Читать книгу Dear Me Sudz: The Life and Times of Addie May - K.W. Attle Jr. - Страница 8

Chapter 2

The Birth

Far from the chaos of an ever-changing world in the quiet Northern New York town of Bangor, Florence was busy, tiring easily, her bulging belly making it difficult for her in preparing the evening meal. Husband George would be home soon from a long day in the forest cutting trees. She sent little George, now six, out to feed the chickens and collect the eggs. Amy, two years old, was busy dragging her only doll across the floor and seemed to Florence she was always underfoot. Florence moved slowly from stove to sink and back again, being careful not to step on the doll. “Dear me,” she sighed, “this baby can’t come soon enough, I’m all worn out.” She had just placed the johnnycake in the oven when little George, loaded with eggs, and big George stumbled through the door. Big George exclaiming, “What a day. A limb fell on one of the boys knocking him over. Fortunately he was able to roll clear. A branch caught his sleeve ripping it and scratching his arm.”

“How bad is it?” Florence asked casually.

“He’ll be all right,” George answered, “but we had an exciting few minutes.”

“You need to go milk old Betsey. I just can’t do it. Then wash up. Supper will be ready shortly.” Then to her son, she said, “Help your mother by cleaning the eggs.”

“Okay,” her husband replied. “Whatever you’re baking sure smells good.” He grabbed the milk pail on the way out the door. Fifteen minutes later, he was back with an almost-full pail of milk. Setting it by the sink, he sat down to eat supper.

Finishing the meal, Florence stood up. At the same time, her water broke. “Dear me sudz, George, hurry and get the midwife. It’s time.” George leaped to his feet, saying, as he bolted out the door, “I’ll be back soon.”

Thirty minutes later, Gertrude and George burst through the door. Florence had managed to get to the bedroom and was sitting on the edge of the bed. “George, heat some water and bring me some of those old sheets,” ordered Gertrude while at the same time removing Florence’s clothing. “Now just relax, Florence,” she said in a soft soothing voice, “everything will be all right.” It was only a few minutes when Gertrude uttered an explosive, “O my stars, Florence,” with special emphasis on “my” as she began extracting, then cleaning up the newborn baby. It had been a hard pregnancy. Florence hadn’t lost much weight from Amy’s birth. She had gained even more with this pregnancy.

“No wonder you were so slow getting around. This little maaa … oh, my goodness, Florence, I thought this was a boy. It’s so big, but it’s a girl,” uttered Gertrude as she removed the sac from the baby’s nose and mouth with one hand while giving it a sharp slap on the hynee with the other. Immediately the baby gave a healthy squall. “As soon as I can get you both cleaned up, I’ll take her into the kitchen and weigh her.”

“Is she all right, er, I mean, is there anything wrong with her that you can see?” inquired Florence.

“No, nothing I can see,” said Gertrude as she cleaned the last remaining spots of blood from the baby’s fingers. Carefully she wrapped the newborn in the blanket Florence had made during the last few weeks of her pregnancy and gently placed the baby beside its mother. Gertrude moved efficiently as she put the soiled pieces of sheet she had used for the birthing into a large bucket and carried them to the back of the house where they would be washed, dried, folded, and put away in a corner of the pantry until needed again. Then she went back to Florence’s bedside and carefully lifted the baby into her arms.

“I’ll go and weigh her,” she said while walking toward the kitchen. “And just what do you intend to name her?” her voice trailing as she moved through the house.

“What’s you got there?” asked George who was leaning against the kitchen door smoking his pipe.

“Why, it’s your brand-new daughter,” said Gertrude as she handed the baby to him. “We need to weigh her. Where do you keep the scales?”

“I have them out in the barn,” replied George,” I was weighing out the feed for the milk cow. I’ll go and get them,” he said as he handed the baby back to Gertrude. “I’ll be a few minutes. I need to clean them up.”

Shortly he was back, scales in hand. The scales had a large oval half-moon scoop-shaped pan that sat on the top of them. Setting them on the kitchen table, he said to Gertrude, “I need to adjust them, take the blanket off and place it in the pan, and put the baby into the pan and hold her. That way we can get a fairly accurate measure.”

“She won’t fit,” exclaimed Gertrude, “she’ll just fall out.”

“Then gently hold her while in the pan,” said George

“I can’t remove her blanket, she’ll catch cold,” said Gertrude. “Take the pan and put it on the stove for a few minutes so it will warm up.” George did so and in a few minutes was back. Carefully, Gertrude placed a kitchen towel in the pan requiring George to readjust them before she carefully laid the little girl in it.

“Mercy, mercy,” exclaimed George, “it says here she weighs thirteen pounds and five ounces.”

“Are you sure?” questioned Gertrude. “I know she’s big but surely not that big.”

“Well, pick her up, and we’ll try again, then take your hands off her for a moment,” said George as he readjusted the meter hand. Quickly Gertrude picked her up saying, “Now hurry up. This baby needs to nurse and can’t stand too much of this.”

“Okay, put her back on the scales. Yep, just as I said, thirteen pounds five ounces.”

“Okay,” said Gertrude as she quickly wrapped the baby up. “What are you going to name her?”

“I donno,” said George. “We were expecting a boy. You’ll have to ask Florence.”

“Did you hear that?” Gertrude asked Florence as she entered her bedroom, “Thirteen pounds and five ounces. She needs a name. What do you intend to call her?” Carefully she laid the baby next to Florence. “George says it’s up to you since he was expecting a boy.”

“Thirteen pounds and on the thirteenth day of the month. What do you s’pose this means? Is this a bad omen for her future?”

“Now, Florence, whatever makes you think such a thing?”

“Just wondering, seems like anytime we hear the number 13, it’s in connection with something bad. As for a name, I’m not sure. Let me think on it a spell. Right now I would like to take a nap.”

“First, let’s get the baby to nurse,” said Gertrude, “then you can nap.” Immediately, the baby girl began to suck.

Three hours later, close to midnight, Florence awoke. “Gertie [the nickname Florence affectionately called her], are you still here?” she asked, speaking louder than normal.

“I’m here, in the kitchen, just give me a minute.” It took a few minutes to finish washing the scraps of sheets. To Florence, it seemed like an hour before Gertrude appeared in the doorway.

“I’ve thought it over,” said Florence. “Her name is Addie May.”