by Nancy Roman
“Yes. But….” Sofia looked away from me. She kept her eyes on the curtains, as they shimmered a bit in the light breeze. “I need him to be better.”
Sofia began to cry. “It is so hard, Lucinda. Frank is a hero. A soldier hurt in the war. I’m very proud of him. But it is so hard to have him sick every day. I know it is selfish. I am older than you by many years, but still, I’m young. I don‘t want my life to be so sad.”
Poor Sofia. All my heart had been with Frank all this time. But Sofia! She came to America for a husband and a family. I could imagine her excitement to start a new happy life. And found herself barren, and with a husband going off to war and returning injured. And soon - though she still did not know this - soon he would be blind. Then dead. Sofia, now thirty and beautiful with no children and no husband. And me, Lucinda, eighteen, with three children and a husband who still mourns his true wife. We were sisters after all.
“Will you pray for us?” she asked.
“Yes, of course,” I said, although I had stopped praying a year ago.
I did not get the opportunity to speak with Frank until Monday when both Sofia and Martin had gone to work.
Sofia and Frank came to dinner on Sunday, and they were in good spirits. The pain pills appeared to have worked wonders for Frank. His spirits were high and we laughed throughout dinner, about silly unimportant things, which was blessedly normal. Frank insisted on holding Annie throughout dinner, and the two older children were envious. So Sofia taught them a new song in Italian - I believe the words praised summer and all the fun of the warm weather. We all sang together. We could hear them still singing as Sofia put them to bed, as she loved to do.
“Did you see?” Frank said on Monday when he came down to help with the children. “Did you see how happy she was?”
I sent the children to their bedroom to retrieve their xylophones.
“But it is a lie!” I whispered. “How could you tell her you are well?”
“I didn’t,” he said. “I started to tell her the truth, but I only got as far as seeing the doctor and receiving the medicine, and she was so eager to clasp at this hope. She was overjoyed that I seemed better. I need to give her some happy times to remember. At least for a little while. For as long as I can.”
“For how long?” I asked. “You certainly do seem very well right now.”
And Frank then confessed to me that although the pills were helping to control his pain, some of his good spirits was just pretense. The headaches had not completely abated, nor had his double vision cleared.
“So it will not be long, I fear,” Frank said. “I will tell her next week that the doctor has telephoned with bad news as he has received the results of my medical tests. But first, let’s plan an outing to the seashore. Let’s have the most wonderful time we can.”
And so we did. On Sunday, we went to the new state park in Madison, a short train ride from New Haven. It was a bit difficult - not to say hilarious - on the train with the children and picnic baskets and extra clothing. I fear we looked like something out of a Keystone Kops moving picture, with someone always precariously off balance and sundry items falling loose and children jumping up and down.
But we made the trek. The beach was quite crowded, considering it was still May. But it was very warm and sunny, and the new park had been the topic of much praise in all the newspapers in Connecticut. We found a spot not too far from the water and spread out our many accoutrements. Blankets, towels, a parasol to keep the baby from the sun. And food. “I do believe we have enough to live here for several weeks,” said Martin.
The water was still frigid at that time of the year, but that didn’t stop Martin and Sofia from venturing in, at least a little. Frank and I watched the two splash gently, while the little ones laughed from the shoreline. They withdrew in short order, and took to building sandcastles with Charlotte and Jonny.
Sofia wore a very modest swim dress, but still looked radiant and appealing. Martin was dashing in his swim costume as well, like a hero in a book. Frank had not changed from his summer shirt and trousers, and I wore a lightweight dress - and even a shawl for modesty for nursing the baby. It was as if Frank and I were the chaperones to the outgoing young couple. I am not sure how much Frank with his failing vision could see. He seemed content to just take in the sun.
I suppose I should have been jealous. And I was - a bit. Moreover, though, I enjoyed watching Martin play with the children and with Sofia. I realized that I had not seen him so carelessly happy for nearly a year, since our trip to the zoo. I had felt us come together as a family that day. And I was seeing a family again. But the mother - the wife - was Sofia.
Frank lay down on the blanket, shielding his eyes with his arm. I desired nothing more than to lie next to him, but that would have been sinful. So I remained sitting by his side. Annie reached up to me and put her hand to my face. I in turn put my hand on Frank’s. He took it without looking and held quite tightly. We became a comfortable tableau, and after a while I felt both Frank’s and Annie’s hands slip away as both fell asleep.
The four people I watched making sandcastles, and the two sleeping here secure that I would protect them - this was my family. My heart ached with love for all of them. Martin, my husband, the engineer, carving a moat for his castle with precision. Sofia, sister of my heart, placing a crown of shells for the tower. Jonathan, mud-covered and laughing as his drawbridge tumbled down. Charlotte, self-contained and serious, patting little mud-pies and setting them in a row. Annie, a tiny human just beginning to be curious about the world around her, a mystery waiting to unfold. And Frank. Who was Frank to me? The artist I loved who I was about to lose.
Several months ago, Sofia asked me to pray for her. I had confessed at that time that I was not successful at prayer. And just this week, she had asked me again. Sitting in the sun on this beach with the love around me so complete, I tried. Perhaps I would be more successful by praying, not for a miracle, but for some small blessing. So I prayed that this day would linger in all our memories and give us comfort in the future.
CHAPTER 52
My family came down for Annie’s christening, and we added a little birthday celebration for Jonathan as well. I did not especially want to do both on the same day, but my father believed that hotels were the nesting grounds for disease, and he certainly may have been correct, and our apartment was too small for the four Benedicts to spend the night. So we squeezed both occasions into one Sunday.
Father had originally pressed for us to travel to Springfield instead, but Frank and Sofia were to be Annie’s godparents, and I did not feel that Frank was well enough to make such a long trip. I had rarely ever defied my father, but since the results of my obedience had not gained me any of his favor, nor God’s as far as I could see, I was steadfast in my insistence that the christening should be here in New Haven.
The family arrived early in the morning in my father’s motorcar, which delighted Jonathan. We stood at the side of the road, and everyone disembarked in a different direction. Mother ran straight to the new baby, and cried tears of joy, which Annie rewarded with one of her new genuine smiles. Amelia went straight to the porch, announcing that she was unbearably overheated - but to her credit took Charlotte on her lap anyway. Malcolm shook hands in a very adult manner with Martin, and then scooped up Jonathan and sat him in the car. Father, who had gone straight to the boot for their gifts, was encouraged to climb back into the automobile and give Jonathan a ride around the block.
“Let’s go to the park!” Jonny cried. “We can see if Sadie is there… she doesn’t believe that Grandfather has an automobile.”
So the men took off, with Martin giving directions, all happy to have the opportunity to impress a five-year-old girl with their fabulous motorcar.
“Good!” said Mother. “We women can visit and have some lemonade and recover from the fumes and
the dust! I hope they are gone for an hour!”
We went in, and Mother and Amelia were surprised that we now lived in the second-floor apartment. I had forgotten in my letters to mention that we had exchanged apartments with the Giamettis.
We sat with our lemonade and tea cake that Sofia had left for us. Frank and Sofia would join us at noon for the walk to the church for the christening. Amelia took a turn to fuss over the baby, so Charlotte could sit with my mother and stem her rising jealousy.
Mother looked around the table and declared, “Was there ever a more attractive group of women in the world than we Benedict girls?”
“Wait until you see Annie in her christening dress,” I said. “She will be the prettiest of us all. Sofia made the dress almost entirely of fine lace that she carried with her from Italy.” I saw Charlotte’s face fall. “Oh, there is a surprise for you too, Charlotte. Zia Sofia has made you a lace dress too, as befitting the princess sister of the princess baby.”
“Father would not allow us to bring a change of clothes,” complained Amelia. “So we had to ride in our nice dresses. I fear mine is just ruined - dirty and wrinkled.”
So I immediately had Amelia change into my summer robe, while I brushed the road dust from her dress, and ironed her wrinkles. She looked lovely, even sitting in my dressing gown, and when she donned her now-immaculate outfit and emerged from the lavatory with her hair brushed and cheeks gleaming, I had to admit that Father was right all those years ago, and she was the loveliest Benedict of us all. I felt as jealous as Charlotte over the unfairness of younger sisters. I hoped that Martin and Frank would not fawn over Amelia, or I should be likely to have my own little tantrum.
The male contingent of Benedicts arrived at last, with Jonathan gloating over his triumph with Sadie. “She was there! We gave her a ride around the park!”
“I’m sure Sadie was quite impressed,” I said.
“Her mother is a Bohemian!” said Father. “And why, I must ask, have you cut your hair?”
“It is wonderful to see you too, Father,” I said. I was not going to let him spoil our celebration. He was here, after all. I had had my doubts whether he would even come. I was determined to remain happy for that. I picked up Annie from Amelia’s lap and handed her to my father.
“There!” I said. “Your newest granddaughter. Annie Sullivan Blaisdell. She has your brow, don’t you think? But fortunately not your temper.” And I kissed him.
I suppose that unexpected display of affection shocked my Father into submission. He bent over the infant and scrutinized her tiny face.
“Yes, she definitely has my brow. But she has your fine beautiful mouth. Let us hope she has not inherited your tendency to use that mouth for salty language.” He scowled, but then immediately softened as my mother gave him her most admonishing countenance. He bent and kissed Annie on the top of her head.
“You had better take her back,” he said to me. “I am out of practice with the fragility of infants.” He placed her quite gently in my arms, and said, “She is lovely, Lucinda.” With that surfeit of sentimentality, he quickly added, “I trust you are not intending to have her christened in that poor rag of a dress.”
“Oh, Father, you won’t be disappointed,” I said over my shoulder as I took Annie into the bedroom. Charlotte and Annie were not the only ones with a new dress for the occasion. Sofia had made one for me too. It was pale summery yellow, and instead of an abundance of lace, it bore just a small lace collar of a warm pink - to soften the yellow against my face. It was loose and breezy - a dress the flappers would like - if the flappers were going to church, that is.
I quickly changed and added pale stockings and shoes to suit the dress. I ran a brush through my hair. I looked every bit of a modern woman. And then Annie. I dressed her in the delicate lace gown, so long a gown that its hem hung nearly to my own. She had a sweet bonnet and lace shoes to match.
“Here we are!” I announced, as we stepped back into the kitchen. All ready for our big day.
“Oh my!” exclaimed Mother. “Two angels have come from heaven.”
I smiled, gratified. “But wait a moment - more angels will join us.” I admonished Martin to change into his church suit, and I hustled the two older children into their bedroom. There I changed Jonathan into a smart little outfit of pale gray shorts and vest, and affixed a white bow tie. Then Charlotte. I dressed my solemn little child in a dress made of the peachy-pink lace of my collar, with a yellow ribbon for her sash.
“You are as beautiful as your Mama Catherine,” I told her.
“She liked to sing very loud in church,” Charlotte said.
“Oh she was a happy loud singer,” I said, “and the most beautiful loud singer in the congregation.”
“I will sing just as loud,” she announced.
“You go right ahead if you are feeling it!” I laughed. That should do it for revenge on my father for his comment on my bobbed hair.
I ushered them back to join the rest of the family.
“More cherubs!” gushed my mother. “How will I ever come back to earth?”
“I’m not a cherub at all!” protested Jonathan. “I am five years old and I will go to school and read and play baseball.”
“I will teach you this summer,” offered Malcolm, and Jonathan said, “I will not call you Uncle Malcolm when we play baseball because that would not be right.”
“How about Mal, the greatest pitcher in Massachusetts?” offered Malcolm.
“That sounds good. Are you really the greatest pitcher in Massachusetts?”
“A little humility might be in order,” warned my father.
“Well, as I’m on my way to church, I have to say there might be one or two better,” said Malcolm.
“That is not quite the humility I expect,” said Father, although I did see him smile for a second.
Martin, looking successful and handsome, ran upstairs and returned in just moments with Frank and Sofia. Sofia looked lovely in sky blue. Frank was pale and I recognized the look of pain veiled over with the effort to disguise it. But he shook Father’s hand and complimented my mother on all her fine children and grandchildren. Sofia held back tears as she said that she and her husband were honored to join this family by standing as godparents for the baby.
And with that, Sofia took Annie in her arms, and I took the other two little ones by the hand, and we walked a few blocks to St. Mary’s, my Church of Patience, as I had dubbed it, where Annie was baptized and Charlotte sang her Italian song of summer in her loudest expression of joy.
After the christening, it was Jonny’s turn. My parents gave him a set of blocks more intricate than the baby toys he had been playing with. From Malcolm, a baseball, and Amelia had found him some wooden frogs to join his zoo. From Sofia and Frank, he received a small flute, and I expressed my wish that it would be at least a year before he learned to make a sound with it. Constance and Sadie came over as well, and presented Jonathan with a sailboat for the small pond at the park. And from Martin and me, there was a duplicate of the London Bridge toy that had so captivated Jonny when we were visiting Constance. She had arranged for her ‘husband’ to send one down from Boston.
Poor Charlotte was feeling quite left out, and I was glad I thought to have Sofia make her doll in a christening gown similar to Annie‘s. And Sofia had also fashioned a change of clothing for the small doll, of a dress made from the scraps from Charlotte’s own.
Martin fetched Mr. And Mrs. Battle to join us for cake, and some mild libation that Martin had been saving for a nice occasion. It was a successful day from start to finish.
As the family was preparing to leave for Massachusetts, my mother followed me into the bedroom where I was changing the baby and thanked me for putting aside my father’s disapproval. I had given this much consideration over the past week. My father
had been wrong and cruel to condemn me for acting as a wife to the husband he had pressured me to marry. But I had decided that if he came to Annie‘s baptism it would mean that he was recognizing her as a child of God. And so it would be acceptance - of her and of me. He was still wrong, and it still hurt. But we were all in this situation that none of us understood.
“He is still my father,” I said. “How could he not love another grandchild?”
“I was fearful that perhaps he might not,” Mother said. “But I think Annie’s sweet nature may have won him over.”
She also asked after Frank. “Your friend does not look well,” she said.
It had been over two weeks and yet Frank had not yet been truthful with Sofia, so I could only say that Frank is under the care of a physician, and is trying a new medicine, and we were all hoping for the best.
“I will pray for him,” she said.
And I found myself angry. All this prayer. To what effect?
CHAPTER 53
It was almost midnight on Wednesday when we heard the knocking on our door.
Martin ran to the door grabbing a skillet on the way, in case he should need a weapon. This probably would have been comical had it been any other time.
It was Frank.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I need to tell you.”
“Tell me what?” asked Martin, still holding the skillet.
“I have a cancer. Cancer of the brain.”
“My God!” said Martin. “Are you sure?”
Frank sank into a chair. He laid his arms on the kitchen table and rested his head. I stood watching from the door of the bedroom, standing barefoot in my light summer nightgown.