When Darkness Loves Us

The wind howled outside, blowing snow so hard it sounded like sand rasping off a layer of wood. Fern listened to it quietly, taking strength from it between pains. Harry made her tea, fussed over her, worried himself into a frenzy, and paced, cursing. He hated this. This was something he had done to her, and he was sorry. He saddled up a horse in the barn, to keep ready in case the storm eased and he could ride to Addie’s. Addie had experience in things like this. Addie could help.

Just before the white dusk turned to dark, the wind stopped. Absolute silence outside made Fern’s raspy breathing loud and terrible to his ears. The pains were frequent. He’d tied a rag to the headboard for her to hold, and as he walked into the room, she was pulling on it, perspiration rolling down her face and neck, moaning, cords and muscles standing out in her neck and arms in dramatic chiseled relief. He slid into his overcoat, and when the pain passed, he walked to the side of their bed.

“Storm broke, Fern. I’m going for Addie,” he whispered softly.

“No. Harry, it’s close. Stay here.” Another pain gripped her, and he ran out of the house.

Addie grabbed a coat and swung up behind Harry. Sam said he’d saddle up a horse and be along presently. They rode urgently through the knee-high snow, only guessing where the road was. The wind began to pick up again as they neared the house. They heard the screams, both fearfully telling themselves it was a trick of the wind. It was no trick. Addie jumped off the horse and ran inside, dropping her coat on the kitchen floor. Harry dawdled in the barn, his heart racing, feeling helpless and useless.

Fern’s knees were bent high, tenting the covers. She gripped the rag, her face and pillow soaked. A wail began deep inside, forcing its way through her exhausted body. Addie closed the door quickly and whipped off the covers. The bed was soaked with blood. The wail stopped abruptly as Fern’s eyes bulged, a dark vein stood out in the middle of her forehead, and she gave a tremendous grunt, a push, and Addie saw the brown top of a head poke out, then recede back inside.

“Push, Fern, he’s almost out!”

Fern pushed. She let go of the rag and gripped her thighs with strong fingers. Addie watched as they dug deep into the flesh, little droplets of blood mixing with sweat and trickling down her thighs. Fern’s back arched with the effort, oh, God, it was so awful, it was right there, why won’t it come out, push, push, oh, God, PUSH!

The baby gushed out into Addie’s waiting hands. Fern fell back against the pillows, her eyes rolling. Addie noted it was a girl, and laid the baby down on the sheet. She quickly ripped the hem of her dress and tied the umbilical cord.

“It’s a girl, Fernie. A baby girl!” So announced, the child took a mighty breath and let out with a cry.

“A girl,” Fern sighed, trying to smile.

Addie ran to the kitchen for a knife, signaled to Harry who had just come in. “A girl, Harry.”

“A girl?” His face brightened. It was over, and they had a baby girl. Addie bustled back inside the bedroom, Harry following her. He was not prepared for the mess he saw. It made him sick to the stomach. He’d seen plenty of birthings—cattle, sheep, dogs and cats, but never so much blood. And this was from his wife!

Addie cut the cord, then lifted up the baby. “Look, Harry, a baby girl!”

They both looked, and Addie’s arms went limp. She almost dropped the child.

“Oh my God,” she breathed quietly.

“I knew it, I knew it. I knew it!” Harry’s voice shook with emotion, with grief.

“Addie? Harry? Give me my baby.” Fern leaned up weakly on an elbow, looking at their faces. Something was wrong. Oh, God, something was terribly wrong. “What is it?”

The two stood there, looking at the child crying and waving its little arms and legs. They looked at each other, then at Fern. Addie’s face was a mask of misery and pity; Harry’s had that strange grimace of distaste drawing his lips away from his teeth. “Oh, God, what’s wrong?”

CHAPTER 7

Doctor Withins knocked on the screen door, startling Martha out of a television-induced drowse.

She scrambled to her feet quickly as the doctor came in, smoothed down her housedress, and patted at her hair.

“Hello, Martha!” The doctor was a big burly man, a country doctor, with a wide-open face and big bear hugs for all his patients. Everyone in the community knew and relied on Doctor Withins; he was even known to help a horse or a cow in trouble. Martha was a regular on his list; he stopped by periodically to give her a checkup and make sure she was all right. “It’s that time again.”

“That time,” Martha repeated, delighted. She’d always loved Doctor Withins.

“How are you feeling?”

“Good!” Martha’s eyes lit up. “Baking bread for Mr. McRae, got television, making friends.”

“Well! Isn’t that nice. Come sit down here, loosen the buttons on your dress.” He set his black bag on the table and withdrew a stethoscope. “Friends, huh? So you’re getting out a little more?”

“Went shopping.”