“I wanted to be sure,” I say.
Lady Kuo looks flustered. “Only one person determines who is pregnant in this household,” she says unsteadily, “and that is Doctor Wong.” She motions to Sparrow, her servant. “Send for him.”
A shiver runs through me as I recall Grandmother warning me about the methods male doctors use to confirm this diagnosis. This is Miss Chen’s first child and she was not raised by physicians, so she must not be aware of the procedure, because she says, “I will do whatever is required.”
Lady Kuo regards the concubine. “And how long have you kept your secret? Or have you already told my husband?”
Next to me, Miss Chen sways ever so slightly.
“Answer me!” Lady Kuo snaps.
Tears well in the concubine’s eyes. I hold on to my elbows deep within my sleeves. Miss Chen may have thought my presence would benefit her, but I had read the situation differently and planned accordingly. I cannot say my motives were pure of heart. I wanted to put myself in a better light. My chance came a couple of weeks ago, when I first suspected that Miss Chen was pregnant. I just had to wait. I would not like to call myself devious, but I needed both to be sure of my own condition and to present the news in such a way that my motherin-law might look kindly on me. Maybe kindly is the wrong word. I hoped Lady Kuo would be pleased to learn her only son’s wife was with child; I believed she wouldn’t be able to hold back her usual criticism of me. That pattern is too resolute in her. I thought that by orchestrating the announcement to unfold this way, I would direct Lady Kuo’s ire at her husband’s concubine instead of me. I hoped as well that I might find an ally in Miss Chen, and we could go through our pregnancies together.
Doctor Wong arrives that afternoon to see Miss Chen and me. He sits behind a screen in my quarters. I try to visualize what he looks like from listening to his voice as he instructs Poppy on how to brew raw Sichuan lovage root and mugwort leaves. I’m accustomed to the medicinal odors of potions stewing on a brazier, but Miss Chen’s complexion turns white then green then back to white.
“Drink the tea,” Doctor Wong says from across the room. He sounds older—distinguished and confident. I imagine him stroking a graying beard when he adds, “If you feel movement like a butterfly in your belly, then you are pregnant.”
I don’t feel anything, and I don’t think Miss Chen does either. Nevertheless, I announce, “The butterfly is busy.”
“Then you will indeed have a baby” comes Doctor Wong’s affirmation of what I already know.
Next to me, Miss Chen hesitates.
“Tell him you feel a butterfly,” I say in a low voice.
“But I don’t,” she whispers back.
“Do you need a man to confirm what your body is already telling you to be true?” I ask.
She ignores my question to speak to him directly. There’s familiarity between them. “Doctor Wong, you know me. Have you helped me become full with child?”
What an odd question, I think, but his laugh is jovial and surprisingly warm. “Of course! But we want proof, don’t we?”
From the other side of the screen, he orders Poppy to add honey locust fruit to the existing tea.
“You’re pregnant,” I murmur. “You don’t have to drink that.”
I’m trying to warn her, but Miss Chen is stubborn. “You’re no older than I am. What do you know?”
When Poppy brings the brew, I ask her to fetch a bowl as well. Then I form a placid expression on my face and silently watch as Miss Chen drinks the concoction. When she starts to retch into the bowl, I pull her hair away from her forehead. Hearing the horrid sounds, Doctor Wong proclaims, clearly pleased, “This is no trifling illness. This is proof of pregnancy.” It is also the beginning of what will be weeks of morning sickness for Miss Chen. I wish I had the ingredients to make Drink to Quiet the Fetus, but perilla, with its subtle flavors of licorice and mint, is not something I have stored in my room or can easily acquire from the main kitchen. I do suggest that she suck on preserved salted plums, which every household keeps on hand to calm upset stomachs.
* * *
I’ve helped Grandmother with many pregnancies, but I’m not above having the same concerns of any woman with child. To give birth to a son is paramount. After that, the goal is to have a slippery birth. But what if a baby is breech or transverse or labor lasts longer than three days? In childbirth, for every woman who lives, ten die. Obviously this saying can’t be true, but it reflects the way people interpret the inherent dangers of giving birth. Protective rituals have been handed down for generations, and I follow all of them. This means no lifting of anything heavy—whether with my arms or with my mind. I’m careful not to ingest rich foods, because they might build Fire inside my body. I don’t eat rabbit, because it may cause my baby to be born with a harelip. I don’t eat sparrow meat either, because those small birds are known to have night blindness, and I don’t want my baby to be born with the same affliction. Oh, sparrows. They cause many problems.
I had hoped to have Miss Chen as my pregnancy companion, but even now household rules keep us apart. “She’s a concubine,” Spinster Aunt tells me. “You’re a wife. You don’t want her frivolous ways seeping into your baby.” I suspect Miss Chen might take a different view. I’m too boring for her.
Of course, there’s much discussion in the inner chambers about whether Miss Chen and I will deliver boys or girls.
“This is a matter of yin and yang,” Spinster Aunt instructs us all. “If you are carrying a boy, then you will feel him flutter at four months, because yang is ascendant. If it is a girl, she won’t make her presence known in your body until five months, for it is in the nature of yin to be tardy.”
Both Miss Chen and I feel our babies move at four and a half months, which elicits a new set of probabilities from Spinster Aunt. “Now we can determine sex by where the babies reside within their mothers. Let’s feel their stomachs! If the stomach is soft, that means it’s a girl, hiding her face against her mother’s spine. If the stomach is hard, well, then, it’s a boy, because he’s ready to face the world.”
Daily, Miss Chen and I have our bellies prodded. Women argue about whether there is a son or daughter inside. Some women make bets. My feeling? Miss Chen’s stomach feels no different from my own—neither soft nor hard, just growing.
My husband seems happy, and that makes me happy. When I reach seven months, my grandparents send a flower-covered basket filled with good-fortune buns and painted duck eggs, wishing me luck with my coming ordeal. I’m filled with such gladness that I’m emboldened to ask my motherin-law when Midwife Shi will come to call.
“I know her and her daughter already,” I say, as if Lady Kuo weren’t already acquainted with this fact. “But it will be helpful for Miss Chen to meet in advance the women who will catch her baby.”
“We do not use Midwife Shi in this household,” Lady Kuo responds. “Even if I had not already forbidden you to have contact with the young midwife, I would still insist that we use the granny who has brought all the Yang children into the world. Her name is Midwife Lin. You will meet her in plenty of time.” She pauses. “And you already know Spinster Aunt, who will assist at the birth, as is the custom in our home.”
I try to remain calm, but I am heartsick. I need Midwife Shi and want Meiling.
* * *
When I “enter the month,” my husband moves out of our room so we won’t be tempted by bedchamber affairs, which are said to be harmful to a fetus at this time in the pregnancy. I feel alone and fearful, but Spinster Aunt, who visits each day so we might become more familiar with each other, tries to convince me otherwise.
“You have Poppy,” she reminds me during one of her morning visits.
“It’s not a secret she betrayed me—”
Spinster Aunt nods, then says, “Never forget that, but what else was she supposed to do? She had to do what Lady Kuo asked of her.”
“I accept that, but it’s hard for me to trust Poppy now.”
“And yet you should.”
“I’ll try harder.” After a pause, I add, “I still feel you are the only person here who truly cares for me.”
Spinster Aunt laughs. “You are wrong! Your husband cares for you. Master Yang is looking forward to a grandson. The women in the inner chambers ask after you every day. You are more well liked than you imagine.”
I notice that she has not included my motherin-law on her list.