1929

by M. L. Gardner

  “Oh, yes. I’m pregnant,” she snapped sarcastically. “How nice of you to remember.”

  “I didn’t forget, Ava. You haven’t been talking to me, remember?”

  “I’ve been pretty sick to my stomach.” She watched the passing landscape with little interest.

  “Morning sickness, huh?”

  “Among other things,” she said, her voice cold again.

  They were silent the rest of the drive to Boston.

  Jonathan went into a hardware store, searching for a few things his father had requested. He made idle small talk with Ava as best he could while she followed him around numbly. She simply stared at him or through him; Jonathan wasn’t quite sure which.

  Next, they went to a department store and Ava wandered off to pick out a gift for Arianna. Jonathan used the time alone to look for a present for her birthday, which was only a week away. He found a bottle of perfume that he loved and was fairly sure she would like, and with pink-faced embarrassment, wandered into the department for women. He bought three pair of silk stockings and had all of it wrapped in a beautiful box. He found Ava in the baby department, holding tiny outfits in front of her with a grin.

  “That’s adorable. We should buy it,” Jonathan said, sidling up to her.

  “This is a girl’s outfit. We don’t even know what ours will be. And since when did we have so much money to spend?” She stepped away to a display of blankets and swaddling cloths.

  “Well.” Jonathan followed her. “Since we’re staying with my parents a while longer, we can use a little of the savings. That four-day trip was very profitable, and we’ve been saving so hard for so long. We deserve it.” He touched her shoulder. She glared at his hand and then up at him. He removed it. “Sorry.”

  “I found this for Arianna,” she said, putting a lovely red, silk sleeping gown in Jonathan’s hands. “I need to find something for the baby, and I’ll be finished.”

  “Their baby or ours?” he asked quietly.

  She looked at the piles of gowns and outfits. He was almost sure he saw a flicker of emotion and one or two of the bricks crumble from the wall she had built around herself.

  “Theirs,” she whispered.

  He prolonged their time in the city by suggesting they get something to eat before heading home. They sat across from each other in a booth by the window of a small restaurant.

  “Hungry?” he asked cheerfully, even more determined to break through the rest of the fortified barrier that was keeping her from him. He now knew it was penetrable.

  “A little.” She hunched over the table peering at the menu. He ordered a Reuben and soup, but she only wanted soup.

  “I know it’s early, but have you thought about any names yet?” he asked. She shook her head and focused her eyes across the room. “What are you hoping for? A boy or a girl?” he asked. Her eyes rolled back to him with a slow, irritated blink.

  “What are you hoping for, Jonathan?” There was no right answer and he knew it. If he said a boy, she would call him a liar because he'd already gotten his boy; claiming he only wanted to make her feel better that she could produce a child equal to what Elyse had produced. If he said a girl, she’d call him a liar as well; claiming he only said it to avoid a riff with wanting a boy and to avoid being forced to choose who produced the better boy.

  This was his fear anyway. Since she had been so emotional and irrational lately, it wouldn’t surprise him if his fear turned out to be well founded. He went with both honesty and diversion.

  “I want a healthy baby and a quick delivery with as little discomfort as possible for you.” She nodded at his acceptable, albeit safe, answer. They were served lunch and it was left to Jonathan to break the silence once again.

  “Tell me more about Maura,” he said quietly, cooling a spoonful of soup. “You said things were getting bad.”

  “They are.” As soon as the subject of Maura came up, her voice softened and she spoke easily. “She said that there are a lot of people out of work. She sees bread lines every day now, sometimes over a block long. Families are moving in together to save money. There’s also a bunch of people living in Central Park. She said it’s like a city of tents and shanties. The city doesn’t like it, but there’s nowhere else for them to go. They shoo some of them away, but they show up again in a few days.” She crushed crackers into her vegetable soup with a furrowed brow, worried for Maura.

  “How are she and Ian doing? I mean, is it that bad for them?”

  “Not yet. Maura is still working for the family she went to after us, but they’ve shortened her workdays. Her aunt lost her job at the library, so she’s home every day to tell Ian how poor a job he’s doing of raising Scottie. To make ends meet for now, they are dipping into the money saved to bring Maura’s mother over. She’s heartbroken over that.”

  “I wish there was something we could do.” He stared at the table, his soup growing cold, trying to brainstorm a solution to help. Several moments later he sighed, resigned to helplessness.

  “How about Shannon and Patrick? Have you heard from them?”

  “Yes. It’s getting rough for them, too. Patrick still has his job, but every day he wonders if it will be his last. I guess they're laying off men every week. And Shannon is worried she’s pregnant again.”

  He looked up with raised eyebrows. “Lord, that’s the last thing they need.”

  “I guess Patrick has a new hobby of yelling at the radio, especially when the President says things are okay now and continue to get better every day. He yells that maybe His Highness should take a stroll down to Central Park or any number of alleys in the lower east side to see the people huddled in them or to the factories and docks to see how many men continue to walk away without a job every Friday.”

  Jonathan laughed at her attempt to impersonate Patrick’s thick, Irish brogue. “I miss them,” he said. “I wish there was something we could do.” It was all they could do to save a bit toward their own future home and contribute to living expenses; but now with another mouth to feed and yet another to come the end of the year, she wondered if they would ever be able to move out.

  “I was thinking about planning a picnic next weekend,” he said, abruptly changing the subject.

  “Why?” Her eyes glazed again as her smile faded.

  “Well, for one, I like spending time with you, for two, the weather’s been beautiful, for three, Jean asked if we could have one. The three of us.”

  “I’d rather not,” she said curtly and went back to her cold soup.

  “Ava, he’s just a child. He has no idea–”

  “He’s your child with her. And I don’t want anything to do with him. I thought I made that clear.”

  “I’m not asking you to love him, just–”

  Her eyes flashed full of anger as she leaned toward him.

  “You made this decision without even consulting me. You chose her wishes over mine. And I will never forgive you.” She gathered her hat and gloves to leave.

  “Ava, wait!” He grabbed her wrist and she jerked it away. “You’re right. I should have talked to you first. I’m sorry, all right, a thousand times, I'm sorry.” His voice was hushed. “I was in shock–completely stunned, I couldn’t breathe . . . I . . . .” He leaned his elbow on the table, held his forehead in his hand, and looked at her pitifully. “I miss you,” he whispered.

  She looked away quickly, but not quick enough; he saw one more brick fall. He ordered tea for both of them, and they sat quietly for a long time. “I need to know,” he said, sitting up straighter and running his hand through his hair. “Are you leaving me?” Her head jerked and for a brief second, she looked insulted.

  “Do you want me to leave?” she asked spitefully.

  “No. Of course not. I just thought, under the circumstances of you writing Maura so much, you might be thinking about it.”

  More silence. He sighed and let his hand fall onto the table with a thud. “Jesus, Ava, just tell me yes or no. I need to know.” />
  “I haven’t decided yet,” she said quietly. “I just don’t know if I can do it, Jon. If I can look at him every day. You have no idea how I feel or what goes through my mind. And I don’t know if I can look at you every day. I don’t even know if I want this baby.” His eyes widened and dread balled up in his stomach.

  “What do you mean?” he asked cautiously.

  “I don’t know,” she whispered with tears in her eyes. She reached for her hat and gloves again, and this time he didn’t try to stop her. He walked a few paces behind her to the car.

  ∞∞∞

  After a silent ride home, she went directly to their room, closing the door behind her. Jonathan sat on the couch, and Jean scrambled up to sit beside him, showing him several drawings he had done that day.

  “Wow.” He looked at Jean and back to the drawings. “You did these?” Jean grinned shyly and nodded. “They’re very good.” He studied the drawings, stunned, and glanced at his mother.

  “Jean drew those for you,” she said, confirming Jonathan’s questioning look. He shook his head and rubbed his chin, amazed. “You’re a good, little artist. I bet you’d enjoy meeting Claire. She’s an artist, too. She paints.”

  “I love to paint!” he said and smiled widely. “When can I meet her?”

  “Well, you know that picnic? Maybe we could invite Claire and her husband and our other friends, too?” That way Ava would have to go, he thought.

  “Oui, can we please?”

  “We can,” Jonathan said with a tired smile.

  Jean scooted off the couch, announcing, “I have to go to bed now.” He headed toward the stairs, pausing to hug his grandmother on his way. “Good night, Grand’Mere.”

  Jonathan had just placed his bedding on the couch when he heard footsteps on the stairs. Ava went to the kitchen for a drink of water and then stopped at the landing of the stairs, gripping the rail tightly.

  “You don’t have to sleep on the couch anymore,” she said. Her voice was strained, as though the words were forced at gunpoint. “I know you work hard, and I won’t be responsible for causing someone pain.” She glared at him pointedly. “But mind the line.”

  When he walked into the room, he saw she had taken a pen and physically drawn a line down the center of the white sheet.

  April 7th 1930

  “So, did you make any headway Saturday?” Aryl’s pace was slowing, tiring from the repetitive hand-over-hand motion of pulling up the heavy pots.

  “Yes and no.” Jonathan took a large bite of apple and then tucked it in his pocket as the first pot emerged from the water. He leaned to haul it up and over as Aryl began pulling up the next pot. “I’m off the couch. But she still barely talks to me.”

  “What about the kid? How is she around him?” Aryl paused to wipe sweat off his forehead with his sleeve. “Damn, it’s getting warm,” he muttered and went back to his tug of war with the sea.

  “She ignores him. I guess it could be worse. She’s not outright mean to him. She spends a lot of time with Claire and Arianna and when I’m home, she spends a lot of time in the room or the garden.”

  “You’re getting the next string,” Aryl grunted as he pulled up yet another pot swollen with a red mass of black beady eyes, claws that snapped with a tight sinister pop and antennae that wildly poked out of the pot in all directions. Jonathan opened the pot and grimaced as he carefully transferred them to the water hold, occasionally throwing one back overboard.

  “I still say these are the ugliest things,” he muttered.

  “Well, feel free to trade me places. My arms are killing me.”

  “I will, next string,” Jonathan said and grinned. “Anyway, I hope the picnic this weekend will go all right. She didn’t like the idea of just the three of us having one.”

  “Do me a favor,” Aryl said as he pulled another pot over the edge. “Go over there and kick Caleb. Nap time is over.” He glanced over his shoulder at Caleb, who slept curled on his side with a coat over his head. Jonathan nudged him on the shoulder.

  “Hey, wake up. Wouldn’t want you to miss all the fun.”

  Caleb pushed the coat off his head and squinted in the sunlight.

  “How long was I out?” he asked groggily while rubbing his face.

  “Couple hours.” Jonathan went back to sorting lobsters. Caleb wobbled to his feet.

  “Sorry ‘bout that,” he grumbled.

  “Arianna still keeping you awake?” Aryl asked. Caleb nodded mid-yawn.

  “She can’t get comfortable. Her back hurts, her feet are swollen, and she has to use the bathroom every hour. And she’s having more and more of those practice pains. I guess they don’t hurt that bad, but they wake her up, which wakes me up. I’ll be glad when this is over,” he said, rubbing his eyes again.

  “Aw, you can’t stop now. I’ve always pictured you with at least a dozen kids running around that farm,” Aryl said. Caleb glowered at him as he started unloading a pot.

  “Just you wait,” he warned.

  “I can’t wait to have kids.” Aryl smiled.

  “You say that now, but I think you’ll be singing a different tune when Claire is,” he paused, and even though they were in the middle of the ocean, he lowered his voice to a whisper, “as big as a house and crabby and crying and throwing things.” Caleb shuddered. “But that’s not what bothers me the most,” he continued, setting aside the empty pot and dragging another away from the wall. “There isn’t a damn thing I can do to make it better.” He shook his head in frustration. Aryl pulled the last pot up and sat down hard, completely spent.

  “It’s almost over, Caleb. Couple more months.” Caleb nodded, yawned again, and finished working. “Let’s go in after this,” Aryl said. Jonathan stopped working and stared at him for a moment.

  “Are you, actually, calling an early day? Have you gone mad?” he teased.

  “No. Just really tired. I think I might be catching a cold or something,” he said, rubbing his sinuses with a grimace.

  ∞∞∞

  Ava came up out of bed with a strangled scream, sweat covering her face and chest. She gasped, cold and numb with fear, trying to catch her breath.

  “Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” Jonathan sat up and leaned to try to see her face. She dropped her head into her hands and tried several slow, deep breaths.

  “Just a bad dream,” she whispered. The same dream that haunted her for several months had revisited her. This time, Jean followed her along the black, jagged rocks where she cried and called for Jonathan. No matter how many times she turned to yell for him to go away, to leave her alone with her own baby screaming in her arms, he clung to her skirt and called her Mother.

  “Talk to me,” he said softly and slipped the fallen arm of her sleeping gown back up onto her shoulder. She shook her head, dropped her hands to her legs, and kept her head down. “It might help.” He put her hand into his and was pleasantly surprised when she didn’t pull it away.

  “I keep having the same dream, at least once a week. This time . . . it was worse.” Her voice was hoarse from sleep and fright. He turned toward her and massaged her hand.

  “What do you keep dreaming about? Tell me,” he whispered. She sighed, long, slow, and rolled her head over to him.

  “I can’t.” The house was perfectly still; the only sound the faint ticking of the bedside clock. The glow of the moonlit room was enough light just to make out shapes and outlines.

  He pushed the hair from her face. “I meant what I said last Saturday.” She searched his face, wondering which phrase he was talking about. “I really miss you,” he whispered. She could barely make out his eyes; they were so sincere that she felt her heart’s ice begin to melt, and he could sense it. “It kills me to be this close to you. I’d do anything to make things right again. I just want things to be like they were . . . when we were happy.” He leaned to kiss her and she didn’t pull away. She let him do what he would, leading the kiss tentatively, as she grappled between anger and loneliness. After
a moment, loneliness won and she grabbed two handfuls of his hair, urging him on.

  “Jonathan! What’s that?” Margaret sat up in bed, unnerved. “I think someone is trying to break in,” she whispered. He listened intently for a moment and then suddenly let out a quiet, hard laugh. “What is it? Why are you laughing?” she whispered with a hint of irritation.

  “No one is trying to break in, Margaret. I think Jon and Ava worked things out.” Three seconds to process and Margaret giggled, slightly embarrassed. “Well, that’s good,” she said with a smile, reclining again.

  “Hey, hold on now,” he said and smiled down at her. “Just what are you doing?”

  “Going back to sleep since we’re not being robbed.” She leaned up, pecked him on the lips, and then settled under the quilts.

  “I have a better idea,” he said, grinning in the dark, hovering over her. “Let’s give 'em a run for their money.” She giggled wickedly and pinched him playfully on the thigh.

  ∞∞∞

  The next afternoon, Jonathan returned home early. He had worked at a breakneck pace to get home as fast as possible to Ava. He practically skipped home, swinging his lunch pail as he walked, whistled, and greeted some birds nesting in a tree with a cordial hello. He stopped only briefly to pick some wild daisies that grew alongside the patchy, gravel road.

  Once inside, he waved to his parents, who were on the couch listening to the radio with a glow of their own. He stooped toward the floor to pat Jean’s head as he was creating a new drawing. He took the stairs two at a time and pushed the door open, smiling.