Mack got up in front and picked up the reins. Three people was a lot for the pony to haul so Kobe gave the buggy a shove to get it started. Mack drove down to the road and turned toward Fredericksburg.
There was no moon, but starlight enabled him to see where he was going. The trail was rocky and rutted, and the buggy bounced along. Mack was worried about jolting Bess, but Lizzie kept saying: “Go faster! Go faster!” The road wound along the riverbank, through rough woodland and the fringes of plantations just like the Jamisson place. They saw nobody: people did not travel after dark if they could help it.
With Lizzie’s urging Mack made good speed and they reached Fredericksburg around suppertime. There were people on the streets and lights in the houses. He drew up the buggy outside Dr. Finch’s home. Lizzie went to the door while Mack wrapped Bess in the blankets and carefully lifted her up. She was unconscious but alive.
The door was opened by Mrs. Finch, a mousy woman in her forties. She showed Lizzie into the parlor and Mack followed with Bess. The doctor, a thickset man with a bullying manner, looked distinctly guilty when he realized he had forced a pregnant woman to drive through the night to bring him a patient. He covered his embarrassment by bustling about and giving his wife abrupt orders.
When he had looked at the wound he asked Lizzie to make herself comfortable in the other room. Mack went with her and Mrs. Finch stayed to help her husband.
The remains of a supper were on the table. Lizzie eased herself gingerly into a chair. “What’s the matter?” Mack said.
“That ride has given me the most awful backache. Do you think Bess will be all right?”
“I don’t know. She’s not very robust.”
A maid came in and offered Lizzie tea and cake, and Lizzie accepted. The maid looked Mack up and down, identified him as a servant, and said: “If you want some tea you can come in the kitchen.”
“I need to see to the horse first,” he said.
He went outside and led the pony around to Dr. Finch’s stable, where he gave it water and some grain; then he waited in the kitchen. The house was small, and he could hear the doctor and his wife talking as they worked. The maid, a middle-aged black woman, cleared the dining room and brought out Lizzie’s teacup. Mack decided it was stupid for him to sit in the kitchen and Lizzie in the dining room, so he went and sat with her, despite the frowns of the maid. Lizzie looked pale, and he resolved to get her home as soon as possible.
At last Dr. Finch came in, drying his hands. “It’s a nasty wound but I believe I have done everything possible,” he said. “I’ve stopped the bleeding, sewn up the gash and given her a drink. She’s young and she will heal.”
“Thank goodness,” Lizzie said.
The doctor nodded. “I’m sure she’s a valuable slave. She shouldn’t travel far tonight. She can stay here and sleep in my maid’s quarters, and you can send for her tomorrow or the day after. When the wound closes I’ll take out the stitches—she should do no heavy work until then.”
“Of course.”
“Have you had supper, Mrs. Jamisson? May I offer you something?”
“No, thank you, I’d just like to get home and go to bed.”
Mack said: “I’ll bring the buggy around to the front.”
A few minutes later they were on their way. Lizzie rode up front while they were in the town, but as soon as they passed the last house she lay down on the mattress.
Mack drove slowly, and this time there were no impatient sounds from behind him. When they had been traveling for about half an hour he said: “Are you asleep?”
There was no reply, and he assumed she was.
He glanced behind him from time to time. She was restless, shifting her position and muttering in her sleep.
They were driving along a deserted stretch two or three miles from the plantation when the stillness of the night was shattered by a scream.
It was Lizzie.
“What? What?” Mack called frantically as he hauled on the reins. Before the pony had stopped he was clambering into the back.
“Oh, Mack, it hurts!” she cried.
He put his arm around her shoulders and raised her a little. “What is it? Where does it hurt?”
“Oh, God, I think the baby is coming.”
“But it’s not due.…”
“Another two months.”
Mack knew little about such things but he guessed that the birth had been brought on by the stress of the medical emergency or the bumpy ride to Fredericksburg—or both.
“How long have we got?”
She groaned long and loud, then answered him. “Not long.”
“I thought it took hours.”
“I don’t know. I think the backache I had was labor pain. Maybe the baby has been on its way all this time.”
“Shall I drive on? We’ll be there in a quarter of an hour.”
“Too long. Stay where you are and hold me.”
Mack realized the mattress was wet and sticky. “What’s soaked the mattress?”
“My waters broke, I think. I wish my mother was here.”
Mack thought it was blood on the mattress but he did not say so.
She groaned again. When the pain passed she shivered. Mack covered her with his fur. “You can have your cloak back,” he said, and she smiled briefly before the next spasm took her.
When she could speak again she said: “You must take the baby when it comes out.”
“All right,” he said, but he was not sure what she meant.
“Get down between my legs,” she said.
He knelt at her feet and pushed up her skirts. Her underdrawers were soaked. Mack had undressed only two women, Annie and Cora, and neither of them had owned a pair of underdrawers, so he was not sure how they fastened, but he fumbled them off somehow. Lizzie lifted her legs and put her feet up against his shoulders to brace herself.
He stared at the patch of thick dark hair between her legs, and he was seized by a feeling of panic. How could a baby come through there? He had no idea how it happened. Then he told himself to be calm: this took place a thousand times a day all over the world. He did not need to understand it. The baby would come without his help.
“I’m frightened,” Lizzie said during a brief respite.
“I’ll look after you,” he said, and he stroked her legs, the only part of her he could reach.
The baby came very quickly.
Mack could not see much in the starlight, but as Lizzie gave a mighty groan something began to emerge from inside her. Mack put two trembling hands down there and felt a warm, slippery object pushing its way out. A moment later the baby’s head was in his hands. Lizzie seemed to rest for a few moments, then start again. He held the head with one hand and put the other under the tiny shoulders as they came into the world. A moment later the rest of the baby slid out.
He held it and stared at it: the closed eyes, the dark hair of its head, the miniature limbs. “It’s a girl,” he said.
“She must cry!” Lizzie said urgently.
Mack had heard of smacking a newborn baby to make it breathe. It was hard to do, but he knew he must. He turned her over in his hand and gave her bottom a sharp slap.
Nothing happened.
As he held the tiny chest in the palm of his big hand he realized something was dreadfully wrong. He could not feel a heartbeat.
Lizzie struggled to sit upright. “Give her to me!” she said.
Mack handed the baby over.
She took the baby and stared into her face. She put her lips to the baby’s as if kissing her, and then she blew into her mouth.
Mack willed the child to gasp air into her lungs and cry, but nothing happened.
“She’s dead,” Lizzie said. She held the baby to her bosom and drew the fur cloak around the naked body. “My baby’s dead.” She began to weep.