Say it!"
    I would do anything to stop the pain, anything to stop Emily's continuous banter in my ear.
    "Get thee to hell, Satan!" I cried.
    "Good. Say it again."
    "Get thee to hell, Satan. Get thee to hell, Satan."
    She joined me, and then, to my surprise, Mrs. Coons even became part of the chorus. It was maddening—the three of us chanting: "Get thee to hell, Satan. Get thee to hell, Satan."
    Somehow, perhaps because I was so distracted, the pain did seem to deaden with my cries. Was Emily right? Was I driving the devil out of me and out of the room?
    "Push," Mrs. Coons screamed. "It's happening finally. Push hard now. Push."
    I groaned. I was sure the effort would kill me and I understood now how my real mother could have died in childbirth. But I didn't care. I never felt more like dying than I did at this moment. Death loomed as a true source of relief. The temptation to close my eyes and sink into my own grave was great. I even prayed for it.
    I felt a gush, a surge of movement. Mrs. Coons was mumbling orders and lessons so quickly to Emily it sounded like the gibberish of witchcraft. And then, suddenly, in an overwhelming tremor, my lower body shuddered and it happened . . . the baby emerged. Mrs. Coons cried out. I saw the look of amazement on Emily's face and then I saw Mrs. Coons lift the newly-born infant in her bloodied hands. The umbilical cord was still attached, of course, and dangling, but the child looked perfect.
    "It's a girl!" Mrs. Coons declared. She placed her mouth over the infant's bloodstained face and lips and sucked and then the baby cried out; its first complaint, I was sure. "It's alive!" Mrs. Coons cried.
    Emily crossed herself quickly.
    "Now watch closely and learn how to cut and tie the umbilical cord," Mrs. Coons told her.
    I closed my eyes, an overwhelming sense of relief washing over my body. A girl, I thought. It's a girl. And she's not been born dead. I'm not a murderess. Perhaps I was no longer a curse to those who I touched and who touched me. Perhaps with the birth of my child, I, too, was reborn.
    Papa was waiting at the doorway.
    "It's a girl," Emily announced when he stepped in. "And it's alive."
    "A girl?"
    I saw the disappointment on his face. He had been hoping for the son he didn't have.
    "Another girl." He shook his head and looked at Mrs. Coons as if it were her fault.
    "I don't make 'em. I only help bring them into the world," she told him. He lowered his head.
    "Get on with it," he ordered, and gave Emily a conspiratorial look. She understood.
    After the baby had been cleaned and wrapped in a blanket, they began the second phase of the great deception. They brought my child to Mamma's room.
    It was over, I thought. But before I fell asleep, I also realized that now, it was also about to begin.
    I didn't move from my bed for two days and two nights. Emily let me know immediately that she would no longer be catering