From Stratford, she drove northeast on Highway 54. In less than an hour, she crossed the state line into Oklahoma. Will Rogers offered a smile and a wave from a billboard, welcoming her to the Sooner State. She took a deep breath and gave a prayer of thanks.
Just minutes later, she was driving into the town of Goodwell, population 1,192, according to a sign posted at the city limits. She pulled abreast of some children waiting for a school bus and asked for directions to the local cemetery.
It looked as though considerably more people had been buried in Goodwell’s cemetery than now lived in the town. She drove up and down the lanes, hoping she could spot a suitable grave marker from the car. She could not. So she tucked the baby inside her jacket and, with Ralph following along behind, walked up and down the rows until at last she found what she was looking for.
Janet Marie Wisdom had been born the year after Jamie’s birth and died at age three. Jamie took note of the girl’s birthday then touched the tombstone, thinking of the grieving parents who had buried this child here. “I hope you don’t mind if I borrow your name, little Janet,” she said. “I’d rather your family name was Smith or Jones, but Wisdom is a fine name.”
Then it was on to Guymon. The town was considerably larger than Goodwell, with a downtown clustered around a courthouse square. She stopped at a service station and looked in a phonebook for midwives. Only one was listed. Mae Vandegrift, certified nurse-midwife. She dialed Mae’s number and explained that she had had a baby unattended yesterday morning and was bleeding pretty badly.
“What’s your name, dear?”
Jamie hesitated. “Janet,” she said. “I can’t go to the hospital. I don’t have any insurance. I can pay some, but not much.”
“You on the run?”
“Yes,” she said. “From my boyfriend.”
Mae explained how to find her house.
It was a one-story brick dwelling set well back from the road. A pair of horses watched over the fence as Jamie turned into the driveway.
A middle-aged woman with graying hair answered the door. “You and that baby get yourselves in here out of the cold,” she ordered.
Jamie stepped into a cozy living room warmed by a gas heater installed inside a flagstone fireplace. Family pictures smiled from the mantel. A large and well-worn Bible sat in the middle of the round coffee table.
“The boyfriend do that to you?” Mae asked, pointing at the lump on Jamie’s forehead.
Jamie nodded.
Mae sighed and shook her head as she reached for the baby. “And no one was with you when you had this baby?”
Again Jamie nodded.
“You poor child. Where are your folks, honey?”
“Dead,” Jamie said, blinking back tears. The kindness and concern in the woman’s voice threatened to erode the force of will that had kept her going until now. She squared her shoulders. She was strong, she reminded herself. She would always be strong. She had to be for her baby’s sake.
“So, what are you going to do?” the midwife asked, indicating that Jamie was to sit on the sofa.
Jamie sat down, putting the baby to her shoulder and laying her cheek against his head. “I don’t know yet,” she admitted.
“I can give you information about state assistance programs for single mothers,” Mae said as she reached for the baby and placed him lengthwise on her lap. The baby’s eyes were open, and he seemed to be looking up at the midwife. “Well, aren’t you a handsome little fellow. I bet your old aunt Mae can find some clothes to dress you in.”
Jamie reached over and stroked her baby’s cheek. “I’ve never been around babies much. I need to buy a book and learn how to care for him.”
“I’ll give you some reading material, and your own instincts will kick in. He seems calm enough. Have you tried to nurse him?”
Jamie nodded. “But the stuff coming out of my breasts doesn’t look much like milk. Maybe I should buy some formula.”
“No call for that. He’s getting exactly what he needs.”
Mae asked Jamie how she was feeling, then, carrying the baby, she led the way to her clinic, which was housed in a room that been built onto the back of the house. “My mother built this room for a beauty parlor,” Mae said as she struck a match and lit a gas heater. “I grew up shampooing hair and taking out curlers.”
After washing her hands, the midwife thoroughly examined the baby, then listened to his heart and lungs, took his temperature, cleaned the cord stump, and weighed him. At five pounds nine ounces, he was a bit undersized but seemed quite healthy, Mae assured Jamie. She explained how to care for the cord stump and that the greenish stuff that was starting to come out of his bottom was normal.
Once she was finished with her examination, Mae diapered the baby, dressed him in a pair of fleecy pajamas, wrapped him in a pink blanket, and placed him in an infant carrier. “Sorry about the pink blanket,” she said.
Jamie had the feeling that she wasn’t the first woman who had showed up at Mae’s door with a baby wrapped in a bath towel.
“Now it’s your turn, Janet,” Mae said, handing her a flowered gown and pointing to a curtained-off corner of the room.
With Jamie sitting on the end of the examining table, Mae took her blood pressure, checked her pulse, listened to her heart and lungs, took her temperature, then helped her lie back on the table. With her head resting on a clean, soft pillow, Jamie realized how exhausted she was.
Mae covered her with a sheet, guided her feet into the stirrups, and sat on a stool at the end of the table.
“Good grief, girl!” she exclaimed. “You’re just one big bruise! That so-called ‘boyfriend’ should be arrested!”
Jamie said nothing, feeling almost guilty that she was allowing some nonexistent man to be maligned.
“Well, you tore some,” Mae said, “but not too bad for a first baby. I’ll clean you up and stitch you back together. You’ll be just fine.”
When Mae finished her examination, she explained that she was deadening the perineum as best she could but that Jamie was still going to experience some pain.
Jamie clenched her fists and tried not to cry out, which proved to be impossible. Still, it was nothing compared to what she had been through giving birth.
The stitches in place, Mae helped Jamie into a sitting position and rattled off a list of instructions for her and the baby. “I’ve got all this in writing, so it’s okay if you don’t remember everything.”
“What about a birth certificate?” Jamie asked.
“We’ll get to that,” Mae said. “First, I want to watch you nurse this little guy.”
Mae showed Jamie how to position the baby and discussed how long and how frequently she should nurse him. “It’s best to nurse him on both sides each session,” she instructed. “You may have to tickle his cheek or jiggle him a bit to keep him awake.”
Once the baby had nursed on each breast and was sleeping contentedly, Mae put him back in the infant seat. Jamie got dressed and carried the baby into the kitchen. Mae gave her a cup of hot tea and a generous slice of homemade banana-nut bread, then sat across the table from her, holding an official-looking form.
“Since you obviously just had a baby, I can sign this form as ‘certifier.’ If I had delivered the baby, I would be ‘attendee.’ But either way, it’s all legal and aboveboard.”
“Do I have to list the father’s name on the birth certificate?” Jamie asked.
Mae shook her head. “No. If you had a husband with you, I’d be required to report his name, but otherwise, I can just leave that line blank. Okay, now, what is your full name, dear?”