Melissa Foster - Chasing Amanda

Running errands did sound boring to Tracey, but the idea of doing something different appealed to her. She weighed the excitement of doing something new against the chance of getting exposed to the toxins, and opted not to press the issue. “I hope you don’t get sick,” she said.

“I’m big and healthy. I think I’m pretty safe, but I don’t want to be out there all the time, that’s for sure!” She moved to the cooler, sliced an apple, and handed it to Tracey. “I have to get us some food, and I wanted to find some more warm clothes for you.”

“Where do you get our clothes?” she asked.

“Oh, different places. There are people who give clothes to those of us who…who are a little less fortunate, and I have some friends that I’ve met at the park and other places, and they give us hand-me-downs.”

“What about our food? You don’t work, and there is no daddy. How do we buy our food?” Tracey asked.

Mummy reached over and put her hand on Tracey’s leg, whispering furtively, “Don’t you worry about things, okay? Mummy has friends, and they let me do some little jobs here and there. We will always have enough food. There are places that give us food, too.”

Tracey looked at her sideways, “You don’t steal it, do you?” Her eyes grew wide with the thought.

“Of course not! My mummy taught me never to steal—and don’t you ever steal, either. That’s no way to live!”

They ate the rest of their breakfast in silence, and Tracey wondered if she’d make a good mom one day, if she’d be able to keep her kids safe—if she’d even be able to have kids. Didn’t you need a daddy to have kids? As Tracey’s mind wandered, she gazed at Mummy’s coat thrown carelessly on the mattress. Her happiness went away as she realized that soon Mummy would leave for her errands, and she’d be left alone once again.

Shortly after Mummy had left to run her errands, the candle had burned out, and Tracey was unable to relight the wick, becoming more frightened with each passing second. She’d frantically grabbed at the table, desperately feeling for the flashlight she hoped Mummy had left behind, and knocking her drawings onto the floor. Mummy returned from her errands to find Tracey huddled in the center of the room in a fit of panic, sobbing so hard she could not understand the words Mummy yelled. Tracey gripped the sides of her head with her hands, pulling her hair, like needles from her scalp, she rocked back and forth, shutting out the darkness that surrounded her. Then Mummy had fled, leaving Tracey alone in the dark once again.

Hannah sat across from Newton in the café, recalling the memory of the cold and dreary night twenty years earlier, as if it were yesterday. Fear still resonated throughout her body. It had been just months after Charlie had left her, and she had been petrified every minute since, terrified that he would come back, that he would find out her secret. She had kept watch as she ran errands, to make sure she wasn’t followed, and Newton, God bless him, would drive by the farm at night, a few times each night, as a matter of fact, and make sure that Charlie wasn’t parked outside. Though it was Charlie’s choice to leave, he had a hair trigger of a temper, and Hannah was never quite confident that he wouldn’t return. On that particular night, she’d just come in from feeding the horses and her body ached all over, her back, her legs, even her arms hurt. It was too early for the baby to come, so she hadn’t been worried about early labor. She’d thought that she was coming down with a bug. She’d gone inside, bundled up with a cup of tea, and decided that she’d desperately needed rest. As usual, she’d called Newton to tell him that she was in for the night, reported how she was feeling, and said that she was going to try and sleep. One could set their clock by their nightly calls, but Newton and Betty insisted. They had wanted to know she was safe, and she’d appreciated their concern.

It was near midnight when she’d placed the call. Newton and Betty were at her bedside in minutes with medical manuals, fresh towels, and ice chips. None of them was quite sure what to expect—Newton had not been in the room when Betty had given birth to their son, Sam, and Betty had been highly sedated. Newton paced the room, shaking as if his shoes were vibrating. He tried so hard to convince Hannah to go to the hospital, begged her, in fact, but she’d stood firm. She couldn’t risk Charlie tracking down this baby and taking it away from her.

The pain had lasted for hours, Hannah’s screeches mirrored by Newton clenching his face and shoulders so tight that Betty had worried about him, as much as she had about Hannah, but she also knew Newton was a strong man, and that his strength would carry him through this ordeal. Hannah writhed from the stabbing pains that seared across her lower back and engulfed her protruding belly with the force of two giant hands, squeezing, pushing with so much pressure she’d thought she would surely burst open, but the baby would not come, and Hannah was not sure she was able to continue—part of her wanted to die, right then and there, leaving behind the fear of Charlie, the pain of childbirth.

Betty constantly wiped her brow with a cool cloth, soothing her with supportive words and rubbing her shoulders. Newton, on the other hand, pleaded with her to go to the hospital, get some real help. When Hannah refused with such determination that Newton finally understood the futility of his efforts, he became her ally, breathing in tune with Hannah, right through each powerful contraction, sweating bead for bead, spinning tales and telling jokes to take Hannah’s focus off of the gut-wrenching pain that gripped her. Suddenly, the contractions had stopped. Hannah’s breathing slowed, Newton’s followed. The three of them watched Hannah’s belly, waiting for the next contraction, waiting, it seemed, for hours, though in truth it was only mere minutes. Newton placed his hand on her belly, and Hannah watched his mouth move in prayer. Then, as if someone had kicked her in the lower back, Hannah let out a wail so loud she was sure to wake the sleeping cows across the road. She arched her back and pushed as hard as she was able, and out she slipped, tiny feet first. Newton was there, with his gloved hands outstretched, and a blanket laid across them, pillows below, Just in case . He’d caught Hannah’s dear baby daughter, bundled her up, and set her gently in Hannah’s arms. It was Newton who heard her first gasp of breath, and it was Newton who saw her last—the same as her first. The first was a shallow, labored breath in, and the last, a long, breeze-like breath out. She was beautiful, with a mop of brown hair, little cherub face, and scrawny little body. Her arms and legs had hung like a rag doll’s, pink and soft. Ten little fingers and ten little toes—Hannah had counted them, each with the tiniest little nails she’d ever seen—but she had come too early. It had not been her time , Hannah had said—or maybe it had.

Hannah was brought back to the café by the warmth of Newton’s hand on her own, “Hannah?” he said.

Hannah blinked, shook the memory from her mind. “I’m sorry.” She wiped the fresh tears from her cheeks.

The short drive was familiar, comforting. Pastor Lett thought about Rodney’s life, what he’d been like when they were growing up, and how she had stood by her little brother and protected him since the day he was born. Her mother had told her that she had Rodney for her, so she would not be alone. Pastor Lett had taken that responsibility very seriously, protecting Rodney when neighborhood kids made fun of him, trying to teach Rodney how to read and write when it had been a daunting, almost impossible task. She had cared for him as if he were her son, rather than her brother. When she had moved to Boyds, she couldn’t fathom leaving Rodney with their parents, who told her often how much of a burden Rodney was to them. She had no qualms about being a sole provider for Rodney. As a young woman in her twenties, she’d felt ready to shoulder the responsibility. Rodney had never questioned Pastor Lett’s role of caregiver. He only became uncomfortable when she had other duties that took her away from him. It had taken years for Rodney to come to understand that Pastor Lett had to run the church, often leaving Rodney alone in the manse. Rodney had a fear of crowds, even the small community gatherings at the church made him fret. In time, Rodney came to prefer staying at home. Pastor Lett had often made the effort to walk Rodney through the historic road on which they lived, introducing him to the neighbors, making him feel more comfortable in his surroundings. It hadn’t come easily—many times Rodney had turned on his heels and run back to the manse, leaving Pastor Lett alone in the effort. Pastor Lett had seen the value in Rodney becoming adjusted to people, and she forged forward, eventually breaking Rodney’s fear almost completely.