Read Online Whiter Than Snow by Sandra Dallas - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Sandra Dallas
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day, and on toward evening, Joe’s mother told him she didn’t expect Orange would live through the night. “We can’t get the baby out, and she’s weak as a rag doll. You best prepare yourself, Joe.”
“You mean she’ll die?” Joe himself felt weak. “Can’t you do something?”
“I can’t, but the white doctor might. You go fetch him, Joe, ask him would he come, please.”
“He’ll come. I’ll make him come,” Joe said. He knew where the doctor lived—not far, maybe two miles—and he ran all the way. The doctor was sitting on his front porch with his wife, and Joe thought it was a good sign that the man was at home instead of out tending to some white patient. He ran onto the porch and tugged at his cap. “Please, sir, my wife—”
“What you doing on this porch, boy? Don’t you know you’re supposed to go to the back door?” the woman said.
“But I saw the doctor—”
The woman pointed to the back of the house. “You march right on over there.”
“Yes’m.” Joe turned, his shoulders slumped, and hurried to the kitchen door and knocked.
The woman ignored him as she remained in her rocker, saying something to her husband. After a few minutes, the two of them stood up and went inside, and finally she answered his knock at the back screen door.
“What do you want?” she asked Joe.
“Please, ma’am, my wife’s in labor, and the baby’s turned and won’t come out. Could the doctor come and see her? Please.”
“The doctor’s just sitting down to dinner now.”
“Yes, ma’am. But my wife’s about to die. She can’t hold out much longer.”
“Dinner will get cold.” The woman reached up and hooked the screen, then called, “Louis, this darky says his wife’s in labor. You want to tend her?”
“Oh, those people don’t have much trouble with it. I’ll have my supper first.”
Joe stood on the back stoop, smashing the fist of one hand into the palm of the other in anger. He watched while the woman dished up the supper and carried it into the dining room. Then the couple bowed their heads and gave thanks. After a while, the woman came back with the plates and filled them again. When she returned with the empty dishes, she took down two cups and saucers; then, remembering Joe, she said, “He says he’ll be along directly, soon as he has his coffee and his cigarette.”
Joe seethed. He thought of smashing through the screen and dragging the man out to his buggy. His pride told him to leave, but he couldn’t do that when Orange needed the doctor. So he waited, hating the man inside, who held Orange’s life in his hands. At last, the doctor came into the kitchen, unlatched the screen, and told Joe to go hitch up his buggy.
When Joe came out of the barn, leading the horse, because the doctor had not invited him to sit in the buggy and Joe thought he might have to trot alongside the conveyance on the way back to the farm, the doctor picked up his bag and climbed into the buggy. “Well, get in, boy,” he told Joe. “I can’t find your wife in the dark.” The doctor clucked at the horse, which started up at a slow pace. “I wouldn’t worry too much about her. The negra women generally get on just fine. Why, back in slavery days, a woman just stooped down in the field and the baby came out. Then she scooped it up and went on hoeing.” He chuckled. “I expect by the time we get to your place, it’ll all be over.” He leaned back and let the horse plod along.
The doctor was right. It was over. Orange lay on the bed, one old woman on each side of her. The granny woman mopped Orange’s forehead with a rag dipped in water while Ada prayed. “Well, it can’t be all that bad,” the doctor said, and took off his coat. But he left his hat on, and Joe forever remembered that. The doctor did not take off his hat for Orange. The doctor’s jovial expression turned sour, and he said, “Why didn’t you tell me this was serious, boy? Your woman’s already dead. I’m
“You mean she’ll die?” Joe himself felt weak. “Can’t you do something?”
“I can’t, but the white doctor might. You go fetch him, Joe, ask him would he come, please.”
“He’ll come. I’ll make him come,” Joe said. He knew where the doctor lived—not far, maybe two miles—and he ran all the way. The doctor was sitting on his front porch with his wife, and Joe thought it was a good sign that the man was at home instead of out tending to some white patient. He ran onto the porch and tugged at his cap. “Please, sir, my wife—”
“What you doing on this porch, boy? Don’t you know you’re supposed to go to the back door?” the woman said.
“But I saw the doctor—”
The woman pointed to the back of the house. “You march right on over there.”
“Yes’m.” Joe turned, his shoulders slumped, and hurried to the kitchen door and knocked.
The woman ignored him as she remained in her rocker, saying something to her husband. After a few minutes, the two of them stood up and went inside, and finally she answered his knock at the back screen door.
“What do you want?” she asked Joe.
“Please, ma’am, my wife’s in labor, and the baby’s turned and won’t come out. Could the doctor come and see her? Please.”
“The doctor’s just sitting down to dinner now.”
“Yes, ma’am. But my wife’s about to die. She can’t hold out much longer.”
“Dinner will get cold.” The woman reached up and hooked the screen, then called, “Louis, this darky says his wife’s in labor. You want to tend her?”
“Oh, those people don’t have much trouble with it. I’ll have my supper first.”
Joe stood on the back stoop, smashing the fist of one hand into the palm of the other in anger. He watched while the woman dished up the supper and carried it into the dining room. Then the couple bowed their heads and gave thanks. After a while, the woman came back with the plates and filled them again. When she returned with the empty dishes, she took down two cups and saucers; then, remembering Joe, she said, “He says he’ll be along directly, soon as he has his coffee and his cigarette.”
Joe seethed. He thought of smashing through the screen and dragging the man out to his buggy. His pride told him to leave, but he couldn’t do that when Orange needed the doctor. So he waited, hating the man inside, who held Orange’s life in his hands. At last, the doctor came into the kitchen, unlatched the screen, and told Joe to go hitch up his buggy.
When Joe came out of the barn, leading the horse, because the doctor had not invited him to sit in the buggy and Joe thought he might have to trot alongside the conveyance on the way back to the farm, the doctor picked up his bag and climbed into the buggy. “Well, get in, boy,” he told Joe. “I can’t find your wife in the dark.” The doctor clucked at the horse, which started up at a slow pace. “I wouldn’t worry too much about her. The negra women generally get on just fine. Why, back in slavery days, a woman just stooped down in the field and the baby came out. Then she scooped it up and went on hoeing.” He chuckled. “I expect by the time we get to your place, it’ll all be over.” He leaned back and let the horse plod along.
The doctor was right. It was over. Orange lay on the bed, one old woman on each side of her. The granny woman mopped Orange’s forehead with a rag dipped in water while Ada prayed. “Well, it can’t be all that bad,” the doctor said, and took off his coat. But he left his hat on, and Joe forever remembered that. The doctor did not take off his hat for Orange. The doctor’s jovial expression turned sour, and he said, “Why didn’t you tell me this was serious, boy? Your woman’s already dead. I’m
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