I rose from the ground and peered through the cotton. The scene hadn’t changed. The window was still open, the candles still burning, but my mother and Gran and Mrs. Latcher were very busy.

“Tally!” I whispered urgently, too loud, I thought, but I was more scared than ever.

“Shhhhh!” came the reply. “Over here.”

I could barely see the back of her head, two rows in front and over to the right. She had, of course, angled for a better view. I knifed through the stalks and was soon at her side.

Home plate is sixty feet from the pitcher’s mound. We were much closer to the window than that. Only two rows of cotton stood between us and the edge of their side yard. Ducking low and looking up through the stalks, I could finally see the shadowy sweating faces of my mother and grandmother and Mrs. Latcher. They were staring down, looking at Libby, of course, and we could not see her. I’m not sure I wanted to at this point, but my buddy certainly did.

The women were reaching and shoving and urging her to push and breathe and push and breathe, all the while assuring her that things were going to be fine. Things didn’t sound fine. The poor girl was bawling and grunting, occasionally yelling-high piercing shrieks that were hardly muffled by the walls of the room. Her anguished voice carried deep through the still night, and I wondered what her little brothers and sisters thought of it all.

When Libby wasn’t grunting and crying, she was saying, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” It went on and on, time after time, a mindless chant from a suffering girl.

“It’s okay, sweetie,” her mother replied a thousand times.

“Can’t they do something?” I whispered.

“Nope, not a thing. The baby comes when it wants to.”

I wanted to ask Tally just exactly how she knew so much about childbirthing, but I held my tongue. It was none of my business, and she would probably tell me so.

Suddenly, things were quiet and still inside the room. The Chandler women backed away, then Mrs. Latcher leaned down with a glass of water. Libby was silent.

“What’s the matter?” I asked.

“Nothing.”

The break in the action gave me time to think of other things, namely getting caught. I’d seen enough. This adventure had run its course. Tally had likened it to the trip to Siler’s Creek, but it paled in comparison with that little escapade. We’d been gone for hours. What if Pappy stumbled into Ricky’s room to check on me? What if one of the Spruills woke up and started looking for Tally? What if my father got bored with it all and went home?

The beating I’d get would hurt for days, if in fact I survived it. I was beginning to panic when Libby started heaving loudly again, while the women implored her to breathe and push.

“There it is!” my mother said, and a frenzy followed as the women hovered frantically over their patient.

“Keep pushin’!” Gran said loudly.

Libby groaned even more. She was exhausted, but at least the end was in sight.

“Don’t give up, sweetie,” her mother said. “Don’t give up.”

Tally and I were perfectly still, mesmerized by the drama. She took my hand and squeezed it tightly. Her jaws were clenched, her eyes wide with wonder.

“It’s comin’!” my mother said, and for a brief moment things were quiet. Then we heard the cry of a newborn, a quick gurgling protest, and a new Latcher had arrived.

“It’s a boy,” Gran said, and she lifted up the tiny infant, still covered in blood and afterbirth.

“It’s a boy,” Mrs. Latcher repeated.

There was no response from Libby.

I’d seen more than I bargained for. “Let’s go,” I said, trying to pull away, but Tally wasn’t moving.

Gran and my mother continued working on Libby while Mrs. Latcher cleaned the baby, who was furious about something and crying loudly. I couldn’t help but think of how sad it would be to become a Latcher, to be born into that small, dirty house with a pack of other kids.

A few minutes passed, and Percy appeared at the window. “Can we see the baby?” he asked, almost afraid to look in.

“In a minute,” Mrs. Latcher replied.

They gathered at the window, the entire collection of Latchers, including the father, who was now a grandfather, and waited to see the baby. They were just in front of us, halfway between home and the mound, it seemed, and I stopped breathing for fear they would hear us. But they weren’t thinking about intruders. They were looking at the open window, all still with wonder.

Mrs. Latcher brought the infant over and leaned down so he could meet his family. He reminded me of my baseball glove; he was almost as dark, and wrapped in a towel. He was quiet for the moment and appeared unimpressed with the mob watching him.

“How’s Libby?” one of them asked.

“She’s fine,” Mrs. Latcher said.

“Can we see her?”

“No, not right now. She’s very tired.” She withdrew the baby, and the other Latchers retreated slowly to the front of the house. I could not see my father, but I knew he was hiding somewhere near his truck. Hard cash could not entice him to look at an illegitimate newborn.

For a few minutes, the women seemed as busy as they’d been just before the birth, but then they slowly finished their work.

My trance wore off, and I realized that we were a long way from home. “We gotta go, Tally!” I whispered urgently. She was ready and I followed her as we backtracked, cutting our way through the stalks until we were away from the house, then turning south and running with the rows of cotton. We stopped to get our bearings. The light from the window could not be seen. The moon had disappeared. There were no shapes or shadows from the Latcher place. Total darkness.

We turned west, again stepping across the rows, cutting through the stalks, pushing them aside so they wouldn’t scrape our faces. The rows ended, and we found the trail leading to the main road. My feet hurt, and my legs ached, but we couldn’t waste time. We ran to the bridge. Tally wanted to watch the waters swirling below, but I made her keep going.

“Let’s walk,” she said, on our side of the bridge, and for a moment we stopped running. We walked in silence, both of us trying to catch our breath. Fatigue was quickly gaining on us; the adventure had been worth it, but we were paying the price. We were approaching our farm when there was a rumbling behind us. Headlights! On the bridge! In terror, we bolted into high gear. Tally could easily outrun me, which would’ve been humiliating except that I didn’t have time for shame, and she held back a step so she wouldn’t lose me.

I knew my father would not drive fast, not at night, on our dirt road, with Gran and my mother with him, but the headlights were still gaining on us. When we were close to our house, we jumped the shallow ditch and ran along a field. The engine was getting louder.

“I’ll wait here, Luke,” she said, stopping near the edge of our yard. The truck was almost upon us. “You run to the back porch and sneak in. I’ll wait till they go inside. Hurry.”

I kept running, and darted around the back corner of the house just as the truck pulled into the yard. I crept into the kitchen without a sound, then to Ricky’s room, where I grabbed a pillow and curled up on the floor, next to the window. I was too dirty and wet to get into bed, and I prayed they’d be too tired to check on me.

They made little noise as they entered the kitchen. They whispered as they removed their shoes and boots. A ray of light slanted into my room. Their shadows moved through it, but no one looked in on little Luke. Within minutes they were in bed, and the house was quiet. I planned to wait a bit, then slip into the kitchen and wash my face and hands with a cloth. Afterward I’d crawl into the bed and sleep forever. If they heard me moving about, I’d simply say that they had awakened me when they got home.

Formulating this plan was the last thing I remember before falling fast asleep.