River of Dust A Novel

Twenty-one

G race half woke again to the sound of a child crying and fell back asleep. When she heard it for a second time quite a bit later, she lifted her head from the pillow. The wooden shutters were drawn, so she assumed it was nighttime. She heard soft footsteps in the hall and then weeping, this time not a child's, but a woman's weak sobs. For once, Grace could tell that the sounds were real and not in her dreams. She was grateful to notice the difference.

She pulled the covers away and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She had walked only twice in the six weeks since Rose had been born and both times with Ahcho holding her up to keep her from falling. She put her bare feet onto the cool floorboards now and felt grateful that her body didn't crumple under her weight. In the corner, Mai Lin snored in her cot with Baby Rose asleep on a low mattress beside her.

Grace didn't bother with her silk robe, which lay on the chaise longue. She inched forward, trying not to concentrate too hard on each step for fear of jinxing herself. She thought only of the crying that continued from beyond her door.

She made her way across the room without stumbling and held tightly to the handle as she tried to regain her strength. Her legs felt as heavy as bags of desert sand. She could feel her blood coursing slowly through her veins. It was a strange sensation to notice something that normally went unnoticed. A steady pumping and whirring sound had replaced the nervous humming vibrations that she had grown accustomed to for so long.

Grace had overheard Doc Hemingway explaining her condition to the Reverend. After the birth, she remained in grave danger still of dying from blood loss. It would take months for her body to fully recover. Slowly, and with the help of iron-rich foods, she would make enough new red blood to be strong again, although finding decent food was nearly impossible now.

Without the proper amount of blood in her body, Grace was prone to coldness and to an annoying swishing sound in her ears that threatened to take over her entire self. She felt surrounded by the sensation of blood as it propelled itself through her. She thought it odd that she now noticed the coursing of blood precisely because of a lack of it. There wasn't enough life in her veins, so she throbbed all over with what little was left.

She opened the door and waited for her light-headedness to subside. Then she commenced to inch forward again, holding on to the banister at the top of the stairs. The crying seemed to be coming from Daisy's bedroom at the end of the hall. Grace stopped before the slightly opened door and paused before entering.

As she stood, she looked down at her pale bare feet and flimsy gown. A shaft of light coursing through the moon window at the end of the hallway shone on her full figure under the thin, white cotton. She should have put on her robe, she realized, but it was too late now that she had come this far. Her body looked foreign to her— plump and bent and sagging under the weight of all she had been through. Her breasts hung like overripe fruit, and she could not imagine anyone seeing her and feeling anything but sorry. Like a much older woman, she had nothing to hide anymore. Decorum or custom or female vanity was lost on a body that had endured too much. She was no longer the girl whose primary concern had been to appear appropriate and bright in the face of the future. The Martins would have to forgive her. The crying was what mattered. Grace understood that now. Everything else was immaterial.

She pushed open the door and slipped into the room. Mildred Martin sat in a straight-backed chair beside her daughter's bed, her head of prematurely silver hair bowed. Normally, Mildred wore it up in a tight bun, but now it cascaded down her back in a shimmering river. She wept softly into a handkerchief.

Grace went to Mildred and put a hand ever so lightly on her shoulder. The seated woman didn't flinch or in any way acknowledge in words that another body had entered the room. She merely reached up her own pale hand and placed it over Grace's. They both kept their eyes on the now sleeping child. Grace didn't see anything wrong with dear Daisy, who normally filled the house with her rather demanding voice and busy antics. She was a handful— robust and not sickly, so Grace wasn't sure why her mother sat and seemed to worry over her now.

Then Mildred, as if guessing Grace's thoughts, reached forward and lifted Daisy's sleeping wrist into the air. The child's arm, thinner than Grace had remembered it, sagged like a catenary. It swung slightly as if a breeze had caused it to sway. The bowed bones appeared made of rubber. They curved unnaturally, and Grace felt a pain rise up in her chest. Her ears filled suddenly with the sound of her own throbbing blood, as if she might drown in it.

"Dear God," she whispered.

"Rickets," Mildred said as she delicately set her daughter's arm back on the covers. "The poor child isn't getting enough milk or green vegetables or meat. Her body is leaching away calcium and vitamin D until the bones can no longer remain solid. She is starving, Grace."

Mildred turned suddenly in her seat and flung her arms around Grace's waist. She pressed her head against her friend's loose stomach, and quickly her tears soaked through the thin material of her nightgown. "I can't stand it any longer," Mildred said. "We must get out of here."

Grace's fingers gently stroked Mildred's long hair from the top all the way down her waist. Then her hand softly settled upon her back.

"It may already be too late," Mildred added, her shoulders shaking with tears. "The trip back home could kill her."

"Don't think that way. But you're right. You must go."

Mildred pulled away from Grace and wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her robe. She studied her friend with deep fondness and curiosity. "But what about you? I didn't think you'd make it, dear Grace, but you are stronger than anyone I know. How have you managed with such loss and with a husband who is forever gone from your side?"

Grace pulled herself free from her friend. "Don't think about me now. It's Daisy and you that we must consider."

Mildred leaned forward and asked, "But what about your precious girl, your baby?"

Grace stepped close again and placed a palm on Mildred's cheek. "My baby," she echoed.

Her friend flinched at Grace's touch. "My heavens, your hands are icy cold. We must get you back into bed. That Mai Lin should watch over you better. You're not well."

Grace realized she was trembling all over, her teeth chattering silently. It was true, she wasn't well. She let Mildred take her arm.

"You must leave for America with us," Mildred whispered. "You and the baby can't possibly stay here a moment longer. My Reverend is trying to book us passage on a boat out of Shanghai. We'll get you a berth, and you will join us." She turned Grace toward her and spoke sternly. "Even if that husband of yours refuses to go, you must not stay. For the baby's sake, please, Grace, say you'll consider it?"

Grace nodded, but now she needed to concentrate on every step. The whooshing of blood in her veins was growing unbearably loud again, and she feared she might collapse. It was time for Mai Lin to administer to her. She longed to drift into sleep again and imagined the relief of her soft bed. Another chill passed through her body, and she shook violently. She shut her eyes and willed herself to be transported to rest. But with her body so cold, she understood she would have to cross a vast and snowy tundra to find peace again. Grace allowed herself to be carried back to the fields at home on a wintry morning. She tried to remember the fun she'd had as a girl in newly fallen snow.