Emma’s Dilemma
(1870, late spring)
Dr. Lafayette Edmonds was woken up from his sleep by a pounding, a persistent pounding on his door, which was on the second floor, up a long staircase, his building being next to “Hobby’s Store” in Ozark (Alabama), it was late spring, and just outside the window he saw Ella Hightower. He arched himself to a better position to the edge of the glass, putting on his spectacles, to get a better look, and then lit a night candle. His wife, Sarah, sleeping in their double-bed, he was an old timer, likened to Josh, in his late sixties—semi retired, and not accustomed to being woken up in the middle of the night: although he didn’t mind if it was because of deaths or the dying, or was needed to attend a birth, something more than a cold or stomach ache, or similar; murmuring to himself, he opened up the door.
He heard from his grandfather clock in the living room—him being now in his office (his living quarters and office being side to side), the clock struck two chimes, it was 2:00 a.m., in the morning. After thirty-five years of quick responding to needs of the sick, he wasn’t fast anymore, thus, slowly he opened up the door, with no complains in his composure, or even in his verbal expressions, he said to Ella, now near fully awake, “It must really be an emergency to have you come down here all alone all this ways, at this god-forsaken hour of the morning, come on in Ella, what is the problem?” And he held the door open wide for her, candle lit and candle holder in his left hand.
Dr. Edmonds, looking at Ella carefully, saw worry in Ella’s face. On the other hand, Ella was expecting to find the old doctor wanting an explanation for waking him up so early, surprised he was still as crisp as he was at his age, seemingly with the same old concern he always had for others, and patience.
“Well,” said Ella, handing him an envelope with fifty-dollars in it, new American currency, he had no idea of why she was giving it to him, and mysteriously he said nothing, knowing she needed a moment to calm down and explain her manner, and surely for that time of night. She had a horse and buggy waiting for them along the front of the building, which was also used by a younger man by the name of Tony Bly, a shoe repair man, and leather worker.
“Emma is about to have a baby, and I do not want her to go to the county hospital, although I know it is proper medical care there, I want you, and only you to see her and to deliver it,” remarked Ella.
Dr. Edmonds was a benevolent old man, completely white hair, a tinge enfeebled with age, but his hands were not shaky, the greatest fault for an aging doctor I would think; plus, he was always very much involved with his patients and profession, perhaps to the point of obsession, and on the face of it, it was the only thing he knew, really knew and really enjoyed out of life other than his wife. He did not shoot guns, or hunt, or play any instruments, or smoke, or drink, or play games like chess, or cards, he just was a simple old doctor that loved his calling. His goal from birth to old age was simple, a doctor’s career in general practices.
“Okay,” he said, seeing the horse and buggy was all harnessed and standing down below the staircase, “I’m ready if you are,” he didn’t ask anymore questions, he felt as he always felt, he was a doctor, not a policeman, or clergy, or judge or sheriff or politician—or for that matter, adequate to even construct an issue in anything other than medicine, the only regret he might have had, or could have been imagined, was perhaps, he wanted another thirty-five years to treat his clients, and that would be out of the question.
Yancy Yankcavick, the stable owner saw Ella and the doctor leave the city limits, he was paid by the city as a night patrolman, and if he saw anything mysterious, he was to inform the sheriff, although he spent very little time combing the streets, and more time sleeping in a rickety old wooden chair crooked up against the sidewall of his stable—
“It’s good you keep in practice,” said Ella as they rode in this brisk chilly late spring night, down the Old Ozark Road to the Hightower Plantation.
“Well,” said the doctor mumbling in a no serious manner, “Some people take a half a life time to figure out what they want out of life, I always knew my calling, as if a bird was chattering inside my head until I did what I had to do, meaning: medical school. It didn’t really appear unexpectedly to me, I had no pretext to do anything else, and it was that or nothing, being a bum or drunk that would have been my second choice I suppose.” And they both laughed.
Once at the plantation mansion, Ella swung the door open rapidly, and the doctor went immediately to Ella’s room, he knew were it was, he had been there couple dozen of times before. The fireplace was warm in her room. The part of her face he saw was sweating and in pain, he walked to her bedside, the floor squeaking as he did, the glowing heat from the oak logs kept every inch of the large room warm, “Good evening—I mean morning, Emma…” and before he could say anything else, Emma remarked, “Get this baby out of me please doc, it’s killing me!”
“Glad you got the hearth going Ella,” said the doctor, “we’re having a cold spell it seems.”
And then dutifully in response to the pain and dilation of Emma, the doctor with cautious hands, delivered the child. It was a boy, a mulatto. Emma was now quiet “Let me see the little one?” asked Emma (she didn’t say: ‘Let me see my baby,’ she was apprehensive).
Briskly, she peered over the edge of the bed, Ella was holding the baby. “A colored boy,” she cried. “It’ll be all right,” said Ella, trying to overlook her shock. And even the doctor had something to say about this, “Well, I’ll be doggone!” he muffled under his breath, his manner a bit taken back. Ella now smiled, as she proceeded to cover the baby with a blanket.
“Mrs. Hightower,” said the doctor, “I see the child is in very capable hands, but you’ll not get the approval of the Ozark folks, they may stay away from your plantation after they hear of this; luckily you didn’t call for a midwife.” Meaning, she had some decisions to make.
“Well,” said Emma, “another mixed-colored born for Shantytown,” and Ella looked at Emma, then the doctor, and the doctor remarked, “It’s a pretty one, too bad! Do you want me to take him with me when I leave?”
“We’d be in an awful fix if you didn’t” said Ella.
“You can count on my silence, Mrs. Hightower,” said the doctor to Ella, then looking at Emma, “I guess there’s no arguing with the times, do you want to give him a name?” Then he hushed up.
“Josh,” said Emma “put a note in a basket and say his name is Josh, he had a good reputation in Shantytown, and someone will parent him, and if not—oh well, let’s hope someone does, we’ll never know one way or the other I suppose.” Then the doctor said, “Oh yes, you’ll always know, he has a web foot like your right one.” And she looked and it was true.
“Well,” said the doctor (it was now 4:00 a.m.) “News travels fast so it is best I take the child and get traveling,” and he leaned forward to take the child from Ella, and with a lowered voice, Ella said “Okay take little Josh,” not wanting to release the child, but after horridly and mentally examining the situation, she handed him over.
No. 607 (2-25-2010) EC
Part of the story “Colored and White” in the Manuscript
“The Cotton Belt”
(1870, late spring)
Dr. Lafayette Edmonds was woken up from his sleep by a pounding, a persistent pounding on his door, which was on the second floor, up a long staircase, his building being next to “Hobby’s Store” in Ozark (Alabama), it was late spring, and just outside the window he saw Ella Hightower. He arched himself to a better position to the edge of the glass, putting on his spectacles, to get a better look, and then lit a night candle. His wife, Sarah, sleeping in their double-bed, he was an old timer, likened to Josh, in his late sixties—semi retired, and not accustomed to being woken up in the middle of the night: although he didn’t mind if it was because of deaths or the dying, or was needed to attend a birth, something more than a cold or stomach ache, or similar; murmuring to himself, he opened up the door.
He heard from his grandfather clock in the living room—him being now in his office (his living quarters and office being side to side), the clock struck two chimes, it was 2:00 a.m., in the morning. After thirty-five years of quick responding to needs of the sick, he wasn’t fast anymore, thus, slowly he opened up the door, with no complains in his composure, or even in his verbal expressions, he said to Ella, now near fully awake, “It must really be an emergency to have you come down here all alone all this ways, at this god-forsaken hour of the morning, come on in Ella, what is the problem?” And he held the door open wide for her, candle lit and candle holder in his left hand.
Dr. Edmonds, looking at Ella carefully, saw worry in Ella’s face. On the other hand, Ella was expecting to find the old doctor wanting an explanation for waking him up so early, surprised he was still as crisp as he was at his age, seemingly with the same old concern he always had for others, and patience.
“Well,” said Ella, handing him an envelope with fifty-dollars in it, new American currency, he had no idea of why she was giving it to him, and mysteriously he said nothing, knowing she needed a moment to calm down and explain her manner, and surely for that time of night. She had a horse and buggy waiting for them along the front of the building, which was also used by a younger man by the name of Tony Bly, a shoe repair man, and leather worker.
“Emma is about to have a baby, and I do not want her to go to the county hospital, although I know it is proper medical care there, I want you, and only you to see her and to deliver it,” remarked Ella.
Dr. Edmonds was a benevolent old man, completely white hair, a tinge enfeebled with age, but his hands were not shaky, the greatest fault for an aging doctor I would think; plus, he was always very much involved with his patients and profession, perhaps to the point of obsession, and on the face of it, it was the only thing he knew, really knew and really enjoyed out of life other than his wife. He did not shoot guns, or hunt, or play any instruments, or smoke, or drink, or play games like chess, or cards, he just was a simple old doctor that loved his calling. His goal from birth to old age was simple, a doctor’s career in general practices.
“Okay,” he said, seeing the horse and buggy was all harnessed and standing down below the staircase, “I’m ready if you are,” he didn’t ask anymore questions, he felt as he always felt, he was a doctor, not a policeman, or clergy, or judge or sheriff or politician—or for that matter, adequate to even construct an issue in anything other than medicine, the only regret he might have had, or could have been imagined, was perhaps, he wanted another thirty-five years to treat his clients, and that would be out of the question.
Yancy Yankcavick, the stable owner saw Ella and the doctor leave the city limits, he was paid by the city as a night patrolman, and if he saw anything mysterious, he was to inform the sheriff, although he spent very little time combing the streets, and more time sleeping in a rickety old wooden chair crooked up against the sidewall of his stable—
“It’s good you keep in practice,” said Ella as they rode in this brisk chilly late spring night, down the Old Ozark Road to the Hightower Plantation.
“Well,” said the doctor mumbling in a no serious manner, “Some people take a half a life time to figure out what they want out of life, I always knew my calling, as if a bird was chattering inside my head until I did what I had to do, meaning: medical school. It didn’t really appear unexpectedly to me, I had no pretext to do anything else, and it was that or nothing, being a bum or drunk that would have been my second choice I suppose.” And they both laughed.
Once at the plantation mansion, Ella swung the door open rapidly, and the doctor went immediately to Ella’s room, he knew were it was, he had been there couple dozen of times before. The fireplace was warm in her room. The part of her face he saw was sweating and in pain, he walked to her bedside, the floor squeaking as he did, the glowing heat from the oak logs kept every inch of the large room warm, “Good evening—I mean morning, Emma…” and before he could say anything else, Emma remarked, “Get this baby out of me please doc, it’s killing me!”
“Glad you got the hearth going Ella,” said the doctor, “we’re having a cold spell it seems.”
And then dutifully in response to the pain and dilation of Emma, the doctor with cautious hands, delivered the child. It was a boy, a mulatto. Emma was now quiet “Let me see the little one?” asked Emma (she didn’t say: ‘Let me see my baby,’ she was apprehensive).
Briskly, she peered over the edge of the bed, Ella was holding the baby. “A colored boy,” she cried. “It’ll be all right,” said Ella, trying to overlook her shock. And even the doctor had something to say about this, “Well, I’ll be doggone!” he muffled under his breath, his manner a bit taken back. Ella now smiled, as she proceeded to cover the baby with a blanket.
“Mrs. Hightower,” said the doctor, “I see the child is in very capable hands, but you’ll not get the approval of the Ozark folks, they may stay away from your plantation after they hear of this; luckily you didn’t call for a midwife.” Meaning, she had some decisions to make.
“Well,” said Emma, “another mixed-colored born for Shantytown,” and Ella looked at Emma, then the doctor, and the doctor remarked, “It’s a pretty one, too bad! Do you want me to take him with me when I leave?”
“We’d be in an awful fix if you didn’t” said Ella.
“You can count on my silence, Mrs. Hightower,” said the doctor to Ella, then looking at Emma, “I guess there’s no arguing with the times, do you want to give him a name?” Then he hushed up.
“Josh,” said Emma “put a note in a basket and say his name is Josh, he had a good reputation in Shantytown, and someone will parent him, and if not—oh well, let’s hope someone does, we’ll never know one way or the other I suppose.” Then the doctor said, “Oh yes, you’ll always know, he has a web foot like your right one.” And she looked and it was true.
“Well,” said the doctor (it was now 4:00 a.m.) “News travels fast so it is best I take the child and get traveling,” and he leaned forward to take the child from Ella, and with a lowered voice, Ella said “Okay take little Josh,” not wanting to release the child, but after horridly and mentally examining the situation, she handed him over.
No. 607 (2-25-2010) EC
Part of the story “Colored and White” in the Manuscript
“The Cotton Belt”
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