My baby is asleep on the bed beside me when Meiling arrives. I expect to see my friend, but she is here to perform her duties. Her tone is serious as she asks me basic questions about how I’m doing. When she’s satisfied with my answers, she says, “Nothing is more important than cleansing you of your noxious dew. Here, let me help you into position.”
Her hands hold me steady as I lift my gown and stoop above a low bowl so that what’s still inside me can drain out and be disposed of along with my other birth pollutions. To help things along, she massages my belly with a roller. She takes breaks from this activity to hold a cup to my mouth so I might drink a mixture of vinegar and ink, a combination well known for its efficiency and thoroughness in breaking up blood clots. She pulls away the cup and stares into my eyes. At last, we are soul to soul. I begin to weep, revealing my disappointment to the one person who fully understands me.
“Thank you for saving my baby, but why did it have to be a girl? Why isn’t it a son?”
Meiling glances at my daughter before returning her gaze to me. “The women in your grandparents’ household and the women here—if they live to reach forty-five—have at least six children. Many are pregnant ten or more times—”
“I wanted a son. I needed a son—”
“Only to lose their babies in miscarriage or labor,” she continues, speaking tenderly over my disappointment. “You’ll get pregnant again. The next one will surely be a son. For now, embrace this creature who came from your body. Look at her face. Let her bring you joy.”
I hang on to the rope with one hand so I can touch my baby’s cheek. Despite her difficult journey into this world, she’s nicely formed. But when I look at her, all I see are the dangers that lie ahead. “Even if babies manage to breathe the air of this world,” I say, “many will die from a summer fever, never reaching the age of seven—”
Meiling’s hands stop moving. “Just listen to your ugly words! Have you ever heard a woman sound so sorry for herself? At least you have a child. I’ve been married longer than you, and I have yet to become pregnant. You can still hope for a son, but day by day my dreams of having children are turning into despair.”
Her anguish cuts through my preoccupations. I ask, “Have you sought Grandmother’s advice?”
“I have, but my mother has sent me to other doctors as well. What is natural for most women is not coming naturally to me.”
I’m about to question her on the herbs she’s taking and ask if I might feel her pulses when the door opens and Lady Kuo enters with a woman I guess to be twice my age. I’m still balanced above the basin, but they push into the first vestibule of my marriage bed without regard for my embarrassment.
“I’ve brought a wet nurse,” my motherin-law announces, without greeting me or acknowledging Meiling’s presence. “I’ve hired her many times.”
I run my eyes over the woman. Wet nurses are common in elite households, and most women use them. This one certainly looks healthy enough, but my limited experience tells me that the best way for babies to attach to their mothers is through their nipples.
“Thank you, Lady Kuo,” I say. “But I will feed your granddaughter myself.”
Her response surprises me. “I’m happy to see this show of motherly devotion.”
The wet nurse looks disappointed, though. I’ve deprived her and her family of income.
On the third day, my daughter is washed in water invigorated with special medicines and then taken away to be presented to the entire family. Spinster Aunt tells me that Maoren has named our daughter Yuelan—Moon Orchid. My heart lifts, knowing he’s sending me a private message about our nights together in the Three-Way Moon-Viewing Pavilion. “Yuelan may be a girl,” Spinster Aunt confides, “but your husband couldn’t stop smiling.” I wish I could see Maoren to find out if this is true, but we can’t be in the same room until I’ve finished doing the month. Still, I’m heartened.
The next day, Meiling comes again. I don’t know why Lady Kuo is allowing her to attend to me, but I’m not about to question anyone about it.
“How are you feeling?” Meiling asks. “Where do you hurt?”
I hover my hands over my chest. “Everything here is hard and swollen. The milk wants to come, but it’s as if the spout of a teapot is clogged.”
“Alleviating this problem is a granny’s specialty,” she says.
To help my milk come in, Meiling presses warmed stones against my aching breasts and massages them with a cooling rub. I feel something inside loosen. My daughter grabs hold of my nipple and suddenly she has milk dripping from the sides of her mouth.
* * *
As the days pass, my bleeding dwindles and finally ends. The better I feel, the more I’m reattuned to Meiling, and I sense a barrier between us. I had taken her reticence to be a manifestation of her profession: she was the midwife and I was a first-time mother. She was coming in daily contact with my blood—something I was trained to find repellent. But now I see the distance between us has nothing to do with those things. Rather, it’s emotional. She’s too polite to say what’s bothering her, but I think I know what’s wrong. On Yuelan’s twelfth day of life, I find the courage to bring it up.
“I wrote to you many times,” I begin, expecting it will take time before she opens her heart to me. I’ve read her incorrectly, because she blurts, “Not once did I receive a letter.”
“That doesn’t mean I didn’t write them.”
I go on to recount what happened with Lady Kuo, but my explanation isn’t enough for Meiling, who says, “You could have sent Poppy with a note to say what had happened.”
“But it was Poppy who betrayed us! She gave the letters to Lady Kuo!”
“You could have sent Poppy to deliver a message with her mouth,” she presses. “This is how women like you have communicated with women like me for all eternity.”
That hurts.
“I was afraid of my motherin-law—”
“Who isn’t? No. This is just an excuse.”
I look inside myself to find my faults and mistakes. I see them clearly, but I once again put the blame on my maid. At this, Meiling shakes her head impatiently.
“Poppy snuck out of this compound and came to tell my mother and me about your labor,” she says. “Poppy probably saved your life, and she did it at great risk to herself.”
Again, I question myself. Is it a measure of how weak I still must be—or how self-centered I’ve always been—that I haven’t questioned how Midwife Shi and Meiling so magically appeared at my side? Still…
“But tomorrow and the next day?” I ask tentatively. “Can I trust Poppy to take a letter or even a spoken message to you?”
“Now? I doubt it,” Meiling replies. “Poppy belongs to you, but she lives here. She’s a servant, but she still has to consider her own fate and destiny.”
So no letters or messages can be sent.
I take Meiling’s hand. “I’m sorry I hurt you, but I hope you can understand I was hurt too. You promised on my wedding day that you would visit—”
“I tried, but the guards wouldn’t let me in. It was easy for them to turn away a midwife.”
“But you’re here now. I’m glad we’ve had these days together, even if I haven’t been the best company.”
Meiling’s shoulders soften. “I hope they can continue after you’ve finished doing the month,” she says, our eyes meeting for the first time this visit.
“My father-in-law’s concubine will be having her baby soon. Maybe we can see each other when you and your mother come to help Miss Chen while she does her month.”
Meiling raises her eyebrows as she considers this. “The decision to hire my mother belongs to Lady Kuo and Doctor Wong, but they should be pleased with how her skills helped you deliver.”
I prefer to think that success will nurture more success and that Meiling and her mother will become regular visitors to the Garden of Fragrant Delights, as they have been for many years to my grandparents’ home. For now, I hope I’ve begun to mend the rift between us. My parting words to her express what I feel.
“Even when we’re separated, my thoughts are with you. The ties that bind us have been knotted even tighter.”
But the smallness of Meiling’s smile tells me we haven’t fully resolved things between us. Then, before I can inquire further, she’s gone.
* * *
The next day, Spinster Aunt comes to visit. Although she’s never had a child herself, she knows about mothering. She’s taught me how to care for my nipples when they become sore and cracked and has offered to spend the night in my room so she can take care of Yuelan when she’s awake and I can get some sleep. She’s advised me on what oils are good to use to soothe the childbirth gate when Maoren and I resume bedroom affairs. Best, she makes me laugh. Today she drags a stool into the dressing room of my marriage bed and sits on it. She takes my baby in her arms, looks at me, and begins the day’s lesson.