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Authors: Nonnie Frasier
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attempts to move it into the proper position. My recollections flashed back to the first time I had seen Lettie do this.
***
I t wasn’t unusual for her to be called out to assist the finer ladies in Denver if the doctor was out of town, or the birth was anticipated to be difficult. Day or night, when Lettie got the call, she requested to have me go with her. Lettie was known as the best midwife in the city.
One evening she said, “Ada, I want you with me whenever possible. You have a good head on your shoulders and your touch is gentle yet strong. Women must have very special attention when they are in the throws of giving new life to this world, and you are able to give them the care they need.”
***
M y memories dissipated as I calmed Grace and said, “Hold on, Grace. This is really going to hurt, but I need your help. After the next contraction, you have to completely relax and breathe through the pain.” Her eyes locked onto mine as she took a breath and went totally limp. “Here we go,” I coached.
As her contraction waned, I pushed Grace’s abdomen where I could feel the baby’s little head and applied a smooth, gentle pressure to the tiny spine. Grace groaned in terrible pain, but didn’t fight it. Finally the baby slid, head down, into the proper position.
“Is it OK now?” she asked. Grace’s breathing became more rhythmic.
“You and the baby will be fine. It’s in good position now, but it will be awhile before it comes.” I bowed my head and motioned at my dungarees. “I guess I owe you an explanation.”
“Ada, you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. You saved my baby’s life and probably mine too. You owe me nothing. How you learned to birth babies isn’t important. If you need to keep your secrets, I will do everything in my power to make sure no one ever pries them from you. All I know is that you are a blessing to me. I will never be able to thank you enough.”
Suddenly, all the hiding from my past could not be contained. Tears rushed down my cheeks as I sobbed out, “I don’t even know where to begin.”
“Begin at the beginning. Only you know where that is,” Grace said.
I started to recount the story of my Ma, Annie Moore.
Chapter 11
Ma’s Story
A nnie Moore lived with her poor Irish immigrant parents in a New York City tenement. When her mother became pregnant with her seventh child, eighteen-year-old Annie’s father arranged for her to be a mail-order-bride. Her father had chosen a letter from a miner who promised to give her a better life in San Francisco.
“Annie, New York is a difficult place for Irish people right now. There are no jobs, and all the young men will know is hard labor and disease. Please, go to the frontier where your chances are better.”
“Daddy, I’ll do what you ask and go to San Francisco. I appreciate what you are doing, but I’m scared,” Annie said, with tears in her eyes. She knew that she had no prospects here with her family in New York, but hated to leave the ones she loved.
“He sounds like a nice man, from the letters you let me read. I’ll do my best to make him happy, and be a good wife to him. It’s just so far to go, and I’ll miss you so much.” Her voice trailed off as she realized her future was certain.
Her father believed he was helping his daughter, but as it happened with many mail-order-bride contracts, Annie’s life did not improve.
As she stepped off the train in San Francisco, a cold, foggy afternoon greeted her. Looking around, she tried to be hopeful, but she was afraid.
“Where is he? What does he look like?” She searched faces expectantly hoping that someone would call her name. Annie was anxious to begin her adventure in a new land with a wealthy miner as her husband.
“So far San Francisco doesn’t look anything like what I anticipated,” Annie said, as she shrugged deeper into her light woolen shawl. “All the pictures showed San Francisco in the sunshine. I hope it
***
I t wasn’t unusual for her to be called out to assist the finer ladies in Denver if the doctor was out of town, or the birth was anticipated to be difficult. Day or night, when Lettie got the call, she requested to have me go with her. Lettie was known as the best midwife in the city.
One evening she said, “Ada, I want you with me whenever possible. You have a good head on your shoulders and your touch is gentle yet strong. Women must have very special attention when they are in the throws of giving new life to this world, and you are able to give them the care they need.”
***
M y memories dissipated as I calmed Grace and said, “Hold on, Grace. This is really going to hurt, but I need your help. After the next contraction, you have to completely relax and breathe through the pain.” Her eyes locked onto mine as she took a breath and went totally limp. “Here we go,” I coached.
As her contraction waned, I pushed Grace’s abdomen where I could feel the baby’s little head and applied a smooth, gentle pressure to the tiny spine. Grace groaned in terrible pain, but didn’t fight it. Finally the baby slid, head down, into the proper position.
“Is it OK now?” she asked. Grace’s breathing became more rhythmic.
“You and the baby will be fine. It’s in good position now, but it will be awhile before it comes.” I bowed my head and motioned at my dungarees. “I guess I owe you an explanation.”
“Ada, you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. You saved my baby’s life and probably mine too. You owe me nothing. How you learned to birth babies isn’t important. If you need to keep your secrets, I will do everything in my power to make sure no one ever pries them from you. All I know is that you are a blessing to me. I will never be able to thank you enough.”
Suddenly, all the hiding from my past could not be contained. Tears rushed down my cheeks as I sobbed out, “I don’t even know where to begin.”
“Begin at the beginning. Only you know where that is,” Grace said.
I started to recount the story of my Ma, Annie Moore.
Chapter 11
Ma’s Story
A nnie Moore lived with her poor Irish immigrant parents in a New York City tenement. When her mother became pregnant with her seventh child, eighteen-year-old Annie’s father arranged for her to be a mail-order-bride. Her father had chosen a letter from a miner who promised to give her a better life in San Francisco.
“Annie, New York is a difficult place for Irish people right now. There are no jobs, and all the young men will know is hard labor and disease. Please, go to the frontier where your chances are better.”
“Daddy, I’ll do what you ask and go to San Francisco. I appreciate what you are doing, but I’m scared,” Annie said, with tears in her eyes. She knew that she had no prospects here with her family in New York, but hated to leave the ones she loved.
“He sounds like a nice man, from the letters you let me read. I’ll do my best to make him happy, and be a good wife to him. It’s just so far to go, and I’ll miss you so much.” Her voice trailed off as she realized her future was certain.
Her father believed he was helping his daughter, but as it happened with many mail-order-bride contracts, Annie’s life did not improve.
As she stepped off the train in San Francisco, a cold, foggy afternoon greeted her. Looking around, she tried to be hopeful, but she was afraid.
“Where is he? What does he look like?” She searched faces expectantly hoping that someone would call her name. Annie was anxious to begin her adventure in a new land with a wealthy miner as her husband.
“So far San Francisco doesn’t look anything like what I anticipated,” Annie said, as she shrugged deeper into her light woolen shawl. “All the pictures showed San Francisco in the sunshine. I hope it
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