Brighten the Corner Where You Are

by Carol Bruneau

  “And where is your fella, hmm? That weasel of a man who did this to you? I suppose he’s left you high and dry, hasn’t he.”

  “No, Mama. It isn’t like that.”

  But oh, it was. I saw now, oh my land, it was.

  Mama latched onto my silence as if I’d hoped to defend Emery Allen with it.

  “Not so fast, letting him off the hook. Not so easy either, letting yourself off it.”

  Sick as I felt, hungry-sick for more bread and butter, I suppose I smirked, as a person does when at a loss. For Mama’s words summoned a picture in my mind of a gaff hook like they sold at Sweeney’s, Emery dangling from it. But then I pictured a bigger, longer hook, and me hanging from it by the scruff of my neck.

  Pleading for myself, I let the words come out in one big rush. “You’re a mother. I can be one too, like you.” Having a little baby would give me someone to love, something besides painting to fill my time, I thought. It would make me a truly grown-up woman the way Mama never let me be.

  Then Mama put her arms around me, she held me tight. “How will you tell your father? How ever will we live this down? I never dreamed a girl of mine would turn bad.”

  Well, crippled and bad, I thought, leastways I’m not poor. That would have made three strikes against me.

  And Father? Mama made me tell him my news. The misbehaved child, I couldn’t look at him, fixing my eyes on the window instead.

  “And no man to make it right?” His voice was as hard as the harbour’s glint as the storm blowing in from sea lifted. I turned just long enough to glimpse his eyes, the same frozen blue. “What bastard takes advantage of a girl like you? Or maybe you aren’t the girl your mother and I raised.” He waited for my answer. I had none. “Don’t tell me—one of Charlie’s buddies, was it? Not that the bugger will admit to it, I bet. Whoever he is.”

  So there I was, going on twenty-six years old: If my life wasn’t completely ruined, it had just tightened around me, a sweater that shrank with me wearing it, the both of us doused in boiling water. A sweater that had fit okay before, it was too tight to get out of. There I was stuck inside, a growing belly underneath it.

  “What’s that, darlin’?” Nurse Darlene bent low. Her breath warmed my ear, it smelt of butterscotch—Life Savers maybe? “Can you speak up, honey?”

  Had I spoken? “You’re hearing things, is all.” The words bobbled out like pearls bursting from a string. The pearls Mama wore with her laciest dress, like the blooms on the popcorn bush in her garden. Nurse Darlene laughed her laugh. Alas, its sound made me think of dirt thawing, a nest being raided, baby birds falling from the sky. I imagined staring up at a ceiling of mud. But the thought of popcorn brought back happiness, the happiness of going to the movies like we did in Yarmouth.

  But then this happiness turned to a fear of the worst kind—a fear not so much of the dark but of too much light, like just before the Majestic’s house lights dimmed so the movie could start. Like the last time Mama and me went to the movies before she took to her sickbed, not long after Father passed away. Heads turned. There were whispers. People pretended not to look at us, and Mama and me pretended not to see them looking. There are scarier things to fret about than the dark, I told myself then and later on, when I was first married, adjusting to Marshalltown’s country darkness.

  Though Aunt wasn’t wrong, cribbing words from the Bible to say only those up to no good wait for darkness’s cover to do their deeds.

  Brisk young fingers drew the sheet to my chin. Their touch was pussy-willow soft. Yet I flinched remembering a nurse gripping my ankle a long time ago, cold hands yanking my knees apart before I went out cold. Now that was a time I would rather erase from my memory entirely.

  Another nurse spoke now. “Are you comfy, hon? We can give you extra for the pain.”

  Words trembled inside me but my poorly lungs and wet breathing made it hard to talk. “Don’t…fret over…me.” I aimed to save my breath for those I half hoped, half expected to see over yonder: Mama, Father, Aunt. Their faces crowded my head as my dream of Secretary faded.

  “Don’t be worrying about us, now.” Nurse Darlene laughed. “You know how to buzz us? If you want to get up. Of course, we don’t want you getting up by yourself and taking off on us.”

  As if I would run away. My laugh struck up a coughing fit. Pain shot the length of me, bolts of pain were screws turning. Nurse Carla pulled up the bed’s shiny rails. As if I would want to leave this bed, warm and safe as a baby’s crib. “This way you can’t fall out.” She sounded sorry for fencing me in. Oh but I am used to being corralled! I laughed again. And what wasn’t to love about a bed with a mattress, sheets, and pillows—even if their crispness brought back memories of living under Aunt’s roof, under Aunt’s holy thumb? I stroked the blanket with my fist. Its blue border against white was the sky and clouds.

  Nurse Darlene spoke real low. “She’s agitated.”

  My ears still worked fine, they seemed to forget, talking about me like I was no longer there.

  “Don’t worry. He hasn’t come around, no doubt busy making a nuisance of himself elsewhere. I’m guessing he won’t be in.”

  Talking about Ev, aren’t you, missy? I rested my gaze on the other nurse, Carla.

  “I think she’s waiting for his visit. She has got denial down to an art, hasn’t she just.”

  If I was fussy, agitated like Nurse Darlene said, blame it on their lame ears and thinking they knew what I was feeling.

  Darlene stroked my fist, looked into my eyes. “It’s the pneumonia, dear.” The weight she gave those words! The glance she gave Carla was an eyeful. “Hubby just wants you to get a good rest, I bet. Doesn’t want to come in and disturb you—that’s all.”

  I waited for Darlene’s tinkly laugh but Nurse Carla piped up instead. “Maybe she’s missing him? Your hubby?” Carla half hollered. “You’re worried about him, is that it? Well I’m sure if we have to we can find someone to go check on him, see that he’s all right. Tell him his sweetie wouldn’t mind a visitor.”

  More than any visitor, I wanted a smoke. I’d wound up in here before, knew how they harped about smokes being bad on the lungs. I pictured the Cameos on my table-tray, one blessed drag was all I asked. I imagined Secretary stopping by to get them, Ev refusing to let her in. I imagined Carmelita Twohig appearing and Ev chasing her off with the broomstick he used to prop open the storm door. I imagined Constable Colpitts knocking, Ev pressed up against the inner door’s flower-painted wood. Like most folks, Ev would be none too pleased to see that vehicle of Colpitts’s outside. Short of scurrying up into the loft, there was nowhere in the house he could escape an intruder’s prying eyes and lay low. I shook my head, rubbing it back and forth against the pillow as easy as I could without sparking pain: No. Don’t bother Ev, I meant. He’s best left to his own devices, what good would it do him seeing me like this?

  “No? It’s quieter here without him? I’m sure he’s fending for himself.” Nurse Darlene shot Nurse Carla a glance. I nodded. Carla shook her head and cringed, don’t think I did not see it.

  For I had heard her whispering during my last hospital stay, about Ev bringing the nurses a pretty heart-shaped box of Ganong’s chocolates, some of the pieces with bites out of them. The same box he tried to give the gals at the Royal Bank, I’d overheard. Sure, I had heard the nurses snickering, then talking through their stiff white caps about Ev peeking in at a patient getting undressed. “An old perve” someone called him. “Shh. You shouldn’t spread stories like that,” someone else said. “If it’s true, how come you never phoned the cops?”

  “Well, I never saw it myself.”

  “I imagine that officer has better things to do than chase down some lonely old lush.”

  “Oooh, the young guy? He’s some cute.”

  I guessed they’d been talking about Colpitts, as back then the town only had two
policemen. The other one was old and grey and set to retire, I’d read in the Courier.

  The hospital was nearly as good as a radio for hearing the news, true and false alike. Mostly I remembered Darlene’s voice of reason cutting their gabfest short. “Say what you want. But ‘There go I but by the grace of God,’ right? What good does idle gossip do anyone, especially someone in her condition?” By her they meant me. God or no God, Darlene had it right: it was luck of the draw who got the shitty end of the stick and who didn’t.

  And I’d decided right then if I could have had myself a daughter, I’d have picked a Darlene. Pure and uncomplicated, she knew enough to keep troubles to herself and in so doing could help make troubles disappear. She was the opposite of the Carmelita Twohigs of the world and these gals I kept hearing about, who had nothing better to do than gossip in the streets and on party lines, piquing the suspicions of otherwise well-meaning folks who should know better. Folks like Constable Colpitts. Gals bending the truth to win his attention, fighting over it, no doubt. I knew what girls were like. I’d been one once, after all.

  Oh yes, the competition to snag and bag a steady young man like him would be fierce.

  Gently, Nurse Darlene peeled back the covers, stuck a pillow between my knees. I took in her cap, its ribbon as velvety black as a winter sky. My eyes grazed the little gold watch pinned to her blouse. It and the ribbon were the only parts of her garb that weren’t white. Yet, for all her wintry getup, her smile was apple-blossom sweet. I tried smiling back, raising my head a smidge until pain forced it back against the pillow.

  “Now, easy. Don’t be overdoing it.” She went to touch my hand but stopped short, afraid of causing more pain? This is why I liked her, she thought before she acted. Like Secretary did.

  My voice lifted itself up, its strength startled me: “When do I go home?”

  Now Nurse Carla hovered near. “Home?” Lying on my side, I had a pretty good view of things. She and Darlene exchanged glances.

  “You know, I got work to do—” A sky-high pile of orders to fill, I thought with a sinking heart, but I lacked the breath to say it.

  Darlene nodded. Her eyes were dark as an otter’s. The lady in the next bed woke up then. Acting like a regular Rip Van Winkle, she pointed at me. “Is that the famous one?” Her voice was like Matilda’s, no offence to the crow.

  But talk about the pot calling the kettle black, me calling her Rip Van Winkle: I had no more mind of what day or time it was than my roommate did. The door swung inwards. A girl wheeled in a cart with trays on it. Each tray had a plate under a silver cover, like dinners at the Grand Hotel when I was a young thing. Van Winkle groaned. Darlene turned me onto my back, swung the tray over to me on a movable table, wound up the bed so I was almost sitting. The handle she cranked to raise it reminded me of the Edison’s. A fuzzy pain settled in my backside. Carla lifted the silver cover and made a face. Oh, but the aroma of hot, delicious food near brought me to tears, such a feed as I had not seen since my previous stay. Sliced meat that might have been turkey, mashed potato, turnip, carrots, all slathered with gravy, a feast such as I hadn’t enjoyed since our last Christmas next door, thanks to Olive.

  Might I just say, such feasts are another thing, besides smokes, that I miss up here?

  I managed to hold the fork between both fists long enough to spear some meat, but try as I might I could not raise it to my lips. The meat and the fork got away from me. Gravy smeared the sheet where they landed.

  “Don’t you worry about a thing. Let me help.”

  Laying back, I let Darlene spoon mouthfuls of heaven into my trap.

  “Great you’ve still got an appetite.” Potato plugged my gullet as she spoke. “Good heavens, didn’t he feed you?”

  Suddenly I had no more stomach nor the heart for food.

  “Have a little rest, then try to take some more. You need nourishment. Maud.” Nurse Darlene addressed me the way Secretary would. Up to now I had been their “Missus Lewis.”

  I felt Missus Van Winkle staring. “Why, I seen you on TV a while back! Is it true your man does all the women’s work while you have all the fun? My land, where’d you find a fella like that? I’ll take three!”

  Then someone buzzed for Darlene. I shut my eyes and went to sleep.

  One night while Ev was working next door at the almshouse, he came home seeking my help. Creeping up the stairs in the wee hours, he wakened me, jingling his big set of keys. “There’s something needs done,” he said. “I reckoned you might keep me company. It’s only right a woman should be there, not that there’s nothing you or anyone can do—but I wouldn’t mind having you handy.”

  It was odd. The only reason Ev woke me at night was for one thing and one thing only. I would roll over and lay still and let him have his way. But on this occasion, he seemed shook up. Peering at me through the hatch, his face looked weak. Ev was the type hardly got phased by a lot of stuff, I suppose growing up he had got used to things not going as happily as some folks believed things should. This was why he took those candies to Olive’s kids, figuring no child should grow up surrounded by lunatics the way he had.

  When I didn’t hop right to it, he got a bit peeved.

  “Get your arse in gear. Would you come out back, for frig’s sake. That’s all I’m asking.”

  It was a warm night, right before the start of summer. We’d only been married a year and a half. I crawled down the ladder after him as fast as I could, slipped outdoors in my nightie and bare feet. The mossy grass felt cool and wet, and sent shivers through my heels—but nothing like the shivers that went down my spine when I spied what Ev had left on the grass by the shed. A bundle wrapped in a blanket. He picked it up and held it in his arms. I thought first it was an animal, maybe a puppy or a cat that got hit on the road. When I looked closer, I thought it was a doll.

  He bent and picked up his lantern in his other hand. He swung it to light the way as I followed down the path from the end of our yard to the field before Seeley’s Brook, past the woods behind the almshouse. His old shovel lay there in the weeds.

  I held the lantern as he laid the bundle down on the ground and dug the hole.

  “It’s like the runt of a litter that don’t make it. That’s what I tell myself. The runt of a bad litter, the mother no good for nothing let alone making a kid. Can’t even keep it alive.”

  “Oh, no, Ev.” I had no other words, nothing but a cold, hard pity in my heart.

  A dull gibbous moon slipped through streaky clouds. My hand shook so bad the lantern’s flame near blew out.

  “Come on, you, it don’t do a lick of good being sentimental. Now pass me that bundle and we’ll get this done quick. Out of sight, out of mine, the warden says. The gal whose spawn it is don’t know her arse from her eyeballs, it’s a fact. So it’s no skin off anyone’s neck. Not mine, not yours. Pass it here, would you. Hurry the hell up, I gotta get back, got lunatics to tend to.”

  The bundle, when I picked it up, was no heavier than a couple sticks of butter, no bigger than a loaf of bread. Like bread out of the oven, it was still warm. No, I’m lying—it was as cold as clay and that hard. When I glimpsed the face where the cloth slipped away, I almost dropped it. It was the tiniest, sweetest face you could imagine, with all its features perfect, like you would expect a normal baby to look. For a second, I don’t know why, I held it to my chest. The feeling inside me was like my heart had also turned to clay.

  “Give it here.”

  Ev took it and put it in the hole and I wanted to spin around and hustle straight back to the house. But that clay feeling moved through my ankles and weighted my feet to the ground, and I could not stop watching as he shovelled dirt on top of it. Maybe I choked, maybe I made a queer sound like I was crying. But I was too chilled to cry.

  “What the frig you going on for? It ain’t yours.”

  I turned my back, moved like a windup toy through the t
rees back to our yard. I didn’t know if Ev was behind me or not. By and by I looked and he wasn’t there. But his voice called out from a distance, “You never seen nothing, got it?”

  When I awoke it was dark. I fancied the bed was melting. My neighbour was gone—maybe they’d sent her home because she didn’t like their food? Paintings I had guessed up in dreamland played in my head. Snowy scenes, teams of horses pulling sleighs, harnesses decked with jingle bells like in the Christmas song.

  Until a warm breeze rippled in, I forgot about needing to pee. Darlene said they had rigged a bag for that. I felt for the button clipped to the pillow, pressed my knuckle to it. Pain flashed bright as smelts running in Seeley’s Brook, slicing through the current.

  A different nurse, the night nurse, came and snapped on a little light. Put a pill on my tongue, held a straw to my lips. Drinking that water was like swallowing a lake. I coughed, she rub-thumped my back.

  “I’ve got stuff needing done, I need to go home,” I explained. I could see their faces: Aunt’s and Father’s in the corner, Mama’s by the door. They were there waiting. I didn’t suppose they would mind being held up a bit if I asked for the paintbox and paper I knew were here somewhere and got started on some work. The nurse was a large white bird opening a drawer and bringing out colours. Markers that Secretary had brought, and a box of watercolour paints.

  The paints—purple, pink, blue, and cream—reminded me of Ev’s sweet peas. The sweet peas he grew every summer and once, just once, picked and brought into the house for me. He’d dipped water into a mustard jar, aces, spades, clubs, and diamonds on its glass, and set the flowers in it. “For you, missus. The scent of those things is out of this world, ain’t it?”

  Then I remembered, before my breathing had got so bad I’d done a painting just for Secretary, of moonlight at midnight. So she had visited me here in the hospital, once to bring the paints and paper, again to bring the markers. The last time she visited I’d given her the painting: “For you. Not for the post.”