GEORGIA
1944 - 1961

CHAPTER 1

“Mattie, is Mary coming downstairs for lunch?” Esther Richardson asked upon opening the kitchen door at the rear of the seventy-five year old, two-storied, twelve-room home on the southwest corner of the family property in Westland County, Georgia.

“Yes, ma’am.”  The short and stout middle-aged black woman separated the white and dark meat from two chickens she had killed and cooked earlier that morning.  The white meat would go into chicken salad for the three women’s lunches but Mattie would take the dark meat home for supper that evening.  “When I straightened up her room a while ago, Miz Mary said she might even be hungry.”

“Mary needs to eat more.”

“I’m gonna perk up this chicken salad with a bit of curry powder.  Maybe she’ll be tempted to eat a goodly portion.”

“Ed Wilkens mystifies me,” Ester said.

“Other’n he be a doctor and a Methodist, what’s yore problem with him?”

“He should have confined Mary to her bed during the rest of her lying-in period.  With her blood pressure so high, we need to keep her calm for the next six or seven weeks.”

“Miz Esther, you know agitation’s in her Yankee blood.”

“You’re still sure the baby will be a boy child?”

“I keep telling y’all it can’t be nothing else from how she carry the baby and the way her eyes look.”

“Boy or girl, I don’t care as long as the child and mother are healthy.”

“He might not want to wait much longer to come out.  I put my hand on Miz Mary’s belly this morning.  That boy child sho’ nuf restless like his momma.”

“We don’t need a premature birth.”  Esther put a hand to her bun of tightly braided hair.  “We’ve got enough gray hairs.”

“How was circle?”  The women’s morning circle met on the first Monday morning of each month at the First Presbyterian Church in Cambridge, eight miles from the Richardson home.

“About the same as always.”

The front door bell rang.  “Keep on with the salad, Mattie.  I’ll see who’s at the door.”

Esther walked down the first floor hallway but her tall, slender, and long-limbed daughter-in-law had already let John Carver into the large foyer.  Esther’s heart came into her throat.  She could think of only one reason why the Cambridge stationmaster would drive out to the Richardson home.  John, hat in one hand and a telegram in the other, looked around Mary’s head to speak to Esther.  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Esther.  I wanted to give this telegram to Col. Richardson but the people at his office said he’s somewhere with Mr. Harrington and won’t be back until later this afternoon.”  Carver handed the telegram to Esther.

Mary gave a deep sigh of relief.  Rather than a notification that her husband was a battlefield casualty, someone needed her father-in-law for business or politics.  Esther steeled herself when she saw the telegram was addressed to Mrs. Nicholas G. Richardson, Jr.  No, Lord, she prayed silently.

Carver stood awkwardly, shifting from foot to foot.  “Is there anything I can do, Mrs. Richardson?”

“No, but thank you, John Carver,” Esther replied.  “We’ll take care of everything.”  Carver put on his hat and turned toward his car in the driveway.

Mary asked, “Can the matter wait until Daddy Nick comes home or should we try to find him?”

“Let’s sit a moment in the living room.”

“Mother Esther?”

The two women sat on the couch.  Esther put her right arm around Mary’s shoulders.  “The telegram’s for you.”

“Please give it to me.”  Mary read the telegram and silently passed it to Esther.  The words brought to harsh reality the dread both women had felt from the time Gordon Richardson, Esther’s only child, obtained his long-sought transfer from the War Department in Washington to a front-line unit:  “The President of the United States regrets to inform you that Captain Nicholas G. Richardson, Jr., United States Marine Corps, was killed in action in the Pacific theater of operations on September 15, 1944.”

Mary sucked in her breath and groaned.  Esther asked, “Mary?”

“There’s a terrible, crushing pain in my chest that goes all the way to my back,” Mary said through clinched teeth, her face pale and tears flooding into her eyes.

“Sit still and try to be calm.  I’ll have Ed Wilkens meet us at the hospital.”

“Please hurry!”  Mary, nauseated from the pain, fell back on the couch.

“Mattie, come quickly,” Esther called.

The maid came out of the kitchen.  “What’s the matter, Miz Esther?”

“Help Mary to the driveway beside the front porch.  I’ll be there with the car as soon as I get word to Ed Wilkens.”

“Yes ma’am.”  Mattie ran to the living room.

Esther picked up the telephone.  The central operator came onto the line after a few long seconds.  “Number, please.”

“Hazel, is that you.”

“Yes, Mrs. Richardson.  How can I help you?”

“We need Dr. Wilkens.”

“All right.  He’s most likely eating lunch at the Elks Club.”

“Send him to the hospital.  My daughter-in-law’s in great pain.”

“Right away, Mrs. Richardson.  Do you want the ambulance at your place?”

“No but please see if you can find my husband.  He may be with Terrence Harrington.”

“Yes, ma’am.  I’ll take care of everything and you be careful with your driving.”

Esther grabbed her pocketbook on the way to the half of the barn that had been converted to a garage.  The powerful engine of her pre-war Packard roared into life when she turned the ignition key.  She drove to the front porch where Mattie and Mary sat, the maid keeping the younger woman upright.  Esther put the gearshift into neutral and set the hand brake.  “Mattie, let’s get Mary into the car.”

The two older women worked together with only minimal help from Mary but soon had her stretched out on the backseat with her head in Mattie’s lap.  Esther spun the rear wheels of the heavy car on the loose gravel.  At fifteen mile per hour, she went into second gear for the remainder of the quarter-mile down the weeping willow-lined driveway to the Moody Bridge Road.  Esther turned left and in seconds was in third gear.  “Mattie?”

“Best you go faster, Miz Esther.  I don’t like the way she be breathing.”

The Packard sped toward Cambridge at ninety miles per hour.  The car passed over the city limits of Cambridge and onto North Greenwood Street.  Several boys smoking cigarettes under the large tree on the edge of the Cambridge High School campus looked with admiration and envy at the Packard with its powerful engine.  At Broad Street, Esther saw a policeman stopping all other traffic so she could pass unhindered through the intersection.  Braking hard before the next intersection, she downshifted into second gear to whip the Packard into a sharp, two-wheeled, tire-screeching, transmission-straining right hand turn onto Vernon Street.  A second policeman scrambled out of the way.

Mattie, thrown violently against the side of the car, begged, “Help us, Sweet Jesus!”

A police car, one of three the city had purchased from the Richardson dealership, led Esther at eighty miles per hour by the Cambridge College hill.  Minutes later, the two cars negotiated the right hand turn into the City‑County Hospital grounds.  Ester skidded to a stop within inches of the access ramp into the emergency area of the hospital.

“Thank you, Lord Jesus!”  Mattie opened the back door of the Packard.

Ed Wilkens helped Esther out of the car while three elderly black male orderlies lifted the limp, barely conscious Mary onto a gurney and rolled her into the hospital.  “What’s happened, Esther?” Wilkens questioned.

“We received a telegram at home that my Gordon has been killed in action.  Mary has a terrible pain in her chest and back.”

“How long ago?”

“Less than half an hour.  We set off as soon as Mattie and I put Mary in the car.”

“You did well to get her here so fast.  Does Nicholas know about any of this?”

“No.  John Carver couldn’t find Nicholas in town.”

Wilkens stopped the two women who had been rushing to keep up with him and the gurney.  “Esther, you and Mattie stay here in the waiting room while we work with Mary.  I’ll give you a diagnosis and prognosis as soon as I can.”

Wilkens turned into the emergency room, leaving Esther standing at the door until Mattie said, “Miz Esther, let’s sit a spell and catch our breaths.”

“No!”  Esther went to the black telephone on the desk.  “I want to find out if Hazel has found Nicholas.  Did he say anything at all to you about his plans for today?”

“No, ma’am.”

Nicholas and his close friend, Terrence Harrington, strode into the waiting room.  Esther rushed to her husband, who held her tightly as she buried her face into his shoulder, sobs of rage, relief, and sorrow racking her body.  Terrence wrapped his arms around his two friends for a few seconds before sitting in one of the straight-backed oak chairs placed around the walls of the waiting room.  Mattie sat beside him.

Nicholas held Esther until she leaned back.  “What have you been told?” she asked.

“Hazel said Mary was stricken at home and that you were bringing her here.  Is Ed with her?”

“Yes.”

“What happened?”

“John Carver delivered a telegram notifying us that Gordon has been killed in action.  Mary felt a terrible pain in her chest and back.  She collapsed.  Mattie and I brought her here.”

Nicholas stiffened his six-foot lean and hard body to an even more erect posture than usual.  He clinched his jaws, drew his lips tight across his front teeth, and narrowed his eyes.  Nicholas did not voice aloud his thoughts to God, it’s fair in war that you’ve killed my son but that’s enough.  There’s no reason whatsoever for you take my daughter-in-law and my grandchild.

Wilkens came through the door.  “Nicholas, Terrence.  Glad you’re with us.”  The doctor did not hide his concern.  “Mary’s hemorrhaging internally.  We’re taking her to the operating room to see if we can stop the bleeding.  We’ll likely have to birth the baby by Caesarean section.”

“Is there anything we can do?” Nicholas asked.

“Your prayers would be most helpful.”

“You will have them, old friend.”

“I wish we had a real surgeon on staff now.  With this war going on, we have to make do with old timers like me.”

“We trust you to do your best, Ed,” Nicholas said.

Esther put her most important question to Wilkens.  “If you have to take the baby, can it survive?”

“The baby would be very premature; but, let’s not ask for more trouble than necessary.”

Esther held the doctor’s right arm with both hands and moved her face close to his.  “You listen to me, Ed Wilkens, and you listen good.  If you must choose between Mary and the baby, you shall save my grandchild.”

Nicholas gently pried Esther’s hands from the doctor’s arm.  “Rest easy, my love.  Ed will do what’s best for both his patients.”  The doctor hastened to the operating room.

* * * * * *

In the Emergency Room, Wilkens had begun infusing Mary with a single unit of O‑negative blood.  He and his team now infused her with additional units of blood in her three other extremities.  As soon as Mary was anesthetized, Wilkens cut into her chest to search for the site of the hemorrhage filling the thoracic cavity with blood.  Mary’s heart rate slowed from its reflexive racing in a vain effort to counteract her falling blood pressure.  Reluctantly, Wilkens gave up trying to save Mary.  He asked the nurse who listened through her stethoscope for the fetal heartbeat, “The baby’s still alive?”

“I hear a heart beat, doctor.”

Wilkens began the Caesarean incision without further delay, and quickly delivered a male child from Mary’s now lifeless body.  “All right, young fellow, let’s get you breathing.  You mustn’t die, your family’s already suffered too much today.”

Years later Mary’s son discovered that some people claim to have relived their births.  There would be nothing in his training to give credence to such gestalt memories that militated against well-established principles of neurological and cognitive development.  Nevertheless, because of a recurring dream, he could not completely discount the possibility that he in some way remembered his own birth.  This dream always began with him floating weightless in a warm, secure place.  A rhythmic sound steadily pulsated in his ears and vibrated resonantly to the depths of his being.  He sensed a steady accumulation of strength for a momentous future event.  Suddenly, his secure world dissolved into darkness except for an intense pinpoint of white light, which he fought instinctively to reach.  The light burst upon him and he escaped from the blackness.

Ed Wilkens, his head bowed and shoulders slumped, came back to the waiting room.  He looked in turn at Nicholas and Esther.  “I’m truly sorry but we couldn’t do anything for Mary.  We delivered your grandson just as she died.”

Esther rose to her feet.  “How is he?”

“Alive but I don’t know for how long.  Many babies with his degree of prematurity don’t survive.  Their lungs are usually too immature for them to breath efficiently.”

“Is there any treatment?”

“Nothing specific.  We can only keep him under an oxygen tent in an incubator and support him as best we can.”

Nicholas asked, “How long before we know if he will live?”

“The next couple of days are critical.”

“I want to see him,” Esther said.

“He’s in the nursery.”  The doctor led the way to the newborn nursery where the nursing staff had placed the incubator and its inhabitant near the large viewing window.

“Merciful Jesus,” Mattie muttered, “he’s the littlest mortal soul I ever did see.”

“Damn it, Ed,” Nicholas asked, “are you sure something that tiny and wrinkled can live?”

Esther put her hands on the glass window.  “Of course he shall live, Nicholas.”

“Let’s pray that he does,” Terrence said.

The doctor gave his opinion.  “Well, he’s a fighter and seemed to be struggling to get out of the womb, almost if he knew Mary was dying.  We were amazed that he began to breathe so easily.”

Terrence asked Nicholas, “What will you name the baby?”

“We’ll honor the Richardson tradition with Nicholas as his first name,” replied the grandfather.  He touched Esther’s arm.  “His middle name can be Caulder in honor of Mary’s family or Gordon for his father.”

“No, I want him also to bear the name of Samuel.”

“Why Samuel, Esther?  No one in our or Mary’s family had that name.”

“I mean to have him named Samuel!  You can maintain the Richardson dedication to Nicholas, yet his middle name shall be Samuel.”

“All right, Ed,” Nicholas directed the doctor.  “Fill out the birth certificate, ‘Nicholas Samuel Richardson’.”

“In due time,” Wilkens said.  “Why don’t you folks go on home?”

“Nicholas,” Esther said, “you may go home or somewhere else with Terrence but I’m staying here until the baby’s out of danger.”

Wilkens stepped back from the window.  “There’s no need for you to stay, Esther.  You can’t do anything for the baby.”

The grandmother insisted, “Have someone bring a chair here, right away.  I’ll watch over my grandson.”

“Do what you think best, Esther,” Nicholas said.  “I need to call the funeral home to pick up Mary and make the proper arrangements.”

Terrence spoke to the maid.  “I’ll take you home Mattie.”

“If you say so,” Mattie replied, “but I’d best get back to the big house.  We didn’t have time to close it up properly.”  She looked toward Esther and Nicholas.  “And, I’ll get something ready for my folks to eat when they comes home.”

“Thank you, Terrence, Mattie,” Nicholas gave a half-bow to them.

“See you tomorrow,” Terrence said.  “You all and the baby will be in our prayers and hearts.”

Once alone, Esther sat at the nursery window, closed her eyes, and began the process of deep breathing and exclusion of outside thoughts from her mind in preparation for prayer.  When her body and mind were calm, she softly prayed aloud, “Almighty King Eternal, good and gracious loving father of us all.  You have seen fit to call our son and his wife to heaven but thank you for this child.  If you let my grandson live, I will raise him to be your Samuel.  Please allow this child of yours to thrive and grow.  I pray in the name of Jesus Christ and through invocation of the power of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.”

Esther soon felt a great warmth spread throughout her body and flow toward the child who, in her mind’s eye, she saw draw in a portion of her own life essence.  “Thank you, Lord Jesus.”

* * * * * *

“He will live!” Esther announced when Nicholas rejoined her.  “Look at him, can’t you see that he has improved?”

“Perhaps he does seem better.”

“We must make preparations for him to leave the hospital.”

“It will be several days, maybe even a week or two before we can take young Nick home.”

“Even so, but we must see if Mattie knows one of her people who would be a suitable wet nurse.  We must ready a room for his nursery.  We need to notify Rev. Thomas on our way home that he must baptize Samuel as soon as possible.”

“What are you up to, Esther?  There’s no reason to baptize the baby now.  Give him a chance to build up his strength.”

“He has strength now.”

“I don’t know how or why you came up with Samuel but our grandson will be known by the name of Nicholas.”

“The baptism at this time would mean a lot to me.”

“Whenever Ed agrees, we’ll have Nicholas baptized.”

The grandparents bid a temporary farewell to the baby.  Mary was buried two days later in Shadow Lawn Cemetery.  Two weeks after this sad ceremony, his paternal grandparents brought the newly baptized Nicholas Samuel Richardson to the family home.