Lucinda's Solution

by Nancy Roman

  “American chocolate cake!” she declared. “Your favorite, Martin,” she added.

  “So it is,” Martin agreed.

  I was not sure whether Martin was being polite or if she had over the months of our friendship discovered a little fact from Martin that I did not know. Of course, I had never asked.

  We had another round of gift-giving. The children were first, and Frank had made each child a most ingenious xylophone, with little tin discs fastened to a wooden frame and wooden sticks with rubber ends to tap the xylophone. The sound was pure - and thankfully soft. Frank quickly showed them Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. They repeated the first line over and over which was as far as their memory would go on this day. After two hundred repetitions or so, we declared it was time for their nap, and laid them down in the Giamettis’ spare bedroom.

  We poured coffee and exchanged our gifts to each other. Frank and Sofia gave us books. A lovely picture book of Italy for Martin, and for me, a book about Miss Helen Keller and Miss Annie Sullivan, her teacher. I could not have been more pleased. We gave Frank a fine pair of leather gloves - “to protect those talented fingers,” said Martin. For Sofia, I had found a beautiful scarf in lavender trimmed with black fringe that I knew would flatter her delicate complexion. She threw it around her shoulders and the effect was startling - she was a glowing Madonna.

  How fortunate we were to have such grand friends. That my parents and my siblings were not part of our celebration was sad, but I knew we would make amends eventually. They were family. That would keep.

  “I love you both!” I cried as we said our goodbyes and carried the sleeping children back upstairs. It was all I could handle to carry three-year-old Charlotte, I had to stop halfway up the flight while Martin took Jonny to his bed, so he could return to take the little girl from me. There was no doubt she was getting bigger and I was getting clumsier.

  “You must be exhausted,” said Martin, as we finally got the children tucked in - in their holiday clothes, as I hadn’t the heart to wake them.

  “I am, but happy too. We’ve had a nice holiday.”

  “We still have gifts to exchange for each other,” said Martin. “Are you too tired?”

  “Too tired for presents? Is there any such thing?”

  So we sat at the kitchen table and each opened another gift.

  I had found for Martin a new shaving set. His was so worn the bristles fell out of the brush faster than leaves in the fall. The new set had a sleek razor crafted in Spain, a soft full brush with an ebony handle, and a sharpening strap of exotic leather.

  “There could not be a finer set,” he exclaimed. “And no better gift than one that is useful and beautiful as well.” He kissed my cheek.

  “And this is for you, Lucinda,” he said, handing me a small package wrapped in delicate silver paper.

  It was a music box. A square box of five inches, with an inlaid design of a sparrow in jade and mother-of-pearl. I opened the box and heard the sweet melancholy notes of Fur Elise.

  “Oh, this is lovely. A lovely box and a lovely song.”

  “I wish there was a song called For Lucinda but Elise is close. Elizabeth and Lucy are from the same root, I think.”

  “I believe you are right,” I said, although I knew it was not true. The gift was truly intended for me. That made it the same.

  “I’m so happy that you like it,” said Martin. “I had no idea what to give you. I am so grateful to Frank. He found this and brought me to the shop to show me. He knew it would be perfect.”

  “It is,” I said, although I knew it was no longer true.

  CHAPTER 43

  In January the children broke a lamp. It was nothing much, except as an indication that things were getting a little crowded in the parlor. We still had the settee pushed into a corner, plus Jonathan’s bed and Charlotte’s crib, which she was outgrowing quickly. Climbing out was how the lamp was broken. And having our books in the kitchen was also a bad idea. I had already paid the library more than $1.00 for books that had “drowned” or “cooked.”

  The lamp upset Martin much more than I. He was feeling oppressed by the cramped quarters and began to speak of moving. We had not saved enough yet for a house, so it would mean moving to a larger apartment.

  But I couldn’t bear the thought of moving away from Frank and Sofia. Even the funny old Mr. and Mrs. Battle had become dear to me. And though I was not in close friendships with our other neighbors, I enjoyed exchanging pleasantries and hearing about their days. Pearl Street was home to me now, though I had lived here just a year.

  I remembered what Constance had said about knowing what you want and standing firm.

  I was about to give it a try.

  We had dinner on a Thursday night with Frank and Sofia. We ate corned beef and boiled potatoes and carrots. The kitchen was aromatic and steamy from all the boiling I had done, but that just made it cozier. We had our coffee, and I made it particularly strong. I wanted to add whiskey but now that Prohibition was the order of the day, we kept what little we had, and saved our liquor for special occasions. In any event, I was now seven months along, and though I wished for a brace for my nerves, I had to make due with a large mug of black coffee. I stirred in a generous spoon of sugar, although I usually did not sweeten my coffee.

  “I have a serious proposition to make,” I announced.

  “Oh really?” laughed Martin, believing I was joking.

  “Yes, really. Please listen.”

  All stopped from their drinks and their conversation and turned to me.

  “Our apartment is too small. Martin feels we should move,” I said. Sofia and Frank shook their heads.

  “Oh no!” cried Sofia. “You cannot leave us!”

  “I agree,” I said. “But there is a solution. You have had no luck in almost a year with renting your bedroom. It is still empty and your full rent is high. I know you work long hours, Sofia, in order to make ends meet. And Frank works on his instruments even when he is unwell. So here is the solution. We switch. Martin and I and the children will move into your apartment and you come up here and live in this one. Why we will hardly know the difference - we all spend our days in both places anyway.”

  Frank and Martin regarded each other. Sofia was already jumping up and crying.

  “Oh let’s do it! Please let’s do it.”

  Martin frowned. “I’m not sure,” he said.

  “Why ever not?” I asked.

  “Well, for one thing, it would be Mr. Battle’s decision.”

  Sofia turned to him. “Mr. Battle knows we are both good tenants. He would not want to lose us. Besides, he likes me very much. I know he would miss my backside when he watches me climb the staircase.”

  “My God, Sofia!” said Frank, although he could not stay serious and started to laugh.

  And we all began to roar.

  “Two flights now!” I said to Sofia, although I do not know where I found the nerve to be so audacious. “He will be in heaven!”

  And it was decided. A singular occasion. The women decided.

  As Sofia predicted, Mr. Battle agreed. She was our emissary, explaining that they needed a less expensive rent, and that we needed larger living quarters. As soon as the new leases were signed - which happened within three days, we moved. By the following Sunday we had made multiple trips up and down the stairs.

  Frank and I did not exactly pull our weight. He was in a bad way again with severe headaches, and I was too awkward to be of much use. So the majority of the work fell to Martin and Sofia, but they stayed in good spirits, laughing at their own awkwardness as they lugged bedding and chairs back and forth.

  “You know,” said Martin, “Maybe we should have just exchanged furniture as well as apartments and just carried along our clothing.”

  “Maybe we sho
uld have exchanged clothing too,” said Sofia.

  In the end, they left the extra bed in the Giamettis’ spare room, as Charlotte could use it. And although they moved the chairs, they left the kitchen tables as they were. Neither of us had any particular attachment to the tables, and in any event, they didn’t really match any of the chairs anyway, and we ate together most of the time. So it was settled.

  I was responsible for clothing. The simplest way in my condition was to carry a small basket of clothes on each trip. The stairs grew much and I made a game of having Jonathan lower the basket down on a rope. He found this enormously entertaining, and filled the basket with our clothes to bring down, and on my end, I replaced those clothes with the Giamettis’ and Jonathan hoisted it back up. Charlotte became jealous so we let her fill the baskets with her playthings and take a turn letting down the haul.

  That night, in our old bed in our new bedroom, the baby inside me was restless from all the activity. The little soul kicked and kicked.

  I took Martin’s hand and placed it on my abdomen.

  “Do you want to feel your baby dancing the jig?” I asked playfully.

  He took his hand away. Silence.

  I rose on my elbow and faced him.

  “This baby, that is your baby and my baby, no matter how you feel… this baby had nothing to do with whether or not you believe we have sinned.”

  “I know. I’m sorry,” he said.

  He cautiously placed his hand on my round body. But the baby would not kick.

  I sighed and rolled to my side, my back turned to my husband.

  CHAPTER 44

  My visit to Dr. Sarah Howell went well. She thought I was in fine form and the baby would arrive in late February. She remarked on how much more comfortable I seemed, how less anxious.

  “I think I am just getting used to it,” I said.

  “That happens. And it’s a good thing.”

  She warned me that from this point I should have absolutely no more alcohol. “Of course, with the new law, none of us drink anymore anyway,” she said with a wink. Which is very much how everyone in the country was feeling, that I could see. She told me that I should not take any long trips, and I told her my parents lived in Massachusetts. She told me “Let them come to you,” which was marvelous advice for a number of reasons.

  She described what it feels like when the water breaks and I begin labor. It sounded awful, but she assured me it was not. She had her niece give me a card with two telephone numbers. “When all this happens, you have someone call up these numbers, and I will come. You will be just fine, but I’ll come and make sure. Won’t that feel good?” she asked. I nodded agreement, though with some skepticism.

  “If anything - anything - does not feel right to you, then you go directly to the hospital and I will meet you there. If you must go, try to get to New Haven Hospital where the Yale medical students train. They recognize my practice there. Other hospitals … well, it is more difficult for them to acknowledge a female physician. So New Haven, all right?”

  “Yes, I understand. But how would I know if something is not right? I have no experience in this matter.”

  “Because you have a keen mind, Lucinda Blaisdell. Trust your judgment.”

  I had not brought Jonathan and Charlotte with me, and she asked after them. I said they were staying with a beloved friend for the afternoon, as Frank was feeling a little better and he was minding them for me.

  “Sometime in February,” said Dr. Howell. “Maybe six weeks. Perhaps just five. And there will another Blaisdell in the world. Get ready.”

  “How in the world do I do that?” I asked.

  “Oh you cannot,” she laughed. “So get ready to be surprised.”

  On Saturday, Sofia brought me some sweet infant clothing that she had made. She had knitted little caps and sweaters, and sewn beautiful gowns with embroidered hems.

  I sat with my tea and the gifts in my lap, and I wept.

  “Oh don’t cry. You need at least a start.”

  “There are a few boxes in the cellar that Catherine stored away. I have been meaning to go down there and see what there is that may still be serviceable. But it’s so difficult. I think of her folding all those little things in anticipation of her own next baby.”

  She patted my hand. “Let’s bring the children up to Frank. Then I’ll go with you. We will look together.”

  But when in the cold cellar and we opened the first box, it was Sofia who began to cry.

  “So many pretty things. Like a little prince, your Jonathan was. And here I am, barren as an old woman. I’ll never dress a child in such beautiful clothes.”

  “Oh Sofia,” I cried. “I’m so sorry. We’ll stop. We’ll go back upstairs.”

  She made no move to leave. Instead, she sat on the hobby horse. Her frame was so small, she looked quite perfect on the little horse. She began to rock slowly. I sat by her on a trunk.

  “It’s not your fault, Lucinda. I’m just sad today,” she said after a time.

  “Maybe you will still have a child. It’s not too late.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t think so. There seems to be nothing inside me. I tried so hard - everything that all the women in Calabria used to do. And now Frank is so very sick.”

  “He looks to be getting better every day.”

  “No. I don‘t know. … maybe.”

  We sat for a while, Sofia with her thoughts, and me, trying to imagine what her life has been.

  “What was it like back in Italy?” I asked. “Do you miss it?”

  “I miss some things,” she said. “In my town in Calabria, it is very beautiful. And not so cold in the winter. It is very poor, however. Strange, though… even the poorest people in my village have chickens, have a garden. I am not so poor here as I was in Calabria, but where is my garden?”

  “It’s the hard part about living in the city.” I took her hand. “Do you know?… I have a friend back in Springfield. He always wanted a garden. And now he has a whole farm! Sometimes you get your wishes.”

  “Oh, how fortunate. I would like to see that farm someday.”

  “I will go with you. We will pick beans and tomatoes and peppers and you can cook us something wonderful.”

  She smiled a bit at last.

  “Why did you want to come to America and marry Frank?” I asked.

  “Want? What is want? My father and his father decided.”

  “You had no say?”

  “Did you?” she asked, giving me a hard look.

  “In a way. I could have refused. But I chose to do it.”

  “Ah yes. To choose. I suppose I could also have refused. But back home… if I had refused, then no one would ever marry me. No husband. And no friends either. Not in Calabria. Not in all of Italy, I think. To disobey your father!”

  She rocked a little more on the painted horse.

  “But it is not so bad. Frank is a nice man. He is kind to me.”

  “That’s true,” I agreed. I thought to myself, Martin is as well. But is that enough?

  “I had a sweetheart back in Calabria,” she said, surprising me greatly.

  “Oh Sofie dear! Did he wish to marry you? Did you wish to marry him?”

  “Oh yes! We were very much in love. He was older than I - a widower. So it was like your Martin.”

  Not if being in love was the measurement, I thought.

  Sofia continued. “Ernesto was a fine man. He was not handsome the way that Frank is, but he was handsome to me. But Ernesto and my father were enemies. They had argued many years before over some small thing, some silly game. Even when Ernesto’s wife died - in childbirth - why do children mark our lives so? - my father would not go to the church to pay his respects. And then when I became a woman and Ernesto admired me
, my father would not hear of it. Ernesto was willing to forgive - had forgiven, but not my Papa. And Ernesto would have been a fine match, even though he was near my father’s age. He was strong and healthy. And not poor.”

  “Do you know what became of him?”

  She laughed. It felt so good to hear her regain her natural good spirits.

  “He married a stout widow with four lazy children! Poor Ernesto!”

  And we went back upstairs to relieve poor Frank of his burden of minding two active children. Sofia insisted we take the box we had opened. “Such nice things,” she said, “I’ll wash them for you and they will be perfect.”

  CHAPTER 45

  I was so large by February I could hardly walk without swaying from side to side like the elephant we had seen in the zoo. The children thought it uproariously funny.

  “Mama, you dance a big waltz when you make dinner!” said Jonathan.

  We had a bit of a thaw at the beginning of the month, and the warm sun beckoned me. I got the children into their coats and we made our way - slowly - to the park.

  I had hoped that Constance would be there, and was gratified to see her sitting on our bench while Sadie tried unsuccessfully to jump rope.

  “I fear my Sadie will never run away and join the circus!” she called as she saw me approach.

  “I’ve missed you so!” I said, giving Constance a kiss. “The hardest part of winter is the isolation.”

  It is a strange but true phenomenon that the first thing you do when reunited with a friend is to sit companionably in silence. Catching up on the news can be saved for later. First, you simply want to feel their presence and take in the comforting sight of a loved one at your side.