She smiled. “I love you, dad,” and she came to me and hugged and kissed me on the cheek. “Do you need anything?
“Nope. I’m going to get up in a bit. I’m sick of lying here. I’ll make myself a complete invalid if I keep it up. Maybe it’s to keep you and every so often to get Brigit here. You know what, I’d like to drive over to Crawfish later. O.K.? We can watch the ocean. The breeze will be causing some magnificent waves. But just leave me here for a bit. O.K.?” I wanted to dream a little more. “Do you mind going?”
That was a silly question. Unless some boy friend was after her. She was now twenty-two. But before she left the room, she said, “Dad, we have a letter from Melinda, one for you and one for me. How could I forget that?” She continued, “Dad, she’s an intern. Don’t we have enough of that in the family?”
I just laughed and said, “What’s a few generations?”
What are a few? For Brigit, for me, for all of us? Deirdre didn’t need any generations. She made her own, What the hell is she up to? Crap on it.
Oh that week with Brigit. My mom would sing and play for us. My dad would have Brigit come to his office. She even helped one day. I was angry, because it was a waste of our vacation. Anyhow, there was that night. Brigit and I stayed up later than everyone and went softly to her bedroom. She pushed me lightly to sit on the bed and stood before me the way she had that night at my apartment. She seemed shy at first and went to her large closet and started to undress. I pulled off my clothes to my underwear and threw them on the floor. She walked out in her underwear and slowly took off her bra and panties, came to me, kissed me, fondled below, kissed me harder and pulled off my underwear. “Get up,” she commanded and threw back the covers. We climbed in the bed at about the same time, looking at one another, fondling. I lay her on her back. She spread her legs. I entered with her pulling at my sides and raising her legs to place about me. As I continued, she moved to meet me. Then she was on top, rubbing and sitting. She tightened. It was exquisite. Later, when we lay side by side, she said softly, “Simultaneous expression.”
“Not just once I answered.”
“I’m all wet, my own and yours.”
I turned and took a box of tissues from the night table. She stood, wiping, asking me not to look. I was actually wishing I had made her pregnant, but I knew she wouldn’t have done it if she thought her body would respond to that. She had faith in her monthly cycle.
~
The summer of 1947 Brigit had a call from home. The Southwest summoned her once again. Her father was sick. They needed her. Despite her father’s illness that bothered her terribly, she looked forward to seeing everyone. Ellen and Marie were now married. Maureen was often alone with Luke. Brigit left Boston immediately. Though her sisters were not far off, they weren’t nurses. Brigit also looked forward to seeing the desert and the ranch again. She told herself she would heal her father.
I had not been to the Southwest yet. At school I would read about it, look intently at the pictures, imagine her sitting beside her father, doing whatever she thought was necessary to make him comfortable while also consoling her mother and sisters. Brigit was a strong woman who many times tried to hide her tears from the others. She would look at her father, soothe him running her soft hand across his face. Once he looked up at her and said, “You’re such a loving and lovely daughter. That boy friend of yours. Does he know what you think, what you feel, how good you are?”
“Daddy, what woman tells a man, especially a special one, what she’s always thinking. They’re supposed to guess. Right?”
He smiled. “Brigit, your mother still confounds me at times. I was watching her one night making dinner. A smile appeared on her face. When I asked her what she was thinking about, she said, “Oh, the usual, and then something about you and me, about the girls, remembering when you-all would scream at one another in an argument. Can you imagine Anne, oh, Sister Angelina, screaming in the convent?’ She laughed, ‘Remember how we wondered how we would last through all that running and screaming, and then the love among them, whispering about boys.’ Then she looked right at me, you know, Brigit, the way a woman looks at a man, telling him without words how she loves him.”
Brigit turned away momentarily from her father. Rubbed the corner of an eye. She was thinking about her family but also about Gregory and that night at his home, felt a slight thrill along her spine. She heard also the rush of the waves, their crash on the rocks, thought of the peace they could now bring the world when before they had helped destroy, almost killed Gregory. She loved the water now as much as the desert. She thought of how they sat on the beach, their arms lightly about one another looking out to the horizon, feeling part of that vast Atlantic, spreading themselves along the rounding horizon, they and the sea one. There were times when she thought I may never have known Gregory, never have received the love I have from him. God saw to it, and no matter what happens, he’ll always be mine. You’re mine, Greg, and don’t you forget it. I have that power in me. I was born with it. That’s how I know I’ll cure my father. I don’t care what the doctors think. How can I be so fortunate as to have so much love in my life? I’m smiling. The way I look at myself in the mirror and put on all those come-hither looks, make sure I’m fetching. No other man is going to come near me, Gregory. I promise you that. But I’m stumbling in my head. What if something happened to you, or even me? She felt her heart beat a little faster, and she said aloud, “I’ll destroy any woman who goes near you.” She stretched her fingers, her nails noticeable, allowed to grow while at home, as she involuntarily raised her hand and her eyes narrowed. She was now jealous and angry about an unknown rival, her eyes showing her fury. No one could be more alluring than Brigit, although reasonably she knew it was possible. She sat by herself continuing to think of Gregory, a handsome man for her, thinking of how other women might see him, how he could be lured by a perfume, by a dress revealing those female’s attributes, a touch, a flirtatious look, and flip of the hair. Only in those few moments did she feel unsure of herself. So far away. So necessary. She perked up. He loves me every bit as much as I love him. That a war, that barbaric war, should have brought him through a sea of fear to her. Nothing could change that. The war would forever be a part of them, as would the suffering. No matter. Love exists despite atomic weapons, death, whatever attempts to subdue it. It is the ultimate victor. Oh, Greg, how I wish I could hold you, want to right now so we could be as we were in Astraea – in my bedroom. I did think of my virginity, how I was taught, and how I overcame it, not caring because of our love. She laughed. Oh, how I wanted to take a shower – with you. We were too afraid we would wake the family. Did they ever guess what we were doing? Greg, that morning shower after you sneaked to your room, was a cleansing of doubt, of hesitation. I committed myself to you and NO ONE. NO ONE – will ever take you from me.
After her musings she went with her mother to the hospital to see Luke, lying fretfully waiting for them. Occasionally when he looked at Maureen and Brigit he thought he was seeing twins. No one could take Maureen or his daughters from him. He did not want to believe his doctors, for he did not want to leave them behind. He would not. Brigit would see to that. And then there was Anne, Sister Angelina, who sent whatever she thought he might be able to digest, though many time the nurses took her small gifts from him. She wrote him notes of how she prayed for him; and occasionally, accompanied by another nun, she would receive permission from Mother Superior to visit her father.
Luke, thinking of the past, appreciated the wealth of his life, especially when they walked in the room, Maureen kissing him on the lips, Brigit on the cheek, and soothingly running her hand across his chest and face. “I’ll make you well, daddy. Believe me I will.” He smiled at her certainty and his wish.
That night Brigit sat alone again on their front porch swing, above a valley where from a distance lights were seen but rising above them the dark peaked shadows of mountains, a Southwest night of a dark sky adorned by the myriad of stars, the entire uni
verse laid out for her. She lay back on the swing, smiling, causing the glide to move gently. She placed her hand on one breast, then the other, passed it over herself, imagining it was Gregory. She was with him. She reached for the button nearest her neck, unbuttoned until she reached above her bra, stopped, realizing it was fantasy, smiled and whispered, “I love you.”
It was then she decided that no matter how long it would take her to cure her father, she would go back east to see Gregory who had been asking her in letters to come to Boston and Maine just for short stays.
~
Brigit decided she wanted to spend right after Christmas through New Year’s 1948, in Cape Astraea with Gregory. It was the last of many vacation times, the end of his class studies and start of clinical introduction. After that there would be little time, but they had written and promised one another they would manage.
Luke was at home now, and Brigit felt she could leave him for a week, though she worried about his nursing. She decided, however, that Maureen had become fairly well accustomed to looking after his needs for that short time. She seemed to forget her mother’s strength even in her sadness that Brigit saw each day, the fear. It burned in Brigit, but there were times the two women would sit together, holding one another, softly crying, their hands caressing through each other’s hair, kissing cheeks. Brigit prepared Maureen, giving instructions, Maureen occasionally smiling and telling her, “I know, dear. You go to your boy. If I need help, I’ll call the doctor and even your sisters. You need your love. I see it, feel it in you every day, that desire to be with him, that loneliness. You deserve the time with him. Go and don’t worry. Besides, isn’t this probably Gregory’s last whole week’s vacation before his clinical work? You seem to forget how much you have told me and how much you talk about him. Don’t you think I know how lonely it can get, what it was like for me before your father and I were married? I would lie in my room at night and imagine him holding me, talking to me.” Her eyes teared. “And now, my darling, I’m going to lose him. It is going to happen. But it still makes no difference, does it? C’mon, let’s not be morbid. You are going, and you are going to be happy.”
Brigit flew to Boston. When she took the train to Portland, she purposely sat by a window so she would see the countryside and the snow that, despite the cold, she missed. She enjoyed New England and the changing seasons. More, she longed to watch the winter sea, believing because of some unknown spirit she would gather more strength, more curative power from across that windy cold ocean. She would never tell anyone what she believed or why she felt this, for she could not explain it to herself. It was a feeling, a knowledge and sensitivity that had been born with her from ancient times. She did not realize this yet. Was she real? Her feelings, though, were real, how she sensed others, her agile mind that understood not only her emotions but those in other women and men. In this way, perhaps she was no different from other women. But she was aware of something others weren’t. Perhaps this would protect her in later years, even protect a loved one like Gregory.
When Gregory met her at the train, he watched her as she held the car’s exit handle, how, in a short passage of time, she stepped down carefully, her hip pointed outward, her long, slim leg stretched attractively, sensually, her skirt pulled up above her knee. She stepped on to the platform, quickly straightened her skirt, all the while smiling, looking for Gregory. Some men, as was usual and what she expected, passed her, turning to look, perhaps wishing they knew her. They reminded her of the naval hospital, unpleasant remarks, disgusting voices, and scenes that would never be forgotten.
While she was temporarily lost in those thoughts, Gregory rushed to her, and they were hugging, kissing, unwilling to let go except that they became self-conscious as people passed, looked, smiled. It was as though the war was still in the minds of all.
The three-quarter hour ride to Cape Astraea was talk of both homes, their parents, brothers, sisters and then just about the two of them and how they would use the vacation.
Brigit concentrated on his profile, thinking how endearing it was. Intuitively she placed her hand on his neck, moved closer, putting her hand on his thigh and kissing him on the neck and below his ear. He hunched his shoulders. Watching him, she laughed and whispered, “Will you come to my room?”
“Don’t do that to me when I’m driving.”
“Poor baby.” She enjoyed the sound of his voice, his accent so different from hers. Suddenly she asked, “Do you still sing? You used to sing to me.”
“I’m too busy at school. Fool. Sure I do, but not as I do to you.”
She stopped teasing him, thinking of the few inches difference in height between them, how easy it was to raise her head and mouth for their lips to meet. “I want to kiss you right now.”
“We’ll crash.”
“No good. But I still want to, and I want your hands caressing me. Are you getting excited?”
Gregory smiled, looked at her, brushed his hand over her face, “How was I ever so lucky? And if you aren’t more careful, I know where there’s a wooded path where I could take you.”
“You mean you never took me there? Why not? Oh. It was special for you and Lynne. I know men like you. Do you ever hear from her? I do. She’s in the med school hospital in San Francisco, loves it there.”
“Truthfully, yes, I took her there. Do I hear from her? Never. Do I hear about her? Yes. From her folks.” He forced a short laugh. “She’s terribly attractive. What a woman. Her mother showed me her latest photo. Jealous?”
“A little. Is she really as lovely as when she and I went to school?”
“Brigit. Don’t take me seriously. Yes, She’s just as attractive, more so. But beautiful. No. I fell in love with a beauty.”
“Then it’s just my looks you’re interested in.”
“Well, no. Dearest, if it ever comes to that, you should leave me.” Gregory slowed the car before coming into town, pulled under a tree that he hoped hid them, turned and gently moved her face toward his, and kissed her. “I’ll never leave you, give you up.”
As she kissed him, an unpleasantness occurred to her. I wonder, and her jealousy rose as she thought back when she threatened that imagined unknown woman. “Love me, Gregory. Be faithful. I’ll always be to you.”
“Silly. What’s wrong? Look at your face. It’s almost drawn. Why?”
“I was thinking of my father,” she lied. She bent his head toward her and kissed him hard, long, he responding, placed her tongue in his mouth, in his ear, wanting to see him shudder. He did. “Yes. You do love me. I have it. When you become a doctor, I can be your office nurse. O.K.?”
“It’s a deal. But when you have kids, what then?”
“We’ll think about that a bit later,” she smiled. Then she laughed. “I can be my own midwife.” She grimaced a bit thinking of the delivery room and some of the women who had suffered so. She would not be like that.
“We’ve got to get home.”
Why am I thinking of fate? What does it hold or portend? “Look. There’s your folks and Mary. You’re a fortunate fellow, and don’t you ever hurt them.” Am I thinking of myself?
“I never will. That too’s a promise.”
_______________
Chapter IV
Toward Tomorrow
On New Year’s Eve, Gregory and Brigit went to a Portland Hotel with the Hurwitzes. Brigit wore a strapless black gown, lacy at the slightly emphasized breast line and cut just above her ankles. She danced with Aaron Hurwitz and Greg, drank only ginger ale. She, Mary, and Jocelyn chatted throughout the night, occasionally seriously, mostly lightly, laughing with one another and about Aaron and Gregory, teasing them, cautioning them not to drink too much. Only at one point was politics mentioned when Aaron brought up the coming November election. The Republicans controlled the Congress, and certainly that would give an advantage to Dewey. There was immediate disagreement, Aaron laughing because he had started a brief debate. Suddenly Jocelyn, to change the conversation, raised her
glass to the family while looking at Gregory, Mary, and Brigit with bright and loving eyes. Hers was a feeling of comfort and satisfaction not only with herself but with her family. She included Brigit as a member for she felt so warmly toward her. The two loved one another. Often Brigit would talk to her in confidence about her feelings, what she was thinking, pleased that Jocelyn had become a second mother, despite the wait for marriage. Jocelyn looked about the table, raised her hand to her lips as a kiss to Aaron, and spoke, “To my children. May nothing ever again interfere with their happiness, disrupt their plans, and may they be happy together.” She paused. “And my Mary, may you find what you seek and if there is that only one in your future” – she paused – “I know there is. May you be happy, ignoring the criticisms and often hatred, in your growing SUCCESSFUL career in medicine. I love you all.” Having learned self-control in public, she suddenly lost a bit as her family watched tears forming. Aaron got up and kissed her cheek.
How long does happiness last? Gregory was thinking.
And Brigit, despite her enjoyment, felt a chill, and unknowingly repeated Gregory. How long does happiness last? Perhaps we should marry now. His folks may object, I suppose, but they wouldn’t be angry at us. Should I talk to Greg? What a foolish woman you are. Yet, her mind appeared to close at the thought of losing Greg, and her heart beat a little faster with some unknown fear grasping at her. She decided she was allowing her emotions too much sway. Looking at Jocelyn, she told herself I am going to be like her, firm and always sure of myself. I learned that certainly while in nursing school. Nurse yourself, Brigit. You’re too sensitive to what might happen, not to what is happening and what you know you can control.
She felt a hand sliding gently on her bare arm. “So deep in thought, sweet. Come’n, let’s dance some more. I love the way you glide and you fit so well in my arms. I want them around that slim, beautiful waist. You see, what school has done to me. I’m being anatomical.”
Our Seas of Fear and Love Page 8