Read Butterfly Garden for Free Online Page B

bear.
    That he didn’t know how to soothe her was a hard pill for Adam to swallow, harder even than having her here. “Lizziebelle, I’m ... sorry. I ... I don’t know how to burp her,” Adam said, ashamed for so many reasons, not the least of which was the absurd excuse he offered.
    “My do it,” Katie said. And darned if Lizzie didn’t take the baby right out of his arms, give her to Katie and help the giggling child perform the task. And that tiny mite of a baby girl burped louder than he did when he’d guzzled enough whiskey to fell an ox.
    For a minute, Adam feared the baby might return the contents of her stomach, but God, who’d been handing out some nasty punishments of late, decided Hannah would just settle down to sleep. And Lizzie returned the baby to his care.
    “Why’d you give us to Sara, Datt?” Lizzie asked. “Is it ‘cause you didn’t know how to do burpin?  ‘Cause Sara can teach you, then we can stay.”
    Adam looked toward the ceiling and frowned. Ah, you did have worse in mind . He turned to Lizzie. “Wouldn’t you miss Sara?”
    “Sara could stay too,” Lizzie said, which got the other two to jumping, Katie with glee, and Pris with her pouting face directed at the bed, not at him. Which woke baby Hannah, and made Adam’s stomach feel like his fassnacht was dancing its way back up his throat, when it had only just got past it.
    When it seemed they’d settled down and Pris might fall asleep, baby Hannah got to making some grunting sounds, filling the room with a smell that brought a curse to Adam’s lips at about the same time it brought a giggle to Lizzie’s.
    Three trips to the kitchen by Lizzie and Katie — Pris gagged the whole time — and a load of towels later, and Hannah was sweet-smelling and sleeping again. And Adam was certain, when Sara returned, he was going to jump right off the bed — broken bones and all — and strangle her.
    * * * * *
    Mercy Bachman was forty if she was a day, and she hadn’t lost one baby, she had lost nine over thirteen years.
    Abby all over again, she was all bones and angles, with so much heart and hope — and fear — Sara had to bite her lip and plant her feet just to keep herself from running away.
    She’d not been this frightened during her brother’s birth. She hadn’t been smart enough yet to know how fierce an adversary death could be.
    Mercy’s work-worn husband, Enos, sat in a rocker in the kitchen staring into the face of the Sussman baby in his arms as if willing it to be his.
    Roman waited outside, likely afraid he would miss something.
    May Sussman boiled water while her husband, Cal, chopped wood; she said he could average a cord or more during a good labor.
    Sara smiled but her heart pounded. Mercy’s labor was proceeding slowly. Too slowly.
    Sara helped the ungainly woman don her robe and took her into the best room to pace. There Mercy told Sara the story of each and every lost child, until a pattern emerged. Stalled, overlong labors, exhausted mother and baby. After as long as three days of labor, each child had been born whole but weak, which none overcame beyond the first few minutes or hours.
    Sara encouraged Mercy to walk faster and sent May’s husband to Jordan’s house to wait for him. She told Cal he could chop wood there, if it would help, but he must wait and bring the doctor back. She set Roman to escorting Mercy around May’s best room while she prepared a tea of Gossypium root bark to induce stronger contractions. She remembered Jordan saying it was good for labors that started and stopped. She added wild ginger to the tea to increase Mercy’s energy and through her, hopefully, her child’s.
    For the first half-hour, Mercy sipped tea as she walked, then her labor took off and Sara feared she had used too much root bark. When Mercy was ensconced in bed, her husband started to whine and panic, which distracted Mercy, made her tense, and slowed her labor. Sara ordered Enos outside and May Sussman to