The Birth House. Ami McKay

Dominion have had to serve in place of science for too long.”

      Miss B. smiled and pushed the sugar bowl and creamer in front of him. “A little sugar there, dear?”

      “Thank you.” He spooned in the sugar and doused the coffee with a large splash of cream. “Imagine the benefits that modern medicine can offer women who are in a compromised condition … a sterile environment, surgical procedures, timely intervention and pain-free births. The suffering that women have endured in childbirth can be a thing of the past—”

      Miss B. interrupted him, catching his eyes with her gaze. “What you sellin’?”

      Dr. Thomas’s stutter returned. “I, I … I’m just trying to tell you, inform you of—”

      “No. You ain’t tellin’, you sellin’ … if you gonna come here, drummin’ up my door like you got pots in your pants, then you best get to it and we’ll be done with it.”

      She waved her hand in the air as if to shoo him away. “Oh, and by the way, whatever it is, I ain’t buyin’. I figure if I tell you that right now, you’ll either pack up and leave or tell me the truth.”

      Dr. Thomas continued. “The truth is, Miss Babineau, I need your help.”

      She settled back in her chair. “Now we’re gettin’ somewheres. Go on.”

      “We’re building a maternity home down the mountain, in Canning.”

      Miss B. interrupted him. “One of those butcher shops they calls a hospital?”

      Dr. Thomas answered. “A place where women can come and have their babies in a clean, sterile environment, with the finest obstetrical care.”

      She scowled at him. “Who’s this ‘we’?”

      “Myself and the Farmer’s Assurance Company of Kings County.”

      “How much the mamas got to pay you?”

      He shook his head and smiled. “Nothing.”

      Miss B. snorted. “You’re a liar.”

      “I won’t charge them a thing. I won’t have to, we—”

      “You got a wife?”

      “Yes.”

      “And she’s a good girl, a lady who deserves the finer things?”

      “Well, of course. But I don’t see—”

      “How you expect to keep her if you don’t make no money?”

      He laughed. “I get paid by the assurance company.” He lowered his voice and smiled. “And you could get paid too … if you participate in the program. They’ll give you five dollars for every woman you send to the maternity home.”

      Miss B. got up from the table. “What I gots, I give, and the Lord, He takes care of the rest. There’s no talk of money in my house, Dr. Thomas.” She held his coat and hat out to him. “I gots all I need.”

      Dr. Thomas took his belongings from her, but motioned towards the table. “Please, I didn’t mean to offend you. Let me at least have my say and then I’ll go.”

      She poured the doctor another cup of coffee and sat back down at the table. “You got ‘til your coffee’s gone or it turns cold.”

      Dr. Thomas quickly made his case. “Many families in Kings County, Scots Bay included, already own policies with Farmer’s Assurance. A small fee, paid each month, gives these families the security of knowing that if something happened to the man of the house, he could get the medical attention he needed and they could still go on.” He spooned more sugar into his cup. “As you well know, the mother is just as important as the father; she’s the heart of the home, she’s what keeps everything moving.”

      Miss B. nodded. “I always say, if the mama ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy.”

      Dr. Thomas grinned. “Exactly! For the price of what most households spend on coffee or tea each month, a husband can buy a Mother’s Share from Farmer’s Assurance. This guarantees his wife the happiness of a clean, safe birth and the comfort of having her babies at a Farmer’s Assurance Maternity Home. The family can rest well knowing that ‘Mother’ will be well cared for during her confinement.”

      Miss B. stared at him. “What if a mama wants to have her baby at home?”

      Dr. Thomas looked confused. “Why would she want to do that when there’s a beautiful new facility waiting for her?” He tried again to convince Miss B. “You are a brave woman, Miss Babineau, taking on this responsibility all these years. Everyone I talk to has said how skilled you are, how blessed, but with new obstetrical techniques available, women can rely on more than faith to see them through the grave dangers of childbirth.”

      Miss B. sat there, humming and knitting, looking up at him every so often as if to see how much longer he was going to stay.

      Frustrated, Dr. Thomas tried to further the conversation. “Do you know Mrs. Experience Ketch?”

      Miss B. took a sip of tea. “Some.”

      “Her husband, Mr. Brady Ketch, came to my offices about a month ago with some disturbing news. Since you’ve had your hands on so many babies in this area, I wonder if you might be able to make some sense of what he told me.”

      Miss Babineau smiled. “I’ll certainly do whatever I can.”

      The doctor’s tone grew serious. “Mr. Ketch was quite distressed. He said that his wife was bedridden and too weak to stand. He was afraid she might die. I followed him to their home and found her to be in poor health. She was pale and wouldn’t speak.”

      Miss B. shook her head. “Well, that’s just some awful. I hope you could help her.”

      “I made her as comfortable as I could under such circumstances, but there’s one thing I still don’t understand. When I asked Mr. Ketch what had brought about his wife’s illness, he said that she had just given birth the day before, and that you and a young girl were there to attend it.” Dr. Thomas stared at Miss B. “Was there nothing you could do to keep her from falling into such poor condition?”

      Miss B. completed her row of knitting and shook her head. “Did you happen to catch wind of the man’s breath?”

      Sugar spilled from the doctor’s spoon before he could get it to his cup. “Pardon?”

      “I’m sorry to say so, Doctor, but the only truth Mr. Brady Ketch is good for, is in tellin’ the innkeeper when he’s reached the bottom of a whiskey barrel. If his wife’s in trouble it’s ‘cause he can’t keep his hands from her one way or another. If he’s not puttin’ a bun in her oven, he’s slapping her black and blue. If I’ve ever given Experience Ketch a thing, it’s been to tell her she’s workin’ herself to death.”

      “Are you telling me that you don’t know anything about her having a baby?”

      Miss B. pulled on the ball of yarn in her lap. “Did you see one there?”

      “No, Mr. Ketch said it was a stillbirth.”

      Miss B. rolled her eyes. “Why, I’d guess we’d both know it if she’d just had a birth, as I’m sure you gave her a thorough examination.”

      He drummed his fingers on the table, staring at his cup. My handkerchief was sitting near it, the one that Precious had given me for my last birthday, my initials embroidered in a ring of daisies. “Mr. Ketch said Mr. Judah Rare’s daughter might be able to shed some light on the matter.”

      “Miss Rare is a proper young lady who’s kind enough to keep company with a wretched, feeble granny like myself. She’s also wise enough to know better than to find herself in Brady Ketch’s part of the wood. Nothin’ there but lies and brew. Either one you choose, you’re askin’ for trouble.”

      Dr. Thomas