Nancy A. Collins, page 11
“Yeah,” Hollis said emptily. “Just like old times.”
000
“Hollis, honey? Are you coming to bed?”
Railsback glanced up from his desk and stared at his wife for a long moment as she stood in the doorway of his study. She was wearing a long nightgown made from some semi-sheer fabric that would have, normally, been enough for him to quit what he was doing and turn in for the night. Now, however, it made her swollen belly look like a moon glimpsed through a scrim of clouds.
“You go on up to bed, darling,” he said, smiling wanly. “I’ll be up after I deal with this paperwork.”
Joslin frowned. She could sense he was lying to her, but couldn’t figure out why. As she left the room she paused and turned back to look at him. “Hollis..?”
“Hmm?”
“I was talkin’ to Suzie Huckabee today, and she said she saw Virgil Bayliss over at the courthouse. Is that true?”
“If she says so, then I reckon it is.”
Joslin flashed a smile brighter than any Hollis could remember being turned in his direction in a long time. “Oh, Hollis! Isn’t it wonderful that Virgil’s out of the hospital?”
“If you consider him bein’ crippled up an’ poorer’n Job’s turkey `wonderful’, then, I guess, yes, it’s wonderful,” he snapped.
“I was just saying how nice it must be for Virgil to be out of that horrid iron lung and finally able to come home…” Joslin said, clearly baffled by her husband’s attitude.
“I know what you’re saying,” he replied tersely. “Now go on up to bed.” Hollis waited a couple of seconds after Joslin closed the door of the study to make sure she wasn’t coming back, then took the bottle of bourbon out of his desk drawer.
Virgil Bayliss. Virgil goddamn Bayliss. First in his dreams, now on the fucking sidewalk on his damned cripple-sticks. He thought he had gotten that bastard out of his life twelve years ago, only to wake up and find him back again.
He especially didn’t like the fact Virgil started recovering from his polio around the exact same time Joslin became pregnant. That really bothered him. What if his old luck had found him and was coming home to roost? Granny Grimes warned him he was stirring fire with a sword, but he had been too obsessed with his need for a son to listen to her warnings.
Still, there was no true cause for alarm on his part. The Virgil Bayliss he spoke to today was as much the old Virgil Bayliss he had so keenly resented as the man in the moon. Indeed, he actually felt pity for the cripple. After all, his good looks were ruined, his health broken, his fortune lost, and he was reduced to living with his kid sister and taking charity from his father’s old cronies up at the state house. What was there to envy or resent…?
No, Virgil was the one envying him now. How galling it must be for him to come back home, only to find his place of business and former fiancée claimed by the same man? How bitter must Virgil’s heart be, knowing that the house Hollis lived in, the cars he owned, and the woman who shared his bed could have all been his? How must it pain him to he there, in his sister’s spare bedroom, and think about how the child in Joslin’s belly should have been his? No, strike that last part.
Still, as much as it made Hollis feel good thinking about how much better he had it than Virgil, he could not shake the feeling that, somehow, as miserable as his life might be, Virgil Bayliss did not have dreams of being hunted in the pumpkin patch by something that wasn’t quite an animal, but was most certainly not a man.
Part Three: Halloween, 1958
The first contractions occurred one minute after midnight, although Hollis was no longer sharing a bed with his wife. As Joslin’s belly continued to expand, and his drinking had grown worse, Hollis had gradually surrendered his marriage bed in favor of sleeping on the sofa in his study. Despite this, Joslin’s initial howl of pain was loud enough to wake him.
Hollis sat bolt upright on the sofa, looking around blearily, his senses still blunted by the bourbon he used to put himself to sleep. It took him a long second before realizing the cries of pain, for once, were not part of his nightmare, but coming from upstairs.
He took the stairs two at a time, his heart banging like a tractor cylinder. He found Joslin sitting up in bed, her hands resting on her swollen stomach like a swami’s crystal ball. Her features were drawn and she bit her lower lip in pain as another contraction hit her.
“Is it time?” he asked, trying to keep the fear out of his voice.
“It’s time,” she replied, smiling through her discomfort. “You better go call Doc Bocage and tell him our lit’l punkin’ child is on his way.” Hollis nodded dumbly and hurried back downstairs to phone the doctor. So many thoughts were fighting for room and attention inside his head: he had to find his shoes, pull the car around, make sure Joslin didn’t forget the little overnight case packed with a change of clothes, then call Joslin’s family and let them know what going on, get a message to Edna, who had replaced Mamie as his personal secretary when she retired in ‘S3, that he wouldn’t be in the office in the morning …But, first, he had to call Lester and let him know that Joslin was in labor and that they were on their way to the clinic.
His hands were trembling so fiercely it took three tries for him to get his index finger in the rotary dial. The phone on the other end of the line rang once, twice, thrice…
“Hello?” The voice on the other end was blurred by sleep, but Hollis recognized it as belonging to Bocage’s wife.
“Tess? It’s me, Hollis Railsback. Can you put Lester on the horn? Joslin’s gone into labor.”
“I’m sorry, Hollis, but Lester’s not here.”
“What?”
“He’s in Lake Village.”
“What the hell is he doing in Lake Village at this time of night?”
“Ginger Teeter went into premature labor earlier this evening. Lester followed the ambulance to Lake Village General. I don’t expect him back until daylight.”
“Jesus Christ on the cross, Tess! What am I supposed to do here? Joslin’s in labor!”
“Try and keep your head, Hollis. You won’t do Joslin or yourself any good gettin’ upset. Babies don’t just fall out on the floor. Joslin’s got at least six to twelve hours to go before she’ll be ready to deliver. I’ll put a call into Lake Village, that way Lester can swing by your place on his way back into town.”
“But, what should I do?”
“There’s not much you can do right now, except hold her hand, give her some ice chips so she doesn’t get dehydrated, and make sure she’s comfortable.”
Hollis hurried into the kitchen and grabbed one of the ice trays out of the freezer and wrapped the ice cubes in a hand towel and whacked it a few times with the tenderizing mallet, then dumped the busted ice into a small bowl. He wasn’t sure what good cracked ice would do, but at least it kept him busy.
When he got back upstairs, he found Joslin sprawled on the floor between the bed and the closet, moaning in pain. He dropped the bowl, ice chips instantly forgotten, and scooped up his wife and placed her on the bed.
“Baby, are you alright? What happened?”
Joslin’s head rolled from shoulder to shoulder, her eyelids fluttering as she fought to regain consciousness. “I was going …to get …the overnight case …but the pain …it was too much …I must have fainted …Did you call the doctor?”
“I called him, alright. Look, honey, I got some bad news. Doc Bocage had an emergency call that took him out of the county…”
Joslin’s eyes widened with fear as what he was telling her registered. “Hollis, what are we gonna do?”
“I spoke to Lester’s wife, and she said that you’ve got a few more hours to go before the baby comes. Lester should be back by then. Everything will be awright. I fetched you some ice chips…”
“To hell with ice chips!” Joslin snapped, her eyes flashing with pain. “And to hell with Tess Bocage! There’s something wrong, Hollis!” She grimaced as another spasm gripped her abdomen, leaving her panting like a winded animal. “It feels like I got knives inside me. It’s not supposed to feel like this, Hollis. Something’s wrong-bad wrong. You gotta get some help.”
“But, the doc’s in Lake Village…”
Joslin dug her nails deep enough into Hollis’s forearm to draw blood, the corners of her mouth pulled so tight her lips disappeared. “Get help!”
000
Although it was well after midnight, there was still a light burning in the window of Granny Grimes’ shack. Hollis made the porch in a single bound, unmindful of what might lurk beneath its stoop, and pushed open the front door without knocking.
A solitary Coleman lantern hung from a hook in the ceiling, casting its lambent glow about the tiny one-room cabin. Jasper sat in front of the stove, perched atop an upended orange crate, reading a dog-eared funny book, but Granny was nowhere to be seen.
“Where is she?” Hollis demanded, stepping towards the boy, his hands closing into fists. “Where’s the old woman?”
Jasper stared silently at Hollis for a long moment, then returned his gaze to the tattered copy of Archie Comics.
“You pay attention when I’m talkin’ to you, you little fuck!” Hollis bellowed, boxing the boy’s ears hard enough to knock him onto the floor. “Where’s the old witch?!? Answer me, or I swear by Almighty God I’ll kick you yeller, boy! And don’t think I won’t do it, too!”
Jasper wiped his lower lip, stared at the smear of crimson on the back of his hand, then looked up at the man towering over him. “She’s off deliverin’ the Creek baby,” he said sullenly. Hollis was slightly surprised to hear the boy speak, as he wasn’t sure the boy was not a mute.
“Well, you go an’ fetch her! Tell her my wife’s gone into labor and is in a bad way, but the doctor’s been called outta town! I need her help with the baby! Tell her there’s money in it for her.” He took a piece of paper and a pencil from his pants pocket and scribbled down his address and shoved it into the boy’s hand. “Here’s where I live. Tell her I’ll leave the front door unlocked.” When Jasper didn’t instantly leap up and bolt out the door, Hollis lifted back his left foot, in preparation of putting a boot in the gut. “You heard me, boy! If I tell you `frog’, you jump!”
Jasper scrambled to his feet and dashed out the door into the chill autumn night without once looking back. Hollis shook his head in disgust as he watched Jasper run through the pumpkin patch in the direction of Waddy Creek’s place. Apparently the only way to get through to the boy was with a strong right hand and the threat of violence. With that, Hollis drove back home to await Granny Grimes’ arrival.
000
When Hollis pulled up to the front of the house, he could hear Joslin screaming, even though all the windows were closed. He hurried upstairs and found Joslin looking much worse than when he left her. Her hair was plastered tight to her skull with sweat, and the lines in her face were etched so sharply they looked like scalpel wounds. The bedclothes were twisted and snarled, and the bottom half of the mattress was soaked with fluid.
“My water broke,” Joslin gasped by way of explanation. “Where did you go? Did you get help?” Her eyes darted around the room, hoping to spot signs of an ambulance crew or a doctor.
“I sent for a midwife.”
“Midwife-?” Joslin frowned. “Where is she?”
“She’ll be here shortly. She was off delivering another baby, but don’t you worry. I had her…” Hollis paused, uncertain of exactly what relation Jasper was to Granny “…I had her boy fetch her.”
“Are you sure it’ll be safe?” Joslin asked.
“We’ve got nothing to fear,” Hollis said, patting her hand. “After all, Granny Grimes has delivered more babies than Lester Bocage has hair on his head.”
“Jesussssss!” Joslin shrieked and grabbed the corners of the mattress, baring her teeth in a grimace.
“I’ll go get you some water,” Hollis said, and quickly hurried back downstairs, eager to excuse himself from the room. He returned to the freezer to make more ice chips, only to realize he hadn’t bothered to refill the trays he had emptied earlier.
“Son of a bitch!” Hollis shouted, hurling the aluminum ice cube trays across the kitchen. He angrily pounded the kitchen table several times with his balled-up fist. After a minute or two of swearing and beating the hell out of the furniture, he stepped back and took a deep breath, trying to regain control of himself.
He had never expected to be this involved in the birthing of his child. He had imagined his role would be limited to driving Joslin to the clinic and pacing the waiting room, chain-smoking cigarettes until the doctor stuck a little bundle wrapped in a blue blanket in his arms and said, “Congratulations, it’s a boy!” He certainly hadn’t bargained for any of this.
There was nothing he could really do to help Joslin except hold her hand and tell her the doctor was on his way over and over again like a goddamned broken record. If there was anything Hollis hated more than Freedom Riders and Johnson Grass, it was feeling helpless. And right now he was about as much use as handles on a house.
If he was going to face what the rest of the night had to offer, it would require a little Dutch courage. He went into his study and retrieved a fresh bottle of bourbon from his desk. All he needed was a little belt, that was all, before going back upstairs to his groaning, sweating, laboring wife. There was nothing wrong in taking a drink to steady his nerves, right? He was no use to Joslin and the baby if he panicked, right?
He was a quarter-way through the bottle when he heard what sounded like hoof beats headed towards the house. Hollis went to the window and peered out through the curtains. Granny Grimes was coming up the drive on a mule, a carpetbag satchel clutched in one hand. As the mule got closer, Hollis saw the boy Jasper riding behind Granny, his arms wrapped about her waist. Hollis was glad it was the middle of the night and that his house was set a quarter mile back from the road. It wouldn’t do for the neighbors to see the local witchy-woman walking through the front door of the richest man in town.
Hollis stepped out of the study just as Granny crossed the threshold into the house. She paused in the foyer, staring up at the crystal chandelier blazing over her head, a look of disdain on her wizened face.
“Hmph. So that there’s `lectricity,” she said. “Don’t seem that special, if ye ask me.”
“Thank God-you’re here!”
Hollis had never thought he would ever be glad to see Granny Grimes again, but now it was all he could do to keep from bursting into tears. The same obviously could not be said for Granny, who regarded Hollis as if she’d just scraped him off her shoe.
“Gawd ain’t got nothin’ to do with it,” she replied. “Where’s yore woman?”
Before Hollis could reply, a scream of pain loud enough to cause the pendants on the chandelier to rattle came from upstairs. Granny glanced up at the ceiling and nodded. “Well, I reckon that answers that question. I’m gone head on up and see what’s what.”
“What about me? What do you want me to do?” Hollis asked as he watched the old woman climb the stairs to the second floor.
“I’m gone need fresh towels. Ye can show Jasper here where y’all keep `em.”
Hollis glanced over the boy, who was still standing on the stoop, staring warily about the foyer. “C’mon inside,” he said, motioning for Jasper to enter the house. “I’ll show you the linen closet.”
Hollis lead the way down the hall to the first floor closet, from which he removed an armload of towels and handed them to Jasper. As he stood in the open doorway, he realized for the first time he was still holding the bottle of bourbon.
“What the hell?” he muttered. “I can afford to relax now.”
Hollis tilted back his head as he lifted the bottle to his lips, taking his eyes off the boy. Suddenly the door slammed shut, sending him staggering backward, spilling most of the content of the bottle onto his shirt. He grabbed the doorknob, but it refused to turn.
“Let me out of here! You little shit!” he shouted, pounding his fist against the doorjamb. “What the Hell are you playing at?”
If Jasper gave an answer, Hollis could not discern what it was. He pressed his ear to the door and strained to hear if the boy was giggling at his little prank, but all he could hear was his own heart, rabbiting away in his chest. No doubt the little bastard pulled the stunt to get back at Hollis for slapping him around earlier. Well, by damn, the little son of a bitch was really going to catch Silly Blue Hill now! Hollis gulped down the remaining bourbon, narrowing his eyes as he plotted his vengeance on the nappy-headed wood’s colt.
000
Hollis was not aware he had drifted off until the sound of the closet door slowly swinging open started him awake. Despite the awkwardness of his situation, the combination of alcohol, darkness, and silence had somehow managed to lull him into a state of unconsciousness. Hollis stumbled out of the closet, but there was no sign of anyone in the hall.
“That’s right, you lit’l pissant!” Hollis shouted. “You better run and hide! Cause when I catch you, boy, you’re gonna have to part your hair to sneeze!” As his own voice echoed through the house unchallenged, two things suddenly occurred to Hollis: all the lights had been turned off, and except for the ticking of the grandfather clock in the front parlor and his own ragged breathing, the house was as silent as a morgue.
Joslin.
He took the stairs three at a time, his mouth so dry he couldn’t work up enough spit to lick a stamp. As he reached the second floor, the bedroom door was standing wide open. A sick dread, as clammy as a dead man’s hand, closed about his heart.
“Joslin?” he whispered as he stepped into the darkened room. “Joslin, honey-are you there?”
The bedroom was darker than the rest of the house, as its drapes were still drawn against the inevitable arrival of the morning sun. Still, the smell is enough to tell him something has gone horribly, horribly wrong. The last time he smelled anything like it was during the war, when one of the guys in his platoon caught shrapnel in the gut, causing his bowels to spill out of his body like grotesque party streamers. Although Hollis knew he didn’t want to see what lay in wait for him on the bed, he automatically turned on the bedside lamp.
