The man heaved a deep sigh and looked out into the gathering twilight. The slender young moon was dropping fast. This birthing ought to get over. When the river’s tide turned, life could go out mighty quickly. Ebb tide is a dangerous time for sick people.
Old Granny was too slow. Too easy-going. When this same girl was born sixteen years ago, or was it seventeen, Granny had a long race with Death and lost, yet here she was poking around with her roots and teas, trifling away the time.
“Granny,” he stopped to clear the huskiness out of his throat, “better make haste. De tide’ll soon turn. Ebb tide ain’ to be trusted, you know.”
A wry smile shriveled Granny’s face. “You’s too short-patienced, Breeze. Dis is a long-patienced task. It takes time. You better go cut one more turn o’ fat lightwood an’ fetch em in. De fire is got to keep up shine to-night.”
A pitiful moan from the corner stopped her talk, and, with an echoing grunt, the man stepped down into the yard.
Granny’s shaking head bobbed faster as she watched him hurry to the wood-pile and pick up the ax. Her trembling hands drew her shawl closer around her bent shoulders. Lord, how time does change people, she muttered to herself. Breeze was no mild fellow in his youth. No. He was a wild scamp. But when his own girl got in trouble, he r’ared around and wanted to kill the man that fooled her. As if she wasn’t to blame too. A good thing the girl had sense enough to keep her mouth shut. Nobody could make her say who the father of her child was. She was a shut-mouthed creature. But spoiled to death. Rotten spoiled. No wonder. Here she was, disgracing her father’s house, after he had raised her nice as could be, but he hadn’t a hard word for her. Not one. If he hadn’t humored her all her life to everything heart could wish, she’d get to work and finish this birthing before dark, instead of keeping people fretted with worry-ation all day and now, more than likely, half the night. But as long as her soft-hearted old father took her part, Granny was helpless, and her scolding did no good.
The sturdy ax-cuts that rang out gave Granny an idea. That ax was sharp and clean. The plow-share was hampered with rust. Why wouldn’t the ax cut the birth-pains far better? Hurrying back to the door she quavered out shrilly, “Bring me dat ax, Breeze! Hurry wid em.”
He came with it, but halted at the door. He had ground that ax only this morning. Its edge was awful keen. This was no time to be risking anything. Granny had better be careful.
Granny stretched her old neck forward and her forehead furrowed with a frown as she said sharply that as long as she’d been catching children, if she couldn’t rule an ax, she’d better quit right now and go home! She couldn’t stand for people to meddle with her when she was doing her best. What did a man know about birthing? Put the ax beside the share. Together they’d fetch the child like a lamb a-jumping!
When steel jangled against steel under the bed, Granny ordered sharply, “Now you git out de door till I call you. You ought to be glad for de pain to suffer dis gal. I’m so shame of how e done, I can’ hold my head up. I hope to Gawd you’ll lick em till e can’ stand up, soon as e gits out dis bed. I never did hear no ’oman make sich a racket! E ought not to much as crack e teeth! I wish e was my gal. I’d show em how to be runnin’ round a-gittin’ chillen, stead o’ gittin’ a nice settled man fo’ a husband.” Granny eyed the girl, then her unhappy old father, severely, but her talk was to no purpose, for old Breeze’s eyes were bloodshot with pity, his very soul distressed.