“That’s a good girl,” Mrs. Wainwright said. “That is a good girl.
We’ll he’p you, honey.
We’ll walk with ya.”
They helped her to her feet and pinned a blanket over her shoulders.
Then Ma held her arm from one side, and Mrs. Wainwright from the other.
They walked her to the brush pile and turned slowly and walked her back, over and over; and the rain drummed deeply on the roof.
Ruthie and Winfield watched anxiously.
“When’s she goin’ to have it?” he demanded.
“Sh!
Don’t draw ’em. We won’t be let to look.”
Aggie joined them behind the brush pile.
Aggie’s lean face and yellow hair showed in the lamplight, and her nose was long and sharp in the shadow of her head on the wall.
Ruthie whispered,
“You ever saw a baby bore?”
“Sure,” said Aggie.
“Well, when’s she gonna have it?”
“Oh, not for a long, long time.”
“Well, how long?”
“Maybe not ’fore tomorrow mornin’.”
“Shucks!” said Ruthie. “Ain’t no good watchin’ now, then.
Oh!
Look!”
The walking women had stopped.
Rose of Sharon had stiffened, and she whined with pain.
They laid her down on the mattress and wiped her forehead while she grunted and clenched her fists.
And Ma talked softly to her.
“Easy,” Ma said. “Gonna be all right—all right.
Jus’ grip ya han’s.
Now, then, take your lip inta your teeth.
Tha’s good—tha’s good.”
The pain passed on.
They let her rest awhile, and then helped her up again, and the three walked back and forth, back and forth between the pains.
Pa stuck his head in through the narrow opening.
His hat dripped with water.
“What ya shut the door for?” he asked.
And then he saw the walking women.
Ma said,
“Her time’s come.”
“Then—then we couldn’ go ’f we wanted to.”
“No.”
“Then we got to buil’ that bank.”
“You got to.”
Pa sloshed through the mud to the stream.
His marking stick was four inches down.
Twenty men stood in the rain.
Pa cried,
“We got to build her.
My girl got her pains.” The men gathered about him.
“Baby?”
“Yeah.