Dolen Perkins-Valdez - Wench

So she followed the instructions given to her by Mawu, used the herbs gathered by the red-headed woman before she left her cabin that day. Drink the tea every four hours for several days. The only thing she knew the tea contained were squaw root and pennyroyal. And it was bitter. She brewed it in the hotel kitchen, holding the bag of herbs close to her chest in case anyone noticed. At first, she felt the same. Would this really work? But on the second day, she began to feel nauseous and the bleeding started. It was a heavy bleeding that threatened to travel down her leg if she didn’t wrap up tightly enough. It soaked her rags so thoroughly she could smell the dark, rich scent of the blood once it dried.

Each day, when Glory delivered the goods, she met Lizzie on the back steps of the hotel kitchen and asked how she was doing. Lizzie tried not to look at the white woman’s pregnant belly when she answered.

“Fine,” was her answer each day. Then she would take the food off Glory’s cart and place it inside the kitchen.

On the third day, the cook sniffed the jar with the steeping herbs while Lizzie was tidying up the pots.

“Bless you child,” was all Clarissa said.

On the fourth night, Lizzie cramped so badly that she had to take to the bed. The young girl on the bed next to hers placed a pile of rags beneath her so her blood would not soak through to the mattress. Lizzie felt hot and feverish, and her entire body tingled. Every few minutes, her stomach cramped up into a knot and she had difficulty breathing. Then it would pass.

Clarissa sent Glory up to check on her the next morning.

Glory knelt beside Lizzie.

“How are you feeling?”

Lizzie shook her head. “Not so good. I can’t stand to drink this tea anymore.”

Glory spread Lizzie’s legs and pulled back the rags. The blood was thick and clotted and lay curled in bulbous lumps like tiny dead mice.

“How much have you bled?”

Lizzie started to cry. “I don’t know, I don’t know.”

Glory dried Lizzie’s forehead. “You’ll be fine.”

Lizzie reached for Glory’s hand. Glory patted it. “Shhh. Hush now. You’ll be fine. Just don’t drink any more of that tea. Let the Lord take away your pain.”

Lizzie nodded.

“I’ve got to go. I’ll tell Clarissa in the kitchen to send you up something to eat. You’ve got to keep your strength up.”

Lizzie nodded and let go of Glory’s hand. A few minutes later, Clarissa sent up a bowl of soup. Lizzie tried to sit up in bed and drink it.

The same girl who had shown her to the attic on that first day now cleaned and changed Lizzie.

“I don’t even know your name,” Lizzie said to her.

The girl smiled, but did not respond. It was her turn to reject the intimacy.

Lizzie stayed in bed all day, mostly sleeping and resting, sometimes staring at the wall. What if she wasn’t pregnant after all? What if she had panicked for nothing? Mawu had said it was better to drink the tea than worry, that she had to drink the tea before she started feeling the quickening movements in her belly.

When she felt low, she pulled Reenie’s letter from beneath her mattress and read it again. It gave her hope, if only for a second. Reenie had been able to escape because she had no children to mess with her mind. She made a clean break because the only daughter she had ever known had been sold off from her. Lizzie wondered if Reenie was trying to find that daughter now. Surely, she was. Surely any free slave would work to find their family. But where would she start? how did you find someone who may not even have the name you gave them when they were born?

Lizzie could tell the time of day by the color of the light in the room. Even though she had just awakened, she knew it was an hour after supper when Drayle appeared in her doorway. He was freshly shaven and wore the trousers she had washed and pressed for him the week before. His blond hair lay neatly combed to the side, its thinness camouflaged.

He sat on the bed beside her and took her hand.

“I hear that my little Lizzie has been sick,” he said.

She shook her head. “I’ll be fine. Just a bellyache is all.”

He stood up and closed the door. She wasn’t ready. Not yet. What if one of the women returned? And how could she tell him she had just gotten rid of the child he never knew he had?

He unbuttoned his shirt.

The girl had just cleaned her bedclothes, so they were fresh. But Lizzie was still bleeding, and although the cramps had subsided for the moment, she was nauseous. She felt that she would vomit at any moment, as if the vomit sat right at the back of her throat.

He had to lift her to move her because she was nestled in the center groove of the bed. He lay beside her naked and stroked her chin as if she wore a light beard.

“I’ve missed you. I wish I hadn’t brought Fran this summer. This is our place,” he said.

She had wanted to hear those words from him, but now that she got them, she did not know what to do with them. She did not feel the satisfaction she had thought she would.

He lifted her gown and fumbled with the rags tied around her. He was naked and she was fully clothed.

“You’re bleeding?” he asked.

She nodded.

“That’s okay,” he answered. “I don’t mind.”

She had always hated that Drayle was foul enough to occasionally take her when she was bleeding. Men were not supposed to do such things. And she did not know how to tell him she was not bleeding in the way he assumed. Her stomach rolled, and she fought at the bitter taste in her throat as he pushed his way into her.

She screamed out, and he put a hand over her mouth.

“Quiet!”

He did not move his hand from her mouth, and she felt she could not breathe. She wanted to stop breathing, so she would not have to deal with this anymore. She would lose Rabbit and Nate, but she would join her unborn baby. She squeezed her eyes shut and held her breath.

When he was finished, she could smell the stink of her own body.

He used the end of her gown to clean himself, leaving streaks of red.

“My Lizzie,” he said, not looking at her. He left the door open.

The next day, Lizzie felt worse.

Clarissa was climbing the stairs to her room. Lizzie could tell by the way the steps creaked. Every other step, the woman stopped to get her breath. When Lizzie heard her coming, she knew it was important.

“Your mistress want us to move you. She want you to come to the cabin.”

Lizzie shook her head, remembering Drayle’s visit. “Tell her I can’t work just yet.”

“She know that, Miss Lizzie. She want you to come over there so she can get you better. At least that’s what they tell me.”

The only thing that was going to get her well, Lizzie thought, was the proper expulsion of this baby. Once the baby and all its remnants were gone, she would be better.

If Drayle would just leave her alone, it would be a matter of time before she got better. In that cottage, she was more vulnerable to his desires. Fran would make her a pallet on the floor and fuss over her for a while before using her as a giant ear. The real problem, Lizzie knew, would be the night. Drayle would have no problem taking her on the floor of the living room while Fran slept on the other side of the wall.

“I ain’t going,” Lizzie said.

Clarissa shook her head. “Oh no. You not gone get me in trouble. You going. That’s why I came up here to tell you myself.”

Lizzie tried to sit up, and Clarissa helped her. “Miss Lizzie, this just the life you got. Until you do something about it, you got to deal with what the Lord bring you.”

Lizzie she was surprised to hear these words from the woman. Until you do something about it. Was that a message?