Lucinda's Solution

by Nancy Roman

  “No!” I cried. “I can’t be Catherine no matter how hard I try. And I don’t want this child to have to try. She is her own person! She is not Catherine!”

  He took his hand from the baby. There were tears in his eyes.

  “Oh, Lucinda. I’m so sorry. I don’t want to hurt you. I’d never want to hurt you.”

  “I know you don’t want to,” I replied, and then added very softly, as Dr. Howell had returned and was standing in the doorway with Sofia and Frank, who had our children by the hand, “But you always do.”

  “Please, Lucinda, name this child whatever you wish, and I will love her as her own being.”

  “Come in, everyone!” I said. “Charlotte, Jonny… come here and meet your new little sister.”

  Sofia nudged them forward. They seemed a little frightened, the way they were in the park this fall when a small barking dog approached them. I tried very hard not to look the same way. Pretense. Thank God for it. “She won’t bite you,” I said. “Look, she’s sleeping, I think.”

  “She’s very pink,” said Charlotte.

  “She looks sticky,” said Jonathan.

  “Yes, she’s both of those, but Dr. Howell says that this is how all new babies look. And that she will get prettier and prettier every minute.”

  “Pretty? Oh my, she takes my breath away!” cried Sofia.

  “Come and sit on the bed and hold her,” I said.

  “For a minute only,” said Dr. Howell to me, “because within that minute you will realize that you are past exhaustion.”

  Sofia sat beside me and I put the baby in her arms. She wept, but not the tears of grief and loss she shed down in the cellar a few weeks before. Her tears were those of pure joy.

  “Her name is Annie Sullivan Blaisdell,” I said.

  Martin looked at me in surprise, but there was acceptance there.

  “What a marvelous name,” said Frank. “I love you, Lucinda, and I love you, Annie Sullivan Blaisdell.”

  “I love you, Annie Sullivan Blaisdell,” said Sofia.

  “I love you, Annie Suvvan,” said Charlotte.

  And around the room, each person in turn expressed their love for this small child, named for a woman who changed the world because she taught a child who changed the world.

  CHAPTER 47

  Annie was hungry every moment of the day. The older children were jealous every moment of the day. I was bone-weary every moment of the day. How preposterous it now seemed that a year ago I had thought that minding two children had been difficult. Two children were so easy. Two children, who, when I was at the end of my fragile patience, I could occasionally hand to their father. Two children who slept at night and let me sleep.

  If I had been unprepared for motherhood a year ago, I was completely unskilled and unsuitable for a newborn infant. It took an hour to nurse Annie, as she plodded along, half asleep, and half-heartedly suckling at my breast. When she finally gave up, exhausted, she slept poorly, and it seems like it was only minutes until she was hungry again. She wailed for hours on end. Normal, everyone agreed. Normal.

  How do new mothers not throw themselves in front of a train?

  I had two salvations. The first was Annie herself. I marveled at the very miracle of her existence. Fussy, yes. But she would stop in her ineffective attempts to nurse and regard me. You are everything, she would say with those round blue eyes. You are my whole world.

  My second savior was Frank. Martin was working longer hours than ever. He told me with suppressed excitement that his project might change aviation. It was gratifying to see him optimistic about the future after grieving for so long - although I knew objectively that it had not really been so long. A year for the love of your life is a short span of mourning, after all. But nonetheless, it cheered me to see him show the possibility of happiness, and as a result, I was hesitant to demand more of him at home. He loved all his children, without a doubt, but he was a man whose identity was attached to his labor. I understood this. I had lived in my father’s house for seventeen years, and worked by his side for five.

  And Sofia. How she loved the children! And they responded to her. She allayed the fears that filled Charlotte in her new role as middle child. “I want to be the baby,” Charlotte would cry, and it was Sofia who would tell her all about the marvelous privileges she had as big sister - though for the life of me, I could not see an advantage for poor Charlotte. But Sofia would give her special responsibilities, like setting the table, and it was a very good thing indeed our dishes were not priceless. Sofia also made several beautiful dresses for Charlotte, explaining to the little girl that the infant Annie could not be trusted to wear something so nice, as she was sure to spit up on the fine lace. And Sofia had ribbons for Charlotte’s hair, and best of all, she made a sweet baby doll for Charlotte that resembled Annie, and when I fed Annie, Charlotte would put the doll to her breast and say “Try harder, darling.”

  But Sofia was also advancing at her work. At the undergarment factory, it didn’t take them long to see what a talented seamstress Sofia was. And well-organized, and not afraid to take responsibility, which was very unusual in the immigrant women that they were inclined to hire, who were almost always reluctant to stand out. Sofia had received a significant promotion and increase in her wages, so financially the Giamettis were benefiting, but she worked hard, and returned home late and weary.

  So it fell to Frank to save me. And he did.

  He had no experience with children, other than the last few months with Charlotte and Jonathan. But he was so natural, so calm. He spoke quietly at all times. I never heard him raise his voice, and yet the children listened to him.

  He came down to our apartment every morning about nine for just a half hour, so I could get myself washed and dressed. If Annie was fussy, which was often, he held her on his shoulder, performing some soft little dance to quiet her. At the same time, he supervised the older children’s breakfast, serving them whatever I had left for him on the stove, oatmeal or eggs with potatoes. I usually made enough for him to eat as well, and he would stand at the stove, eating right out of the pan, with the baby on his shoulder.

  I think I would have been in my nightdress until noon if he did not provide me with that half-hour.

  Frank would go back to work repairing his instruments until mid-afternoon. Then he would reappear and give me another hour, and sometimes longer. I’d nurse Annie just before he arrived, and with luck, she would be asleep in her crib by my bed. Frank would put Charlotte down for her own nap, and then read or play some quiet game with Jonathan, who most days refused to nap. I had no such qualms. I slept.

  I was usually awakened by the baby, or by the still-sleepy Charlotte crawling into my bed for a cuddle. And Jonathan of course, determined not to be left out.

  Frank would lean in from the doorway, and smile at me and my brood. “See you later,” he’d say, and take his leave.

  He saved me. And the cost to him was significant, because he had not recovered from his injuries. His headaches had not diminished. Many days he was so ill, he could not eat or sleep. He would not return to his apartment to work on his violins. I found on one occasion when I went to hang laundry, that he had only made it up a few stairs, where he sat with his head in his hands, hoping for the pain to pass.

  But he came. He never complained and never showed the children anything but his sweet genial demeanor. I never told Martin how ill Frank seemed. I knew that Martin would not trust Frank with the children. But I had no such worry. No matter how Frank may have suffered, I knew in my soul that he would never fail the children. So I slept.

  Fortunately for myself and for poor Frank, and indeed, for everyone in the building not hard of hearing, Annie eventually left behind her colicky stage and grew more contented. By May, I was the mother of three happy children, and a woman who once in a while stay
ed awake through dinner.

  Dr. Howell stopped by once to confirm that the baby was progressing well, and I suspect to determine whether or not I had collapsed from nervous exhaustion. Annie was already settling in when the doctor stopped by, and remarkably my dress was clean and my hair brushed, and so I believed I passed the inspection properly. She seemed to ignore the fact that Jonathan was barefoot and that I had dishes in the sink.

  “It will be easier before you know it,” said Dr. Howell. “Your little boy will perhaps be starting school in the fall?”

  “Yes!” Jonathan shouted. “I am going to be five, and I will go to school. Mama is going with me.”

  This surprised me.

  “No, sweetheart,” I gently corrected, “you will go to school with the other children who are five. Mama will stay home with Charlotte and Annie.”

  “But you say all the time you want to go to school. You say so to Zio Frank. You can go to school with me.”

  Dr. Howell smiled at him and regarded me with a questioning look. “Children hear everything,” she said. “And mostly they get it right.”

  “Not this time. School may have been in my future before I became a mother to three.”

  “You’re very young. You will still be young when they are on their own.”

  “No mother of three is young.”

  She laughed. “Well, I do believe you have a point.”

  Dr. Howell’s other mission was to bring me the name and address of a doctor who might be able to help Frank. Given the throes of childbirth, I hardly even remembered asking her, but she had not forgotten. The doctor’s name was Leonard Crane, and he practiced in Bridgeport. He had spent the years since 1918 gathering information and studying the late effects of poison gas on the soldiers coming back from the Great War. He was especially interested, according to Dr. Howell, in the cases of soldiers whose original exposure was not considered severe, but were now suffering badly.

  “Frank still has good days,” I told her, “but he is not at all well lately. He has tried to hide it, but I see how difficult it is for him to disguise his pain.”

  “Get him to Dr. Crane as soon as you can,” she advised.

  I didn’t wait. As soon as Dr. Howell had taken leave, I grabbed the baby and ran up the stairs, with the two other children following behind.

  I knocked on the door, but entered before he could answer.

  Frank was not in his usual chair in the kitchen. He was in bed, and although it was inappropriate for me to enter, I did so regardless. I sat gently on the bed. Charlotte and Jonathan stood near.

  “Frank, dear,” I said, “are you asleep?”

  Frank opened his eyes and saw the children and winked at them.

  “Now isn’t that a silly question?” he asked. “If I were asleep, how would I ever answer?”

  They giggled. “Very silly,” said Charlotte.

  I could see the strain on his face, and I loved him all the more for keeping it from the children.

  “I have good news!” I said.

  “Another baby?” asked Frank, and I laughed so hard the baby spit up a bit on my shoulder.

  “No Frank, you will not have another child to tend anytime soon. Dr. Howell was just here and she knows of a good doctor who is treating soldiers like you.”

  “Italians?” he asked.

  “Now who is being silly? Soldiers who were gassed and are still suffering. The doctor is in Bridgeport and I will use Mr. Battle’s telephone to arrange a visit.”

  “I can’t go to Bridgeport. It is too far.”

  “It is a short train ride.”

  “I cannot go. I can’t do it alone and Sofia must go to her job.”

  “Sofia will make the time, and if she cannot, I will go with you myself. I’ll take all the children if necessary. They love the train.” I added, “But I’m sure Sofia will go.”

  He sat up and sat next to me. He was wearing his trousers but only an undershirt. I pretended not to notice. I pretended that it was fine that we should be sitting together on his bed. That we were so close I could detect the fine lines around his eyes, the warmth of his hand placed so near to mine.

  “I don’t want Sofia to know,” he said. “Come with me, and we will not burden Sofia until we have some understanding of my health and what the doctor may be able to accomplish.”

  I didn’t know how we could do this. Because, as Dr. Howell had just recounted, the children hear everything. And tell everything. How could I ever keep this a secret?

  And yet I said, “Of course. I promise.”

  CHAPTER 48

  I thought about this dilemma for three days. I wanted to call Dr. Crane immediately but I had to make sure I had a plan, so I needed to find a solution to the problem of accompanying Frank to Bridgeport without the children. It was bad enough that they had heard the discussion - a train ride and doctor’s visit would be more secrets than their little heads could bear.

  Mrs. Battle was too old, and perhaps not sober enough, to handle three children for more than an hour or so. Furthermore, she was more likely to reveal our visit than the children, as she discussed everyone with everyone else, usually to my delight.

  I considered my mother. Annie was nearly two months old, and my mother had not seen her as yet. She was planning to come and visit in June, when I had planned a birthday celebration for Jonathan as well as a christening. I could ask her to come sooner. Jonathan would be jubilant that he could have his fifth birthday party a bit early.

  But I could not. As much as my mother would love to see all the children, and would want to support me in my efforts to help Frank, she would not be able to condone keeping a secret from Martin. I gave serious consideration to confiding in Martin despite Frank’s wishes. If I could tell Martin, we still may be able to keep Sofia uninvolved until we had some definite answers. I could stay home with the children and Martin could take Frank to Bridgeport.

  I indirectly proposed the idea to Frank, asking him whether he would be more comfortable seeing the doctor with a man rather than with me. He was adamant that I should go with him.

  “You have put this plan before me, and the only way for it to stay confidential is if goes no further than the two of us,” he stated. “Besides,” he added quietly, “I need you with me.”

  As a last resort, I turned to Constance. She believed that women were better decision-makers than men, and strong enough to handle any situation on our own. So three days after my visit from Dr. Howell, on a warm sunny day, I dressed the children for a romp in the park and put little Annie in the pram. Charlotte was distraught over giving up her coveted ride in the carriage. I coerced her with the promise of gelato, and she stifled her tears and walked alongside the carriage with Jonathan.

  I was disappointed that Constance wasn’t there. I bought Jonathan and Charlotte their ice cream and set them on the grass to eat it as neatly as was possible, which caused them to be extremely slow, and so their treats melted and both children were sticky, deplorable messes before long. I told myself that it was no tragedy; I could clean them up by dampening one of Annie’s extra diapers in the fountain. But no use for that now. I would wait until they were thoroughly unrecognizable - and finished.

  Annie was content - asleep in the shade in her pram. She had decided to be an angel lately, and for that, I was thankful.

  “I guess I should buy Sadie a gelato too, but perhaps she could just lick Charlotte’s dress,” said Constance, coming up behind me.

  “Oh, please, let her have a go,” I said. “It will be ever so much more effective than my scrubbing.”

  Constance gave Sadie a nickel, “Go get your ice cream from the man right over there,” she said to the little girl.

  “I will go with you!” said Jonathan. “I know that man. And he will give you a fine treat for three cen
ts!” And they ran off together, with Charlotte trailing behind, as usual. We watched Jonathan tell the vendor what Sadie wanted, as she shook her head vehemently “No!”

  “He must have chosen the wrong flavor,” said Constance. “Sadie knows exactly what she wants, and is never afraid to say so.”

  “Jonathan is used to ordering Charlotte around. She never defends herself, and she lets Jonathan decide everything.”

  “Charlotte will get along better in life than Sadie. But I’m still gratified that she is so headstrong. We need more fighting women.” She peeked into the carriage. “And speaking of modern fighting women, let me see that baby!”

  Constance reached in and picked up Annie. “You knew it was a girl!” I remarked.

  “I saw you from the trees, when you picked her up earlier. I didn’t think your Martin would let you dress a boy in so much lace.”

  “My friend Sofia made this dress. And she didn’t know at the time whether it would be a girl. She believes all babies should be decked out in as much lace as possible.”

  “Well, your little one is perfect then.” Constance gave her a kiss and the infant rewarded her with her new talent of a genuine smile. “Oh, she is definitely perfect.”

  “Her name is Annie Sullivan Blaisdell, and I’m so happy that you like her, since I came looking for you specifically to ask a very big favor.”

  “Ask away.”

  I told Constance about Frank and his illness, and about the doctor in Bridgeport. I told her honestly of Frank’s wish to hide his appointment from his wife, not wishing to alarm her, and how Frank had been so good to me and the children despite his condition.

  “I could go with him to Bridgeport, but I need someone to watch the children,” I explained.