Chapter 2
Eventually Peeta comes out of the structure. He seems surprised to see me standing in the yard. Maybe he thought I'd left by now after he insulted me so loudly. But I have nowhere to go. I don't even have enough money to buy a return ticket to Omaha.
Everyone had said this was a mistake. They were right.
Peeta hands me back the letters. "I didn't write these," he explains. "My sister-in-law did."
My heart pounds. I can't believe this is happening.
I sway on my feet and Peeta reaches for my arm to steady me. He gives me a sad look and points in the direction of the two-story building. "Go in there. She can help you."
He lets go of my arm, and I head toward the building that I now see is the back of The Panem Mercantile. A blonde-haired woman a few inches taller than me stands in the doorway. Her flowered cotton dress is stretched over her belly, which is twice as large as Prim's ever was.
"Are you Katniss?"
"Yes." I want to yell at her too, but I don't because I can see her eyes are red-rimmed.
"Come inside. I'm Delly."
I follow her into the kitchen. My eyes fly to the yellow and orange flowers that decorate the large wooden table at the center of the room.
"Let me make you some tea." She puts some wood into the cast iron stove to stir up the flame and sets the kettle on to boil. "Have a seat."
I pull out one of the chairs around the table. She sits across from me.
"I'm sorry," she begins. "I didn't know you were arriving so soon."
"Didn't you get my letter?"
She shakes her head. "No."
It must have been lost in the mail.
The kettle screams. Delly gets up and puts loose tea into a flowered porcelain teapot that she has taken off a shelf. Then she pours hot water on top of it. She carries the teapot to the table to steep the tea.
I sit and wait for an explanation. But Delly is silent. She rubs her hand back and forth over her protruding stomach as she stares frowning at the teapot. A couple of minutes later she announces it done. She pours a cup for me, and another for herself.
"We don't have any milk," she says. "Would you like some sugar?"
"No, thank-you."
"Peeta doesn't like sugar in his tea either." She gets up again to carry a sugar bowl to the table and puts a heaping spoonful into her own cup.
The tea leaves slowly sink to the bottom of my cup before I lift it to take a sip. It burns my mouth. I set it down quickly.
"How was your trip?" Delly asks.
"Interesting. Mr. Abernathy was in my train car. Do you know him?"
"Yes." She snorts loudly. "That must have been something."
We exchange a quick smile when I remember about my luggage.
"I left my bag and my trunk in front of the bakery."
"My husband Rye can bring them inside."
She stands up and leaves the room. I hear her talking softly, although I can't make out the words. Then a man curses loudly. "Damn it all Delly. All right I'll take care of it."
A door slams and Delly returns to the kitchen.
The time for small talk is over. I am about ready to burst. "Why did you write the letters?"
She sits down and stares at her cup. She looks like she might cry again.
"I did it for Peeta," she finally says, lifting her head. "There are no young women in this town."
"It must be lonely for you."
"It is," she answers, and suddenly I understand why Delly wrote the letters. It wasn't only for Peeta; it was for herself as well. She needs a friend. But I don't say that to her.
"Does Peeta even want to get married?"
"He said he did." She lifts her cup to her lips and takes a sip.
If I wasn't so disappointed, I might see the humor in this situation where Delly has played matchmaker. But I'm stunned. She's made a fool of me. What will I do now?
Delly must see the look on my face. "Don't give up. Peeta will come around."
I shake my head. I may have been desperate to accept a marriage proposal from a man I'd never met in person, but I'm not completely hopeless. I won't marry someone who thinks so poorly of me.
"You can stay with me and Rye," Delly says.
For how long? I resign myself to returning to my sister's home. Having to tell everyone I've been tricked. I see no other choice. Surely I can't stay here in Panem as an unmarried woman.
"I need to find work," I say. "For the train fare home."
Even though she duped me, I don't want to be beholden to this woman. I want to keep the upper hand in this relationship.
A fleeting look of pain crosses Delly's face.
My stomach sinks. I know that expression well. My sister made that very same face when she was in labor.
"Are you all right?"
Delly nods. "I felt…" She lets out a sharp scream. "I've wet myself."
"Your baby is coming."
She gives me a curious look.
"My sister Prim gave birth before I left."
Her smile is weak. "Good, then you can help me."
I shake my head. I didn't deliver my nephew, although I was in the room to hold Prim's hand as the midwife took charge. I hardly know what to do.
Delly stands up groaning. A grimace sweeps across her face. She leans on the table and takes a deep breath.
"You should go to your bed."
"Not yet," Delly insists.
"If you don't go now, how will you climb the stairs when the pain gets worse?"
"It gets worse than this?" Delly pauses as if she is thinking it over. "Let me tell Rye."
This time I follow her as she leaves the kitchen and walks into the large front room, which is the Mercantile.
A man stands behind the long wooden counter. He's taller than Peeta, but has the same ash blonde hair. He turns to look at us. His eyes land on me as I stand beside his wife. "I put your things upstairs," he says quickly.
Delly explains that the baby is coming. "Get Dr. Beetee. Katniss will stay here with me."
"All right," he answers. "Let me help you up the stairs first."
The couple goes into their bedroom just past the top of the stairs, and I follow. Delly sits on the edge of the bed and Rye kisses her temple. "I'll be back soon."
He frowns at me. "Take care of her."
I nod, wondering at his annoyance. I am not responsible for the position in which I find myself. I am doing him and his wife a favor.
After he closes the door, Delly shows me where she keeps extra linens. She sits on a nearby wooden chair as I remove the patchwork quilt and prepare the bed to protect it from the untidiness of childbirth.
When I am done, I help Delly unbutton her dress and remove everything because she is in pain. She stops and catches her breath as the spasms rock her.
Finally she lies in bed. She wears only her chemise. A white sheet covers the lower part of her body.
A knock sounds. I am relieved that the doctor has arrived.
But when I open the door, Peeta stands there. He's rubbing the back of his neck. "Do you need any help?"
I want him to go away, but I do need some things. Childbirth can be quite messy. "Bring me a bucket of warm water and some clean rags."
"Okay." Relief crosses his face. He closes the door behind him. I suspect he's glad to be clear of the labor room.
Delly moans loudly. "The baby's coming now."
Not likely I think. But when I pull back the sheet to humor her, I'm astounded to see the top of a baby's head peeking out from beneath her spread legs. Prim was in agony for many hours before the child got this far along.
"Push," I say, remembering the midwife's words.
Delly bends her legs and pulls them up, fixing an arm over each knee to hold it tight. Her face scrunches up and turns bright red as she grunts loudly. I put my hand up to catch the tiny babe as his head passes from her body. Propping the head up, I wait until she pushes once again and then I am able to pull him completely out. Delly has set a pocketknife on the nightstand next to the bed. She hands it to me to cut the cord that still connects the child to her body.
He is slick with a coating of what looks like bacon grease. He lets out a short squall.
A sense of euphoria washes over me. Two people came into this room and now a third is present. I am as happy as if I'd given birth myself.
I cradle him in my arms and look to Delly. "You have a son."
Delly beams, wiping the sweat from her forehead.
Another knock.
Pulling up the sheet, I cover Delly. "Come in," I call out, thinking that the doctor has arrived too late.
But it is Peeta again. He holds a bucket in one hand and a heap of rags in the other. His eyes are round as saucers as he stares at me holding the naked babe.
"You're an uncle Peeta," Delly says, joyfully.
Peeta breaks into a broad grin. He looks so handsome at that moment that I can hardly stand it. A stabbing sensation pierces my heart as I think about the future I've lost. But then I remember that I never really had Peeta in the first place. The letters weren't real.
Author's Note: The cost of a one-way, third class train ticket (emigrant-class bench seats) from New York to San Francisco in 1870 was $65. A one-way, first class ticket in a Pullman sleeping car cost $136.