Billie lay on the floor motionless. Her face was drained of color, and there was a huge puddle seeping out from underneath her. The room smelled wet and sour.
“Somethin’ broke,” she whispered, her eyes flickering in pain—or maybe fear.
Josiah nodded, and exhaled deeply. “I sure wish Ofelia was here,” he said, looking to the ceiling. He was kneeling at her side.
They never had got around to bandaging his leg, but that seemed to be a distant concern at the moment. The wind outside whistled as loud as a locomotive, and rain hit the roof like stones dropping from the sky. Josiah sure hoped the house was built solid.
Billie put her hand on her belly and tears began to stream down her face. “Damn you, Charlie. Damn it all to hell. Why ain’t you here? You promised you’d never leave me.”
Josiah ignored the plea. There was nothing he could say to her to ease her pain and he knew it. Neither of them had the ones they loved in their lives to call on, to lean on, when they needed them the most.
“Come on, let’s get you some dry clothes on and get you in bed. That baby’s gonna come whether the doc’s here or not,” Josiah said, standing up.
It was a struggle, but with Josiah’s help, Billie pulled herself up and sat on the edge of the bed, groaning softly, her hand never leaving her stomach.
“You’ve done this before, ain’t you?” she asked, her mouth wide as she breathed in quick bursts.
“No, ma’am. I wish I could tell you I have.”
“But you had four children. What did you do? Go huntin’ while your wife laid in misery?”
“I stood outside the door, watched the little ones after there was more than one. Ofelia, the comadrona, um, the midwife, was there for every one of the births of my children.”
The scowl returned to Billie’s face as she regained normal breathing patterns. “You weren’t there for any of them?”
“The last one. My son.” Josiah hesitated, tried to force the memory out of his mind, but that was impossible.
Lyle was born nearly a year after they had buried the last of their children. Lily’s pregnancy was a new hope, a rebirth of their family. But it wasn’t long into it that she started to grow weak. By the time the baby was due, the fevers had come for her. She died in labor, and with little time to spare, Josiah’s son, and only living child, was cut from Lily’s belly by Ofelia—with Josiah’s help.
It was the saddest moment of his life.
“. . . But it was a difficult birth,” Josiah added, looking away from her, away from her stomach. Tears settled in his eyes, but he refused to let them fall.
“This one ain’t gonna be easy,” Billie said.
“I suppose it’s not. It’s your first pregnancy?”
“Yes,” Billie said. “And from the feel of it, I ain’t gonna be in no hurry to ever do it again.”
“Can you change yourself into a dry dress?” Josiah asked.
He wasn’t a praying man, although there were circumstances when he sure hoped for a certain outcome—but asking an unseen force for a favor seemed silly at the moment . . . when it was just the two of them, stuck in the middle of a storm, with Billie about to give birth.
When Billie nodded yes, Josiah was greatly relieved. “I’ll be right outside the door if you need me.”
“You’re good at that.”
“It’s the last place I’d prefer to be at the moment.”
“Beats bein’ out in the storm, a wanted man, a posse on your heels that won’t offer you a moment of justice,” Billie said.
“I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. That’s not what I meant. I’m sure I’d be hanging from that live oak just outside the door, my feet dragging the ground, if it weren’t for your generosity.”
“This has to be hard for you. I can’t imagine losin’ a baby, much less three. But I don’t think I can do this myself.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Josiah said, easing out the door, closing his eyes, taking a deep breath, wishing he was the kind of man who could run right out of the house and not look back.
Billie’s bloodcurdling scream matched the roar of thunder over the house. Sweat and tears mingled as they streamed down her face. She looked like she was standing outside in the storm instead of lying on her bed, her legs pulled up in a V, about to give birth to a baby.
Josiah could see the baby’s head starting to protrude out of her body. There was no time for embarrassment or hesitation. Billie needed his help, needed him to be strong, to be there for her in a way he couldn’t be there for his own wife when she was alive. He had no choice but to put his hands down between her legs and guide the baby out into the world.
In his memory, Josiah heard Ofelia speaking in Spanish, “Empujar al bebé hacia fuera.” And then in English: “Push, Miss Lily. Push hard.”
Josiah repeated what he remembered. “Push, Billie, push.”
“Oh damn it. Where’s Charlie?”
“Push, Billie.”
The baby’s head was halfway out.
“Push harder, damn it,” Josiah demanded.
Billie screamed again, and with a swift and surprising thrust, the baby was in Josiah’s bloody hands.
For a second, he was in shock, holding the wet and warm little thing. It wasn’t moving. It was all red and wrinkled like a prune. Honestly, the baby scared him, covered in mucus and blood like it was. He’d only seen one that wasn’t cleaned up, and that was Lyle, cut out of his dead mother’s stomach. Josiah had tried to forget that.
Billie was panting, catching her breath, staring at him. Her eyes were all glassy.
Josiah stood back, brought the baby up to his face, and tapped it between the shoulder blades gently. The baby didn’t hesitate. It gasped, let out a whimper, opened its eyes, and began to cry, filling the room with life—and relief.
“What is it?” Billie whispered.
“A girl,” Josiah said. “You have a daughter, Billie Webb. You have a healthy little girl.”
The day had passed right on by with Josiah completely emerged in the drama of the baby’s birth.
The strongest part of the storm had passed over them, too, but the rain persisted, steadily now, tapping on the roof comfortably instead of with the threat of menace or destruction.
There was some coffee left, and Josiah poured himself a full cup. He wasn’t sure what time it was. Coming up on evening. It was hard to tell with the continuing cover of grayness that seemed like it was never going to go away.
Billie and her daughter lay sleeping in the bed. Josiah had done what he could to clean the two of them up, but eventually Billie ran him out of the room, certain she could do it herself. Another relief.
The coffee was strong and only lukewarm since the fire in the stove had nearly died out. After a couple of deep drinks, Josiah set the cup down and tossed a few pieces of wood inside the stove. The pile was getting low and probably wouldn’t last another day. The thought caused Josiah some deep concern. He had no idea how Billie was going to take care of herself.
There was nothing he could do at the moment to help her out, other than warm up the beans and bacon and fry up some bread. He figured Billie would be pretty darn hungry when she woke up.
He wasn’t totally inept when it came to women’s work. He couldn’t be. There were a lot of things he’d had to learn after Lily died. Ofelia was a great help, but in the beginning she wasn’t around all the time. That didn’t happen until Josiah moved to Austin, and Ofelia had decided to come along with him.
He eased over to the window, then eyed all of the ingredients he’d need to get supper going.
The land was flat beyond the barn, and the horizon was a good distance off. It was hard to tell where the rainy sky left off and the earth began.