by Cathy LaGrow
“Dit is het beste,” Honus said to Jennie. This is best. She nodded and dropped her hands to her lap as relief came over her features, but also something else—the mask of sorrow, or perhaps shame, that had marked her face over the past half year.
“She come home soon after child,” Jennie said. She didn’t want Minka to be with the baby after its birth—it would make everything harder. The minister took in the mother’s concerns. Jennie knew her daughter better than anyone. Minka reminded the Reverend of his own three daughters, sheltered and completely susceptible to such a vile act. This was an example of the evils of the world preying upon the innocent.
“I will do all I can to get Minnie promptly installed at this place,” he promised.
As the couple left his office, Reverend Kraushaar opened his desk and withdrew two pieces of clean stationery. Today was the Sabbath and his family would be waiting with dinner, but Reverend Kraushaar could not delay. The time was coming quickly. First he wrote a quick note to Minka.
Then to Miss Bragstad of the Lutheran House of Mercy.
To Miss Bragstad,
. . . The girl referred to is Minnie DeYoung, at present at 3315 E. Ave. Sioux City, Iowa. Her case is a peculiar one, since her parents insist that the baby must be given away and Minnie return home as soon as possible.
There are other children in the family, esp., another younger sister, from whom they wish to hide Minnie’s condition, and then, too, Minnie’s rehabilitation here would be practically impossible were she to return with a baby.
Minnie is as innocent a girl as I have ever met. She is the victim of a foul assault. . . . The mother thinks that the child should be taken from Minnie directly after birth and Minnie return home about three weeks thereafter, but can you take care of such a small child until its adoption?
I want to do as much for Minnie as I would for my own daughter. . . . Thanking you for any kindness shown this unfortunate girl.
Sincerely yours,
Rev. Kraushaar
* * *
“It appears we will have a new arrival in a few weeks,” Miss Bertha Bragstad said to her assistant, Miss Julia Questad. As they sat together reviewing the schedule for the week ahead, Miss Bragstad’s eyes brushed over the response she’d been writing to Reverend Kraushaar. “Her name is Miss Minnie DeYoung.”
“When is her expected time of confinement?” Miss Questad asked as she scribbled down the name.
“Toward the end of May. I must write to explain our policy, however, that she must stay here for a month afterward. Her family wants her to return home immediately, but I have faith they will understand. This young woman comes highly recommended from her minister. She is innocent of the situation she finds herself in.”
“That is most difficult,” Miss Questad said.
Miss Bragstad caught Miss Questad’s raised eyebrow. The matron of the house steadied her gaze at the young woman. “With this one, I believe in her innocence as well.”
“Oh yes, of course.” The doubtful look vanished, and Miss Questad’s back straightened.
Miss Bragstad pushed up from the smooth wooden desk with a gentle sigh.
“Receive this not as a reprimand, but a reminder. In your time here, you’ve heard every story of innocence. Sometimes it is the truth; usually it is not. Regardless of the circumstances, our duty is to treat every young woman without prejudice and with the best possible care. Believe me, they will have a difficult journey ahead, whether innocent or not.”
“I apologize.” Miss Questad shifted in her seat with eyes lowered to the page open on her lap.
Miss Bragstad walked toward the door, giving the young woman’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “No apology necessary. Now let us start our rounds.”
The younger woman held back as if still embarrassed, but Miss Bragstad knew it would pass. Such reminders were necessary for all of them, herself included. The Lord called them to be compassionate and full of grace at the Lutheran House of Mercy.
Whatever circumstances brought the unwed mothers to their door, Miss Bragstad wished them to leave with a renewed hope that they might become women of character and dignity as they reentered the world outside.
The two women walked the long hallway, reviewing current issues: repairs needed to the stairway railing, a suitable substitute for the cook while she visited family, the review of a recent adoption, adjustments to their tightening budget. They passed the parlor and grand stairway. The sound of breakfast dishes being washed chimed from the kitchen as the cook and her assistant made the transition from one meal to the next.
Several young women occupied the house at the moment, three waiting for their children to be born. One girl was preparing to leave with her baby, under the determined belief that the child’s father would accept them once he saw his newborn son.
“When does Miss Sheldon leave?” Miss Bragstad asked before ascending the stairs. She was planning to talk once more to that hopeful new mother.
“Next Sunday. I’ll arrange to have her room prepared for the new arrival.”
“Very good,” Miss Bragstad said. She savored moments like this when the house and office ran well. She had developed a well-oiled system for arrivals and departures, for the housekeeping and kitchen staff, for the arrangements that she coordinated between adoptive parents, the state of South Dakota, and birth parents.
Miss Bragstad had taken the position of matron superintendent at the Lutheran House of Mercy eight years earlier, in 1921. Now, at the age of forty-three, Bertha Bragstad had settled into her role as a spinster. She’d experienced her own disappointments in life, but in her current position—an appointment to be proud of—she’d found a place where she excelled and where others respected her.
Painful childhood losses had prepared her to run this home, where she tried to counter the humiliation carried by arriving girls with the kind of empathy that would guide them into new lives. If an orphaned girl like herself could become the matron of such a respected establishment, these women could also set a fresh path for their own lives.
There were few boundaries between her personal and professional life. Miss Bragstad took on every necessary role without complaint. She lived in the downstairs quarters and was on call day and night. There were plenty of midnight wake ups. In emergencies, Miss Bragstad became a stand-in nurse or temporary doctor. She counseled the young women on their options, listened to their plans for the future, provided arms to soothe heartache, and carefully disciplined the girls when rules were broken.
Over the full twenty-eight years of her career, Bertha Bragstad would easily slip into the shoes of mother and grandmother to hundreds of teenaged mothers and the infants they brought back to the House of Mercy from the hospital. But she would never marry or have children of her own.
“Instead of Miss Sheldon’s room, let us put our new arrival in the Rose Room,” Miss Bragstad said, pausing in her steps as she considered the Reverend’s letter again. Miss Questad appeared surprised but marked the change in her notes.
The Rose Room was Miss Bragstad’s favorite upstairs room, the one into which the best light spilled this time of year. Reverend Kraushaar’s recommendation meant something to her. If he would treat the girl as his own daughter, then she would as well.
The girl had been through enough already, and Miss Bragstad knew all too well that the worst was yet to come.
Chapter Six
MINKA HESITATED in the back of the milk truck as the engine quieted. She stared through the window at the grand house where she’d be spending the next two months. Her mother opened the truck’s back door and motioned toward her.
“Come, Minnie.”
Minka held the door frame to steady herself as she stepped down. Honus retrieved her luggage bag. As Minka crossed her hands in front of her rounded stomach, her eyes looked up and along the beautiful white, two-story house that sat perched at the crest of a tree-shaded hill. The home presented a warm greeting with its neat yard, sweeping porch that gazed down
across the bright lawn, and vivid flowers that peeked from a gated garden around the corner of the house. The buds on the trees had recently burst open, like thousands of green butterflies emerging from their winter cocoons. Normally, such a lovely sight would thrill her.
But normal had departed Minka’s life months ago.
Honus and Jennie had come back to Tante’s to deliver Minka to the Lutheran House of Mercy, and on the drive from Iowa to Sioux Falls, Minka had felt panicked by the draining away of time. The anticipation of the reunion with Jennie had buoyed Minka’s spirits for weeks, but now they had just a few hours together.
And the calendar was pushing her ever closer to the great unknown of childbirth.
She’d barely thanked and said good-bye to Tante Hogerhide. Tante had appeared sad to see her go, holding the girl’s shoulders tightly as she reminded Minka to return for a visit.
Once in the truck, Minka’s thirst for news had loosened her tongue. Much had been left unsaid in the letters she and Jennie had regularly exchanged.
“How is Jane? What has she been doing? Does she ask about me?” Minka had inquired, leaning through the window to the front of the truck. By a few miles into the drive, Minka had already asked about the dairy, the Janssens and other Dutch families, even Honus’s dog. She wanted any news from Aberdeen, no matter how trivial.
But Jennie and Honus had not become more talkative in the months Minka was away. The pauses and silence between her questions reminded Minka that to her mother and stepfather, she was still a child, and children spoke only when spoken to. Jennie did mention a couple in church who’d been married earlier that month, and then, most shockingly, that Reverend Kraushaar would be taking a new position as president of a college in faraway Texas. Minka tucked that information away to process later. Too many other emotions and details were vying for her attention.
The meager responses to her questions were disappointing. Jennie seemed anxious about reaching their destination and reminded Minka twice that she should display gratitude for her acceptance to the House of Mercy. With a sigh, Minka settled back for the ride.
It was a perfect spring day. Minka wore the only thing that fit her now, a cotton shift dress that hung formlessly around her. Their route followed the winding Big Sioux River, which was swollen after a recent rainfall. Following months of cold, the warm sun and fresh-smelling air blowing through the front windows gave Minka moments of giddiness.
Then reality twisted her stomach. Her exile was almost at an end, but first she had to adapt all over again to another new place. And now she was not staying with a relative, but in a house for other disgraced girls. Here she would wait to have the baby . . . and then what? She suspected there were other details she’d yet to be told.
She wondered if she would have to earn her keep, if the people at the House of Mercy would expect her to clean or to go to town on errands. Although she was still plenty strong, her swollen stomach made it difficult to maneuver. And she no longer wore the winter coat that had hidden her new shape. She hated exposing herself and garnering curious glances.
* * *
Now she stood in the driveway, looking up at this House of Mercy. The air seemed so quiet and still. She detected no movement inside the home or in the yard.
“The superintendent wrote back and said it would be okay if I arrived today,” Minka said. She felt suddenly uncertain. “Well, someone did. The note wasn’t signed. I wrote that I’d do anything they needed, but they didn’t say what to do. . . .” She took one step closer to Jennie.
Just then the double doors to the house swept open and two women in neat, modest dresses descended the stairs to greet them. Minka walked forward, between her mother and Honus. Behind her, the milk truck she’d once detested seemed a haven.
“Welcome. My name is Bertha Bragstad, and I am the superintendent of the Lutheran House of Mercy.” The woman who spoke was about Jennie’s age. She smiled directly at Minka, as though the girl wasn’t a disgraced outcast but a friend. Minka’s muscles relaxed.
Miss Bragstad greeted Honus and Jennie and introduced her assistant, Miss Questad. Then she turned back to Minka.
“And you are Minnie,” she said. She sounded pleased to be meeting her.
“Yes,” Minka said. “Well . . . my name is Minka, but everybody calls me Minnie. How do you do?”
“I am very well, thank you. Which name do you prefer to go by: Minnie or Minka?”
“Oh, I’ve always been called Minnie.”
Miss Bragstad waited as if this wasn’t an answer, but when Minka didn’t offer any more information, the matron invited them inside for a tour of the house. Honus excused himself to remain on the front porch, where a couple of wooden rockers offered an escape from a houseful of pregnant girls.
The inside of the house was neat and clean, and the decorations bore a light, feminine touch. Freshly cut irises brightened tabletops. The furniture, lamps, and rugs appeared carefully chosen for each room.
Upstairs, Minka was introduced to several other girls. One was knitting in her room with her hands resting on her stomach, and another was reading from a stack of books on a small desk. The door to one room was closed, and Miss Bragstad explained that the baby inside might be napping and shouldn’t be disturbed.
Minka felt like that particular door was the entrance to a secret room. She’d soon find herself behind such a door, with a baby asleep beside her.
When they moved back downstairs, Minka held the railing of the stairs to keep her balance. Miss Bragstad paused at the large dining room table. “We take our meals together. Otherwise, the girls are free to rest or to care for their babies.”
Jennie’s eyes jumped to her daughter, and a wave of anxiety washed over Minka again. Her mother would leave her soon, leave her to face the mystery of childbirth alone. Because of the distance between Aberdeen and Sioux Falls—just over two hundred miles—it wouldn’t be practical, or maybe even possible, for Jennie to be summoned when labor came on. Mother and daughter would not see each other again until the day when Minka would say good-bye to her newborn child.
“We can retreat to my office and discuss any questions you may have,” Miss Bragstad said.
Miss Questad bid them a good-bye. Minka hung back, wondering what she should do and how long her mother would remain at the house.
“Minnie, you should join us,” Miss Bragstad said. The matron of the house and her mother had stopped to wait for her. When Minka reached Jennie’s side, they walked together, as if the mother, too, finally realized that her daughter was no longer a child.
Minka gazed around her, remembering Reverend Kraushaar’s office, which breathed of wisdom and the mysteries of study and education. Miss Bragstad’s office was different, organized yet warm, like the woman herself. Minka enjoyed hearing Miss Bragstad talk. She spoke in perfect English without a Dutch or German accent. Her voice held an air of authority without any hint of cruelty. She carried herself with a confidence that Minka could only dream of having one day.
Looking at Jennie, Miss Bragstad said, “I understand that you had wished for Minka to return to you quickly, but Reverend Kraushaar wrote that he explained our system. Is that acceptable to you?” Her tone was pleasant, and she seemed to be addressing both mother and daughter.
Jennie nodded. Minka wanted to ask how long she’d have to wait before going home, but instead she listened to Miss Bragstad go through the rules of the house. The explanation didn’t take long.
“We will talk later today, Minnie. But do you have questions now?”
Half-formed questions thickened her tongue, but Minka shook her head and held herself very still, trying to will away the tears she could feel pressing around her eyes. This unfamiliar weepiness seemed to be ever-present these days.
“May you and I talk alone?” Jennie asked.
“Certainly,” Miss Bragstad said. She turned to Minka and nodded. Her smile held so much gentle understanding that Minka realized she was going to lose her fight against the t
ears. She turned, grabbed for the doorknob, and hurried out of the room.
* * *
As Minka walked to the front porch, trying to keep her feet straight to hide the waddle in her step, she could not guess the depth of pain her mother felt on this day, or the many days before.
An ache had formed within Jennie since discovering Minka’s condition—an ache that grew over the months and now threatened to split her apart. She’d planned to offer her daughter more guidance during this visit, knowing the leap from fairy-tale storks to the reality of childbirth and the devastation of giving away a child would be brutal. She’d planned to tell again the story of the death of Minka’s father. How Jennie had held nine-day-old Jane in her arms, waiting for the husband who would never return. She’d wanted to tell Minka about childbirth, just enough to help her feel ready and assure her it would be all right.
But here again, she was failing her daughter. The right words seemed just beyond her grasp.
“She know nothing of . . . her time and . . . after,” Jennie said, twisting her skirt in her hands.
“We will prepare her.”
“She will want to keep de child. I know dis. Her life would be ruin. And de child too. A child cannot grow up wit such as dis.”
Miss Bragstad nodded, understanding too well the ramifications of a child born outside of matrimony. If the story of this child’s conception were to follow him or her . . . society would be cruel.
“It is her right to decide. But I understand the special circumstances. I will talk to her.”
* * *
After Honus and Jennie said good-bye, Minka did not watch the milk truck disappear down the street. She knew she might fling herself after it, and there was no point in making things worse. The time with her mother had been too short—it had not soothed her as she’d hoped. Loneliness threatened to hollow her out, even as every inch of her torso seemed taken up by the unborn baby.
Now there was nothing standing between her and the frightening coming event.
Miss Bragstad invited her to the garden, the older woman’s place of refuge. Minka tried to be polite as they walked, but as the matron of the house named varieties of flowers and pointed out spots where others would soon bloom, the information seemed to skip right by Minka.