The Sisters from Hardscrabble Bay Read Online Free

it and began to suck.
    “What’s going on? Who’s down there?” Avis was whispering through the cracked door.
    Idella motioned Avis back into the bedroom and then crawled in after her. “Mother’s sick,” she whispered, pulling the door to. “I’m going down there.”
    “You can’t go down, Della. We ain’t s’posed to. Dad said.” Avis took hold of Idella’s nightgown. “Mrs. Doncaster said, too. Please, Della, don’t go down and leave me up here.”
    “I’ve got to, Avis! Mother’s not right. They got the doctor coming. Let go!” Idella pried Avis’s fist from her nightie. “You stay here.” She was not going to tell Avis about the blood.
    She returned to the hall and peered down. No one was there. All the voices were coming from the bedroom, and the door was closed. She had to get down there. She pressed close to the banister, slunk to the bottom of the stairs, then slipped onto the narrow plank bench tucked away behind the stove, where they put their socks and mittens to dry in the winter. It was dark back there. No one would take notice of the bench or of Idella on it.
    She pressed her knees and feet together and looked out into what she could see of the kitchen. The table had been pushed over closer to the stove. She could see last night’s supper, plates of stew stacked right into each other. Part of the loaf of bread was sitting where Dalton had torn into it. The big knife was gone.
    The bedroom door opened. Idella pulled herself closer in behind the stove. “I’ve never seen anything like it.” It was Mrs. Pettigrew. “She was healthy as a horse.”
    “I thought the blood was going to drain right out of her. It’s let up some.” Mrs. Doncaster was huddled with her next to the outside door. She was holding the baby up tight against her and seemed not even to notice she had it.
    “In the name of God, I wish that doctor would come.” Mrs. Pettigrew opened the door and looked out into the night. “We give her them after-birth pills, for the pain, but it don’t help. She’s crying for more. We can’t give her but what they say.”
    “No, I don’t think . . . The doctor’ll know about that. Leave it open, Petty. Fred’s coming right back.” Mrs. Pettigrew nodded, and both women stepped into the open doorway. “The air feels good,” Mrs. Doncaster said, and sighed. “Will this night ever end?”
    “Her color’s gone so bad.” Mrs. Pettigrew lowered her voice to a hissing whisper. Idella strained to hear. “I never seen anyone turn that color.”
    “Gone black, I swear to God.” Mrs. Doncaster lowered her voice, too. The women stood silent for a minute, looking out.
    A loud scream came from the bedroom.
    “Mother of God, I’ll try to help Mrs. Jaegel.” Mrs. Pettigrew rushed back into the bedroom.
    Mr. Doncaster came in carrying more sheets and another big kettle. Mrs. Doncaster looked at her husband and shook her head. “You get that kettle filled and on the stove. We need clean water. Then take the infant back to the house. Tell Lilly to keep an eye on it. Maybe it’ll stay sleeping for a while now.” She stood holding the baby until Mr. Doncaster had hoisted the second kettle up onto the stove and poured buckets of water from the pump like Dad had done. Then she handed him the bundled baby and took the armful of sheets into the bedroom. Mr. Doncaster carried the baby out of the house. It seemed swallowed up against his red plaid shirt.
    The women stayed in the bedroom a long time with Mother. It got quiet. Every once in a while, the door would open and Mrs. Pettigrew or Mrs. Doncaster would slip out, the door swooshing softly behind them. They’d check the water on the stove or go to the window, looking out toward the road for the doctor to come.
    The whole while, hours, Idella sat on the wooden bench. The rough edge of it rubbed under her knees. The warmth from the fire pressed on her face, like someone breathing close up against her cheeks and forehead. Wisps of