TDTLBU Chapter Three

Myra frowned as she found herself yet again setting the heavy laundry basket on the floor as she paused to breathe, pressing a hand to her stomach. She was only two months into her pregnancy and it was seeming an eternity. At first she had felt sick… dreadfully sick. And now she just felt so tired and weak that she could barely get herself out of bed in the morning.

Turning to the mirror that hung on the sidewall, she grimaced at her reflection. "Myra Hayes!" she shook her head ruefully. "I do declare, you're looking old! Positively gray! And you about to become a mother. If being pregnant is this difficult… how hard must it be to care for an infant?"

"Mrs. Hayes?" the shrill voice from the back porch erased the frown and settled a smile on Myra's face. Leaving the laundry basket where it sat… darn the heavy thing!... Myra crossed the kitchen to fling the screen door open and welcome her young visitor.

"Emma Ruth! I was just hoping you'd come for a visit today. You'll never know just how much I appreciate having you around!"

"Anyway I can help, Mrs. Hayes," the girl grinned as she lifted a large basket onto the kitchen table. "Mama has sent over loads of things! She may even be as excited as I am for this baby." Emma removed the covering of checkered cloth from the basket as she spoke, lifting out intriguingly-shaped brown-paper packages and covered dishes.

"Are you that excited, Emma?" Myra's own voice trembled with excitement as she spoke. The one thing that made her happier than the thought of her baby was the knowledge that her friends were looking forward to welcome her little one.

"How could I not be, Mrs. Hayes?" Emma looked up, brown eyes sparkling as she offered a plate of molasses cookies. "After all, Mickey is four and doesn't count as a baby any longer… and as I'm just eight years older than him myself, I never really had a chance to actually take care of a baby. Cookie? I made them myself. The only time I'm even able to hold a baby is at church… and never long enough. You will let me hold the baby a lot, won't you Mrs. Hayes?" Emma had to pause for breath at this juncture and Myra laughed, the tired grayness seeming to fade for the time being.

"As often and as long as you'd like, Dear," she answered indulgently.

"Oh… wonderful!" Emma seemed fairly to vibrate with enthusiasm as she flew about the kitchen, storing away the things from her basket. Myra sank into one of the rickety wooden chairs at the table, watching the girl in amusement as she stood on tiptoe to take plates and glasses from the cupboard, the table set in a few short minutes.

"The meatloaf is still warm," she added as she laid the covered dish on the table. "Mama made some extra from our lunch. She thought it would be good for you to take a break. Hopefully it's still warm by the time Mr. Hayes comes in. I passed him on my way here," she continued. "I almost forgot to tell you he said to check the hayloft. So I did, because I thought you probably wouldn't want to, having to climb a ladder and all. And guess what I found there?"

"I couldn't imagine," Myra raised her eyebrows in question. With a secretive smile, Emma turned to lean out the open window and lifted a second basket inside. A basket which emitted mysterious noises. Carefully lifting the cover, she set something small and furry into Myra's hands.

"A kitten! Oh, how darling!" Myra lifted the tiny orange ball of fur to her cheek, feeling the satiny softness, smiling as the kitten squeaked in protest.

"There are four altogether," Emma smiled triumphantly. "I'll have to put them back in the loft, I suppose, but I thought you would want to see them." She dropped the other three in a squirming, mewing pile on Myra's lap and turned to scoop up the laundry basket.

"What shall we name them?" Myra frowned contemplatively. "Something literary perhaps?"

"Oh, definitely." Emma smiled. "Why not after the greatest authors… Austen, Dickens, Montgomery, and Scott?"

"Emma Ruth," Myra laughed. "You are decidedly older than your age. I've never before known a twelve-year old so enthusiastic about those authors. If you don't think it would be an insult to their authorly dignity, those would certainly be elegant names! Or, should we choose names after the greatest characters? This one, the black male kitty… why not Darcy? And this little brown tabby is also a male… why not Gilbert?"

"Then the orange one is Anne Cordelia and the grey one is Lizzy!" Emma finished enthusiastically. "Perfect."

"Then I duly christen thee Darcy, Gilbert, Anne Cordelia and… uh… Lizzy." Myra announced grandly. "Here, Emma, let me help you with the laundry… I don't want you to come over just to do all my work for me," So saying, she stood to deposit the kittens back into their basket.

"Oh, no, Mrs. Hayes…" Emma protested, grunting as she lifted the basket. She was surprisingly strong for a scrawny girl of twelve. "You shouldn't have to work so hard."

"But it's not hard, Emma, I…" Myra paused suddenly, pressing a hand again to her stomach as a sudden and severe pain shot through her body. A look of alarm crossed her face, not unnoticed by Emma, who had dropped the basket onto the floor and was asking if she was alright, her voice filled with concern. Myra couldn't answer. The pain subsided almost as suddenly as it had come but returned immediately, this time even more forceful in its intensity. With a gasp, she doubled over, nearly collapsing onto the floor. But Emma moved forward quickly, guiding her back into the chair.

"What is it, Mrs. Hayes? What's wrong?"

"I… don't… know!" Myra cried, biting her lip nervously. "It hurts… so bad… Emma."

"Is that… normal?" Emma asked uncertainly. "I don't remember Mama talking about having such pains…"

"No… I don't think… it's normal," Myra sobbed in between breaths. "Go… go get Rob."

Emma stood stunned for a moment, staring at her with confusion in her eyes. But before Myra could repeat her request, the girl seemed suddenly to find her legs and she turned to run from the house, forgetting even to shut the door in her haste.

Rob slowed the rickety old tractor to a halt, lifting a hand to shade his eyes as a little figure clad in blue checks, long brown hair flying in the wind, came running to meet him. His first thought was that of alarm as he jumped from the tractor, hurrying to meet Emma halfway. She had just passed but half an hour ago and she had looked perfectly rational then. That she should suddenly be so frantic was a sure sign that something had gone terribly wrong.

"Emma! What is it, girl? Is something wrong with Myra?"

"Oh, Mr. Hayes!" the girl nodded, her face streaked with tears. "I don't know what it is, but she's awful sick. She has a pain… in her stomach… I don't know what's wrong!"

Without another word, Rob took off across the fields toward home. Emma followed, faltering, as she wiped away her tears and stopped to whisper a quick prayer.

Myra was on the floor in a sobbing heap when Rob burst through the open door and could hardly answer his anxious questions. But he wasn't even listening for the answers. His face was white as he gathered her up in his arms and made for the door.

"Is there anything I can do?" Emma called as she followed through the doorway and stood watching as Rob set Myra down in the back seat of his old Ford.

"Just pray that the doctor is in!" he called back. Emma sighed as she watched him drive down the lane, blowing up clouds of dust so high that they nearly obscured the car. How long she stood there, she didn't know. She only knew that she was suddenly called back to reality by the mews of the kittens as they rubbed around her legs.

"How did you get out of your basket?" she gathered them up and buried her face in the soft fur. "I guess it's just you and me now," she said mournfully, glancing around the empty kitchen. "Darcy! Don't scratch at Lizzy like that. You're supposed to be a gentleman. Gentlecat, I guess. But gentle all the same. Well, you have to return to the loft or your Mama will be worried. Almost as worried as my Mama if I don't get myself home soon.”