The Life She Was Given

by Ellen Marie Wiseman

  She put the cat on the bed and examined the scars on her fingers. Daddy was right, the lotion made them feel better. But oh, how the flame of Momma’s lantern had burned!

  “Spare the rod and spoil the child,” Momma said.

  Lilly wanted to ask if the Bible said anything about sparing the fire, but didn’t dare. She was supposed to know what the Bible said.

  “I wonder what Momma would do if she found out I read the books from Daddy instead of that boring old Bible?” she asked Abby. The cat rubbed its face on Lilly’s arm, then curled into a ball and went back to sleep.

  Lilly took the Bible from the nightstand—she didn’t dare put it anywhere else—moved the bookmark in a few pages, and set it back down. Momma would check to see how much reading she had done this week and if the bookmark hadn’t moved, Lilly would be in big trouble. According to Momma, the Holy Bible and the crucifix on the wall above her bed were the only things she needed to live a happy life.

  Everything else in the room came from Daddy—the wicker table set up for a tea party, complete with a lace doily, silver serving tray, and china cups. The matching rocking chair and the teddy bear sitting on the blue padded stool next to her wardrobe. The dollhouse filled with miniature furniture and straight-backed dolls. The model farm animals lined up on a shelf above her bookcase, all facing the same way, as if about to break into song. Three porcelain dolls with lace dresses in a wicker baby pram, one with eyes that opened and closed. And, of course, her bookcase full of books. It seemed, for a while, like Daddy would give her everything—until she read Snow White and asked for a mirror.

  Sometimes, in the middle of the night, when she was certain everyone was asleep and there was nothing but blackness outside her window, she turned on her light and studied her reflection in the glass. All she saw was a blurry, ghost-like mask looking back at her, the swirly metal outside coiling across her skin like snakes. She stared at her white reflection and touched her forehead and nose and cheeks, trying to find a growth or a missing part, but nothing stuck out or caved in. When she asked Daddy what was wrong with her, he said she was beautiful to him and that was all that mattered. But his eyes looked funny when he said it, and she didn’t think he was telling the truth. He’d be in big trouble if Momma found out because Momma said lying was a sin.

  Good thing Lilly would never tell on Daddy. He was the one who taught her how to read and write, and how to add and subtract numbers. He was the one who decorated the walls of her room with rose-covered wallpaper and brought her new dresses and shoes when she got too big for the old ones. He was the one who brought Abby food and let Lilly in the other part of the attic so she could walk and stretch. One time, he even brought up a wind-up record player and tried to teach her the Charleston and tango, but she got too tired and they had to stop. She loved the music and begged him to leave the record player in her room. But he took it back downstairs because Momma would be mad if she found it.

  Momma brought food and necessities, not presents. She came into Lilly’s room every morning—except for the times she forgot—with a tray of toast, milk, eggs, sandwiches, apples, and cookies, to be eaten over the rest of the day. She brought Lilly soap and clean towels, and reminded her to pray before every meal. She stood by the door every night with a ring of keys in her hands and waited for Lilly to kneel by her bed to ask the Lord to forgive her sins, and to thank Him for giving her a mother who took such good care of her. Other than that, Momma never came in her room just to talk or have fun. She never said “I love you” like Daddy did. Lilly would never forget her seventh birthday, when her parents argued outside her door.

  “You’re spoiling her with all those presents,” Momma said. “It’s sinful how much you give her.”

  “It’s not hurting anyone,” Daddy said.

  “Nevertheless, we need to stop spending money.”

  “Books aren’t that expensive.”

  “Maybe not, but what if she starts asking questions? What if she wants to come downstairs or go outside? Are you going to say no?”

  At first, Daddy didn’t say anything and Lilly’s heart lifted. Maybe he would take her outside after all. Then he cleared his throat and said, “What else is she supposed to do in there? The least we can do is try to give her a normal birthday. It’s not her fault she—”

  Momma gasped. “It’s not her fault? Then whose is it? Mine?”

  “That’s not what I was going to say,” Daddy said. “It’s not anyone’s fault. Sometimes these things just happen.”

  “Well, if you had listened to me from the beginning, we wouldn’t. . .” She made a funny noise, like her words got stuck in her throat.

  “She’s still our daughter, Cora. Other than that one thing, she’s perfectly normal.”

  “There’s nothing normal about what’s on the other side of that door,” Momma said, her voice cracking.

  “That’s not true,” Daddy said. “I talked to Dr. Hillman and he said—”

  “Oh, dear Lord . . . tell me you didn’t! How could you betray me like that?” Momma was crying now.

  “There, there, my darling. I didn’t tell anyone. I was just asking Dr. Hillman if he had ever seen . . .”

  Momma’s sobs drowned out his words and her footsteps hurried across the attic.

  “Darling, wait!” Daddy said.

  The next day, Lilly quit praying before every meal, but she had not told Momma that. Since then, she had disobeyed her mother in a hundred little ways. Momma said it was wicked to look at her naked body and made Lilly close her eyes during her weekly sponge bath until she was old enough to wash herself. Now Lilly looked down at her milk-colored arms and legs when she bathed, examining her thin white torso and pink nipples. She felt ashamed afterward, but she wasn’t being bad on purpose. She just wanted to know what made her a monster. The only thing she knew for sure was that her parents looked different than she did. Momma had curly blond hair and rosy skin; Daddy had a black mustache, black hair, and tan skin; but her skin was powder-white, her long, straight hair the color and texture of spider webs. It was like God forgot to give her a color. Is that what made her a monster? Or was it something else?

  Now, hoping she’d be able to see more of the circus tomorrow, she changed into her nightclothes, climbed into bed, and switched off the light. Then she realized Momma hadn’t come up to make sure she said her prayers.

  Lilly curled up next to Abby and pulled her close. “She’s probably at the circus,” she said, closing her eyes.

  * * *

  The next night, after Lilly first saw the circus outside her window, the rattle of a key in her door startled her awake. She sat up and reached for her bedside lamp, then stopped, her fingers on the switch. It was the middle of the night and if Momma saw the light, it would mean big trouble. Maybe Momma had found out she’d spent the entire day watching the circus through her telescope instead of straightening her room and reading the Bible. The circus looked tiny through the end of her telescope and she couldn’t make out every detail, but no matter what Momma did to her, it was worth seeing the elephants and giraffes being taken into the big top. It was worth seeing the crowds of people outside the tents and the parade of wagons and clowns and costumed performers. It had been the most exciting day of her life, and nothing was going to ruin it. She took her hand away from the lamp and, one at a time, touched her fingers with her thumbs. One, two, three, four. The door opened and Momma slipped inside carrying an oil lantern. Lilly watched her enter and her belly trembled. Momma never came into her room this late. At the end of the bed, Abby lifted her furry head, surprised to see Momma too.

  Momma—Daddy said her real name was Coralline—was a tall, pretty woman, and she always wore her long blond hair pinned back on the sides. Her only jewelry was the wedding band on her left hand, and she dressed in simple skirts and sensible shoes in the name of modesty and for the glory of God. Daddy said Momma put on her best dresses and furs when she went out to important dinners and parties, but only because that wa
s what everyone in the outside world expected. Lilly didn’t understand why Momma changed what she looked like, but Daddy said that was okay. One time, Daddy showed her a picture of Momma all dressed up and Lilly thought it was someone else.

  Daddy liked to tell the story of how he had first spotted Momma between the barn and the round pen, sitting on a barrel watching the horses play in the field. Momma’s father, a retired Pentecostal minister who always dreamed of raising horses, had come to Blackwood Manor Horse farm to buy a stallion. Daddy thought Momma was the prettiest girl he had ever seen. But it was six months before she would talk to him, and another six before she agreed to have dinner. For some reason, Momma’s parents didn’t trust Daddy. But eventually Momma and Daddy were walking hand in hand through the apple orchards; then they got married. When Daddy got to that part of the story, his face always changed to sad and he said Momma had a hard time growing up.

  Now, Momma came into Lilly’s room in a flowery dress and pink heels. Her lips were painted red and she was wearing a yellow hat. Lilly couldn’t stop staring. She had never seen Momma dressed like that, not in person anyway. Momma’s cheeks were flushed and she was breathing hard, as if she had run up the stairs.

  Lilly’s stomach turned over. Daddy was supposed to come back from Pennsylvania tomorrow. He promised birthday presents first thing. But he had told her a long time ago that she didn’t need to worry about being left alone when he and Momma went out because his helper was always downstairs in case someone called about a horse. If “something” happened to Daddy and Momma, the helper would read a letter in Daddy’s desk. He would find Lilly in the attic, and he would know what to do. Lilly wasn’t sure what “something” was, but she knew it was bad. What if Momma was here to tell her “something” had happened to Daddy and he wasn’t coming back?

  Lilly touched her tongue to each tooth and counted, waiting for Momma to speak. One, two, three, four . . .

  Then Momma smiled.

  Momma never smiled.

  “I’ve got a surprise for you,” Momma said.

  Lilly blinked. She didn’t know what to say. Daddy brought surprises, not Momma. “Where’s Daddy?” she managed.

  “Get dressed,” Momma said. “And hurry up, we don’t have much time.”

  Lilly pushed back her covers and got out of bed. Abby sat up and stretched her front legs, treading the blanket with her claws. “Is someone coming to see me?” Lilly asked Momma.

  Besides her parents, no one had ever been inside her room. One winter she got sick and Daddy wanted to call a doctor, but Momma refused because the doctor would take her away and put her “some place.” Instead Daddy spent three days wiping Lilly’s forehead and applying mustard powder and warm dressings to her chest. She would never forget the sad look on his face when she woke up and said, “Daddy? What’s ‘some place’?”

  “It’s a hospital for sick people,” Daddy said. “But don’t worry, you’re staying right here with us.”

  Now, Momma watched Lilly take her dress from the back of the rocking chair. Lilly’s legs felt wobbly. What if someone was coming to take her “some place”?

  Momma chuckled. “No, Lilly, no one is coming to see you.”

  Lilly glanced at Momma, her stomach getting wobbly too. Momma never laughed. Maybe she had been drinking the strange liquid Daddy sometimes brought up to her room in a silver container. Lilly didn’t know what the drink was, but it made his eyes glassy and gave his breath a funny smell. Sometimes it made him laugh more than usual. What did he call it? Whiskey? No, that was impossible. Momma would never drink whiskey. Drinking alcohol was a sin.

  “Why do I have to get dressed, Momma?”

  “Because today’s your birthday, remember?”

  Lilly frowned. Momma didn’t care about birthdays. “Yes,” she managed.

  “And I’m sure you saw the circus outside.”

  Lilly nodded.

  “Well, that’s where we’re going.”

  Lilly stared at Momma, her mouth open. Her legs shook harder, and her arms too. “But . . . what . . . what if someone sees me?”

  Momma smiled again. “Don’t worry, circus performers are used to seeing people like you. And no one else will be there but us. Because against my better judgment, your father insisted on paying the circus owner to put on a special show for you.”

  Goose bumps popped up on Lilly’s arms. Something felt bad, but she didn’t know what. She glanced at Abby, as if the cat would know the answer. Abby looked back at her with curious eyes. “Daddy said he wasn’t coming back until tomorrow,” Lilly said.

  Momma kept smiling, but her eyes changed. The top half of her face looked like it did when Lilly was in big trouble. The bottom half looked like someone Lilly had never seen before. “He came home early,” Momma said.

  “Then where is he?” Lilly said. “He always comes to see me first when he gets home.”

  “He’s waiting for us over at the circus. Now hurry up!”

  “Why didn’t he come get me instead of you?” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Lilly wished she hadn’t said them.

  Momma walked toward her and her hand rose with a sudden speed. It struck Lilly across the jaw and she fell to the floor. Abby leapt sideways on the bed and crouched next to the wall, her ears back.

  “You ungrateful spawn of the devil!” Momma yelled. “How many times have I told you not to question me?”

  “I’m sorry, Momma,” Lilly cried.

  Momma thumped her with the side of her foot. “What did I do to deserve this curse?” she hissed. “Now get on your knees and pray.”

  “But, Momma . . .” Lilly’s sobs were too strong. She couldn’t get up and she could barely breathe. She crawled to her bed with her hair hanging in her face and pulled herself up, air squeaking in her chest.

  “Bow your head and ask for forgiveness,” Momma said.

  Lilly put her hands together beneath her chin and counted her fingers by pressing them against each other. One, two, three, four. “Oh Lord,” she said, pushing the words out between wheezes. Five, six, seven, eight. “Please forgive me for questioning my momma, and for all the other ways I have made her life so difficult.” Nine, ten. “I promise to walk the straight and narrow from here on out. Amen.”

  “Now get dressed,” Momma said. “We don’t have much time.”

  Lilly got off her knees and put on her undergarments with shaky hands, then took off her nightgown and pulled her play dress on over her head. Her side hurt where Momma kicked her and snot ran from her nose.

  “Not that one,” Momma said. “Find something better.”

  Lilly took off the play dress and half-walked, half-stumbled over to the wardrobe. She pulled out her favorite outfit, a yellow satin dress with a lace collar and ruffled sleeves. “Is this one all right?” she said, holding up the dress.

  “That will do. Find your best shoes too. And brush your hair.”

  Lilly put on the dress and tied the belt behind her back. She brushed her hair—one, two, three, four, five, six strokes—then sat on the bed to put on her patent leather shoes. Abby edged across the covers and rubbed against Lilly’s arm. Lilly gave her a quick pet, then got up and stood in the middle of the room, her ribs aching and her heart thumping. Momma opened the door and stood back, waiting for Lilly to go through it.

  Lilly had waited for this moment her entire life. But now, more than anything, she wanted to stay in the attic. She didn’t want to go outside. She didn’t want to go to the circus. Her chest grew tighter and tighter. She could barely breathe.

  “Let’s go,” Momma said, her voice hard. “We don’t have all night.”

  Lilly wrapped her arms around herself and started toward the door, gulping air into her lungs. Then she stopped and looked back at Abby, who was watching from the foot of her bed.

  “That cat will be here when you get back,” Momma said. “Now move it.”

  CHAPTER 2

  JULIA

  November 1956

  Hatf
ield, Long Island

  Eighteen-year-old Julia Blackwood glanced up and down the supermarket aisle to make sure no one was watching. The store was small, maybe thirty feet wide by forty feet long, and she could see over the shelves and into each corner. A pimple-faced teenager sat on a stool behind the counter, chewing gum and staring at a black and white television above the cash register. A radio on a shelf played “Why Do Fools Fall in Love” while a gray-haired lady checked eggs for cracks next to the open dairy cooler door.

  Julia took a deep breath, went down on one knee, and pretended to tie her grease-spotted Keds. She glanced both ways down the aisle to make sure no one was watching, grabbed a can of Spam off the middle shelf, slipped it into her coat pocket, then straightened and pushed her hair behind her ears. The boy at the counter absently picked at a pimple on his chin, his eyes still glued to the television. Julia let out her breath and made her way to the next aisle, walking slowly and pretending to examine the groceries. She plucked a small apple from a produce bin, put it in her pocket, and made her way toward the counter.

  “Can I get the key to the restroom?” she asked the pimple-faced boy.

  Still watching television, the boy reached beneath the cash register and handed her a key on a brown rabbit foot. Then he snapped his gum and grinned at her. “Just replaced the soap this morning.”

  Heat rose in Julia’s cheeks and she had to fight the urge to leave. The boy knew why she wanted to use the bathroom. It was the fourth time in as many months that there was no water in her room above the liquor store—this time due to frozen pipes instead of an unpaid bill—and she hadn’t washed her hair or taken a shower in three days. Sure, no one at work would know whether or not she’d had a bath, but who wanted an oily-haired waitress serving them fried eggs and onion-covered burgers? Big Al’s Diner was already a greasy spoon; it didn’t need any more help in that department. Instead of leaving, she swallowed her pride, took the key from the boy, and trudged to the back of the store.