Pearls (M*A*S*H)
Title: Pearls
Author: Hobsonphile
Fandom: M*A*S*H
Character: Edna O’Reilly
Summary: A mother makes a choice.
Rating: Corporal (G)
Word Count: 587
“Hushabye, don't you cry/Go to sleepy little baby…”
Edna O’Reilly’s knees ached, and she was sweating from the humidity of the room, but she continued to massage her sobbing child with an old washcloth, alternately humming and singing an old song her own mama learned back in North Carolina decades before.
“When you wake, you shall have/All the pretty little…”
“Edna?”
Edna stopped her singing mid-sentence and reached up to take hold of Bob’s hand.
“Dr. Gallagher said the steam from a warm bath would open him right up.”
“You called on Dr. Gallagher then?”
“I had to. I didn’t like the look of his color.” Edna lifted the baby from the bath, swaddled him in a towel, and sat down on the edge of the old tub. She was relieved to see that even though Walter was still putting up something of a fuss, his lips were no longer tinged with blue. “And Lord knows,” she whispered, touching Walter’s nose lightly with one calloused finger, “two children in the ground is enough.” She looked up and took in the slump of her husband’s shoulders - the faded color of his threadbare pajamas - but said nothing further. Instead, she resumed her lullaby, rocking the baby gently in her arms.
“Blacks and bays/Dapples and grays…”
“We’re late on the mortgage,” Bob said.
“I know it.” Edna struggled to soften the edge in her voice and only partially succeeded. “There ain’t hardly anybody here who isn’t.”
For a long moment, Walter’s wheezing and labored cries were the only sounds in the room.
“We still have the spring hogs to butcher. And I can ask the girls to gather more eggs from the hen house.”
“Hogs aren’t fetchin’ much in town; eggs, maybe ten cents.”
But Edna was unwilling to let go. “It’s still somethin’.”
“Reno’s men are fixin’ to declare another Holiday.”
“Only ol’ Ernest takes them Holidays seriously ‘round here.” The words were dismissive, but in Edna’s voice was a note of worry. A year before, she’d read in the papers that some farmers on their way to market were beaten by picketers up around Sioux City. And she still remembered the thrill of fright she felt the night she awoke and discovered that Ernest had set one of his corn fields ablaze. As far as she was concerned, there was something mighty unsettling about Milo Reno’s Holiday business. But instead of giving voice to her thoughts, Edna sighed and stood, her knees creaking in protest. Clutching Walter to her breast and brushing limp, moist hair out of her eyes, she leaned over and kissed the stubble on her husband’s crown. “We’ll take care of the hogs and chickens tomorrow. And there won’t be no trouble. You’ll see.”
But Old Ernest was more energetic than usual, and when Bob came home empty-handed the following evening, his lip split wide open, Edna could only mutter soft imprecations as she cleaned him up with the corner of a freshly washed apron.
“Lord, Lord, Lord. Ernest’s gone right crazy.” Dropping the apron into the wash basket, Edna sat down and rubbed the bridge of her nose.
“Ernest’s been threatened with foreclosure. He don’t know what else to do.”
Crickets chirped outside the open kitchen door. Bob swirled his spoon in his beef stew.
Then Edna drew in a breath, making a decision. “I’ll go tomorrow. Ernest won’t harm a lady no matter how mad he is.”
A week later, Bob noticed that his wife had stopped wearing her mother’s string of pearls.
The End.
Author: Hobsonphile
Fandom: M*A*S*H
Character: Edna O’Reilly
Summary: A mother makes a choice.
Rating: Corporal (G)
Word Count: 587
“Hushabye, don't you cry/Go to sleepy little baby…”
Edna O’Reilly’s knees ached, and she was sweating from the humidity of the room, but she continued to massage her sobbing child with an old washcloth, alternately humming and singing an old song her own mama learned back in North Carolina decades before.
“When you wake, you shall have/All the pretty little…”
“Edna?”
Edna stopped her singing mid-sentence and reached up to take hold of Bob’s hand.
“Dr. Gallagher said the steam from a warm bath would open him right up.”
“You called on Dr. Gallagher then?”
“I had to. I didn’t like the look of his color.” Edna lifted the baby from the bath, swaddled him in a towel, and sat down on the edge of the old tub. She was relieved to see that even though Walter was still putting up something of a fuss, his lips were no longer tinged with blue. “And Lord knows,” she whispered, touching Walter’s nose lightly with one calloused finger, “two children in the ground is enough.” She looked up and took in the slump of her husband’s shoulders - the faded color of his threadbare pajamas - but said nothing further. Instead, she resumed her lullaby, rocking the baby gently in her arms.
“Blacks and bays/Dapples and grays…”
“We’re late on the mortgage,” Bob said.
“I know it.” Edna struggled to soften the edge in her voice and only partially succeeded. “There ain’t hardly anybody here who isn’t.”
For a long moment, Walter’s wheezing and labored cries were the only sounds in the room.
“We still have the spring hogs to butcher. And I can ask the girls to gather more eggs from the hen house.”
“Hogs aren’t fetchin’ much in town; eggs, maybe ten cents.”
But Edna was unwilling to let go. “It’s still somethin’.”
“Reno’s men are fixin’ to declare another Holiday.”
“Only ol’ Ernest takes them Holidays seriously ‘round here.” The words were dismissive, but in Edna’s voice was a note of worry. A year before, she’d read in the papers that some farmers on their way to market were beaten by picketers up around Sioux City. And she still remembered the thrill of fright she felt the night she awoke and discovered that Ernest had set one of his corn fields ablaze. As far as she was concerned, there was something mighty unsettling about Milo Reno’s Holiday business. But instead of giving voice to her thoughts, Edna sighed and stood, her knees creaking in protest. Clutching Walter to her breast and brushing limp, moist hair out of her eyes, she leaned over and kissed the stubble on her husband’s crown. “We’ll take care of the hogs and chickens tomorrow. And there won’t be no trouble. You’ll see.”
But Old Ernest was more energetic than usual, and when Bob came home empty-handed the following evening, his lip split wide open, Edna could only mutter soft imprecations as she cleaned him up with the corner of a freshly washed apron.
“Lord, Lord, Lord. Ernest’s gone right crazy.” Dropping the apron into the wash basket, Edna sat down and rubbed the bridge of her nose.
“Ernest’s been threatened with foreclosure. He don’t know what else to do.”
Crickets chirped outside the open kitchen door. Bob swirled his spoon in his beef stew.
Then Edna drew in a breath, making a decision. “I’ll go tomorrow. Ernest won’t harm a lady no matter how mad he is.”
A week later, Bob noticed that his wife had stopped wearing her mother’s string of pearls.
The End.