Becky stood abruptly, profile stretched in the late
afternoon shadow, comically long with a humped belly. Her sky blue eyes widened
in surprise, her mouth forming a perfect o in tandem with her thoughts. Not
yet. Please God, not yet.
Her belly was hard as an oak beneath her hand and wetness
spread down her legs mingling with the cream spilling from the overturned
churn.
She’d had twinges most of the afternoon but had figured it
was just because she was nervous. Jack was gone hunting and wouldn’t be back
until morning. She didn’t like being alone so far from other people.
Her legs buckled as the next contraction possessed her. As
soon as it passed she hobbled to the porch and lay down. This is it. There will
be no waiting.
It wasn’t long before her baby slipped from her, slick and
slimy, wrapped in a caul. Becky tore it open with her teeth and massaged the
baby’s chest until he began to breath and the blue left his face. She counted
his toes and his fingers, stroked his dark head, kissed his nose. He nursed, his tiny fist burrowing into her
armpit.
They fell asleep together, serenaded by crickets and
whippoorwills, their futures joined, etched in tiny, secret cursive across the
darkening sky.
