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fever. For some unknown reason, few slaves were affected by the dreaded disease, so we were busy attending the sick, burying the dead, and keeping things going.
    Bett, especially, was kept very busy preparing teas. She had learned from Olubunmi to cleanse the body with sweats and baths, and to cool it with dampened leaves. Many people were afraid of baths and open windows, but Bett insisted, and some who listened were cured. Our mistress and master were lucky that they did not get even a light case.
    However, during the height of the epidemic, the last week in July, the mistress complained of nagging back pains. Low-hanging dark clouds had blanketed the place for days and rain had fallen heavily the night before. The roads were mud holes when the master went for the doctor. Bett, knowing how busy the doctors were, said, “I just hope things don’t happen here without a doctor.”
    It was pouring rain. I knew that the master should have been back long ago. Bett, still worried said, “If the doctor isn’t here soon, that baby could be in danger.”
    We stood outside the bedroom door, listening. There were groaning sounds but no call for help. So we went back down the stairs to wait for the master. He finally came back alone. The doctor was away treating fever patients in outlying areas. Other doctors who were much farther away were not available either.
    The master was as pale as a sheet and his eyes were wide with fear. He rushed up the stairs without taking off his rain cloak and muddy boots. He must have told his wife the news, for she let out a scream that made Bett, Nance, and me come close together. We did not move when the master rushed down the stairs.
    â€œBett, I am told that you have proven yourself a good midwife. We will need your help.”
    â€œMaster, I don’t know. The mistress must say,” Bett said. “Take me to her.”
    When my sister returned to the kitchen she told us that the mistress screamed, “Why is she here? Get her out of this room.”
    The master said, “Anna, dear, Bett can help.”
    â€œWhut did she say to dat?” Nance asked.
    â€œShe began laughing and said, ‘A black conjurer-woman delivering my baby, never! The doctor will come. We’ll wait.’”
    â€œShe might wait, but dat baby won’t wait,” Nance said.
    The day passed and the master was alone with his wife. We could hear screams through the closed door. Bett paced up and down, up and down.
    â€œWould yuh hep her if she called yuh now, after whut she done said?” Nance asked.
    â€œYes!” Bett answered quickly.
    â€œIf you put yo’ foot in dat room and she done waited too long and die, yuh know you’ll be blamed. Dey’ll hang you.”
    â€œI’m a healer, meant to save lives; if I’m asked, I’ll help.”
    We had dinner ready for the master, but he didn’t appear. Bett went up the stairs to see if we were free to leave. We were not free to go to our rooms until the master said so. We waited. The doctor didn’t come. We lit the lamps. It was hot and the humidity made us uncomfortable, but we fanned ourselves and waited.
    I had fallen asleep on the floor near the cellar pantry when I was aroused by the master’s heavy footsteps on the stairs. He looked so alarmed I was sure the mistress was dead. “Confound that baby,” he said. “It’s killing my Anna.” He went back up the stairs.
    There was silence. It seemed as if no one dared breathe. The sound of rain and croaking frogs, which I had often found soothing, now was a discordant din. Then the master called, “Bett, come quickly.”
    Nance and I sat in the kitchen waiting. It was late and we had not eaten because the master and mistress had not had their share. Surely that baby would come soon. We huddled together waiting for something to happen, dreading to know what it was. We waited. I went and lay on the floor. In spite