Christopher Ransom: The Birthing House

Aye, Lord above us the fallen

Accept our humble offerings and bless us

In His wisdom and the sacrificial blood

Of our fallen family

We shall bear this burden of the innocents

Lost

And give thanks for the life He brings

To our blessed house

Our place of commune and husbandry

To rehabilitate and shepherd the mothers

Daughters of Eve, the All Mother, all

Though we welcome them into our blessed shelter

And warm them by our hearth in their time of need

Forgive us, Dear Lord, our humanly trespass

Know thy heart remains true though these hands

Sworn to heal and serve

Remain yet frail and prone to the sin of temptation

We are committed to His path

Forever and ever

Amen

He realizes he can do more than see; he also feels what she feels. His chest aches for her, with her now, as her throat tightens and her little voice emits this one word, understanding at last who has been buried here. It is not another lil'un from one of the Other Mothers.

- Mother

Alma's cry pierces the morning. She is trying to pull away from the Doctor, but he will not release her small hand.

- Do not cry for Mother, Alma

The Doctor's voice cracks but does not break.

- Be still

Alma is sobbing and swatting at the Doctor as he shushes her repeatedly, and unspools his lesson.

- This is our burden. This is our light and our darkness and our duty. To have a life we must give a life, for life is a circle that begins and ends along the same sphere. In between the journey from one side to the other, the circle provides, and for that we each of us owe a life. The wool that keeps you warm at night is of the sheep, the roof over our home of the forest, the blood in your veins of your mother. On top of the circle is our Lord, and He commands us to take when we are in need, to give when our time has come. Mother's time has come, and she is home now, Alma.

Alma does not understand the circle now, but the time is coming when she will understand all.

The world cuts. He sees only blackness.

Then, as if she has blinked, as if the camera shutter has been reopened, they are back in the house and the Doctor - Mother called him Dr Justin Gundry - is calling her name from the front parlor where he sits near the hearth. The angles of the room jog as Alma comes, allowing his embrace, for that is all that remains to warm her since the end of the cold cold winter when Mother went away. Alma knows Mother was the biggest and most beautiful woman in the house and the Doctor's favorite. Alma knows this because she saw the love in his eyes and the gifts he brought Mother when he returned from his travels to and fro a place he calls Redruth, the place he learned his first calling as a mason, where he learned to build a house on a God-proper stone foundation with his healing hands. Alma calls him Docca Gunree, but only sometimes, for her words are few and seldom heard. Docca Gunree has built a fire and now he offers her the doll Mother made for her.

Playing with the doll is a way to bring Mother back, for a little while.

But already Docca Gunree is rising and Alma pretends not to notice as he puts away his glass and takes her hand and leads her down into the basement. Here among the stone foundations and the cool floor are the beds. Alma is crying, but one quick jerk of her hand is enough to silence her. She crawls as bidden into one of the cots he has arranged next to the empty basinets. Docca Gunree pats her head and pushes the doll into her arms before turning back to climb the stairs. Alma makes the connection once again with the doll, recalling how playing with the doll is like singing the song Mother sang for her, back when Mother rocked Alma in her arms and said what a big strong girl Alma was going to be some day. Back when Mother promised she would watch over Alma, always.

Mother is here now in spirit, warming her from inside, even though Alma knows Mother has gone away. Mother reminds Alma that she is a very brave girl and that one day Alma shall have a room of her own. Alma dreams of Mother's voice in all its clarity and sweetness, and when Mother sings it is better than any feeling Alma knows.

Sleep the dream sleep o' sweet child

Mother is here

when the sun she rises and when she sets

Mother is your home, the only home Alma needs

remember Mother lives forever, forever in Alma's heart

remember every day, o' sweet child

no tears for me does child Alma shed

thread through a needle cannot mend a young girl's heart

Mother is here o' sweet child Alma even when

thread through a needle cannot mend a young girl's heart

When next she opens her eyes, the basement of the house is full of Other Mothers who are not Mother, coming and going before Alma can learn their names. The women of the house, sturdy pale women in black dresses and boots and caps or bonnets, are growing in number, too, but they are always busy tending the lil'uns in the basinets while Docca Gunree works long days and late into the night to perform the Lord's work. At night, Alma can hear Docca Gunree's voice through the floor and the hearth-stone walls warmed by the fire all the way down to her bed. Sometimes the women of the house talk of the day with him, and sometimes, Alma knows, he talks only to himself and the spirits he carries inside.

- More of the menfolk lost in battle

- Filling the house faster than we can take them

- They call it the Great War

- Some of them don't wish to see them behbees, rather to leave 'em behind

- This is a healing place, we shall continue the Lord's work

- 'Tisn't time in the day for me to take care of any of them, let alone dote on her

- But Justin, Dr Gundry, have you considered, sir

- What will I do? What can I do? I promised her mother

- She must learn to take care of herself if she wishes to remain in this house

Comes the night Alma wakes to screams. A commotion tramples above her head, shaking the floors and echoing down through the rock foundation. It is the middle of the night and the basement is so dark as to be black, but Alma knows the way and she scampers from her bed, up the stairs, passing the lil'uns in their basinets who have begun to cry.

Upstairs she becomes entangled in a procession of the women of the house led by Docca Gunree, who is pushing a new Other Mother Alma does not recognize in a wooden chair with wheels. The Other Mother in the chair is thin and her eyes are ringed with black. She is the one screaming and in her lap is a blanket soaked in blood. The procession flows through the front parlor, into the kitchen, and out the back door to the yard, down the worn path to the forbidden place. Alma follows unnoticed until they reach the door and then she is shut out.

She takes up her position by the window, trying once again to peer inside to see how Docca Gunree makes behbees from the Other Mothers. The night grows long and Alma grows frightened by the screams that do not end. When woman of the house Martha Marsten finally rips the door open and crying flees back to the house, Alma chases after her.

Inside, Martha collapses into a chair beside the fire and clutches Alma to her bosom and sobs into her hair.

- He says it has turned, the healing power has turned, but it is him what's turned, turned to the drink and playing God

Alma tries to comfort Martha but she is scared, trembling.

- His hands, I saw his hands, so much blood on his hands, heaven help us, Alma

Later, when the women of the house return, the Other Mother does not come with them, nor her child, and Alma never sees her again. She understands the Other Mother and her lil'un have gone to be with Mother, that now they are also doing the Lord's work.