and then she would be home to take care of Momma and the new baby. Graduation day was sad for her. Her mother couldn’t come. Luke was there and tried to encourage her.
St. Petersburg had just opened a beautiful new public library. When she got home, she went to the library and signed books out on how to raise babies. She devoured them more than she ever had with her algebra or literature books. Often, she sat around for hours nibbling on a cookie or piece of cake Georgie had taught her to make and reading about babies.
Luke shook his head. To him it was gluttony, and gluttony was just as bad as drunkenness. But he said nothing.
By the time school was out the middle of May, Martha was weaker than ever. She could barely get out of bed. The baby looked like it took up most of her frail body. She tried to eat more, but it was difficult to swallow sometimes because she was nauseated.
Luke could see that Maggie was the ideal nurse. She was compassionate, knew just how to move her momma into a comfortable position, and was very patient with her. She offered her small amounts of food every waking hour, putting a tiny bit on the spoon and feeding what she could take. Not much, but enough to keep her going. She made her get out of bed and walk through the living room, dining room, and back to her bedroom twice a day, until she was too weak to get up.
The first of June arrived, and the baby was still active and appeared to be growing normally, but Martha’s body could no longer sustain a pregnancy. She went into labor. The doctor wanted her to go to the little hospital where he was on staff, Augusta Memorial Hospital,4 but she refused. She would have her baby at home.
Luke or Luther, back in North Carolina, despite having nine children, had never actually been present when any of them had been born. He left Zanny to the midwife. When Martha went into labor, he went fishing.
And Maggie had never witnessed the birth of a baby, but she had read all about it. Dr. Morgan came and brought his nurse with him. Maggie, along with Georgie who had done her share of midwifery in her day, remained at Martha’s side.
Maggie was available to supply anything the doctor might need that he did not bring. Otherwise, she sat by Martha’s head, rubbed her temples, and let her squeeze her hand as the contractions increased. Since the baby was preterm, it might be a short labor, but with Martha’s weakened condition, would she have the strength to push? Maggie encouraged her with calm words to help her through the process. Georgie’s calmness calmed Martha. She labored from midmorning until seven in the evening. Dr. Morgan left twice during that time to tend to other patients, leaving Georgie to time her contractions and the nurse to check her for dilation.
Morgan returned in the nick of time to welcome the tiny boy. Although the baby was a month early, he was lively. He weighed four pounds and came into daylight hungry. He would grow. Because of the breast cancer, he would be a bottle-fed baby. Maggie was ready to take charge of “her boy.”
Where was Luke during all this? He spent the entire day fishing in Tampa Bay. He didn’t catch anything worth taking to Georgie to cook.
Jesse came to the pier where Luke was fishing to tell him the baby had come. “Mistah Luke, dat baby be hyar. One lusty boy from de soun’ o’ his lungs. Georgie say you betta show yo’ face soon or she gonna come down hyar and whap yo’ on de head wif dat fishin’ pole. An’ missus, she ain’t doin’ good ’tall.”
He left faster than when he came to the docks. He handed the fishing pole to Jesse and took off in a trot, leaving Jesse in his wake.
Georgie was washing the baby and showing Maggie how to get all the white cheesy stuff off. She didn’t know it was called vernix, but she said, “Dis ol’ white cheese is what keep de baby’s skin from getting sore while he in de womb. Gotta wash it all off, gentle like, yo’ see.”
Luke appeared at the door and saw his little red-faced son. “Ah! What do you think, ladies? Is he not a handsome boy? We’ll call him Luke Harvey.”
“No middle name, Papa?” Maggie asked. “I thought everyone had to have a middle name.”
“Well, I don’t. If I want him named Luke Harvey, he will have to be Luke Harvey without a middle name.”
“We will call him Luke Junior, then,” Maggie announced. And Junior became his name.
Martha was terribly weak; she knew she would not live. She hardly paid attention to her baby, and she gave him into the care of Maggie and Georgie. The next day, she grew weaker and lapsed into a coma.
But Luke needed to return to Willson’s Cove and his family. He dreaded it more than ever because now he had a son in Florida. Maggie, however, encouraged him to get on the road. “Papa, you have been so good to stay by me through this. I know your children have missed you, but I needed you here. Thank you. I know you love us, and that is what is important. You go on, now.”
The next morning, Martha was dead. Luke and Maggie made burial arrangements, and then Luke left, not even staying for a funeral. Junior, only days old, was motherless, and his father boarded the northbound train.
Normally, when Luke left for North Carolina in April, he would have some oranges and grapefruit to take along. June was not the season for citrus fruits. But some of the lush Florida gardens were producing vegetables he knew his family wouldn’t have yet and would travel well: sweet potatoes, eggplant, and summer squash. He took a crate from the market with him.
As he left the house, Maggie verbalized her thoughts to Georgie, “Will this be the last time we see him?”
Chapter 9
Susan
Willson’s Cove, North Carolina, August 2009
The old family home in Willson’s Cove was still standing and owned by Susan’s cousin Mike. Mike lived there alone in the huge house. Mike did a good job of doing upkeep, repainting, repairing, tending to the grounds, and updating outdated things, like corroded water pipes. Every five years, Mike would host a family reunion at the old place. Next year, 2010, would be the next one. Grandpa Luther and his two oldest sons, Luther and Roby, had built the house in 1912, when the boys were hardly big enough to wield a crosscut saw together. It made tough men out of them before they were barely in long pants.
After her trip to Tampa, Susan had returned home to Mac in Blowing Rock, where they had their summer home, and the next day, she drove over the mountain to Willson’s Cove. She so loved her mountains, but Mac was more a city boy. He conceded to living the warmer months in Blowing Rock, but he had told her it would be back to Georgia as soon as the leaves started to fall. She had put her house in Willson’s Cove on the market and sold it within a week, to a second cousin, Jeff Willson, who wanted to return to his roots. It was with mixed feelings that she sold the house. It was the only home she had ever known, but at least kinfolk would be living there.
Susan had called her cousin Mike, the evening she got home, to see if she could go into the old house. She knew the attic was filled with boxes, crates, and trunks. What might she find to help her solve this mystery of Luther Willson? She declined telling Mike about her purpose. “I just want to get in touch with our ancestors a bit and think looking through the attic would be helpful.”
“Y’ain’t into see-ancies and ghosts, air ye?” Mike was the proverbial hick, a typical hillbilly.
Susan laughed, giving back to him in the same countrified lingo. “Y’ain’t skeered of ghosts, air ye? If’n I find one, I’ll send him yander t’ you.” Then
