by Katie Munnik
I pictured the pink book and its directory page inside the front cover. All those blanks to fill in. Meant to be handy.
Doctor’s name: ................................................
Office phone: ...............................................
Home phone: ................................................
Answering service: ................................................
Doctor’s associate: ................................................
Phone: ................................................
Office nurse: ................................................
Phone: ................................................
Hospital: ................................................
Address: ................................................
Phone: ................................................
Pharmacy: ................................................
Address: ................................................
Phone: ................................................
Household help: ................................................
Phone: ................................................
Neighbour: ................................................
Taxi: ................................................
Husband’s phone during day: ................................................
‘No. Nothing at all.’
‘That’s fine. Absolutely. I just asked because I’ve had nurses show up before with full files. Weight, temperatures, blood pressure, all that. One even had lab results from a pregnancy test to show me. How she managed that on the sly, I can’t quite fathom.’
‘I haven’t done a test,’ I said. ‘But it’s been about five months. I can’t say I have any doubts.’
‘I’d say. You have the right look. I don’t really like these tests anyway. Why kill a rabbit to see if you’re carrying life? There must be some more ethical way to figure it out. Or just wait. It doesn’t really take that long to know. You want to lie down now? We can see if the heartbeat’s clear.’
She checked me over gently, and it felt good. We talked a bit about my medical history and family, and she checked my weight and my legs and feet for troubled veins. It turned out the dresser drawers were a regular surgery of supplies. She said we didn’t need to do the pelvic examination if I didn’t want it. She’d want to know that I trusted her first because otherwise it could be awkward and not very helpful. And she could see that I was pregnant, and strong, too. Outside, I could hear chickens clucking away, and it all felt the utter opposite of anything that happened at the General. I wondered what she’d think of Dr William G. Birch.
She’d folded the stethoscope and put the blood-pressure cuff away and was standing by the dresser sorting the drawers when the farmhouse door crashed open and a girl stomped in. She was small and looked tough, her hair cropped short like a boy’s, her wrists sticking out of her cuffs. Under her donkey-coloured sweater, her belly was round – bigger than mine – but her movements were quick and sharp. Rika turned and smiled, and the girl came close and wrapped her arms around her, their faces forehead to forehead. I sat up, focused on buttoning my blouse, tucking it into my skirt.
‘Felicity,’ Rika said in a warm voice. ‘This is Carole. She’s also here on her own.’
When I looked up, Carole was standing with her hands on her hips.
‘Hey,’ she said. ‘Another one of us dumb, duped girls, eh?’
‘Hello.’
‘We’re going to be compulsory buddies, then, right? Single girls united. Rika says you’re not even from here. How’d you end up with us, then?’
‘Gentle, Carole.’
‘No, it’s fine. I emigrated. I’m from Britain.’
‘Land of tea and crumpets.’
‘Something like that.’
Rika spoke softly, with a little smile on her face. ‘Speaking of which, you’ll be needing breakfast. Why don’t you sit down and I’ll see what I can put together for you? Cheesy eggs sound good?’
‘And buttered toast?’ Carole asked. ‘And salt, please.’
‘No to the salt, but the rest is fine. Don’t want you to get puffy. Not that it’s likely with you, I suppose, my strong girl. That was quite the hike you went on yesterday. You might want to start taking it easy, okay?’
‘I’m fine. Really. Just full of energy.’
‘And of baby. I’d like to get a measurement on that belly of yours today. It looks like your rate of growth is up.’
‘Supposed to be, right? I’m eating for two.’
‘Absolutely. But it’s best to keep our eyes open. Paying attention pays off.’
Rika broke two eggs into a bowl, whisked them with a fork, then crumbled in some cheese. I watched Carole as she opened and closed the dresser drawers and fiddled with the knobs.
‘This place is filling up,’ she said. ‘You’d think we could all sort out what was causing it, eh?’
I smiled, but she didn’t and then I wasn’t sure what to do. Rika didn’t say anything, just poured the eggs into a frying pan and started to stir. Carole kept moving.
‘You settle down, bird. You need to sit and eat now.’
‘Okay, okay. Just feeling up, you know?’
‘Sit. And no talk about politics, either. Felicity doesn’t need that.’ Rika put a plate of food down on the table and Carole pulled out a chair. ‘I’ll pour you some water. And when you’ve finished that plate, there’s a letter for you. Annie went into the village for the mail.’
‘From Charlotte?’
‘They’re all from Charlotte. You two are spending a fortune in stamps.’
‘She worries. And she wants to hear everything, too.’
‘I suppose you two need to keep your stories straight. Is she still sending you a copy of everything she sends home?’
‘Of course she is. If she didn’t, I’d slip up for sure.’
‘You could just tell them the truth.’
‘Don’t need to. It’s fine, really. You’re looking after me. I’ll have the baby and Charlotte will bum around India for the year, writing home for the both of us. By the end of the summer, it’ll be done. You found a home for the baby yet? Is that settled?’
‘Not yet, but it will be. The answer will come. It does.’
I thought she was going to talk about God then, and I looked at my shoes. Patent leather toes didn’t really suit the camp. I should have left them in my bag.
Carole scratched her plate with her knife.
‘Hey now,’ Rika said. ‘You don’t need to worry. There’s still plenty of time.’
‘Yeah,’ Carole said, pushing the eggs around her plate. ‘Plenty.’
I wished she’d finish soon and leave so that I could talk some more with Rika. But she didn’t. She dawdled like a child over her food until Rika sat down beside her and stroked her back. In the end, I left, saying I wanted to do some reading that morning.
Back at the bunkhouse, I arranged a nest of cushions in the front room so I could sit where the light patched the rug. I lowered myself and tried to settle comfortably. No new turns from the baby, just a little heartburn and increased girth. I picked up Dr Birch, the pink cover the colour of Pepto-Bismol. What to expect?
In our world, abounding in miracles, there is still none so old or awe-inspiring as the birth of a baby. How nice it would have been had nature included a tiny, transparent TV-like panel over a woman’s abdomen so she could observe the miraculous changes that occur in her body during pregnancy.
3
AT MIDDAY, BAS APPEARED AT THE WINDOW. HE STARTLED me, though he only tapped gently on the glass, and his smile was tender.
‘Everyone’s picnicking today,’ he said. ‘James and Eleta are up at the new cabin, and Rika’s hunkered down with Bethanne and Carole at the birthing house. I thought you might be hungry, too, so I brought
this along.’
He held up a reed basket, topped with a checked cloth. ‘Just left-over bannock and a wodge of cheese, I’m afraid. And a little fruit. Enough to keep you going. We’ll have a bigger, fattening meal at dinner.’
Stepping into the cabin, he looked immensely tall, and I tried to stand up, but he said not to bother and set the basket beside me on the floor. The bear calls on Little Red Riding Hood, I thought. Which wasn’t quite right, was it? A bear would change that story. Not sly enough. Too comfortable.
At the thought of lunch, my stomach growled wolfishly.
‘Right on time, then,’ he said. ‘Sounds like you’re ready for it. I’ve also put a map in there. Just a little sketch I made, so you can go exploring if you like. Dinner’s at half past six. If you need anything before then or want company, I’ll be around the farmhouse.’
‘Thanks.’
‘No problem. Thanks for coming.’
I watched him walk down the path. Lumber? No, he wasn’t clumsy. Just big. And I wasn’t little. Just feeling out of place.
I wondered what Asher would say to see me here. And if he was back in Montreal yet, looking for me. He’d probably think the camp was dangerous – that I didn’t know these people, didn’t know their training or experience. I was taking too much at face value. But wasn’t that the better way? No point in being scared of everything. And Montreal wouldn’t feel any safer these days, not with the letter bombs and politics.
Asher had been a lesson in getting over fear. It was all what the hell and looking into his eyes. It’s easy to fall in love like that. Or more or less in love. I took him at face value, and he, me. Risk only surfaced in the single moment before we touched, a moment of seeing and being seen. But then the harbour of arms, lips, joining – not falling, not reaching, but finding a way between us. The first time, I knew there was no going back, no need to go back to the flat coastline, the sand dunes and the grey. I could go on instead into a country still young with trees.
He borrowed a car and we drove up the mountain, Montreal below us bright like broken glass, and even sex felt safe. Stupid, but it did. In the car, outside even. Whatever safe meant. Later, it felt like something I was remembering, even as he pushed into me, our mouths open together, his hands in my hair. He was the constant, there in the middle of my life, waiting for me, and I was always approaching or slipping away.
The map Bas gave me was simple, the farmhouse and the bunkhouse marked, along with the birthing house and a few other cabins and outbuildings around the curve of the lake. Hills, criss-crossed with paths, extended to the north, and there were railway tracks at the far side of the property. Simple enough. I’d just remember where the lake was and loop back. I’d be fine. I’d take an apple in case I got thirsty and wear my new boots. They were black, thick-soled beasts, ugly as sin and just as strong. I’d bought them at the army surplus on St Laurent near Maisonneuve. You’ll keep your balance in those. That’s what the man said when I tried them on and I hoped he was right. I also bought a pair of trousers that would make my mum quiver to see. Not that she would. They were only for the duration. Vast, army-green things with useful pockets. But I wasn’t big enough yet to wear them, and my smart blouse and skirt weren’t the thing for hiking. I dug about in my bag and found the dress that Jenny had made me, a soft brown A-shaped thing with an elegant Peter Pan collar. Looked spunky with the boots, but maybe the thing for a solo hike.
An old-fashioned walk out of doors is healthful for everyone and the pregnant woman should make an extra effort to include a hike in the country or window-shopping jaunt in her daily routine.
I followed the path to the woodshed, where a thick stump sat out front, ringed with woodchips and broken bark. Annie’s van was parked beside the shed. The canoe was gone, and a large puddle had collected in the space between the tyres. I hadn’t heard rain in the night; I must have slept soundly. The path climbed the hill behind the shed. If I was reading the map right, I could follow it up to a lookout place and loop down again out to the spot where the railway tracks met the road, then back to the camp.
The ground was rocky, and a split-rail fence snaked through the trees. The fence looked old, but the trees were young. So the farm wasn’t new, I guessed, and wondered about the folk who’d left.
Halfway up the hill, a house-sized boulder sat, covered in green and yellow lichen. It looked like something a Cyclops might throw. Dad had taught me about boulders like these: erratics, he called them. Carried by glaciers and interesting because they have a different lithology from the bedrock around. He taught me you can use them to discern the patterns of glacial flow. With the woods growing up all around, it looked abandoned and forgotten. I wanted to climb it and see what the woods looked like from up high. Maybe after the baby.
Further up, the path veered away from the fence, and the woods grew thicker and wilder. A flash of yellow caught my eye, a strip of cloth tied around a tree trunk. It felt good to know that I was going the right way. Unless the yellow was a warning to go the other way. A heavy bird flew between the trees and the air above my head was loud with its wings. From underneath, they were white with black fingers. I watched it land in a tree and saw the red feathers on its head, then heard the hungry thwack of its beak against the wood. Then the sound of crows higher over the trees and, for a moment, the woodpecker was silent before it started again to hammer, and I kept climbing.
At the top, there was a clearing with a circle of stones for a firepit, one larger stone set nearby as a seat. A lonely spot. It was different from the view of Montreal from the Oratory, but similar, too. The height. The way the water caught the light far below you. The feeling of space all around.
From the top of the hill, the lake looked perfectly round, but there was more of it than I could see. In Bas’s sketch, he had left it open, like a waxing crescent moon. The village must be away to the left, hidden by the hills. Then I spotted Annie in her canoe, a red shape moving across the surface of the lake. Someone called from the shore and Annie raised her paddle in greeting. The crows took sudden flight from the tall pines and circled the bay together, their voices harsh and calling.
The path down from the lookout was steep and muddy and, standing at the top, I worried about going down, so I dug my boots in sideways and kept close to the trees. It wasn’t easy to walk downhill pregnant; it made me feel more pregnant than I was. I had to take a break partway down for a pee. At least the A-frame dress made that easy enough. I was almost at the road when I heard the train stopping, screeching and heavy like something was wrong. I stopped to watch, not quite hidden by the trees, but not yet out in the open.
A door on the train opened, a green duffel bag landed with a thump beside the tracks and then another fell beside it. A man climbed down, a girl following him, so he turned, smiling, to hold out both hands to help her. She wore a pale wool sweater, cabled and heavy like jumpers from home, and a full skirt. She was bright as a falling leaf catching the air as she jumped down to the ground. So perfectly present and then she laughed when she landed, her long dark hair falling in her eyes, catching her arms around herself, still laughing as she backed away from the tracks towards the woods. The man waved an arm up at the train, and the door closed. Then the train pulled away, leaving the couple standing by the tracks.
He heaved one duffle bag onto his shoulder and tried to take hers as well, but she took it from his hands and slipped her arms through the straps, easing it up onto her back like a rucksack. As she straightened again, I noticed her belly. She must have seen me standing there among the trees because suddenly she froze and stopped smiling. I raised my hand to wave, but she turned away, grabbing his hand, and walking away down the tracks towards the road.
At the bunkhouse again, I changed back into my skirt and blouse, then took a cigarette outside. The wind in the trees sounded like traffic and like the sea. I closed my eyes, listening, and when I opened them, Carole was at the window. She was watching me and, with her short hair tucked behind her ears,
she looked like a woodland creature, or a fairy.
‘You shouldn’t smoke those things, you know.’
‘Yes?’ I wondered if her ears were pointy.
‘You’re a nurse. You should know better. They don’t really calm you down. That’s a corporate lie. They’re just poison. They’ll fucking tar your baby.’
‘Hmm.’
She was probably right. Right but malevolent. I thought that, if I could help it, I probably wouldn’t invite her to the baptism.
4
From the camp,
May 1969
Dear Mum and Dad,
A long-awaited letter home.
I’m out in the woods now, as you’ll see from the return address. It’s not really the back of beyond – only two hours from Ottawa, which sounds far but isn’t at all by Canadian standards. We’re about that distance from Montreal as well, but the roads here on the Quebec side of the river are fairly poor with all the logging trucks. In the village down the road, there’s a doctor (and a post office) and a hospital only a forty-minute drive away. And our water comes from a tap and I’m not sleeping in a tent. All of which is to say that you needn’t worry.
The folk here are great and really helpful, too. The midwife is a dear and I get a good feeling from her. She works with a sensible combination of science and old wisdom. You’d like her, Mum. She knows her plants and she knows when she needs a textbook and a bottle of disinfectant. Her brother Bas does most of the cooking and everyone has their jobs, but I haven’t found my place yet. I’m sure I’ll be nursing later but so far, it’s been peeling carrots and washing clothes for me. Which suits me fine.
I’m even getting used to the outhouse, too. Ha. It’s not too bad really – the mosquitoes do tend to swarm and it can get a bit fruity but we layer in pine needles and then it’s much fresher. Really.
Okay, enough with the reassurances. I’m sure you will think I’m trying to convince myself as much as you, but be reassured. I am all right.