the old woman said, taking her by the arm and ushering her to one of the benches beside the kitchen table, making her sit down, then going to take a plate down from the warming oven over the stove, a plate piled high with biscuits, sausage, eggs, and grits. She set it down before Elise. “Now, you eat,” she said. “Cain’t go skippin’ breakfast. It ain’t good for a body t’ start th’ day without somethin’ in their stomach.” She turned back to her bread dough, glancing back up at Elise one last time.
Elise looked at the mountain of food before her, her stomach churning. She obediently picked up the fork the old woman had placed beside her plate and tried to do what she could with it. “You said Janson’s working out behind the barn?”
“Yeah, but you don’t want t’ be goin’ out there. Th’ men’re workin’, my Tom, Wayne, an’ Janson—”
“I won’t bother them. I just wanted to talk to him for a second.”
“Not out there. You leave him alone until he comes in for dinner, an’ you can talk t’ him then.”
Elise looked up at her, thinking that the woman might make her eat, but she could not stop her from going to see her own husband.
“Olive an’ her husban’, Cyrus, an’ their Daniel and ’Nita’ll be here for dinner t’ meet you,” Janson’s grandmother said, and Elise had an awful, sinking feeling at the idea of meeting any more relatives. She had had her fill of them already, but it could not be avoided. They all came along with marrying Janson, even though Elise could not quite make herself happy about any she had met thus far. Within an hour of their having arrived the evening before, she had already been introduced not only to Janson’s grandparents, his cousin, Sissy, who lived with them and who was only a few years younger than Elise, but also the two old biddies who had gone out of their way to make her feel unwelcome, and Janson’s Uncle Wayne, his wife, Rachel, and their brood of sons. Now it would be the snooty Aunt Olive that Janson had told her about, and her family. She could only imagine who might show up next, her mind going over all the people Janson had told her about.
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
