“But I’m not in the city, so a phone call would be the fastest way.”
“One time the doctor relayed the news to a woman over the telephone that she was not with child. It must have been a bad line because she thought he said she was with child and she told her entire family and had a big celebration. It wasn’t until two weeks later at a follow-up appointment that they realized there had been a miscommunication. The doctor has insisted on speaking in person or in writing ever since.”
“But I’m staying at the Manor in Montauk; they have a very good phone line.”
She shook her head.
“What about a telegram?”
“There is still room for error. It seems to me that your body is showing all the signs of a pregnancy; the doctor even told you that. Just be patient and you’ll get the letter in the mail in a week or so.”
“But could you at least ask him, see if he’ll make an exception?” I pleaded, desperate to know as soon as possible so I could tell Thomas.
“He won’t allow it,” she said. “Be on the lookout for the mailman. I’ll make sure he sends it out as soon as he gets the results.”
It would kill me to wait another week to share the news with Thomas. But more than that, I was worried that the letter would get into the wrong hands and Harry might somehow find out.
* * *
This time the large doors of 820 Eighth Avenue didn’t seem quite so intimidating. On impulse, I had decided to visit Mr. Rosen at his office while Dolly stopped at her factory, and when I arrived I was escorted straight up to see him. He had a modest office with a desk piled high with papers, a window looking west. His head was down and he was typing furiously. I knocked gently on the open door.
“Yes,” he said, still typing, not looking up.
“I hope I’m not disturbing you.”
He looked up and smiled. “Beatrice! What a pleasant surprise.” He cleared a chair of newspapers and gestured for me to sit down.
“I was in the city and I thought I’d pay a visit before my train back to Montauk.”
“I’m so glad you did. You know your column has been very well received. My publisher is happy with the response.”
“I’ve been surprised anyone would want to read it.”
“We’ve had a lot of letters commending the writing and the insight.”
An unfamiliar flutter of shock and pride ran through me.
“Did you bring me something else to read?”
“Sorry.” I shook my head.
“Too bad,” he said. “We like the drama that’s going on out there about the fundraising.”
I unfastened my pocketbook and took out the article I’d written after Winthrop’s party about greedy investors wanting to change the landscape of Montauk. It was rough and I hadn’t planned to submit it, at least not without rewriting. I unfolded it and skimmed what I’d written, not really sure if it made sense, but out of obligation to present something I held it out toward him.
“I guess I have this.”
He took it from me and read it while I sat awkwardly, trying not to shift in my chair. It felt like it took him forever. I began to feel queasy.
“That’s what I like about you,” he said finally, placing it on his desk next to his typewriter. “You capture how people connect or rather how they don’t, with all their opposing motivations, all wrapped up in that quaint little town. It’s really quite something.”
It felt nice to be good at something, but I worried about how Harry would react if he ever found out I was behind the pen name.
“You don’t think it’s too much?” I asked.
“Well, you’ll rattle the potential investors with this, of course, but that’s what works. You don’t beat around the bush; you don’t let those rich folk scare you.”
It was as if he were speaking about someone else. I’d always been scared of everyone and everything: scared if I did the wrong thing, said the wrong thing, scared of losing the people closest to me, of being all alone in this world. And yet I’d been knocking down every fear I’d confronted since I’d set foot in Montauk, and now I was almost definitely with child, I was going to have a baby that couldn’t possibly be my husband’s. In that moment I felt fearless.
32
Back in Montauk I waited. I tried to act normal. Every afternoon I walked down to the post office just as the train pulled in to deliver the mail. Nothing. I spent my days avoiding people, even Thomas. I made excuses about being busy at the Manor. It didn’t seem right to tell him anything until I had official news from the doctor; I didn’t want to get his hopes up or, worse, to make him panic.
And I kept having the same dream again and again. It always started walking out to the vegetable garden with a bucket and trowel to dig up some carrots and potatoes for dinner; it was autumn and chilly up on the hill. The sky quickly changed from a cool blue to a chilling yellow-grey as I moved farther away from the house and across the grass, as if a downpour were on the horizon. I hurried, gardening tools in the bucket in one hand, my other hand holding my protruding belly. But when I got there I was lost. I stood in the spot where the vegetable garden had always been, next to the sheds and directly across from the fog tower, and yet where the vegetable garden should have been, and had always been, there was the bird cemetery—a mound of dirt with a painted wooden sign that read “Geese” in Thomas’s large, careful lettering. To the right were two crosses made from scraps of wood. One read “Bluey” and the other “Murphy,” the former lighthouse dogs.
I circled the mass gravesite. It had always been farther away from the house, a real long walk to get to, a place I’d avoided. But the garden was where I’d spent many afternoons planting and weeding and chasing off the birds. I knew I wasn’t going crazy; it had always been there. I got down to my knees and began to dig before the rain started. It took a while before I reached something that resembled potatoes, but they were shriveled and rotten; some were devoured by maggots, small hard and black, eaten through or mushy to touch.
The atmosphere grew heavier and the sky turned a deeper shade of grey. I dug some more, frantically, finding only the same hideous things. I threw them down the hill toward the cliffs. I wanted them to roll away into the ocean.
The rain started to come down in big, fat drops, slowly at first with a heaviness in the air. The heavens were about to open. I wiped a drop from my brow with the back of my hand and it was red, bloodred. The drops landed with scarlet splats on my arms. I looked up to the sky; mangled geese circled above, blood dripping from their wide severed wings, their limp hanging necks, their gashed breasts. Suddenly the sky was full of them, hundreds of geese flying above me only to reveal themselves as deathly and dripping when they got close. I ran back to the house, the thick, slick mud splashing up my legs. Wet, black dirt and red, bloody rain mixing together, forming a messy, earthy layer on my skin.
I’d wake up sweating and petrified and pull back the covers and check the white sheets. There’d be nothing and I’d rush to the bathroom and check again, just to be sure that there had been no bleeding. And then I’d go back to bed, my hand on my still flat stomach. I’d lie there until the sun came up and I’d swear that I wouldn’t tell him, not yet, not until I was absolutely sure.
* * *
One morning I found Thomas on the pier behind the lighthouse fishing. It was early, before eight o’clock, and the air was grey and hazy and chilled. You couldn’t see more than fifty feet out in any direction. I didn’t understand fishing in those conditions when you could barely see the water. It felt like a losing game. After having that dream one too many nights, I had to see him. I had to make sure I wasn’t losing my mind. To remind myself of what we still had.
It had been several days since we’d spent time together and I sensed he might be upset with me, confused, maybe even angry, with no explanation for my sudden absence from what had become our customary routine. He might harden himself against me, expecting news that I’d changed my mind about not returning to the
city with Harry. He must have heard me walking along the creaky pier, but he didn’t stop what he was doing—pulling gently at the fishing rod, letting the line get taut, then slacken, letting the bait move, then settle, a dance, a game, with no idea if anyone or anything was playing.
I stood behind him and put my hand on his back.
“I’ve missed you,” I said.
“Have you?” he said flatly, without turning around. He was angry with me, understandably.
“I have missed you, my love. I’m sorry I couldn’t get away until now; it’s been so busy.” My words sounded like Harry’s words and I hated myself for lying.
“Just a minute,” he said, stepping away from me, reeling the bait and floater all the way in. “Damn thing just got his breakfast,” he said, holding the empty hook in his hand, reaching down into a jar and pulling out a small, wriggling fish the size of his finger and piercing the hook through its body. “Watch out,” he said as he swung the bait and hook out into the ocean.
I stepped back and leaned against the railing.
“The stage was delivered,” I said.
“I know,” he said, not taking his eyes off the nothingness in front of us.
“They’re going to set it up. I still can’t believe you got everyone to pitch in on that.”
He seemed distracted or at least he was acting that way to let me know he was hurt. Just a few more days, I thought, then I could explain everything; he’d trust me again when he knew what I’d been hiding and that I’d just been trying to protect him. He’d understand.
He secured his rod in the holder, then reached into a bucket by his feet and took out a striper. It was medium sized and still alive, so he whacked its head on the gutting table that jutted out from the pier, then turned his back and began to gut the fish right there in front of me, throwing the unwanted parts into the ocean and causing a swarm of gulls to dive into the water. The whole thing made me sick and the salty, briny smell made me nauseous.
“It looks like you’re busy,” I said. “I’ll try to get back as soon as I can.”
“Sounds good,” he said, not looking up.
I walked away disappointed, crushed. I had hoped seeing him would reassure us both and put an end to this recurring horrible dream.
“Bea,” he called before I reached the end of the pier. I walked back to where he was. “What’s going on with you?” he asked. “Tell me the truth.”
I looked into his eyes and implored him to trust me, to give me just a little more time. “There is something, but I can’t talk about it. Just give me another day or so and I promise I’ll tell you. Everything will be okay; please believe me.” I stood on my tiptoes and kissed him. I wanted to stay and tell him, but I forced myself to turn and walk away and go back to the car where George was waiting for me.
* * *
The masquerade charity ball would take place in four days. Dolly and I set up a table in the Manor lobby displaying artwork from the local schoolchildren and their wish lists. Dolly had come through on her promise to bring a photographer friend to Montauk to take a picture of the kids and she got that picture featured again in The East Hampton Star. I had written again about the developing charity efforts for Mr. Rosen and the more we worked to promote it, the more the donations came in, but we needed more to make a significant difference at the school. I was sitting at the table under a big sign Dolly and I had made that showed how much we had raised and how much we still needed. If someone manned the table people were more likely to give, and I didn’t mind.
Jeanie came down the stairs in her tennis clothes, stared at the table and grimaced. She walked straight past and then turned on her heel and came back.
“Nice work, Beatrice,” Jeanie said, running her hand along the edge of the sign. “We really needed some worker bees to get on board with this charity effort; it’s just been wonderful having you assist me on the committee, just lovely.”
“Oh,” I said, flustered though annoyed with myself for feeling this way. Was she even on this committee anymore? I wondered. She wasn’t; I was sure it had been just me, Clarissa and Dolly had joined later, but what did it matter? As long as we did good work, who cared if she thought she was in on it? I didn’t quite know how to speak to her. First she insulted me and spread rumors about me in Dolly’s store, then she glared at me as if she were going to attack at Winthrop’s party and here she was talking to me in this insipid way.
She went on. “It’s nice because, yes, we do need people with experience in these kinds of things, the brains behind the effort, people who really know what they are doing, those who’ve been running society events and charitable work for years for much bigger charities, but it’s also important to just have workers, who are willing to do things like this.” She motioned to the pamphlets and the sign we’d made. “You know, sit at the table, wait for donations, make signs. It’s grand.”
Was this about Winthrop asking me to work with him on the March of Dimes? I wondered; it was as if she was jealous that he’d asked me and not her, not that I was even considering it. I shook my head to myself and forced myself not to lash out at her for belittling me after all the work I’d put into this. Summer was almost over; I didn’t need to be at war with Jeanie. I had enough to deal with. I organized some pamphlets on the table, willing her to walk away.
“But don’t sit in here all day, Beatrice; it’s lovely outside, a nice breeze. Good for a game of tennis.”
“I’m just doing this for another hour or so; then someone else will take over,” I said, not looking up.
“Wonderful.” She smiled smugly. “You do get out and get fresh air quite a bit, don’t you, up at the lighthouse?”
Just hearing the words come out of Jeanie’s mouth made me freeze for a second; then I forced my hands to shuffle some papers and finally allowed my eyes to meet hers.
“It’s beautiful up there,” I said. “The best view of Montauk.”
She nodded, not taking her eyes off mine. The blood pulsed at my fingertips and I tried to breathe normally. I thought I had been careful.
“I’ve never been up there,” she said. “Maybe you could take me sometime, since you know it so well by now.”
“There are some nice walking trails.”
“I’m sure there are. So, think about it,” she said, leaning toward me. Even from behind the table I could smell the hot coffee on her breath. “Maybe we can come up with some sort of arrangement.” The corner of her lip curled into a self-satisfied grin.
As soon as she walked away I let out a huge sigh and instinctively, protectively, rubbed my stomach. I looked around to see if anyone had witnessed the conversation, but only the Manor workers were around and no one seemed to be paying attention. She knew something, maybe not everything, but she was definitely on to me. What kind of arrangement could she possibly mean? Suddenly a wave of nausea came over me and I thought I might be sick. I got up and walked quickly to the bathrooms next to the front desk and made it just in time.
This was normal, I had to remind myself, many women get ill in the first few weeks of pregnancy, so it was a good sign. My brow was sweating and I vomited again. Suddenly I felt filled with fear. The baby, as much as I already loved and wanted it, scared me because it created a deadline. I had to find out soon; I had to get confirmation. If Jeanie was going to threaten me or blackmail me or maybe even tell Harry that I’d been going up to the lighthouse, then I needed a plan. I needed to tell Thomas. Even if Jeanie thought she knew something she would dig and dig until she found out everything she could. I had to get her to keep her mouth shut for a little bit longer, until the ball was over, just through Labor Day, when the city folk would pack up to restart their lives in the city for the fall. I had to find out what she could possibly want from me now, and I had to find out fast.
33
It was the Thursday before the ball, the Thursday before Labor Day weekend, the last official weekend of the summer.
It had been a week and a half and still the
letter had not arrived. Dolly knocked on my door and sneaked in like some secret detective.
“Any news?”
“Nothing yet,” I said. “But I’m convinced it will come in the mail today. I’m going to the post office again this afternoon. I have a feeling that it’s today.”
I wanted her to be my friend no matter what, to be excited about the baby. She said the news was inspiring her to launch the baby bonnet line she’d been toying with, she even talked about having the baby be in the advertisements, but these assumptions all came with expectations. She expected me to do as she would, to tell Harry the baby was his.
* * *
When I arrived at the post office Patrick was leaving with a delivery.
“Oh, hi there, Beatrice,” he said. “This is my colleague Samuel.” He nodded to a postal worker also heading out.
“A pleasure,” I said. “Say, are you two excited about the charity ball?”
“I sure am,” Samuel said, grinning. “And my wife cannot stop talking about it.”
“I’m so glad,” I said. “We’ve been working on making it a really grand party. Can’t wait to see the kids perform.”
“The boys are nervous,” Patrick said. “They will do the craziest thing in front of anyone—well, you know,” he said, nodding to me. “They’ll chase a pig into a swimming pool in front of a crowd of strangers, but they are nervous about singing in front of you fancy folk.”
“Well, tell them we are very excited to see them sing.”
“Will do,” he said, and they headed out the door.
There was indeed a letter. I didn’t even look, just opened my handbag and slotted it inside. It took all the restraint I had to walk, not run, back to the Manor. Everything that had seemed so terrifying before—social disgrace, money problems, Harry finding out—none of that mattered anymore. The future seemed clear now; it was as if I knew how it would all play out. I could see it like a picture show playing in my mind. I walked into the lobby, and when I got halfway up the staircase and out of view of any Manor guests I ran the rest of the way to my room, locked the door and sat on the bed. I’m not going back, I thought. I’m staying here in Montauk. I’m giving up my old life and building a new one. Thomas and I would have a child together. I took out the letter and looked at it for the first time, but with a sinking feeling in my stomach I recognized the familiar writing. It wasn’t from the doctor at all. I slid my finger under the white envelope seal and took out a single folded piece of paper. Out fell a check for $2.30 from Mr. Rosen. I put it in my jewelry box with the others.
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