Ember

Mrs. Knight took the little money she managed to save and with it, she bought two plots of land - one for herself and adjacent to it, and later, another parcel for her two children. A short way down the road was the Garcia’s home. So the Knight family built a house on one of the plots. It was in that house that Betsy and her older sister Sarah were born in the late 1920’s just as the nation descended into the Great Depression and the Scottsboro boys’ trial riveted the country. The girls grew up under their father’s watchful eyes. He would read anything he could get his hands on to his children. They worked with him in the yard and did chores that some would say was man’s work. He wanted them to be self-sufficient and strong. He could never imagine them married though. He would never let his mind go beyond that point. He saw grandchildren, but could not bring himself to see another man in their lives, no matter how unrealistic the thought. They spent their early years helping Momma Knight make pumpkin and sweet potato pies to sell to some of the mill workers. Momma Knight had a green thumb as well. She loved roses and transplanted a bush she got from one of the ranchers wives in the front yard next to several vines of morning glories. Pappy, as her husband was affectionately called, built trestles for them to grow on the gate. Momma Knight also had a garden on the side of the home for squash, peas, and melons. They had a mulberry tree planted along the fence and growing alongside it was Momma Knight’s prized ambition – her grapevine. It had taken a few years to take hold, but with each passing season, she knew it was just a matter of time before the vines would bear fruit. The girls learned to sew and cook and were perfect ladies and hostess when the family had guests over. They played hopscotch on the dirt road in front of the house, before the city came over and paved it, linking the road with the highway about a mile down the road. Sarah was the wild seed. Tall and witty with a razor sharp tongue. “You got your grandmother’s tongue, child.” Momma Knight would say as she prepared a helping of discipline. Pappy would not do it. He would not discipline the children in the Southern way, but would not spoil them either. He was stern and demanded their full attention and focus. The girls had chores and responsibilities around the house, and were sure not to cross their mother. She was not at all like their father when it came to discipline. She would warn her that she was not afraid to tar her bottom. Sarah was careful around her, but did not know how much Momma Knight admired her spirit. Momma Knight was told by a midwife well before Betsy’s birth that it would be a troubled pregnancy. The woman, Caledonia, was a seer as some called her in town, what many called a “granny-woman”. She used handed down remedies and techniques along with a little ritual and superstition to help birthing mothers. Momma Knight was not superstitious, but her words did have some truth to them. The pregnancy had been a difficult one. One day after being on her feet for more than six hours, Momma Knight collapsed on the street while walking to Pappy’s car. She was bedridden for a week and lost consciousness a few times. Pappy was scared to death and each time that happened he had sent Sara over to the neighbors to get help. The last time he summoned Ms. Caledonia was when Momma Knight’s water broke. The midwife arrived a short time later. She ordered a small tub of hot water and towels which Pappy prepared quickly. Caledonia knew this was going to be a difficult birth. She began to chant and pray under her breath, touching the tips of her fingers together. Sarah sat and listened bugged-eyed. She could not make out a word of her chant. Caledonia had Sarah bring her satchel and she noticed a small, iron hook in the bag. It had a sharp point about two to three inches long used for craniotomies, in case the baby died in the birth canal. To save the mother’s life, the midwife would dismember the baby in the uterus. Sarah handed the satchel to Caledonia. “Don’t be afraid baby. Everything’s gonna be alright.” The women whispered in her deep, Southern drawl. Sarah tried to smile, but she was extremely afraid at that moment. Caledonia prepared some blackberry tea and had Momma Knight sipped it slowly. The tea would act as an astringent to prevent hemorrhaging. Momma Knight was in labor for over twenty two hours. It was not long before the midwife realized that the baby was breached. She knew that they would only have five or six minutes before hypoxia could set in and suffocate the baby. “Mr. Knight!” She shouted in her coarse voice. “I need you in here.” “Yes Mam.” He responded nervously. “Set these pillows under her bottom there. Right there.” She pointed. He saw the tiny brown toes protruding from Ellen’s vagina. Pappy took a deep breath. He did not know what to expect. “Okay now Ellen. I don’t need you to push too hard baby, so just tightened up your bum like you are holding in some gas.” She smiled. Ellen nodded her sweat covered face. Caledonia had Mr. Knight come over and set pillows under Momma Knight’s bottom. She let the baby hang out of her and even dangle, half born, for a few moments Using gravity and the rush of body and birth fluids, she eased the child slowly from her mother’s uterus without much effort. The baby lay there, still, not breathing, not moving. Momma Knight lifted her head slightly, her belly stiff and tired. “What’s wrong?” She cried. “She ain’t breathing, that’s what’s wrong!” Caledonia said. She turned the baby on her back and rubbed her vigorously. Momma Knight noticed all the blood on her arms and on one of her cheeks where she had wiped a bead of sweat off her brow. “Oh Lord...” Momma Knight began to panic. She felt her heart weaken with every second the child was in distress. Mr. Knight held her hand and tried to calm her. “She’s gonna be fine.” “My baby ain’t breathing. How she gonna be fine? Lord Jesus.” She cried. Suddenly, they heard a little cough. The midwife turned to them with her big, brown, sullen eyes, the baby wrapped in a small cloth. “Your daughter is fine Ma’am.” She said. The baby was breathing, shallow and quick, but she was breathing. She stretched her tiny arm and squirmed a bit in the midwife’s arms. Momma Knight’s head tilted back to the bed with a heavy sigh. Mr. Knight said a quiet prayer and Caledonia dropped her head and let out a sigh of relief. The anxious moments lifting slowly as Momma Knight herself began to breathe more freely again. Her eyes filled with tears that rolled down her sweet, brown cheeks. They sparkled in the candle light. Mr. Knight reached out and took his baby girl. He held her gently, closing his eyes to offer a hushed thank you to God. “Child”, Caledonia called to Sarah, “Go get your mother’s petticoat!” When Sarah returned, she wrapped the baby in the coat. It was an old Southern custom for good luck. “Let me see my baby.” Momma Knight said. Mr. Knight extended his arms as the midwife helped Momma Knight sit up in the bed. He left the room to tell the family that mother and daughter were fine. Momma Knight rolled the baby in her arms. Later she would nurse the child. Betsy Knight was welcomed into the world on July 31, 1928. Betsy, the youngest daughter, was the thinker, the dreamer. She would sit in the tall grass of corn fields or along the canal banks as a young girl and daydream of sailing away on a steamship through the Panama Canal on her way to France or Italy. She would go through every single page of the books Pappy brought home with him. Momma Knight knew she would be more trouble than Sarah. Betsy loved looking through the discarded catalogs and magazines Momma Knight brought home from the homes of her rich matrons.