by Anne Lazurko
I’d known this moment would come. I was almost five months on and had just endured a Christmas as lonely and bleak as the winter landscape. And all the while I’d worried only about how I’d respond, rehearsed language measured and eloquent, proof of how very respectable I was so he might, on sober second thought, ask me to stay on. But the words fled.
“Please, sir, I’ll be destitute. I’ve nowhere to go.”
“Well, that’s not my problem now, is it?” He looked contemptuously at my belly bursting its camouflage. “Maybe you should have thought about that before you got yourself in trouble.”
Myself.
“I’ll stay out of the way when you have guests.” The words tripped over each other. “I mean, I can set out the tea. And then stay in my room. You could do the shopping. No one would know.”
“People are already talking about your bastard.” He slunk out from behind his desk to stand beside my chair, the fingers of his hand closing over the back of it close to my neck. It seemed the hairs on his knuckles must be gently reaching for my skin. I shuddered. He snorted, his eyes heavy on my head. And I wanted to smash his smug face, pictured with satisfaction his soft, fleshy nose disappearing behind the force of my fist.
“You have until the end of the month,” he said with a self-satisfied nod.
“Oh no.” I quickly calculated the days and how much money I might save before then.
“You stay any longer and the gossips are gonna wonder if I’m keeping you on ’cause its mine.”
I didn’t know if I’d heard correctly until I looked up to see his suggestive grin.
“Yours,” I snorted. “Wouldn’t that be a sweet revenge?”
“What?”
“I could drop them hints, keep them guessing.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Why not?” Reckless abandon filled the pit where fear had boiled for weeks. “I’ve got nothing to lose.” I thought it was true. A laugh rolled up and out of my throat and the tension slipped from my shoulders.
Mr. Penny’s small, confused eyes narrowed to slits.
“Don’t worry though.” I stood to face him. “I could never let anyone believe I’d have anything to do with a fat, sweaty...”
His puffy skin turned red.
“Stinking...”
His body trembled with rage.
“Swine,” I shouted.
His stubby fingers clenched into fists. “Get out.” His voice was murderously soft. “Now.”
i i i
The money in the jar would pay for two weeks at the rooming house. My suite was tiny, a cot and bedside table almost filling the space. Narrow wooden shelves hung on the wall above the bed. Cracked white paint flaked away from the walls and windowsill, while outside the grimy second-floor window was the most impressive array of grey backyard outhouses.
“And the bath?”
The scrawny, grey-haired landlord pointed down the hall. “You share with all the women on this floor.” He was surprisingly sympathetic. “It’s all I’ve got for what you can pay.”
“It’ll be fine.” Mr. Penny’s hate-filled eyes still loomed large. “Just fine.”
The shelves were small, so I sacrificed more practical items in order to display the blue china pieces. They gleamed in the drab room. My clothes hung on hooks on the wall, the family picture taking up most of the space on the bedside table. I wanted them near me, to see them, especially my father, on waking every morning. The cot sagged under my weight, the mattress hardly thick enough to hold down the warped plywood it rested on. My few possessions cluttered the small space, incongruent yet heartening.
A tenuous sense of well-being was invaded by sounds from the house – shuffling feet, squeaking bedsprings, chairs pushed away from tables. A moment later a knock startled me and I froze. I’d wanted to sit in the relative quiet and disappear, perhaps until the baby arrived. Who could be bothering me already? A weight of impatience and dread rested between my shoulder blades.
The knock came again, a little louder. Heaving myself up, I lifted the hook out of its eye and slowly opened the door enough to peek out.
A young woman stood in the hall, eyeing me through the opening.
“Hello. My name is Annie.” She glanced past me as though expecting someone else. “I live in the room down the hall. Third one on the right. I guess we’re neighbours of a sort.”
She was a tall blonde with sky-blue eyes, tiny nose and full round cheeks that tapered into a small dimpled chin. When she smiled her mouth opened wide, sending pleasing wrinkles to the corners of her eyes. I swung the door a little wider just as a bell rang downstairs.
“That’d be supper,” said Annie.
Oh Lord. I wasn’t ready to meet the people who belonged to the sounds. Panic rose in my throat.
“We can go together.” She made to leave. “You should wear your coat. It’s even colder in the dining hall than up here.”
“Oh, thank you.” Breathing deep, I straightened my coat, trying to smooth the bodice over my belly.
Annie watched patiently. “Ready then?”
“Yes.” The door swung shut, banging against the frame. There was no way to lock it against thieves.
“We have to trust each other in this place. We’re all in the same boat.”
Her ability to read my mind was most impressive. I followed behind like a child glad to have a friend. “My name is Moira.”
“I know.”
The dining room was a larger version of the tenant rooms, the walls bare, a mottled green faded to grey. Two small windows let in shafts of the dying sun’s light. A few women sat on benches pulled up to a long plank supported by sawhorses. Plates of food were set out along the table, and Annie found two spots beside a lanky girl, her long bones covered by wan, loose skin waiting to be filled with flesh. She rubbed red hands together.
“This is Lynn,” said Annie. “Lynn, Moira.”
We nodded at one another. As we sat down, the bench wobbled a little and Lynn laughed. “That always happens.”
I couldn’t look up, pretending instead to concentrate on the plate in front of me, while trying to catch a peek at the other women. I ate mechancially until Annie nudged me.
“Pretty bad, eh?”
The plate came into focus. The food was base and minimal: a small mound of mashed potatoes, no gravy, and a tiny sliver of salted pork. Loaves of bread and bowls of lard were spaced the length of the table. Other girls were breaking chunks off the hardening loaves and slathering them with the greasy mess. I didn’t dare reach further down and across the table for the bread sitting in front of two women whose eyes hadn’t left my face.
“Bad? Ha! Might as well be in jail.” Lynn’s nasal voice was pitched at the level of a small rodent. At the sound of it, the other women smirked and turned their attention to each other.
“My mother would probably be happy to hear that.” The words popped out of my mouth, an offering to these strangers. Lynn and Annie leaned in, their eager faces yearning for a good story. I was unbound by their openness. “Well, this pregnancy seems to have assumed criminal proportions to her. She’s Catholic and stiff.” I opened my eyes wide and clasped my hands in mock prayer. “And pious. She’d probably like the idea of my being in a correctional facility.”
We laughed together, the sudden release of tension making me giddy.
“She’s only ever cared about what the neighbours think.” One hand on my hip, I flung my head back and used my best operatic tone. “Simply scandalous, Moira. Mrs. Fenwick will be most appalled.”
Giggling erupted from the two girls, and others at the table looked up. I lowered my voice. “She wouldn’t care that my body seems to be sucking the life right out of me. And I’m swelling everywhere, belly, breasts, not to mention other parts.” The others howled at
the face I made. “I have to run to the outhouse every five minutes. And you should see my belly button.” The girls’ eyebrows arched. “It’s stretched so flat, it’s all but disappeared. Gone!”
Their laughter filled the room. The other women scowled and threw agitated glances our way. Shushing Lynn, my voice sank to a whisper, exhausted by what I’d revealed and the release of tension held too long.
“And I laugh and I cry, all in the same breath, because it feels like I’m going to be forever fat and tired and hungry and poor...”
Afraid I might burst into tears, I stood quickly to go. Annie jumped up in alarm, pushing Lynn out of the way. Grabbing my elbow, she steered me back down the hall and up the stairs to the pitiful room that was now home. She pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and brought a drink of water in a filmy glass. I blew my nose, holding the wrinkled square of cotton there longer than necessary, embarrassed that my new neighbour might think me completely insane. I gulped the air, rushing to fill lungs starved by weeks of fear. Annie sat on the bed beside me, still holding the glass.
“Thank you.”
“They have a hold on you, don’t they? Mothers, I mean.” Annie was thoughtful. “It never goes away.”
“I know. But she’s never allowed even the least mistake. Let alone this.” The rise in my dress was like a beacon.
“Well that...,” Annie’s laugh was short and bitter, “is more than a mistake.”
We sat in silence for a short time.
“What’s it like?” she asked.
“Well, if I let myself think about what’s happening in there, it’s actually quite amazing.” And it was. Every day my hands ran unbidden over the growing mound that was the baby. “To think this little thing is just making itself at home in there, kicking and elbowing its way around with no thought to my comfort.”
“Were you sick?”
“Yes, the first three months were terrible. I was sick and exhausted all the time. But lately I’ve been feeling better.” I tried to smile.
“I lost one.” Annie’s voice was impassive, her face expressionless.
“Oh Annie, I’m so sorry.”
“It was for the better. I was already living here. This is no place for a child.”
“No, I suppose not.”
“Although it would have been nice to get that glow.” She paused. “Like you have now.”
Her smile was encouraging. We sat quietly, not touching but close, her warmth helping me to settle into my glow. After a time Annie stood up, put the glass on the night table and walked to the door.
“You’ll be all right.” She looked back as she left. “You’re smart. Just keep out of the way and don’t ask too many questions. We’ll get you a job or something soon enough. Good night.”
I lay back on the bed and smiled with relief.
CHAPTER 9
i i i
My dearest Aileen,
Well, Mr. Penny fired me for being pregnant. Though I am destitute, I am happy to be out of his employ. I have found a rooming house for the meantime and a new friend named Annie. She has been wonderful. But the other women are like none I’ve ever met. The backwoods people of Newfoundland may be ignorant and superstitious, but these women are crass and vulgar. They are arrogant about it, too, as though these are enviable attributes. They walk between rooms barely dressed and lounge at one another’s doors smoking and chatting like they haven’t a care in the world. But they do. None has any better room or food or any more money than I. And men coming and going at all hours of the day and night. I don’t even want to imagine. These women seem to pass every day in this degradation and not expect any more out of their lives. It’s really quite sad...
i i i
What would Father think of this new housing arrangement? He’d always encouraged me to witness the real world, the ways in which people survived, or not. Except for Annie, those who peopled my world in Ibsen didn’t appear to hold much promise. But then neither had the world offered much to those in my father’s life, those sick and destitute I’d met while travelling with him.
We’d been called to a lumber camp once where a man’s leg had been cut off when a tree fell the wrong way. Despite the gruesome prospects, I’d been excited. It was the first time I was allowed to ride to a case and to bring supplies of my own. I felt the picture of a country doctor, complete with black bag and coat. Father was distracted, gazing into the distance.
“When I first came here,” he mused, “I thought I could convince them to turn to God in a new way. If I could heal their bodies, maybe they’d give me their souls too.” The lines etched in his face bore testament to his efforts. “I was young and idealistic. But it didn’t take long to realize the only thing I might be able to do was save them from themselves.”
I hadn’t known yet what he could mean.
“They don’t often want a doctor. They’re very suspicious, think we practice some sort of devil’s work. ‘Leave it to the Lord.’ I hear that all the time.”
“But surely when they see what you can do?”
“It doesn’t work that way. You’ve seen how isolated these people are. Forgotten by the rest of the world. I sometimes think they believe they’re not worth saving.” He stopped to turn the collar up on his jacket. “They’re like the detractors of Job. Think somehow they’ve brought their misery upon themselves. That they don’t deserve help.”
“How can people be so stupid?”
“Don’t ever say that.” His voice had been sharp. “They are ignorant, yes, but not stupid. I’ve seen each of these people do the work of ten men. Women included. They improvise and invent. They are quite remarkable.” He didn’t seem to be speaking to me any more. “Not stupid at all.”
A shout from ahead interrupted us. The approaching rider went straight to Father. “What’s the girl doing here?” He eyed me warily.
“She’s my daughter and my assistant.” Father’s tone took the rider by surprise. I drew myself up tall.
He hesitated only an instant before riding off, calling back over his shoulder, “Camp is just a half mile ahead. He’s in the first shack on the right.”
“Shack all right,” said Father, tying our horses to the rail alongside the building. The whole thing looked like it would blow over at the wind’s slightest provocation. Collecting my things from the saddlebag, I ran quickly to follow close behind Father, trying to avoid the stares of three men.
The man who’d met us was explaining, “His daughter. Won’t go anywhere without her.”
I was grateful for his help until I looked up to see him raise his eyebrows, a suggestion in his eyes. The others snorted. Catching my glance he made a lewd gesture at his pants. I gasped, instantly wishing I hadn’t. The men laughed loudly, and Father turned back to see my red-hot face.
“Moira.”
I rushed to his side and promptly gagged at the sight and stench in the shack. The man’s leg was gone from just below the knee. He was lying on a plank two feet off the floor, his upper half covered with a thin, dirty sheet. From the stump of his severed leg a yellow-green infection had spread to above his knee. His face was whiter than the sheet drawn to his chin, shining with sweat though he shivered uncontrollably. I’d started to shake.
“I did what it said in the book here.” A voice boomed from behind us, so I jumped out of the way. “Name’s Ivan. Only one here that can read. So I brung this book with me. It says to let his blood. So I did. Right above his knee there.”
Ivan pointed to somewhere near where the infection had spread. His hands were huge and filthy. All of him was huge and filthy. Most striking was his large bald head, shining like a lamppost. His wide grin was filled with black, rotting teeth. He looked around with pride, enjoying his newfound role as camp medic.
“Bloodletting. Dear God,” muttered Father.
�
�Says here it will ‘eliminate the cause of disease.’” Ivan sounded out each word as he read. “Any imbalance in the morbid humours: blood, yellow bile, black bile and phlegm.” He looked up. “I figured that oughta cover it ’til you got here.”
“Thank you, Ivan is it? We’ll look after it from here then.” Father gave me a long look, as though grounding himself, then nodded at the man on the bed. “Just talk to him and wipe his face now, will you?”
When the sponge touched his face, the man opened his eyes and grabbed my forearm with shocking strength. He squeezed harder as Father probed his wound, until I could barely feel my fingers, until I thought I might lose my arm too. I had to distract him.
“What’s your name then?”
“Beaver.”
“Now what kind of name is that?”
“Not my real name.” Each word was a clipped breath.
“Try breathing deeply. More oxygen. It’ll help with the pain.” I wasn’t actually sure if it was true for anything but childbirth, but I had to say something. Slowly I worked my arm out of his clenched fingers. “What’s your real name?”
“James. I don’t want to live. Tell the doctor to give me something to make me die. Quick.”
“We can’t do that.” The request was not uncommon, death seen as the only ready solution to end the pain. “You just have to hold on until we get you fixed up. You’ll be all right.” His face was anguished. “Do you have a family?”
James started to cry. “You let me die, damn it.” He tried to push himself up on one elbow. “She can’t marry nobody else if I’m still alive. And then who’ll provide for them?” He looked about wildly, frantic to make himself understood. “I can’t work without my leg. You let me die. It’s the only way. They’ll starve...” His voice drifted as he passed out. I looked to Father, tears pressing against my eyelids.
“We can’t do anything about it now, Moira.”
We amputated above the knee to stop the infection. There’d been no chloroform, no cocaine for James. Father hadn’t received supplies from Edinburgh for weeks, and so the men held James down as Father began to saw. James woke, his screams finding their way around the leather strap in his mouth, filling the room, searing into my head to rest behind my eyes. The psalms Father had badgered me to memorize through every idle moment would not come. I closed my eyes to the scene and pictured our fine drawing room.