The River Girl's Christmas (Texas Women of Spirit Book 4) (10 page)

A smile tugged at one corner of Mama’s pale lips. “He is pink and plump. Couldn’t wish for more.”

Grandma Louise came and touched Mama’s forehead. “We’re here now, Marjorie.”

Mama’s chest rose, and her exhaled breath rattled in her throat. Her eyes never left Zillia’s face. “You’ll do fine. Just fine. Don’t . . .” She gasped once more, and her eyes closed.

Zillia had to lean forward to catch the words.

“Don’t tell Jeb about the trunk.”

“Mama?” Zillia grabbed the hand once more, but the strength had already left her mother’s fingers. She tugged at her mother’s arm, but it dropped back, limp on the quilt.

A tear trickled down Grandma Louise’s wrinkled cheek. “Go on to the kitchen, Zillia. The baby should be nearer to the fire with this night air comin’ on. Soonie and I will clean up in here.”

“I don’t want to leave her,” Zillia protested. But one glance at her mother’s face and the world seemed to collapse around her, like the woodpile when she didn’t stack it right.

How could Mama slip away?
A few hours ago they’d been laughing while the hens chased a grasshopper through the yard. They’d never spent a night apart and now Mama had left for another world all together. She pulled her hand back and stood to her feet. She blinked, wondering what had caused her to make such a motion.

Soonie held the baby out. His eyes, squinted shut from crying, opened for a moment and she caught a hint of blue. Blue like Mama’s.

Zillia took him in her arms. Her half-brother was heavier then he looked, and so warm. She tucked the cloth more tightly around him while he squirmed to get free. “I have to give him a bath.” Red fingerprints dotted the blanket. “I need to wash my hands.”

“Of course you do. Let’s go see if the water is heated and we’ll get you both cleaned up.” Tears brimmed in Soonie’s eyes and her lip trembled, but she picked the bundle of cloths that Grandma Louise had gathered and led the way into the kitchen, her smooth, black braid swinging to her waist as she walked.

Zillia cradled the baby in one arm, and her other hand strayed to her tangled mess of hair that had started the day as a tidy bun with ringlets in the front. What would Mama say? She stopped short while Soonie checked the water and searched for a washtub.
Mama will never say anything. Ever again.

The baby began to wail again, louder this time, and her gulping sobs fell down to meet his.

Zillia sank to the floor, where she and the baby cried together until the bath had been prepared.

As Soonie wrapped the clean baby in a fresh blanket, Jeb burst into the house. He leaned against the door. “The doctor’s on his way.” His eyes widened when he saw the baby. “That’s it, then? Boy or girl?”

“Boy.” Soonie rose to her feet. “Jeb, where have you been? I saw you send someone else across on the ferry.”

Jeb licked his lips and stared down at the floor. “Well, ah, I got word to the doctor. I felt a little thirsty, thought I’d celebrate. I mean, birthing is women’s work, right?”

The bedroom door creaked open, and Grandma Louise stepped into the kitchen. Strands of gray hair had escaped her simple arrangement. Her eyes sparked in a way Zillia had only witnessed a few times, and knew shouldn’t be taken lightly.

“Your thirst has cost you dearly, Jeb Bowen.” Grandma Louise’s Swedish accent grew heavier, as it always did with strong emotion. “While you drank the Devil’s brew, your wife bled out her last hours. You could have spared a moment to bid her farewell. After all, she died to bring your child into the world.”

Jeb stepped closer to Grandma Louise, and his lips twitched. Zillia knew he fought to hold back the spew of foul words she and her mother had been subjected to many times. Whether from shock or some distant respect for the elderly woman, he managed to keep silent while he pushed past Grandma Louise and into the bedroom.

Zillia stepped in behind him. Somehow, in the last quarter of an hour, Grandma Louise had managed to scrub away the worst of the blood and dispose of the stained sheets and petticoats. The blue quilt was smoothed over her mother’s body, almost to her chin. Her hands where folded over her chest, like she always held them in church during prayer.

Tears threatened to spill out, but Zillia held them back. She wouldn’t cry in front of Jeb.

The man reached over and touched Mama’s cheek, smoothing a golden curl back into place above her forehead. “You was a good woman, Marjorie,” he muttered.

“Jeb.” Zillia stretched out her hand, but she didn’t dare to touch him.

When he turned, his jaws were slack, and his eyes had lost their normal fire. “You stupid girl. Couldn’t even save her.”

Zillia flinched. A blow would have been better.
Surely the man isn’t completely addled? Not even the doctor could have helped Mama.
She shrank back against the wall, and swallowed words dangerous to her own self.

Jeb stared at her for another moment, then bowed his head. “I guess that’s that.” He turned on his boot and walked out of the room.

Find out more about this book, and Angela Castillo’s

other writings, at
http://angelacastillowrites.weebly.com