by Lorna Lee
“We did.” Meri smiled in agreement. “You’re in a particularly good mood. Generous, too. You brought a delicious lunch. Merci, beaucoup, mon chére amie!”
“I have to make sure le petit bébé stays strong and healthy. La grosse mére, too!” She added with an affectionate rub to Meri’s bulbous belly.
“Mothers are supposed to be fat. All this…” She rubbed her own belly and wide hips. “…protects her until she’s ready for all this.” Meri waved her opened hands as if serving up the view in front of them.
“Her? You said ‘her.’ Do you think you’re having a girl?” Siri sat a little straighter.
“Oui. Every time I think about the baby or talk to her or about her, she’s always a girl. You see? I just did it again.”
“Perhaps you’re wishing for a girl.”
“Perhaps I have a mother’s intuition—something you’ve never experienced.”
“You’re right.” Siri nodded thoughtfully. “Have you named her yet?”
“You’re the first to ask me. No one seems to want to talk about this baby. Everyone can see her but no one will talk about her. I’m sure everything would be different if I had a husband on my arm.”
“Perhaps. It could be that no one else feels comfortable enough to talk of something so intimate as an unborn child. Once she’s born, people will have lots to say.”
“I suppose so.”
“What will they call her besides belle fille?”
“Jeannine Vivi Vaarsara.” Meri said the name with pride and determination.
“I love it. What made you choose those names?”
“Jeannine means ‘God is gracious.’ Remember my little brother, Jani? I still think of him and wonder how he’s doing back in Finland—or even if he’s there any longer. His name means ‘consecrated to God.’ It’s close to the same thing, right? Jani always felt more like my child than my brother. Now that I’m having a child of my own, I thought it would be appropriate to give her a name that means the same thing as my dear little brother. ‘Vivi’ means ‘to live.’ My little girl is Parisian, unlike me. She will have more opportunities to live the life she wants rather than struggle or settle like I did.”
“Meri, that’s so sweet. You should write to Jani and tell him.”
“Non. Never. If Jani is still there, he may want to come to Paris. He pleaded with me to take him along when I left. I don’t want anyone at home knowing…” Meri smiled with serious eyes and shook her head. “…I’m not a famous fashion designer in gay Paris living the good life.”
“Oh.” Siri knew many versions of this story, having worked so long in the Finnish Embassy.
“Non. Finland and my family are far behind me. I’ll never go back, and they must never find me. Or my baby girl.”
Siri nodded then she changed the subject. “Meri. You said you were sure you’re having a girl. Do you have boy’s name picked out…just in case?”
“Non. She’ll be a girl.” She stated as a matter of fact, not intuition. What Meri did not tell Siri was the very difficult decision she would have to make when Jeannine Vivi was finally born: give her to strangers while she worked for Madame or look for other work as the mother of a newborn infant.
§
Meri gave birth privately and in relative quiet compared to the cacophonous public celebrations on July 14, 1933. Bastille Day was a day of national pride to the French, and they did not let a stuttering economy or the ominous European political climate dampen their spirits. The midwife helped Meri bring her little daughter into the world while music from distant bands accompanied the birth. Later, as she nursed her baby, both mother and child were unsettled by the constant boom, boom, boom of fireworks.
“I may be an immigrant, little girl, but you’re a Parisian.” She spoke softly in French to her daughter who would never learn a word of Finnish from her. “Life will be easier for you than for me. People will accept you as one of their own.” Meri smiled at her daughter.
“What’s her name? I need this information for her official papers.” The labor had been long and the midwife, once patient, now seemed hurried.
“Jeannine Vivi Vaarsara.” Meri spoke her daughter’s name without hesitation.
The midwife sighed. “Spell the name so I get it right.”
Meri did. “Her name must be spelled properly on her birth papers,” she told the midwife. Her name has a special meaning. Meri kept the thought to herself, sensing the woman’s impatience.
“Your name is Meri Vaarsara, correct? What’s your second name?”
“Is it necessary? The name is never used, not even by my parents.”
“The more accurate the papers, the better.” The midwife shrugged. She seemed to want this formality completed so that she could go home.
“Jaana.” Meri smiled, remembering the one time her mother mentioned her second name. She told Meri what Jaana meant. “Your father had to name you after his precious sea and look what kind of daughter he left me with!” She was seething because young Meri had wandered off on her own to the seaside searching for her beloved Papa. “Jaana is the second name he gave you. It means obstinate and rebellious. His Meri Jaana. Never obeying. Always causing me trouble!”
“All right. Meri Jaana Vaarsara. These foreign names! I need you to spell your name, too.” She braced herself and continued. “The father’s name?” The midwife had her pen poised over the paper, waiting for another strange foreign name.
Silence.
“Meri? The father’s name? I need his name to complete the birth record.”
I can’t give his real name. The Jewish man who fooled me? Should I make up a name or tell her I don’t know who the father is? I might choose a real person, if I make up a name. What would happen then? If I say I don’t know the father, the official papers will show my little girl is illegitimate and I’m a…a…
“This isn’t a tricky question.” The weary woman drummed her pen on the paper in rhythm with her foot tapping the floor.
Meri jutted her chin out, met the midwife’s eyes, and said with the most dignity she could muster, “You may leave the section blank.”
The woman sighed and shook her head. She paused long enough for Meri to reconsider her answer, but she just stared at the midwife, hoping her shame and fear did not tarnish the air of pride she tried to project. After an uncomfortable moment of eye contact, the midwife said almost to herself, “Another Immaculée Conception.”
Meri gasped, “I beg your pardon?” This woman helped me with a very intimate and difficult task, and she did so professionally and compassionately. Now she’s turned into a different person, a person with poison in her heart. Meri could not let this woman’s comment go without defending herself, even though she had a weak defense as an unwed mother. “I’m choosing to raise my daughter alone. I have my reasons, which are none of your business.”
The midwife nodded curtly. “I shall put ‘deceased’ on the form. A blank line raises questions you may not wish to answer.”
Meri nodded, satisfied the two women understood each other.
The midwife presented the paper for Meri’s signature.
Meri signed and returned the paper back to her. “What happens now? To the papers, I mean.”
“I’ll sign this and file it with the Bureau de l’état Civil. Filing is something the father usually does, but in your case, I’ll handle the paperwork. The small filing fee is included as part of my fee to you. An official copy with a seal will be sent to you in several weeks at the address you provided.”
“I see.” Meri looked back down at Jeannine.
“Meri, you aren’t the only woman in this situation. Many mothers are in situations like yours for many reasons. Raising a child without a father is difficult in the best of economic times.” She reached over and grabbed Meri’s hand. “It’s been a long day and night. I’m tired and I’m sorry for being so impatient and harsh. Your little girl is beautiful and I’m happy for you.”
Meri nodded and squeezed t
he woman’s hand, but she kept her head down. “Trust me, we’re better off without her father in our lives.” The tears in Meri’s eyes were too close to spilling onto her innocent child—fatherless because of a choice she made.
As the midwife left Meri’s room, Siri entered. She had arrived at the Dorval residence hours earlier. The Dorvals were away at their summer home for two months, leaving Meri to care for Soldat and to resolve her “situation” before they returned by the first of September. Because they were away, Meri had free reign of the house—including the telephone, which she used to call the midwife and then Siri, when the pains of labor intensified. She needed Siri to take over her duties until she could resume work. Siri made arrangements at work to take one week’s vacation. Both women hoped Meri would be able to handle an infant and giant dog by herself a week after childbirth.
I will have to. Siri will be gone.
Chapter 11: A Bad Mother but a Good Provider
“It’s not true that life is one damn thing after another; it is one damn thing over and over.”
Edna St. Vincent Millay
“Oui, Madame.” Meri curtsied and backed out of Madame’s study. She had her assignments for the day. The Dorvals returned from the country two weeks ago and her duties seemed more demanding than before she was pregnant. Madame put her on kitchen duty in addition to her other work. Evette found other employment and Phillipe needed an assistant. Zara, too, seemed busier than usual. Did the house fall apart while I was tending to my baby?
Madame’s demeanor during her infrequent interactions with Meri became more caustic. Meri suspected her especially curt tone or refusal to look at her had something to do with Jeannine. I don’t know why she’s so upset with me. I did as she insisted and found a home for Jeannine before they returned. Her little daughter had less than six weeks with her mother before Meri gave her over to a complete stranger. Still Meri had to deal with this sour German woman’s grudge against her. And for what? Having a social life and getting pregnant by accident? Hasn’t Madame ever made a mistake? Meri took her aggression out on scrubbing the kitchen floor; it was never so clean. How could she be upset by a baby in her house? It’s not because she mourns the loss of her own unborn children. She won’t even touch her dog! To me, Soldat is like a baby no matter how old or big he is. He needs love, attention, food, and bathing. She refuses to provide her own dog any affection. How compassionate a mother would she have been? I’m sure she would have hired a wet nurse then a nanny just so she wouldn’t have to deal with touching another human being in a tender way. She’s manipulating Monsieur, can’t he see that?
Regardless of how Meri felt about Madame, Monsieur Dorval had been clear about making arrangements for her baby before they returned from their country home. Meri knew he was unhappy about his promise to his wife. She couldn’t help but smile as she scrubbed the kitchen floor when she remembered what Monsieur did about a week before they left for the country.
Still large with her baby inside her, Monsieur came to her room in the basement.
“What’s this?” Meri put her hand to her chest as she opened her door. She never expected to see Monsieur in the servants’ quarters or at her bedroom door.
He held out a small neatly wrapped package. “A gift…for your child.”
Meri turned to scan her tiny room, stepped aside, and said, “Come in.” I’m glad I’m still dressed.
He looked so big and awkward in her little room, made smaller by the white wicker bassinette awaiting its occupant.
Meri sat on her bed. She had been mending the seams on one of her larger uniforms. She had outgrown them too. They both looked at the bassinette, well-used by other mothers and their babies. The brown of the wooden wicker showed on all the areas where other mothers’ hands rested or rubbed. One of the legs had an obvious spiral fracture.
He handed Meri a small package wrapped in white tissue paper. It had blue, white, and red ribbons wrapped around it.
Meri took the gift. She stroked the colorful ribbons then glanced up at Monsieur with question clouding her eyes. He remained standing. The bed would have been the only place to sit.
He hesitated. “The gift is from me to your child. No one else knows…or needs to.”
“Merci, Monsieur. You are too generous. The wrapping is…colorful.” Did he wrap this himself?
“These are the colors of the French flag. Your baby will be born in Paris, so the child is French. The colors are an appropriate reminder since you seem to love France so much.” He spoke to his hands clasped in front of him while he explained.
Not a woman prone to sentimental emotions, Meri’s eyes surprised her when they welled up with unshed tears. Papa used to talk to his hands when he talked about emotional things, which was hardly ever. How could I be so lucky to work for a man so like my Papa and who treats me like Papa did? “The gift is beautiful,” Meri whispered, not wanting to give away her emotions.
“Open the gift before you make your judgments.” He laughed.
Meri opened the gift: a silver rattle. “This is too much. Too expensive. If Madame—”
“She will never know. Do you understand?” He nodded as he spoke.
“I understand. Merci beaucoup, Monsieur. Jeannine and I will treasure it.”
“Jeannine?”
“Jeannine Vivi. That’s her name. Do you like it?”
“It is lovely. How do you know your baby is a girl?” He raised one of his eyebrows, giving him the expression of someone both extremely curious and impressed at the same time.
Meri smiled. She liked impressing Monsieur in the same way she liked impressing Papa; it made her feel special. “You live with a little creature inside you for many months and you get a feeling about these things.”
His eyes widened. He would’ve made a wonderful father. Children mystify and delight him.
Meri laughed. “You don’t believe me?”
“Non, Non. You say you are having a girl. Who am I to contradict you? I find this ‘mother’s intuition’ fascinating. In a way, I envy you.”
“Envy me? Monsieur! My papa told me a pregnant woman casts a spell over men. They lose their senses. Perhaps he was right.”
Monsieur Dorval rubbed his hands against his thighs then clapped them together. “There. Any spell is now broken! I apologize for being too personal.” He pointed to the gift. “I merely wanted your child to have this gift. I bought for the first child Greta lost.”
“Oh…” Meri nearly dropped the rattle.
“Meri, do not worry. I want you to have it for your child…daughter. What good is this to me? The thing just reminds me of something I lost. Greta never knew I bought it. I wanted to surprise her. For some reason, I could not throw away the gift when she lost the baby. Now I know the reason.” He placed his hand on her shoulder and started a patting and rubbing motion. Just like Papa did to soothe both of us. Also just like Amiel…
He stopped abruptly, pulled his hands away, and started pacing. His face turned pensive. “Meri, Greta is upset by the presence of a baby in her house. It reminds her of the child she lost.” Monsieur’s eyes were as soft and his voice. “I must admit, I feel the same way. I always wanted to be a father.” Again, he spoke to his hands.
“I understand how you feel, Monsieur. But this thing you require of me is difficult. She’ll be so vulnerable and will need me.”
He nodded. “My heart aches for both of you. If you cannot make arrangements for the child, Meri, you will have to find other employment. This is not my decision. I promised Greta. I am a man of my word.” Sadness, or perhaps regret, clouded his face. “I have always kept my promises, not only to you.”
“Oui, Monsieur.” Meri understood his expression. If you’re going to be a man who keeps his word, be careful to whom you give those words. “By the time you return in September, she’ll be in the care of someone else or I’ll leave.”
“Meri, I hope you’ll make adequate arrangements for your baby and you remain with us. There must be women
capable of looking after a baby. In a purely selfish way, I would like to see… her… on occasion. To me, you are part of our family. Am I crazy?”
“Non, Monsieur. You’re not crazy. You remind me of my Papa.” What did I just say? Am I indiscrete because I’m going to have a baby?
Meri noticed him stiffen but just for a moment. He recovered quickly and smiled. “Good. You’ll find someone to care for her and you will stay on with us.” He turned his attention to the bassinette. “I will make sure Greta gets away from here so your last weeks of pregnancy and your first weeks as a mother are in peace. Remember, I am a man of my word. Take good care of yourself and your little one, Meri.” He nodded, bid her good night and left Meri’s room.
“I’ll try,” Meri said to the empty bassinette.
Meri’s thoughts of that tender time before Jeannine was born were broken when her scrubbing brush nearly ran over Madame’s black shoes. “Pay attention to your work!”
“Oui, Madame.”
§
Walking to visit her little baby on her day off, Meri continued her ruminations about how she had made arrangements for Jeannine’s care only one week before the Dorvals returned home. Once again, Siri had come to the rescue.
“What about Elina? She’s old enough now to care for an infant and she knows you.” Siri gazed into her coffee cup with such intensity, as if the answer to Meri’s problems might reveal itself if she concentrated strongly enough.
“Absolutely not! I don’t want my baby girl anywhere near Tuula and her…her…lifestyle.” Meri’s raised voice startled Jeannine, who started to fuss in the well-used voiture d’enfant that Zara borrowed from one of her relatives who no longer needed a baby-buggy.
Siri reached into the carriage and put her hand on Jeannine’s belly. The baby calmed down. “Meri, finding someone you know and trust to take care of your precious girl in just a week is impossible.”
Meri glanced at Jeannine then at Siri. “Is there anyone you know? I trust you. I have to do something. The Dorvals are coming home in one week. Either Jeannine is placed with someone or we must leave. Where will I find such stable employment as with the Dorvals? I’ll still have to find someone to care for this baby, but in another job.”