She was making some headway on the breakfast that had been set before her. She had only picked at her supper the night before, and the morning sickness was easing off. At least the woman made good biscuits, Elise told herself, even if she did think she could tell everyone what to do.
“Janson’s done got you with child, ain’t he?” Deborah Sanders asked and Elise choked, her fork stopping midway between the plate and her mouth. She looked up at the woman, feeling her face grow hot with the blushes that answered the question as well as any words ever could. Elise looked away, certain at any moment that this woman—this extremely religious woman—would damn her to hell in a sermon within a few moments. Her face, down to her neckline, felt hot, her hands clammy, as she set her fork down, preparing herself for what she knew was to come.
After a moment she felt a gentle hand come to rest on her own, a kind, understanding pat, and she looked up into Deborah Sanders’s eyes. “Don’t be afraid, child. What’s done is done, an’ cain’t nobody change what is. I’m your gran’ma too, now—you’re with child, ain’t you?”
Elise nodded, feeling the blushes still cover her face, and she cleared her throat. “Yes, but—but, how—”
“Child, there’s many a baby in this county that I midwifed int’ this world, an’ I had enough ’a my own as well. I can pretty much tell when a woman’s with child.”
Elise nodded and looked away again. It did not help her embarrassment that this woman seemed so understanding. She was proud that she carried Janson’s child, but she could not help but be embarrassed that this woman—Janson’s grandmother of all people—knew that she had been pregnant when Janson had married her.
She heard a soft chuckle from the older woman, and she looked up, surprised to find Deborah Sanders smiling at her, even more surprised when the woman reached to pat her cheek before lowering her large frame to sit on the bench beside Elise. “My boy’s gonna be a father,” the old woman smiled and shook her head almost incredulously. “It don’t seem like Janson ought t’ be old enough, but I know he is. I must be gettin’ old; seems like it was only yesterday that Nell told me that she was in th’ family way. Her an’ Henry’d wanted a baby for s’ long that it was just like a miracle that they was finally ’spectin’. I’d been prayin’ for them for s’ long, an’ then I prayed even harder that it would be a boy, for Henry’s sake. Janson was all there was in th’ world t’ them two, ’cause he was th’ onliest one they had; an’ oh, but how they loved each other—can it be three years now that Henry’s been gone?” the old woman said, almost to herself, her tone becoming quieter. “An’ more’n two years since Nell—”
Elise moved to put her hand on top of the older woman’s, and Deborah Sanders’s eyes came back to rest on her, a smile returning to her face. “Listen t’ me, talkin’ about th’ past; I am gettin’ old. Well, I guess I got a right t’ be old, don’t I, child, since I’m about t’ become a great-gran’ma again in a few months time—” Elise found herself smiling as well at the genuine pleasure on the woman’s face—maybe living here would not be so bad after all. Maybe—
“I bet my boy’s wantin’ a son, ain’t he?” Deborah said, moving to push herself up from where she had been sitting on the bench beside Elise, her eyes moving toward the wooden dough bowl on the table, and the bread dough waiting inside.
“He doesn’t know yet. I haven’t told—”
“Haven’t told!” the woman’s words interrupted her, her steps halting where she was as she turned back to look at Elise. “Why, you’d better be tellin’ him! Child, you should’a done told him. That’s somethin’ a man’s got a right t’ know right off.”
“I know, it’s just—”
“There ain’t no excuses t’ be had about it; you best be tellin’ him. My boy’s gonna know, an’ he’s gonna know t’day—you hear me?” The woman leveled a look at her that allowed no argument.
“Yes, ma’am—” Dear God, she could not let him find out from his grandmother. Elise would have to find him and tell him first.
“I mean it—you best be tellin’ him t’day,” Deborah Sanders said as she returned to kneading her bread dough. “Now, you finish that food; you’re way too skinny t’ be havin’ babies every year or two. We’ll have t’ get some meat on your bones.” She looked back up at Elise again, giving her a stern look when she did not immediately pick up her fork and obey her words. “You heard me, eat—”
Elise tried to choke down a mouthful of food, any appetite that she may have had now completely ruined. She wanted to tell this woman that Janson was a man now and her husband, and no longer Deborah’s “boy” as she kept referring to him. She wanted to tell her that she did not need fattening up, and whether she had babies every year or two was her own business, and Janson’s, and none of the old woman’s concern. She wanted to tell her that she did not want to eat, even as she tried to force herself to choke down another mouthful of food. She wanted to leave this hot room with all its cooking smells and go and find Janson, to tell him that she was carrying his child before this woman could—she would not let the old woman rob her of that, of being the one to tell him, of being the one to see the look on his face, a look she hoped would be of happiness. She wanted to do anything but sit here obediently and choke down food she did not want—but she stayed and ate, unable to make herself leave, no matter how badly she wanted to.
As soon as she had eaten enough to satisfy the old woman—and had washed the dishes for the first time in her life, just to prove to herself that she did belong here—she got her coat and left the house, hearing Deborah Sanders’s admonition once again to stay away from where the men were working. Elise told herself silently, as she stood in the chill air on the small rear porch, the door now closed between them, that she had already had enough of the old woman’s interference, enough of her meddling, and that she would go wherever she pleased to go, and that she pleased to go see her own husband.
She made her way down the slanting board steps and across the bare-swept yard, along the edge of the now-cleared winter garden, and toward the barn where it stood at a distance from the house with the cotton fields stretching away from it, feeling the wind pick up and begin to whip her skirt about her legs as she walked. She could hear the voices of the men as she neared the side of the structure, and she realized with a flush of embarrassment that Janson was enduring some good-natured jesting from his uncle and his grandfather at his supposed lack of sleep due to their being newly married. She blushed with embarrassment and stopped where she was, glad she had heard them before she had walked into the conversation.
“That’s my business, an’ Elise’s—ain’t nobody else’s,” she heard Janson say, a stern tone in his voice, and she felt a stab of guilt go through her. There was no reason he should not have gotten plenty of sleep the night before, that is, unless her crying had kept him awake.
She looked back toward the little sharecropped house, the sky low and gray beyond it, not wanting to return there, but knowing she could not walk into the discussion that had been going on, even as she heard the men fall silent for a moment. She sighed and tugged her coat closer about her shoulders, deciding she would have to return to the house, whether she wanted to or not, but then curiosity