The Seary Line Read Online Free Page B

and she cried, “Oh Percy, I don’t even know what to do with it.”
    He chuckled lightly. “Well, how about we figure out whether
it
is a he or a she.”
    Delia inspected the room from her chair. “Close the back door. Check the windows. Put another junk on the fire.”
    â€œIt’s plenty warm in here,” he replied, but did as he was told.
    â€œFor us, it is. But I don’t want no drafts. I idn’t taking a single chance on this one.”
    She pulled away the soft flannel, ran a finger over the scrunched up face, the sparse strands of hair, and paused when she touched the indentation on the top of the skull, life beating beneath. She unwound the blanket, and the baby was dressed in a full-length cotton sleeper, secured at the shoulder and underneath the arms. Tucked inside, near the child’s hip, was an impossibly small pair of shoes, soft leather, sewn around the edges.
    â€œOh look, Percy. Adorable. Pampooties.”
    â€œA tight squeeze on my toes,” he replied as he danced a quick jig. “But I’ll get as much use as I can out of them.”
    â€œFoolish old goat,” she said as she fumbled with the strings, yanked gently. “God. Who tied this up?”
    She could not disguise her frustration, though Percy understood she was really aggravated with herself.
    â€œCould you,” she said, “help me?”
    He knelt beside her, and with his thick fingers, he untied the knots she had made. Then he waited beside her as she unclipped the single pin that held the diaper in place and peeked inside.
    â€œA girl, Percy. It’s a she. She’s a she.”
    â€œNow then.”
    â€œBut look. That black stuff. Right tarry. Like James. Don’t you remember?”
    Of course I remember
. He could not actually speak these words as the sorrow in his voice would upset her. How could he not remember his first son? No fatter than that skinned rabbit, still piled on the cutting board. So often, when he was alone in his shed, he would close his eyes, cup his hands together, and recall that weight, that warmth pressing against his palms. Limp legs resting on his forearms. Toes like bird claws. He had watched the body for hours, until the pink mottle began to fade, settling underneath.
    â€œGod, I’m so angry at myself.” Delia lifted her bad hand, let it knock down on the wooden arm of the rocker. “I can’t even clean her. How stupid could I of been?”
    Percy sighed, felt the muscles around his heart slacken ever so slightly. He was relieved that something inside his house might finally ground his wife, when all her life she’d lived without forethought. Letting the forces tug her any which way. A leaf in the wind.
    He laid a blanket in front of the stove, poured some warm water from the kettle in a bowl, and cooled it. Bony ankles clipped between his fingers, he swiped and swiped, folding the cloth over upon itself each time.
    â€œRight stubborn,” he whispered. “But that’s the best I can do.”
    â€œIs she okay? Shouldn’t she have woken up?”
    â€œShe’s just fine, maid. I just got a gentle touch is all.” He swaddled her in the blanket, handed her back to Delia, and the baby squirmed slightly, lips yawning into a perfect O. “Should I make a little pap?”
    â€œAh. Just a bit of the milk’ll be fine. Got a bottle this morning. Was going to make a custard. Surprise for you.”
    â€œFar better surprise we’s getting now. Idn’t we?”
    As evening spread its dull wing over the trees outside the kitchen window, Delia rocked slowly, humming, child like the comfort of a warm stone on her lap. Her child. And no one would ever suggest any different. Even though the girl did not come straight from her body, such accommodations were made frequently. No gossiper would dare prod a woman’s most tender bond, doubly so when that woman happened to be barren.
    Percy