Counting coup, p.28
Counting Coup, page 28
part #1 of The Benediction of Paul Series
“Prayer can’t hurt. I would prefer help, but it is what it is. We got this.”
They were both nurses. This wasn’t Faith’s first child. They could handle this. The heavy odor of wet wool drifted into the barn. The storm had moved away as quickly as it had appeared. Rebecca looked at the station wagon. Could she get to the hospital on the spare tire? Benedict stood with her. The eaves of the buildings dripped from the downpour. No. Her only prospect was a childish monk. Rebecca unbraided and re-braided her hair. She hoped he would call an ambulance.
Rebecca patted the dog’s head. The chickens clucked, resettling for the night.
“He will send someone,” Faith said again, making Rebecca wonder if she was sending a message for backup.
She hoped it wasn’t another worthless monk. Did any of them have medical training other than hope in miracles?
Rebecca remembered the large man who smelled like this barn—the Bear. She wondered if he worked down here or just supervised the others. Maybe he was the abbot. An abbot who toiled with his monks. That would never happen—the powerful with the lowly.
“Don’t underestimate them. They are idealists who believe in love. They are seeds that only open when placed in the fire,” Faith said. A fierce pride and affection filled her face. She was talking about Karl more than the monk.
Rebecca listened as the sheep bleated to their young, mothering up for the night. The sound was soothing and melodic as she smudged, careful not to burn down the barn. But thinking that would bring them here in an instant. She watched Faith settle and relax, resigning herself to a barnyard birth.
Chapter 30
Amber Rose
We shall be known by the tracks we leave behind.
Hehaka Sapa (Black Elk). 1863-1950. Wichasha Wakan medicine man, educator, and Heyoka of the Oglala Lakota people.
The large bronze crucifix stood like a beacon in the monastic cemetery. The life-size statue hung in a watchful gaze over the dead. Karl hoisted himself to the ledge and shimmed up the cross, checking for a nest in the crown of thorns. He had heard that one year a sparrow couple had chosen this site to make their home. Jesus cried white bird droppings that year. He positioned himself between the crossbeam and the drooping head. The bronze arms were warm from the sun as Karl rode on the shoulders of Jesus, hoping he wasn’t a burden.
From this height, he watched Katie and Elias searching for him. This activity honed their skills as hunters and observers. He invented many games to keep them happy when he had to bring them with him to school.
“Why does he hide too good?” Elias asked, following Katie up the stone walk past the headstones.
“We need to look for clues. He came this way. See, the grass is bent,” Katie said, pointing to the exact path he had taken.
Pride filled Karl’s heart. She was an excellent tracker.
Elias stopped and pointed. A rabbit sat frozen on her hind legs, nose twitching.
“Sister Rabbit, which way did Até go?” Katie asked. She turned to Elias. “Give her something so she will tell us.”
“I ate it. I was hungry.” Elias hung his head. His shoulder-length hair covered his face. “Sorry, sisters.”
The rabbit dropped and scratched. Karl stared at the rabbit, willing the fluff ball not to betray him. The whitetail leaped toward the crucifix and scampered to the underbrush at the foot of the statue. The children followed, never once looking up. They were following the rabbit and that was the wrong clue.
A rumble of thunder and a chill filled the air. Karl looked up as a heavy drop of rain fell on his face.
He was not getting down. Father Sky would have to try harder.
The rain turned to hail and stung as it pummeled his body. Not fair. The melting ice dripped off his nose and soaked through his tee shirt.
The children raced back to the brick path. Mrs. Rabbit had led them astray. They squealed with delight and formed ice balls, tossing them as they dodged each other between headstones.
The sun reappeared, making steam rise from the dampened children. Their joy rose to the heavens.
The bells rang, calling the monks to evening prayers. How many strolling monks had been caught in the sudden storm? Would they change or pray wet? Karl wondered, was the call from the heart or head? The bells tugged at Joannicus. A yearning appeared on his face whenever the ringing called the community to prayer. The sound of heavy breathing caused Karl to look down and see Frater Joannicus huffing and puffing. He was a few months away from the priesthood.
“Where is he?” Joannicus asked, bending over, his hood flopping to one side.
“Até?” Katie asked.
“Your father,” Joannicus wheezed, his chest still heaving.
Katie shrugged her shoulders.
“We are playing scout and find. We are looking for him,” Elias said. “Only he’s cheating again.”
“It’s time to pray.” Joannicus started toward the church.
“Até,” shouted Katie. “Come out, Iná is having the baby.”
“We give up,” Elias called.
Karl grinned from his perch, thinking that Joannicus took praying far too earnestly. She used those words before, but he wouldn’t be fooled this time. Faith had at least a week to go and was typically late. He waited until he heard the voices of his children fading as they followed Joannicus to the courtyard, wondering what Joannicus wanted. Then he slid off the cross. Was it that easy to change your direction in life? Jesus slid off the cross in the novel, The Last Temptation of Christ. Brother Mellitus hinted at moments that changed the world. Karl shook his head. Mellitus was dangerous, and not your typical monk devoted to the Church and God. And he had loaned him that novel. The man could lead a saint astray. Lately, guilt nagged Karl. His thirst for learning seemed at times all-consuming. And he would never earn a living studying Catholic theology. In his heart, he knew he needed a job, probably as an accountant, or something else just as soul-killing. Karl headed to the monastery, wondering what cross he would choose, and how he could ever slide off of it.
As he approached the church, the melodious voices of the monks in chant filled his ears. Karl glanced around the courtyard. There were no giggles or rustling of bushes.
“Elias, Katie,” Karl called. Only the twittering birds answered him, saying we took shelter from the storm.
Shit, shit, shit.
“Children, this is not funny. It is time to go. Game over.”
He thought for a moment. Nothing would keep Joannicus from praying when the bells rang. The kids had gone with Joannicus. Had he taken the children into the church? Faith would not be pleased with that. Would his children sit quietly for the half an hour it took for the monks to pray? He imagined Elias asking for drums and Katie being disappointed that there was no dancing.
Karl slipped into the church, hearing voices drift to the atrium. He recognized the psalms—the songs of David. They were slow and metered. There was a soothing pace of call and echo, each side speaking a stanza. Karl paused, taken in by the silence after the psalm, allowing the words to sink and take root.
He shivered and then shook himself. He didn’t need deeper roots.
The holy water fountain bubbled loudly as the monks sat in silence. Karl tiptoed in and peeked around the corner. Random patterns of baldness greeted him. Rows of men in black robes with their heads bent. Elias sat wide-eyed among them. Karl knew guests didn’t sit with the monks—another kindness they had granted his children. He glanced around, noticing that Katie was missing.
Prayers ended, and the monks, in pairs, approached the altar and bowed before exiting the church. Elias followed, mimicking what they did. Karl smiled at his bold politeness.
The monks passed him in silence, as was the custom after the evening prayer. Silence until morning.
Frater Pius looked at Karl. “What are you doing here?”
Pius breaking the norm. That was a surprise.
“We are under attack,” Brother Mellitus shouted, startling a few of the older monks. “Circle the wagon. Gather the women.”
“What women?” a wobbly head monk asked, confusion on his face.
“Mellitus, enough,” Father Hilary said, taking the old one away.
“What is going on?” Karl asked as Elias hugged his leg.
“Didn’t Joannicus find you?” Pius asked.
Mellitus cackled. “We are reenacting the virgin birth. You should witness that. Only I don’t think virgin is quite the right word.”
Pius snickered. Karl wondered if just punching the man would end the word game. Why had they allowed him to stay? He did not promote Benedictine values.
“Where is Katie?”
“She went to see Momma,” Elias said. “Momma is having a baby. Katie took the Bear to help.”
Karl hadn’t seen Faith or the station wagon when he made the walk from the cemetery to the monastery. He glanced at his watch. Where was she? Fear hooked him. Something was wrong.
“The Holy One arrived and Brother Ambrose left with that little elder of yours,” Mellitus said.
Karl heard others refer to Joannicus as the Holy One because of his inclination to pray first. The thought of Katie as an elder both amused and worried him.
“Faith is at the barn, giving birth? Who is Brother Ambrose? Is he a doctor?”
“No, he’s a veterinarian,” Mellitus said.
Karl didn’t wait to discover the rest as he raced out of the church, Elias in tow.
Scholastica and Benedict rose and ran to the barn entrance and barked.
Rebecca looked up. Now what?
Brother Ambrose burst into the barn. The sheep bleated and stirred, expecting food.
“Not now, it’s not breakfast. I’m here. No need to panic,” the monk panted.
Rebecca stood. What made Ambrose think she was panicked?
“Iná, I brought Bear,” Katie shouted, rushing to Faith’s side.
“Where’s your father?” Faith asked with a grunt.
“He is hiding. We couldn’t find him,” Katie said, kneeling next to her mother, rubbing her arm.
“We have a flat tire,” Rebecca said, wondering why Katie was with Bear. Where were Joannicus and Karl? She should have driven the car on the rim to the hilltop.
“Do I look like a grease monkey?” Ambrose barked.
“Did anyone call for an ambulance?” Rebecca inquired.
Katie shrugged her shoulders.
Ambrose ignored her, unzipped his cassock, and stepped out of the black material. His robust belly fell over his belt. He rolled up his sleeves, went to the water pump, and washed his hands.
Katie ran over to the pump and pulled up her sleeves to wash, too.
“Are you listening?” Rebecca asked, her voice edged. “We have a situation here.” She glanced at Faith, who was breathing hard, preparing for another contraction.
Soap bubbles floated and popped between them as Ambrose and Katie washed.
“What’s the problem?”
“The baby is in the wrong position. We need to call an ambulance. Where’s your phone?”
“There isn’t a phone down here.”
“Why the hell not?”
“The sheep don’t need to call me.”
Faith laughed.
“What if there’s an accident? How would you get help?” Rebecca said, practically shouting at him.
Ambrose shook his hands in the air. Droplets of water fell to the ground. Katie waved her hands in the air. Rebecca stared at the shovel in the corner. One conk that would end this, but he was the only help she had.
“Don’t stare at me like that. Do you have a phone in your teepee?”
Katie giggled. “Silly Bear.”
Faith laughed again and then she said, “People, this baby is coming. We need to do something. I’m not having a caesarian in this barn.”
Ambrose frowned. “Where’s the head?”
Faith pointed to her right side.
“I think we have time to move this one. Alright little troublemaker, let’s see where you are.”
Rebecca watched. Ambrose stepped forward and placed his meaty hands on Faith’s protruding belly. His fingers roamed, squeezing with a gentleness she had not expected.
Perhaps he wasn’t useless.
Faith’s face grew dark with worry. Ambrose gave a grim smile as he patted Faith’s knee.
A trickle of worry nagged at Rebecca. She had seen midwives try to turn a breech baby, but she had not done so herself. Confidence, she needed to show confidence.
“Don’t fret. I have experience. We can coax this baby to the entrance.” He turned to Rebecca. “Are you helping me or just standing around watching?”
Who did this Neanderthal think he was, barking orders?
“I’m ready,” Katie said, standing next to Ambrose.
“Excellent. We need the bottles from behind the wall boards.” Ambrose pointed to a spot next to the door. “Turn the loose nail and bring them to me.”
Katie ran off, moments later returning with two amber-filled flasks.
Ambrose uncorked the vial and handed it to Faith. The sweet smell of brandy filled the stall. Faith gave him a questioning stare.
“You will need this, so sip away.”
“But…” Rebecca started as a stern stare peered through the wooly face.
“A relaxed uterus will make this easier. This is all I got. I have a bottle of Merlot if you would, rather. The champagne is for after the birth.”
The man was right. Why did he have to be right?
Faith brought the bottle to her lips and swallowed.
“Not bad, kind of sweet and… oh, burns nicely.”
We got this. Rebecca looked at Ambrose for cues that she was mistaken as Faith gulped more brandy.
“What next?” Katie asked Ambrose.
“Get me the tall, clear bottles in the kennel,” Ambrose said.
“The fortification,” Katie shouted with a nod as she crawled inside the doghouse and appeared with two gin bottles.
Rebecca scanned the walls. Was this a bar or a barn?
“Don’t give me that face. We have monks who are alcoholics. If I want a drink. I have to hide the temptation from them.” Ambrose uncorked and took a long swallow, offering the bottle to Rebecca.
“You sure it is them that have the problem?” Rebecca murmured, shaking her head. Not the time for a culture lesson on alcohol and Indians, or hiding booze, she scolded herself.
“Then I get the birthing box, right?” Katie asked. Not waiting for an answer from Ambrose, Katie ran to the office. She grunted, pulling a wooden box toward them. The box was full of lambing equipment. Gloves, nasal syringes, bottles of disinfectant, and even a sling scale.
Rebecca marveled. Lambing came with everything for a comfortable human birth. This was a good sign unless the baby wouldn’t turn. Positive thinking, confidence. She had smudged. Don’t let negative energy in.
“This is for sucking the snot out,” Katie said, squeezing a bulbous syringe.
How much time had Katie spent with Ambrose, the Bear?
Ambrose doused his hands with gin antiseptic, and a sterile odor filled the air.
“Shall we try?” he asked Faith before placing his large, calloused hands on her belly.
“Listen to the Bear, Sister,” Faith chirped. “He has birthed many a lamb. Katie told me.”
Katie nodded. “I seen him do it. Elias threw up. But not me.”
“I have found the head and feet. Let’s go ahead as if we are bakers. Knead in a rhythm of three.”
Faith advised them to push left to right. Rebecca knew it was a Lakota belief all things moved left to right.
Faith took several deep breaths and stared up into the rafters as her shoulders and arms drained of tension.
Ambrose’s large hands pressed and kneaded. Rebecca pushed, grateful that the baby was not breech.
“What are you doing?” Katie asked, holding a box of navel clamps.
“Helping the baby,” Rebecca said, hoping not to frighten her niece.
“This one is being stubborn. We need the head here. And the feet here,” Ambrose said, pointing to Faith’s belly.
Faith moaned and Rebecca winced, worried at how much pain her sister-in-law could endure. Faith raised the bottle and took a long sip of brandy.
“You should tickle her feet. I’ll sing to her. And shine a light. It’s dark in there,” Katie said.
“Good idea. Fetch a flashlight,” Ambrose said, nodding to Rebecca to give the pushing and kneading a second try. The sheep bleated, and the birds in the rafters chirped, adding to the chaos.
“Come on, little one. Move,” Ambrose said. “Sweet Mary, help us out here.”
Rebecca rolled her eyes. Prayer would not fix a medical problem. But she let a prayer escape to all the deities, even the one Ambrose called upon. Together, they would make this work.
Katie wiggled her way into the crowd of hands and arms. She placed the flashlight’s bright beam between Faith’s legs and sang a Lakota welcoming song.
There was so much noise. How could Faith meditate in this space? Yet she did. Faith should be a midwife since her calmness would comfort first-time mothers.
They pushed again.
“Twisted tornados,” Faith shouted, her eyes wide and her teeth gritted together.
They all watched with amazement the movement of the unborn child. An elbow or knee. The print of a foot. Katie reached up to the foot impression.
“Tickle, tickle,” Katie said, wiggling her tiny fingers on the taut belly.
Head down, begged Rebecca as she watched the movement.
Faith released a breath, and Ambrose wiped her brow.
Ambrose cleared his throat and turned to Katie. “Katie love, Scholastica and Benedict need some exercise.”
Katie jumped up and started yipping like a puppy. The two Shepherds rose and followed her as she took off running.
“Don’t worry. They play this game all the time. The dogs won’t let her get lost.”
“Can we send them to find Karl?” Faith asked with a giggle.
