by Zoe Whittall
Beaurepaire Village, 1952
1.
In Canada, I was weak. Or afraid. Or just overwhelmed. My feelings shifted depending on the day. It was hard enough to know how to find garden shears or proper olives, let alone figure out how to acquire an abortion. But in those first two liquid weeks, I didn’t feel pregnant. I wasn’t sick. I didn’t notice my body at all. That night on the ship, I hadn’t told Frank, and I continued to keep my silence. Imagine if I had just let myself grow bigger to see if he’d notice? He mostly looked at me—or through me—as though I were a piece of our new furniture set. When we went to church, I’d hover at the top of the steps and wonder if I could slip forward and tumble down. But I could never bring myself to do it. There are moments in my life where I can look back and say I was brave, but this was not one of them.
2.
Bryce turned five, finally old enough for kindergarten. Gail and I walked our children to school every day that first month. Once, Bryce saw a man in a light suit walking a small grey poodle, and gripped my hand tightly, tried to hide in my skirt. He thought the man a soldier. We rarely just walked down the street in Turkey. I had memories from occasionally living in London and Vienna as a girl, but this was Bryce’s first time anywhere outside Bornova. The new sounds and sights alarmed him in ways I couldn’t have anticipated. And this was his first time at a real school, not just a handful of cousins taught by a hired instructor. After we dropped off the children, Gail talked about renovating her house and I watched her lips move but couldn’t hear a thing. I finally just told her. Gail didn’t hug me, or whoop with congratulations the way she had with the news of Bryce. She could see it in my face. Well, this isn’t like home, she said. You can have it taken care of.
3.
I discovered how much I loved walking. The freedom of movement, down to the lake, and north beyond Gail’s house into the farmers’ fields. This was the freedom of living in this new country. Here, I could just walk for miles, and no uncle walking home for lunch would see me and scold me, or go tell my parents. No one would kidnap me for a ransom, as had happened to one of my cousins. Sometimes I walked to the water, where I’d dip my toes, and it was always in the water where I’d step out of my denial. And make plans. I knew that I wasn’t attached to this baby. I knew I would need a few hundred dollars. I had some money my father had given me upon leaving Turkey, but it wasn’t enough. But I would ask Frank. I would say it was for a new oven. He never touched the oven. We were eating bread that had just been baked in it, but I don’t think he thought about it too much. Or he didn’t want to know. He just left the bills on the bedside table, in the copper tray with the loose change, matches, and rings. So he knew without having to know. He got away with everything, even the burden of emotion.
4.
The woman didn’t go away. Whenever Frank went away on “business,” which seemed implausible for someone at his relatively low level at the insurance company, he was at her house. I discovered where she lived one day while walking home from my sister’s house. Frances was standing in her yard, picking crabapples from the tree, not six blocks from my own house. Brazen. We stared at each other. I held her gaze. She offered a weak wave. After that, I often peered into Frances’s backyard when walking down the dirt-packed alleyway between our streets. Once I saw that Frank’s car was parked there. He was five minutes away, though he had told me he was going to Philadelphia. It dawned on me that Frank wouldn’t stay with us forever. If I had the baby, maybe he would. Or I could at least prolong things. Without him, I’d have only a little money from my savings, no way to support Bryce. Again, I felt my weakness banging around in my chest. Amongst the Levantine families in Turkey, men stepped out on their wives all the time, it was almost condoned, but none of them ever left for good. I had watched my parents go through the same thing. That was probably why my mother had been so remote, so unkind. I didn’t want to be like that. Every night, I wrapped myself around Bryce, making sure he felt safe and warm, loved. Thinking about Bryce, a bravery rose up in me.
5.
The procedure itself was less daunting than the arrangements. Gail and I had to construct a whole scheme to get to the hospital, complain of false symptoms, and check in under a pseudonym. We found the nurse with the sparkling flowered brooch on her uniform and, as we had been instructed, handed her an envelope of cash, tucked into a thank-you card with a picture of a smiling fox on the front. I was not used to hospitals. Back home, our family doctor made home visits. We had both been born on the kitchen table. Or so we were told. There was a thin curtain between my bed and that of a young woman, far too young to be in the same situation. The girl whimpered. She was frightened. Next to her bedside sat her stern-looking mother, who was also very young and held a baby in her arms. She kept telling her daughter in harsh whispers how ashamed she was. The French in Quebec was quite different from the French I had learned at boarding school, the accent indecipherable, but I could pick out enough words.
6.
I woke up after it was over, and was instructed to remain at the hospital for a while and rest. A nurse with a pretty pink scarf around her neck gave me a small green pill and a paper cup of water. I fell into a deep sleep but then woke in a fog, hearing screaming from the bed next to mine. I looked to Gail, who was sitting next to me, a grim look on her face. Time to go, she said. Later in the taxi home, I said, I think the girl in the bed next to me, she was so young, I think she may have died in the procedure. I heard her mother sobbing. Gail whispered, No, she didn’t die. That was the girl crying. You know it’s very rare for women to die in that situation when you know how to do it correctly. Gail sighed and explained that she had asked the desk clerk the same thing—what had happened to the girl. She said the girl’s mother had a change of heart, had called the doctor. But they’d already started the procedure, they had to lie that she’d started to miscarry, but he knew. He intervened to save the pregnancy and the girl was quite distraught. She was crying because they had saved her baby. Judge not lest ye be judged, Gail said. Especially in this situation. And I think it was likely someone messing with her, don’t you think? I looked out the window, my face burning. My marriage was over, and maybe I’d just done something unforgivable. That young girl had so few choices, and here I was with a comfortable life, and I could have made do. I’d made a selfish choice. Gail squeezed my hand. Don’t go feeling bad about this. You know if men carried the babies they’d have shops on every corner like the dentist offices for this very purpose.
Vermont, 1987
1.
My granddaughter, Melissa, grew up with too much freedom. But freedom was the whole point, Bryce said, of this living experiment. Sunflower Commune. Somehow autonomy and community were the two most important values, but all I could see was how those values were often in opposition to each other. You can’t spend a whole life being yourself without ruining someone else. Gail and I were visiting for Melissa’s twelfth birthday. I knew I probably wouldn’t be able to make the trip much longer, even with Gail, who made everything seem easy. Sunflower was several miles outside of a small village that was several miles outside of a slightly bigger town. Towns were clumped like birds in a nest in the small valleys’ clearings, with one gas station, a store, and a handful of modern homes beside a river, and then a continual rural void. Gail loved not knowing where she was. I hated the remoteness. By the time you arrived near the commune there was a feeling of lawlessness, a sense that families fended for themselves in this area. It reminded me of Turkey in that way. Some people feel protected by open space; I am unravelled by it. But in late summer Vermont was so green, rich with growth and promise. It was impossible not to feel alive. Gail pointed at a swooping hawk, which made her swerve the car toward the ditch and then right herself, heavy on the gas. The older Gail got, the more she leaned into living life like an outlaw. Sometimes she inspired this in me. When we pulled over at a gas station, I overheard the attendant tell the cashier, Looks like the cast of Cocoon just pulled up. He
was talking about us! So when I paid for the gas, I slipped a packet of orange Trident gum into my purse without paying. We drove on until we saw the hand-painted sign on the thin lip of the highway: SUNFLOWER—THIS WAY. Behind us in the backseat were two blue hard-shell suitcases. Between us a cooler with cucumber sandwiches, slices of cheese, apples, and a Thermos of coffee. I held my pocketbook in my lap for most of the ride until Gail said, Are you expecting to have to make a run for it?
2.
We were halfway up the winding dirt driveway when we came across a woman in a white cotton dress wielding a chainsaw. Gail couldn’t help but stop the car and watch. The woman sawed off a giant branch as though it took no effort, bits of smaller branches and wood chips raining onto the ground, before the tree limb fell with a thump we could feel beneath us. The woman put the chainsaw down, pulled up her safety glasses, and waved, walking toward the car. Up close, I realized it was Tegan, whom I’d met on a previous visit. Ruth! she said, pressing one hand to her chest, soaked in sweat. Welcome to Sunflower again! It’s nice to see you! I waved and Gail roared with laughter as we drove away. Imagine that. It’s kind of brilliant. Imagine! I knew Gail would be impressed with the commune, and it would drive me crazy. But that was why I brought her along. A buffer. We parked under a lilac tree in the gravel lot beside a tractor that looked like it hadn’t moved in a while. I greeted the dog, some sort of collie mix. I cradled his head in my lap as I swung my legs out onto the ground. The farmhouse was made of red brick, with a wooden addition built out from the side. The forest crept up behind it, and beyond the barn were acres of fields that went up the hill and down again. In front of the house were the gardens and another few hayfields that were mostly cut back for the visitors to place their tents when it got busy. There were several small lean-tos and cabins here and there, people who came every summer and went back to the cities during the winters. It’s so pretty here, Gail said, stretching her arms up in the air and doing some hip twists with the driver’s-side door still ajar. I looked toward the house. Normally Melissa sat in the living room window waiting for my arrival and ran out to greet me.
3.
There was an odd silence before the door popped open, revealing Carola. She, however, did not look excited to see us. I didn’t always like Carola, but I had to admit that she was the one who made an effort while everyone else at Sunflower tended to dance to the beat of their own drum. Carola pulled me into a hug, kissed my cheek. I noticed she had aged since the last visit; she looked tired. As I watched her bend down to embrace Gail, her clavicle was visible, her cheeks drawn, and she was quite pale against a bright purple terry-cloth sundress, with a clashing plaid shirt over top and white-rimmed glasses. She needed a proper haircut.
She invited us inside. It’s harvesting season, so most people are in the garden right now, but I’ve been trying to set up the house for you guys, come on in. She opened up the first door, which led into an unlit woodshed with a perpetually damp smell. Mind the floor. It’s a bit messy here in the dark and Bryce has been meaning to put in a new light bulb. She tried to open the second door but it stuck, and then sprung wide with the force of her shoulder, unearthing another faunal smell.
Keep your shoes on, the floor’s been splintering lately, she said, walking ahead with the suitcases and putting them at the bottom of the staircase. In these moments I could see remnants of how Carola was raised. She slipped into a polite hostess role, even if, like now, she wore men’s black rubber boots and had leg hair long enough to braid. I sat down at the dining table while Gail picked up a fat cat that was winding around her legs. What’s its name? she asked. That’s Che, but he’s a biter, Carola said, stirring a wooden spoon in a glass pitcher of iced tea. She pulled down several plastic cups from the cupboard above the sink. The cupboard door had one dislodged hinge and so hung on an awkward angle after she closed it. She tried to shut it properly, but it kept slipping down. She offered us some of the tea, and then I asked, Where are Bryce and Melissa? Carola poured two glasses and brought them over to the table. I have no idea where either of them is, actually. Taylor, do you know? she said, addressing a teenager I’d just noticed, who had been sitting on the old hardwood floor under the window playing solitaire. The girl shrugged. She’s mad at you, the girl said. She thinks you forgot her birthday. You know, you usually make those bunny pancakes and wake her up with them. Carola said, frowning, Oh. I figured she was too old for that. You remember Missy’s granny Ruth, and this is her sister, Gail. Taylor suddenly looked shy. Did you bring us any candy? she asked, and I laughed. Taylor, that’s rude! Carola said, but couldn’t hide a slight smile. What, last time she brought chocolates!
I fished the Trident gum I’d stolen from the gas station out of my pocketbook and handed it to her. Taylor pumped her fist and grinned with an Awesome! Thanks! and ran off. We sipped tea, trying to figure out why things felt so ill at ease. Gail noticed a fat housefly floating in her glass and fished it out of her cup, then fed it to the cat.
4.
Carola opened the door to the guest room, and there was my son, fast asleep on the guest bed, the bedside table cluttered with beer bottles. Bryce! I shouted, as if he were still a teenager, and not nearing his forties. Carola slammed open the window, kicked at the metal bed frame, grabbed a handful of the empties, and left Gail and me standing there, staring at a shirtless Bryce, skinnier than I’d ever seen him, his beard so long it could have been a nest for birds. Useless, Carola whispered under her breath before exiting. He opened his eyes and groaned, Mom, oh my gosh, what time is it? I told him, It is afternoon. He sprang up and embraced us. His arms were like thin branches but felt substantial, muscles still firm. It was still the best feeling in the world, to hug my son. You’ve lost weight, I said. I just finished a cleanse. It was transcendent. Then he went on to tell us that he had had a few beers to celebrate the end of his cleanse. Then was up late making a present for Melissa. A large painting of bright primary colours in a swirl leaned against the wall. I couldn’t make heads or tails of it, but according to him it was a field of unicorns. Then he had started to prepare our room and fell asleep. A giant white cat jumped over the windowsill from a tree branch outside and dropped a mouse at Bryce’s feet. They had so many cats I never knew what their names were. Ah, you shouldn’t have, Snowflake, Bryce said, picking the mouse up by its tail and flinging it back outside. The cat licked its paw, briefly pleased with itself, then followed the mouse out the window. Is everything well, Bryce? I asked. Yeah, yeah. Why wouldn’t it be? He grabbed at the bedsheet and balled it up with the quilt, bringing it across the hall to the bathroom and throwing it inside. You know how it is around here, always something going on! The washing machine broke, we’ve been doing laundry in the tub. He was yelling then, like a manic child, over the sound of water flowing from the tap. Later Gail would complain about how we never taught our sons any house skills and for the first time I would agree.
5.
I decided to go find Melissa myself. Carola gave me a pair of rubber boots in my size. She explained how they would be better than my loafers in the mud, if I had to go searching in the fields. I took a boot from Carola, and just as I was about to put my foot inside, I glimpsed a flicker of movement in the heel. I turned the boot over and a mouse ran out, over my socked foot. I yelped. Carola nodded her head and said, Oh yes, sorry, you have to check your boots. The mice are really into the house this year. The indoor cats aren’t interested and Bryce doesn’t want to kill them. She shook the boot out and handed it back to me. It fit. That’s absurd, Gail said, whose sneakers were good enough for the back fields. So where might I find my granddaughter? I asked Carola, hand on the front doorknob. Honestly, I’m not sure. She likes the pond, and the big boulder on the top of the hill. She likes to sit with the sheep when they come in before supper. And so we set off into the wilds, Gail laughing and miming me finding the mouse in my boot all the way up the hill. If I’d known then how little time we had left, I’d have laughed along with her.
&nb
sp; 6.
We found Melissa swinging from a tree branch, singing to herself, kicking her feet in the air. Her back was to us, so we got to witness her unfiltered exuberance. I was relieved to see that she looked more like a child than Taylor did, though they were the same age. We called out to her, then stood under the tree as Melissa dismounted in one final swoop from the branch and settled into a cross-legged position below. She was wearing green overalls and a ripped white undershirt. Her hair, cut shaggy and short, stuck up in the air. She was filthy. She wasn’t wearing shoes. She broke into a toothy smile. Hi Granny! Hi Auntie Gail! I said, Happy birthday, Melissa. What are you doing out here by yourself? She told us that she had decided to make the tree her new home. I looked around at the flattened area under the tree’s shelter. She’d carefully cleared all the brush and made an ad hoc fence from a variety of sticks and fallen branches. She’d arranged a sleeping bag, a pillow, a teddy bear, a few mason jars of nuts and dried fruit, and an old army canteen. And why are you going to live here? I asked. Everyone’s annoying. Tegan’s decided that we have to have okra with every meal. My mom has had the flu for like, two months. Chris won’t stop playing the banjo. And all the summer people have stuck around longer than usual, ugh. And Dad is trying to write a play with Susannah who is like, crazy. She has long, blond hair and she’s always smiling. Susannah? Before I could ask more questions, she jumped back up on the branch, swung a bit, and then back down to the ground. I caught her for a hug. Let’s go back to the house, your mom is making a cake, I told her. We brought presents for you. Her eyes briefly lit up at the mention of presents but then a stubbornness returned. The same face Bryce used to make as a child. I’m not going back. I live here now. I didn’t quite know what to say to that. Come on now, we travelled a long way to visit, just to see you. Missy shrugged. So stay here with me. I looked to Gail for backup, but my sister was grinning. You’ve got an independent spirit! she said, which Missy recognized as praise. Then Gail started walking toward the house.