“Ugh,” I groaned at his question, the last thing in the world you ask a pregnant woman, though as it was Dodge, I couldn’t be too annoyed. I stood, Tish lending me a hand, and Dodge wrapped me into a big bear hug. Something about his arms reminded me of my own dad, back home in Chicago with his new wife Lanny, and I felt a stab of homesickness. As much as I was glad to be in Landon, I still occasionally missed the big city, had a twinge of longing for our spacious townhouse with its view of the glittery Chicago skyline.
“Hey,” I said then, shoving all that aside, and turned to Tish. “Can you run up to my room and grab the picture and the letter on my nightstand?”
Tish shrugged and said, “Sure,” darting away while I tried not to let myself be jealous of her slim, lithe body and ability to move quickly and easily.
“Camille found a photograph that you might know about,” Aunt Ellen told Dodge.
“It’s from 1875,” I told him, helping myself to a snickerdoodle. I poured a huge glass of milk, then leaned against the counter to dunk my cookie.
“I love the horse! Lookit!” Tish enthused, racing back into the kitchen with the picture. “Remember that one time Dad took us horseback riding near here? That was great. I wasn’t afraid at all. You were.”
“I was not,” I disagreed. “I was just uncertain.”
Dodge reached for the picture and studied it closely, flipping it to examine the words on the back. He said, “Bull would probably know, honey. His family has been around Landon area since just after the Civil War. His great-something granddaddy built White Oaks, initially. Most people don’t know, but the main structure of the building was constructed in the late 1860s. Of course they’ve updated and added on since then. But that little entrance and the porch off the side are original.”
“No kidding?” I asked, hearing the excitement in my voice. “Can we drive over there and ask him?”
“Right now?” Tish asked skeptically. “Like, who cares that much?”
“I do,” I insisted.
“Milla, you’re in your pajamas,” Dodge observed. “And in no condition to be out and about in this weather.”
I didn’t bother to explain that I wasn’t wearing PJs, that this was just how very pregnant women dressed all the time. Instead I agreed reluctantly, “All right, but maybe tomorrow. Gram, can we have lunch at White Oaks tomorrow?”
“We’ll see,” was all she would say; I had learned long ago that this was the sort of answer used to pacify little kids. I would probably be using it regularly for the next eighteen years.
Tish said, “You wanna play LIFE with those guys?”
“Not really,” I said. “Let’s just watch.”
My sister and I joined everyone at the table, drawing up chairs at the far end, where we could chat in relative peace. I ate more banana bread as Tish said, “Everyone is wondering where you are, and wondering if you’ve had the baby. I told like ten people yesterday to quit asking me.”
Landon High was so drastically different than River Dell, the plushy private school we’d attended in Chicago. There I’d had a tight-knit circle of friends and was involved in a medley of resumé-boosting activities, such as student government and soccer. At Landon High my formerly shiny reputation was so severely tarnished that it had been more than a relief to drop out last week, under the excuse of what I was referring to as “maternity leave.” Jake was unfailingly kind to me, even though I hadn’t seen him much at school; we had not been in any classes together. The girls at Landon had whispered about me behind my back, made snide remarks I was meant to hear, and the basic consensus was that I was the big-city girl who had gotten popular, innocent Noah Utley into trouble. The cruelest of them was Mandy Pearson, a tall, intimidating girl with unforgiving eyes. As if she had any right calling me a slut, when everyone knew she gave head under the bleachers at football games. But so it goes. I knew Mom and Grandma expected me to go back and finish classes, graduate in June or perhaps into the summer. I hadn’t yet broken the news to them that I was not about to set foot within that high school ever again.
“You don’t have to tell anyone anything,” I said, shifting so that my belly didn’t cut off my air supply quite so much. Dodge had given the picture back to me, and I laid it carefully on the table. Before I knew what I was doing, I had begun tracing my fingers over M. Carter’s face.
“I know,” Tish responded, raising one dark eyebrow just a fraction as she observed me caressing the old photograph. She didn’t comment on that but instead added, “Are you lonely all day here?”
I shook my head. “Not exactly. It’s not like I’m alone.”
“Are you going to work back at Shore Leave this spring?”
“Yeah, that’s the plan.”
“What about school?” she persisted.
“What about it?” I asked. “I’m not going back there. I’ll get my GED or something.” At those words, I could have cried until my throat was raw.
Tish studied me minutely; though she was not the most observant person on the face of the planet, she often read my mind with impressive clarity. Being closer to me in age, Tish and I shared more memories and consequently fought over things far more often than Ruthie and me. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d bickered with Ruthie about anything, but then again I couldn’t remember a time before Tish, who knew me better than about anyone. A trade-off for all the fighting, I supposed.
“What if my baby never has a little sister or brother?” I heard myself ask, as though it had just occurred to me. In truth I had been thinking of that repeatedly and it made my heart ache with coldness. I cupped both hands around my belly, protectively.
“She will,” Tish reassured, not one to dwell on problems. She reached to place her own palms against me and I noticed that her fingernails were painted bright red and forest green, every other nail. She said, “I can’t get over how firm it feels, like a basketball under your shirt.” She perused me with a critical eye and amended, “More like a beach ball. And, hey, I’d pick another father for the little brother, just so you know.”
“Jesus Crimeny,” I grumbled, rolling my eyes again, using my go-to phrase of irritation. I said, “Give me a tiny bit of credit. And what do you mean, beach ball?”
Down the table everyone was leaning on their elbows, intent on watching Clint roll a pair of dice. Jake looked up at that moment and caught my eye, offering a warm smile. I almost glared back at him but then relented, tipping my lips up just a little.
“Well you’re huge,” Tish observed, patting the roundness of my stomach as though it was a puppy on my lap.
“I’m pregnant!” I snapped. I knew she didn’t intend to offend me, she was just making a very Tish-like, foot in the mouth comment.
“Re-lax,” she said, drawing out the word into two distinct syllables. She leaned towards the activity of the game and asked, “Who’s winning?”
No crying, I ordered harshly.
I had never considered myself to be a vain person. Last summer was the first time I had actually gone out of my way to get someone to notice me, that someone of course being Noah. The first week we’d been in Landon he had been hanging out with a group of other teenagers at the beach, and their group had merged with ours. Clint, who had never lived anywhere else, knew all the kids and had introduced Tish and me around. Noah and I had talked for an hour, exchanged numbers, and I’d been so giddy with nerves and excitement at his attention that I could hardly sleep that night. Mom had been in her own world last summer, and so it had been with very little difficulty that I had been able to see Noah on an increasingly regular basis.
I had loved his kisses, the way he touched me. Sex had been an entirely different thing. Looking back now, knocked up and alone, I realized that he had been playing me all along, telling me he loved me so that I would let him untie my bikini top. I was basically inexperienced, even still. We’d had sex probably about fifteen times and I had been so stiff and tense that it hadn’t been exactly earth-shattering on any of those
occasions. The first time, I’d bled all over the place; I’d been so embarrassed. He said he couldn’t believe I was a virgin. I didn’t know which occasion had led to the baby, as we’d used a condom every single time. Now when I considered the idea of sex, I nearly cringed. Who in the world would possibly be interested in dating a single mom without so much as a high school degree, let alone having sex with her?
You will not start crying, I reminded myself harshly, but tears stung my eyes anyway. Under the guise of getting more milk, I escaped to the fridge and that’s where I was standing when I felt a strange shift in my lower belly. I made an inadvertent noise of alarm, bending forward, and then a sudden soaking wetness came flowing from between my legs, darkening my sweat pants. I stared wordlessly for a second, uncomprehending. It wasn’t until my knees started to tremble that I managed to call out, weakly, “Grandma!”
Grandma, Aunt Ellen and Dodge were in the living room and didn’t hear me. The only person who did was Jake, because he was watching me from the table. I saw the concern that lifted his eyebrows and he was at my side in an instant, getting his left arm around my back in support.
“Did your…are you…” he sounded like a kid, his voice wavering with uncertainty.
“Yes,” I answered. My knees would not stop trembling and I found myself gripping Jake’s other arm, clinging to him. He was tall and lanky, but strong enough that I felt as though I wouldn’t topple him straight over. We were attracting attention now; Ruthie bounded over with her eyes round as fifty-cent pieces.
“Grandma!” she yelped, and this time the cry generated action.
“Is the baby coming?” Tish whooped, everyone crowding around me as though I was a new attraction in the zoo.
Grandma came around the corner like a woman on a mission. She took one look at me and called over her shoulder, “Dodge, get the truck running! Camille, sweetie, your water just broke.”
I started to sob then and Ruthie and Grandma moved to hug me; squashed between them and Jake, I could hardly breathe. Grandma nudged Jake to the side and said quietly, “There’s nothing to cry about, dear one, it’s all right.” She turned and began issuing orders. “Tish, run and grab your sister a clean outfit. Her hospital bag is at the foot of her bed. Jake, you stay here with the kids while Dodge and Ellen and I get Camille to the hospital.”
“Yes ma’am,” Jake said instantly. His eyes were somber with the responsibility of it all.
“Ruthie, call your mom and Aunt Jilly, tell them to meet us in Rose Lake,” Grandma said next.
“Can I come with?” Ruthie asked me, her right arm laced through mine.
I looked down at her and felt a rush of tenderness flow from my heart. I wiped at my tears with my other hand and nodded. It still hadn’t quite sunk in that my child was on its way, that sometime, maybe even before morning, I would be holding my baby. My knees jittered even more fiercely.
“Of course,” I told her. I looked at Tish, who was standing near Clint, both of them regarding me with their brilliant blue eyes almost comically wide. I asked, “You want to come too?”
She shook her head at once. She said, “Sorry, Milla, I’d rather see the baby after.”
“Patricia!” Grandma ordered, using Tish’s full name. “Get hustling, child!”
Less than ten minutes later I was belted beside Dodge in his quarter-ton pickup, Aunt Ellen, Grandma and Ruthie all crammed into the tiny backseat. Grandma kept one hand on my shoulder as Dodge expertly navigated the snowy roads.
“It probably will take a while, once we get there,” Grandma told me. “First babies are notoriously inconsiderate.”
I was bundled into a coat and boots, my entire body trembling now.
“Are you having contractions?” Ruthie inquired, almost bouncing with excitement. “What names are you thinking of again, Milla? You’ll have to pick one so soon!”
Just as she asked, another flowing wave of pain scissored across my belly. I hissed a little, leaning forward, and Dodge patted my left knee. He said, “Hang on, hon, we’ll get you there.”
“We’ll think about names later,” Grandma told Ruthie.
The pain rippled outward and I groaned. I managed to say, “I hurt, Grandma. I’m so…scared.”
“You’re just fine,” Grandma reassured, cupping my shoulder with her mitten. She insisted, “Just fine, Camille. It’s a baby, not a dinosaur.”
I giggled a little at that before another giant fist seemed to squeeze my belly. I tried to breathe like the nurse had explained during my last visit, two weeks ago.
“They’re coming fast,” Grandma said. “You know what, you may just have a Valentine’s surprise.”
***
Mom and Aunt Jilly arrived just as the nurse handed me the newly-bathed bundle of my daughter. I was sweating and depleted, tears streaming over my face even as I felt a smile spread from ear to ear. Ruthie had been a trooper, witnessing the entire messy miracle without so much as a shudder. Grandma too had been at my side.
“Milla,” Mom said softly, from the foot of the bed. She and Aunt Jilly were still wearing their parkas, both of them teary-eyed and smiling at the sight of my daughter. As one, they moved to join Grandma and Ruthie. Mom leaned to kiss my forehead, smoothing hair from my temple as tears washed over her face. She said, “Look at you, look at my girl. You did so well, sweetheart, so well. Look at your baby.” She bent to kiss the tiny, wrinkly-red face.
“Camille,” Aunt Jilly whispered. “This is a sweet baby girl right here. I can already foresee lots of trouble-making between her and this one,” and she indicated her own belly. “Lots of shenanigans.”
“I’m so sorry we weren’t here,” Mom said, her voice choked and gravelly with emotion. “What happened? How was everything? Oh, Camille, I’m so sorry I didn’t get here for you.”
“Mama, the baby was practically born already by the time we got here,” Ruthie explained. “The doctor said Camille must have been dilated for the past few days. She was at a seven by the time someone checked.”
“Listen to this expert,” Aunt Jilly joked, catching Ruthie into a one-armed hug. “Ruthann, what do you have to say about the whole thing? Was the birthing experience everything you thought it would be?”
Ruthie giggled while my eyes caressed my new daughter, tucked into a soft pink hospital blanket. She was eight pounds even and I couldn’t stop marvelling at how perfect she was, down to her toes. And her fingernails! Again I lifted her miniature hand and examined the bitty little nails; they were too tiny to contemplate. I still couldn’t settle on what color I thought her eyes were, though Grandma had said that you couldn’t really tell for a few days, if not weeks.
“What are you going to call her?” Mom asked, stroking her cheek with a gentle finger. She crooned, “Hi there, baby girl, what a sweet little baby girl. You’ll call me ‘Grandma,’ won’t you? Oh, my.”
“I was thinking Millie Jo,” I said, clearing my throat in attempt to force away the lump of emotion. “Joelle, really, but we’ll call her Millie Jo.”
Mom’s eyes flashed to mine and I felt a catch in my heart, reminding me how much I loved her. I whispered, “Was this how you felt?”
She nodded as tears flowed over both of our cheeks. She tipped her forehead to mine and said, “That’s a beautiful name, sweetie.”
“It suits her,” Aunt Jilly agreed.
“Everyone decent in here?” Uncle Justin was asking from the hallway then. “We’re all out here dying to see the baby.”
“Come in,” I told them. From the waist down I was safely tucked under a hospital blanket and Blythe, Dodge, Aunt Ellen and Uncle Justin all crowded into the room to meet Millie Jo.
Chapter Two
March 2004
“Grandma, she won’t stop crying,” I moaned. I wanted to sink into my bed and not stop crying either. My head was aching with exhaustion, a light and insistent pounding that centered behind my right eye. My breasts were probably larger than regulation footballs, my nipples at last begi
nning to adjust to the constant demand upon them. During the first week, they had cracked and bled, and I had cringed every time Millie Jo latched on to nurse. Which was about every fifteen minutes or so.
“Let me walk with her for a minute,” Grandma said calmly, collecting my squalling daughter from my arms. I sank to the rocking chair that was positioned near my dresser. It was three in the morning and a full-scale blizzard was raging outside. It was a late-season snow, especially heavy and wet, and I felt as though it would never be spring again, in both Landon and in my heart. At this moment my entire life was centered around a seemingly never-ending winter in which I was claustrophobically trapped within the house, tethered to a baby who would not stop screaming unless she was eating.
Grandma bobbed gently up and down as she walked the hall; she made a circuit with Millie Jo, coming back into my line of view every ten seconds or so. I felt just this side of insane as I sat motionlessly and studied the slice of light thrown by the overhead fixture in the hallway. My hair was dirty, I had worn the same pair of sweatpants for the past three weeks, my nails were bitten to the quick and my child seemed to hate me. I couldn’t reconcile her unceasing weeping in any other way.
I hate this, I thought, and then instantly cringed from the piercing guilt. No, I don’t mean that. I don’t hate my life. I just hate that I’m so tired and nasty-looking right now. I hate that I can’t think straight and that my baby won’t stop screaming. Why? What’s wrong with her?
I slipped a thumbnail between my teeth before realizing there was nothing left to bite. It took me a moment to realize that Grandma had managed to quiet Millie Jo; the absence of sound pressed on my ears, seeming unfamiliar.
“Is she…” I whispered, hardly daring to breathe as Grandma crept soundlessly back into the bedroom.
She nodded and gently deposited Millie Jo onto the bed, where she had been sleeping with me since the night we’d brought her home from the hospital. I waited on eggshells, anticipating the wailing of the fire engine that was my baby’s vocal cords, but she curled up on her belly like a plump little puppy and blessedly continued sleeping.
Winter at the White Oaks Lodge Page 3