Read The River Girl's Christmas (Texas Women of Spirit Book 4) Online
Authors: Angela Castillo
The River Girl's Christmas (Texas Women of Spirit Book 4) (9 page)
“Yes,” Soonie sighed. “Maybe someday you can come and see us, in Oklahoma.”
“You never know what God will put in our path,” said Zillia. “But for tonight, I’m going to hold on to right now. I can’t imagine a more beautiful time.”
Out they went, to the wagons, with the Christmas stars lighting the way home.
THE END
About the Author
Angela Castillo has lived in Bastrop, Texas, home of the
River Girl, almost her entire life. She studied Practical Theology
at Christ for the Nations in Dallas. She lives in Bastrop with her husband and three children. Angela has written several short
stories and books, including
the Toby the Trilby
series for kids.
to find out more about her writing, go to
http://angelacastillowrites.weebly.com
Excerpt From
The River Girl’s Song
Texas Women of Spirit
Book 1, Available on Amazon in paperback, Kindle and audio.
1
Scarlet Sunset
“
W
e need to sharpen these knives again.” Zillia examined her potato in the light from the window. Peeling took so long with a dull blade, and Mama had been extra fond of mash this month.
Mama poured cream up to the churn’s fill line and slid the top over the dasher. “Yes, so many things to do! And we’ll be even busier in a few weeks.” She began to churn the butter, her arms stretched out to avoid her swollen belly. “Don’t fret. Everything will settle into place.”
“Tell that to Jeb when he comes in, hollering for his dinner,” muttered Zillia. The potato turned into tiny bits beneath her knife.
“Don’t be disrespectful.” Though Mama spoke sharply, her mouth quirked up into a smile. She leaned over to examine Zillia’s work. “Watch your fingers.”
“Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.” Zillia scooped the potato bits into the kettle and pulled another one out of the bag. Her long, slender fingers already bore several scars reaped by impatience.
“Ooh, someone’s kicking pretty hard today.” Mama rubbed her stomach.
Zillia looked away. When Papa was alive, she would have given anything for a little brother or sister. In the good times, the farm had prospered and she chose new shoes from a catalogue every year. Ice was delivered in the summer and firewood came in two loads at the beginning of winter. Back then, Mama could have hired a maid to help out when the little one came.
She and Mama spent most of their time working together, and they discussed everything. But she didn’t dare talk about those days. Mama always cried.
“I might need you to finish this.” Mama stopped for a moment and wiped her face with her muslin apron. “I’m feeling a little dizzy.”
“Why don’t you sit down and I’ll make you some tea?” Zillia put down her knife and went to wash her hands in the basin.
Water, streaked with red, gushed from beneath Mama’s petticoats. She gasped, stepped back and stared at the growing puddle on the floor. “Oh dear. I’m guessing it’s time.”
“Are you sure? Dr. Madison said you had weeks to go.” Zillia had helped with plenty of births on the farm, but only for animals. From what she’d gathered, human babies brought far more fuss and trouble. She shook the water off her hands and went to her mother’s side.
Mama sagged against Zillia’s shoulder, almost throwing her off balance. She moaned and trembled. The wide eyes staring into Zillia’s did not seem like they could belong to the prim, calm woman who wore a lace collar at all times, even while milking the goats.
Zillia steadied herself with one hand on the kitchen table. “We need to get you to a comfortable place. Does it hurt terribly?”
Mama’s face relaxed and she stood a little straighter. “Sixteen years have passed since I went through this with you, but I remember.” She wiped her eyes. “We have a while to go, don’t be frightened. Just go tell your stepfather to fetch the doctor.”
Zillia frowned, the way she always did when anyone referred to the man her mother married as her stepfather. Jeb had not been her choice, and was no kin to her. “Let me help you into bed first.”
They moved in slow, shaky steps through the kitchen and into Mama’s bedroom. Zillia hoped Mama couldn’t feel her frenzied heartbeat.
I have no right to be afraid; it’s not me who has to bring an entire baby into this world.
Red stains crept up the calico hem of Mama’s skirts as they dragged on the floor.
A sourness rose in the back of Zillia’s throat.
This can’t be right.
“Is it supposed to be such a mess?”
“Oh yes.” Mama gave a weak chuckle. “And much more to come. Wait until you meet the new little one. It’s always worth the trouble.”
Mama grasped her arm when they reached the large bed, covered in a cheery blue and white quilt. “Before you go, help me get this dress off. Please?”
Zillia’s hands shook so much she could hardly unfasten the buttons. It seemed like hours before she was able to get all forty undone, from Mama’s lower back to the nape of her neck. She peeled the dress off the quivering shoulders, undoing the stays and laces until only the thin lace slip was left.
Another spasm ran through Mama’s body. She hunched over and took several deep breaths. After a moment, she collected herself and stumbled out of the pile of clothing.
When Zillia gathered the dress to the side, she found a larger pool of blood under the cloth. Thin streams ran across the wood to meet the sunlight waning through the window panes. “There’s so much blood, Mama, how can we make it stop?”
“Nothing can stop a baby coming. We just have to do the best we can and pray God will see us through.” “I know, Mama, but can’t you see . . . I don’t know what to do.” Zillia rubbed her temples and stepped back.
Mama’s mouth was drawn and she stared past Zillia, like she wasn’t there.
Mama won’t want the bed ruined.
Zillia pulled the quilt off the feather tick and set it aside. A stack of cloths were stored beneath the wash basin in preparation for this day. She spread them out over the mattress and helped her mother roll onto the bed.
Thin blue veins stood out on Mama’s forehead. She squeezed her eyes shut. “Go out and find Jeb, like I told you. Then get some water boiling and come back in here as fast as you can.”
Zillia grabbed her sunbonnet and headed out the door. “God, please, please let him be close. And please make him listen to me,” she said aloud, like she usually prayed.
Parts of her doubted the Almighty God cared to read her thoughts, so she’d speak prayers when no one else could hear. At times she worried some busybody would find out and be scandalized by her lack of faith, but unless they could read thoughts, how would they know?
None of the urgency and fear enclosed in the house had seeped into the outside world. Serene pine trees, like teeth on a broken comb, lined the bluff leading to the Colorado River. Before her, stalks littered the freshly harvested cornfield, stretching into the distance. Chickens scattered as she rushed across the sun-baked earth, and goats bounded to the fence, sharp eyes watching for treats.
“Let Jeb be close!” she prayed again, clutching her sunbonnet strings in both fists. She hurried to the barn. Her mother’s husband had spent the last few days repairing the goat fence, since the little rascals always found ways to escape. But he’d wanted to check over the back field today.
Sounds of iron striking wood came from inside. She released the breath she’d been holding and stepped into the gloomy barn.
Jeb’s back was towards her, his shirt soaked through. Late summer afternoon. A terrible time for chores in Texas, and the worst time to be swollen with child, Mama said.
“Jeb, Mama says it’s time. Please go get the doctor.”
“Wha-at?” Jeb snarled. He always snarled when her mother wasn’t around. He swung the axe hard into a log so it bit deep and stuck. The man turned and wiped the sweat from his thin, red face. Brown snakes of hair hung down to his shoulders in unkempt strands. “I got a whole day of work left and here it is, almost sunset. I don’t have time to ride into town for that woman’s fits and vapors. She ain’t due yet.”
Zillia fought for a reply. She couldn’t go for the doctor herself; she’d never leave Mama alone.
Jeb reached for the axe.
“There’s blood all over the floor. She says it’s time, so it’s time.” Zillia tried to speak with authority, like Mama when she wanted to get a point across. “You need to go Jeb. Get going now.”
When it came to farm work, Jeb moved like molasses. But the slap came so fast Zillia had no time to duck or defend herself. She fell to the ground and held her face. Skin burned under her fingers. “Please, Jeb, please go for help!” she pleaded. Though he’d threatened her before, he’d never struck her.
“Shut up!” Jeb growled. “I’ll go where and when I wish. No girl’s gonna tell me what to do.” He moved away, and she heard the horse nicker as he entered the stable.
Wooden walls swirled around Zillia’s head. The anger and fear that coursed through her system overcame the pain and she pushed herself up and stood just in time to see Jeb riding down the road in the direction of the farm belonging to their closest neighbors, the Eckhart family.
They can get here faster than the doctor. First common sense thing the man’s done all day.
“Please God,” she prayed again. “Please let Grandma Louise and Soonie be home.”
###
Blood, scarlet like the garnets on Mama’s first wedding ring, seemed to cover everything. The wooden floor slats. Linen sheets, brought in a trunk when their family came from Virginia. Zillia’s fingers, all white and stained with the same sticky blood, holding Mama’s as though they belonged to one hand.
The stench filled the room, sending invisible alarms to her brain. Throughout the birth, they had played in her head.
This can’t be right. This can’t be right.\
The little mite had given them quite a tug of war, every bit as difficult as the goats when they twinned. Finally he’d come, covered in slippery blood that also gushed around him.
Over in a cradle given to them by a woman from church, the baby waved tiny fists in the air. His lips opened and his entire face became his mouth, in a mighty scream for one so small. Zillia had cleared his mouth and nose to make sure he could breathe, wrapped him in a blanket, and gone back to her mother’s side.
Mama’s breaths came in ragged gasps. Her eyelids where closed but her eyes moved under the lids, as though she had the fever. Zillia pressed her mother’s hand up to her own forehead, mindless of the smear of red it would leave behind.
The burned sun shrank behind the line of trees. No fire or lantern had been lit to stave off the darkness, but Zillia was too weary to care. Her spirits sank as her grasp on Mama’s hand tightened.
At some point Mama’s screams had turned into little moans and sobs, and mutterings Zillia couldn’t understand. How long had it been since they’d spoken? The only clock in the house was on the kitchen mantle, but by the light Zillia figured an hour or more had passed since Jeb left. When the bloody tide had ebbed at last, Zillia wasn’t sure if the danger was over, or if her mother simply didn’t have more to bleed.
A knock came at the door. The sound she had waited and prayed for, what seemed like all her life. “Please come in.” The words came in hoarse sections, as though she had to remind herself how to speak.
The door squeaked open and cool evening air blew through the room, a blessed tinge of relief from the stifling heat.
“Zillia, are you in here?” A tall, tan girl stepped into the room, carrying a lantern. Her golden-brown eyes darted from the mess, to the bed, to the baby in the cradle. “Oh, Zillia, Jeb met Grandma and me in town and told us to come. I thought Mrs. Bowen had weeks to go, yet.” She set the light on the bedside table and rushed over to check the baby, her moccasins padding on the wooden floor.
“No doctor, Soonie?” Zillia croaked.
“Doctor Madison was delivering a baby across the river, and something’s holding up the ferry. We passed Jeb at the dock, that’s when he told us what was going on. The horses couldn’t move any faster. I thought Grandma was going to unhitch the mare and ride bareback to get here.”
In spite of the situation, Zillia’s face cracked into a smile at the thought of tiny, stout Grandma Louise galloping in from town.
An old woman stepped in behind Soonie. Though Grandma Louise wasn’t related to Zillia by blood, close friends called her ‘grandma’ anyway. She set down a bundle of blankets. A wrinkled hand went to her mouth while she surveyed the room, but when she caught Zillia’s eye she gave a capable smile. “I gathered everything I could find from around the house and pulled the pot from the fire so we could get this little one cleaned up.” She bustled over to the bedside. “Zillia, why don’t you go in the kitchen and fill a washtub with warm water?”
Though Zillia heard the words, she didn’t move. She might never stir again. For eternity she would stay in this place, willing her mother to keep breathing.
“Come on, girl.” Grandma Louise tugged her arm, then stopped when she saw the pile of stained sheets. Her faded blue eyes watered.
Zillia blinked. “Mama, we have help.”
Maybe everything will be all right.
Grandma Louise had attended births for years before a doctor had come to Bastrop. She tried to pull Zillia’s hand away from her mother’s, but her fingers stuck.
Mama’s eyes fluttered. “Zillia, my sweet girl. Where is my baby? Is he all right?”
Soonie gathered the tiny bundle in her arms and brought him over. “He’s a pretty one, Mrs. Bowen. Ten fingers and toes, and looks healthy.”