Feather Crowns by Bobbie Ann Mason

Author:Bobbie Ann Mason
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2020-07-10T00:00:00+00:00

22

BY FRIDAY ALL OF THE BABIES WERE SICK. THEY WERE FEVERISH AND hot, with wrinkled, red faces and feeble, screaking cries. Their little whimpers again reminded Christie of kittens seeking a nipple. She drank the warm milk James brought in early, because sweet-milk was more nourishing before it cooled. Neighbors continued to bring milk to the springhouse, and somebody was always churning, but Christie had now given up trying to get the babies to suck from the hard rubber nipples. Mittens stayed longer each visit, trying to coax the babies to take her breast. She rocked and sang, her songs more plaintive and urgent now. Mama cut a piece out of a new diaper cloth to make more sucky rags, and she and Amanda and Mrs. Willy tried by the hour to squeeze drops of sweetened milk into the babies. Mama kept up her baby talk as she cuddled the babies one by one. Mrs. Willy kept saying, “It’s a pity.” Alma stormed around, barking orders. She stationed her older children at the doors, and two or three of the men stayed out front at all times. The yard was still full of people. The weather remained cool, and Alma kept the fire going. Christie wanted to pound something to pieces. Sometimes, seeing James outdoors splitting kindling, she could imagine taking hold of the ax and chopping viciously into a stump.

Dr. Foote brought his daughter, Chancey, to sit with the babies on Saturday. He had confidence in his daughter’s observations, he said. She was to let him know of any significant deterioration in the babies’ health. Chancey was a plain girl with a habit of praying spontaneously, the way some people might comment on the temperature or the direction of the wind. “Lord, have mercy on the little souls,” she would say in the middle of a conversation, aiming her eyes at the loft. Christie paid little attention to her. She wished she could walk back through the fields. She paced across the floor, looking out the window, as if she expected someone to come and tell her what to do, or tell the future, or take the babies away. Brother Jones hadn’t taken much particular interest in the babies, but he told James he would hold Minnie’s service whenever they were ready.

Boone came down, bundled in a scarf and earmuffs. He gazed at the four struggling little forms and said something under his breath. Then he said to Christie, “Nannie’s been keeping house for me. Nannie’s going to make somebody a good little wife someday.”

“Nannie?” For a split second Christie didn’t know who Nannie was. “You take care of Nannie,” she said to Boone then. “I need my Nannie.” A spark of fear burned through her. “What will you do to her?”

“Now, Christie, don’t you worry none about Nannie. She’s already learning to cook. She fixed me a biscuit, with three peas and a gumdrop on it. I told her it was larruping.”

Where was James? She saw Mama scalding the churn.

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