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started whittlin’ the little side shoots off of it , so I gulped it down. Atholl started rubbin’ up against me, his hands all up and down my chest and backside , and then he grabbed me and started kissin’ on me and pullin’ at my dress. I was only eleven and didn’t know what was going on but did know I didn’t want to take off my clothes. It was winter and cold and we only had a small fire. But , he hit me and said he’d beat me good if I didn’t take them off, that he’d cut the dress off me and maybe take a little skin, too, if I didn’t do as he said.”
    Rachel was still staring off into space, replaying the episode of shame in her mind, but not sharing the gory details. She put out her little cup and Sarah added a healthy shot of amber anesthesia to it. A contraction hit suddenly, I squeezed her hand , and she transitioned into labor breathing mode, forgetting everything else. The contraction ended and she turned to stone, only her slow, steady breathing indicating that she was alive.
    The air had become heavy with the awkward silence and , evidently, Sarah felt it, too. I could see her twitching, fidgeting with her skirts.
    Rachel started speaking again just as suddenly as she had stopped. “So I could do it with or without the beatin’. And Grant: he just sat there and watched, never sayin’ a word, just holdin’ that switch, smackin’ his hand with it, checkin’ it out to make sure it was nice and smooth. He was hopin’ I wouldn’t do as I was told so he could hit me. You see, Atholl didn’t let him beat me unless I had been bad. Those two didn’t really get along or care much for each other…”
    I squeezed her hand again; the contractions were coming much faster now. Rachel stopped talking and started her huffing and puffing again. Her eyes widened and then she started panting. “Phew, that was a big one,” she said after the contraction ended. “Anyhow, Atholl was bigger and older than Grant. He used to call him names and make him feel bad. I think that there’s somethin’ wrong with Grant, I mean because of the names that Atholl called him, but I really shouldn’t talk about it; it’s real personal. But , it’s just as well I suppose , because he never bothered me ‘that way’, still doesn’t. But he sure gets mean sometimes.”
    Rachel tipped back the last of the whisky in her glass and then set it down awkwardly. She was definitely drunk now. “So, late the next summer , I had Esther. She was beautiful and didn’t cry too much. I saw that the animals got milk after havin’ babies and I did, too. She was real easy to take care of…” Rachel felt me squeeze her hand and started her breathing. She exhaled after it was over and said, “They’re getting’ real close together now, I think, and tougher, too!”
    “So a nyway,” she continued her story like the labor she was enduring was a minor inconvenience to her story telling. The liquor was certainly loosening her lips. “I had to take care of the animals and the baby. It wasn’t a problem though because we only had a few chickens and a couple of goats . I had been outside for a little bit longer than usual because I wanted to get all the eggs. We didn’t have a hen house so I had to go lookin’ in the bushes and where all for the eggs. Esther was asleep when I left. She was still quiet when I got back so I didn’t pay her no mind. I cooked the eggs for Atholl and me for dinner. Grant wasn’t home; I can’t remember…” I squeezed Rachel’s hand and she was huffing and puffing right away.
    “I gotta get this out!” she exclaimed in exasperation.
    “Let me check you,” Sarah said in her midwife tone, “It might be time…”
    “No, no,” Rachel screamed. “Not the baby. I have t o tell someone! It was Atholl! H e k illed my daughter, his daughter! She wasn’t s leeping when I checked on her—s he was dead. He had pulled off her clout , and she was all bloody down there , and she was dead!