“There ain’t no kids seen it,” Ruthie insisted proudly. “On’y us.”
Down by the mattress, in the bright light of the lamp, Ma and Mrs. Wainwright held conference. Their voices were raised a little over the hollow beating of the rain. Mrs. Wainwright took a paring knife from her apron pocket and slipped it under the mattress. “Maybe it don’t do no good,” she said apologetically. “Our folks always done it. Don’t do no harm, anyways.”
Ma nodded. “We used a plow point. I guess anything sharp’ll work, long as it can cut birth pains. I hope it ain’t gonna be a long one.”
“You feelin’ awright now?” Rose of Sharon nodded nervously. “Is it a-comin’?”
“Sure,” Ma said. “Gonna have a nice baby. You jus’ got to help us. Feel like you could get up an’ walk?”
“I can try.”
“That’s a good girl,” Mrs. Wainwright said. “That is a good girl. We’ll he’p you, honey. We’ll walk with ya.” They helped her to her feet and pinned a blanket over her shoulders. Then Ma held her arm from one side, and Mrs. Wainwright from the other. They walked her to the brush pile and turned slowly and walked her back, over and over; and the rain drummed deeply on the roof.
Ruthie and Winfield watched anxiously. “When’s she goin’ to have it?” he demanded.
“Sh! Don’t draw ’em. We won’t be let to look.”
Aggie joined them behind the brush pile. Aggie’s lean face and yellow hair showed in the lamplight, and her nose was long and sharp in the shadow of her head on the wall.