My mother and Gran and Mrs. Latcher also talked in very low voices. We could hear, but we couldn't understand.
When all was quiet and still, Libby screamed in agony, and I nearly jumped out of my skin. Her pained voice echoed through the fields, and I was sure she had died. Silence engulfed the pickup. Even the crickets seemed to stop for a second.
"What happened?" I asked.
"A labor contraction," Tally said, without taking her eyes off the window.
"What's that?"
She shrugged. "Just part of it. It'll get worse."
"That poor girl."
"She asked for it."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"Never mind," she said.
Things were quiet for a few minutes, then we heard Libby crying. Her mother and Gran tried to console her. "I'm so sorry," Libby said over and over.
"A Painted House"
"It's gonna be all right," her mother said.
"Nobody'll know about it," Gran said. It was obviously a lie, but maybe it provided a little relief for Libby.
"You're gonna have a beautiful baby," my mother said.
A stray Latcher wandered over, one of the mid-sized ones, and sneaked its way close to the window, the same way I'd crept upon it just a few hours earlier, just moments before Percy nearly maimed me with the dirt clod. He or she-I couldn't tell the difference-began snooping and was getting an eyeful when an older sibling barked at the end of the house, "Lloyd, get away from that window."
Lloyd immediately withdrew and scurried away in the darkness. His trespass was promptly reported to Mr. Latcher, and a vicious tail-whipping ensued somewhere nearby. Mr. Latcher used a stick of some variety. He kept saying, "Next time I'll get me a bigger stick!" Lloyd thought the current one was more than enough. His screams probably could be heard at the bridge.
When the mauling was over, Mr. Latcher boomed, "I told you kids to stay close, and to stay away from the house!"
We could not see this episode, nor did we have to, to get the full effect.
But I was more horrified thinking about the severity and duration of the beating I'd get if my father knew where I was at that moment. I suddenly wanted to leave.
"How long does it take to have a baby?" I whispered to Tally. If she was weary, she didn't show it. She rested on her knees, frozen, her eyes never leaving the window.
"Depends. First one always takes longer."
"How long does the seventh one take?"
"I don't know. By then they just drop out, I guess. Who's had seven?"
"Libby's mom. Seven or eight. I think she drops one a year."
I was about to doze off when the next contraction hit. Again it rattled the house and led first to weeping and then to soothing words inside the room. Then things leveled off once more, and I realized this might go on for a long time.
When I couldn't keep my eyes open any longer, I curled up on the warm soil between the two rows of cotton. "Don't you think we oughta leave?" I whispered.
"No," she said firmly, without moving.
"Wake me up if anything happens," I said.
Tally readjusted herself. She sat on her rear and crossed her legs, and gently placed my head in her lap. She rubbed my shoulder and my head. I didn't want to go to sleep, but I just couldn't help it.
When I awoke, I was at first lost in a strange world, lying in a field, in total blackness. I didn't move. The ground around me wasn't warm anymore, and my feet were cold. I opened my eyes and stared above, terrified until I realized there was cotton standing over me. I heard urgent voices nearby. Someone said, "Libby," and I was jolted back to reality. I reached for Tally, but she was gone.
I rose from the ground and peered through the cotton. The scene hadn't changed. The window was still open, the candles still burning, but my mother and Gran and Mrs. Latcher were very busy.
"Tally!" I whispered urgently, too loud, I thought, but I was more scared than ever.
"Shhhhh!" came the reply. "Over here."
I could barely see the back of her head, two rows in front and over to the right. She had, of course, angled for a better view. I knifed through the stalks and was soon at her side.
Home plate is sixty feet from the pitcher's mound. We were much closer to the window than that. Only two rows of cotton stood between us and the edge of their side yard. Ducking low and looking up through the stalks, I could finally see the shadowy sweating faces of my mother and grandmother and Mrs. Latcher. They were staring down, looking at Libby, of course, and we could not see her. I'm not sure I wanted to at this point, but my buddy certainly did.
The women were reaching and shoving and urging her to push and breathe and push and breathe, all the while assuring her that things were going to be fine. Things didn't sound fine. The poor girl was bawling and grunting, occasionally yelling-high piercing shrieks that were hardly muffled by the walls of the room. Her anguished voice carried deep through the still night, and I wondered what her little brothers and sisters thought of it all.
When Libby wasn't grunting and crying, she was saying, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." It went on and on, time after time, a mindless chant from a suffering girl.
"It's okay, sweetie," her mother replied a thousand times.
"Can't they do something?" I whispered.
"Nope, not a thing. The baby comes when it wants to."
I wanted to ask Tally just exactly how she knew so much about childbirthing, but I held my tongue. It was none of my business, and she would probably tell me so.
Suddenly, things were quiet and still inside the room. The Chandler women backed away, then Mrs. Latcher leaned down with a glass of water. Libby was silent.
"What's the matter?" I asked.
"Nothing."
The break in the action gave me time to think of other things, namely getting caught. I'd seen enough. This adventure had run its course. Tally had likened it to the trip to Siler's Creek, but it paled in comparison with that little escapade. We'd been gone for hours. What if Pappy stumbled into Ricky's room to check on me? What if one of the Spruills woke up and started looking for Tally? What if my father got bored with it all and went home?
"A Painted House"
The beating I'd get would hurt for days, if in fact I survived it. I was beginning to panic when Libby started heaving loudly again, while the women implored her to breathe and push.
"There it is!" my mother said, and a frenzy followed as the women hovered frantically over their patient.
"Keep pushin'!" Gran said loudly.
Libby groaned even more. She was exhausted, but at least the end was in sight.
"Don't give up, sweetie," her mother said. "Don't give up."
Tally and I were perfectly still, mesmerized by the drama. She took my hand and squeezed it tightly. Her jaws were clenched, her eyes wide with wonder.
"It's comin'!" my mother said, and for a brief moment things were quiet. Then we heard the cry of a newborn, a quick gurgling protest, and a new Latcher had arrived.
"It's a boy," Gran said, and she lifted up the tiny infant, still covered in blood and afterbirth.
"It's a boy," Mrs. Latcher repeated.
There was no response from Libby.
I'd seen more than I bargained for. "Let's go," I said, trying to pull away, but Tally wasn't moving.
Gran and my mother continued working on Libby while Mrs. Latcher cleaned the baby, who was furious about something and crying loudly. I couldn't help but think of how sad it would be to become a Latcher, to be born into that small, dirty house with a pack of other kids.