Hope's Daughter

by Joani Ascher

“He says he won’t. He wants me to be happy.”

  Jane forced a smile of encouragement at her sister. But the truth was too obvious to both of them.

  ****

  Two weeks later, when Jane got home, Martin was where he had been every single day since he moved back in. He sat in his undershirt in the winged chair, reading the newspaper. Jane suspected he never left the apartment, not even to look for work. When she greeted Jane in the evening, Mrs. McGill confirmed that suspicion. But Jane decided to hold her tongue and give it time.

  It was difficult, especially since resentment oozed from every pore on Martin’s body. He did not bother to ask for money from Jane, and she had seen to it that Olivia did not have access to any. So he sat, dissatisfied, glaring at the door as if he were in a jail cell.

  Jane wondered why he stayed. While it was true he was well taken care of, since Olivia tried to give him interesting meals and spent hours washing and ironing everything from his dress shirts to his boxer shorts, he had little to say to her and did not show much interest in Ellen.

  ****

  At night, despite her pillow, Jane could hear Olivia’s pain, while her husband assumed his “rightful pleasures.” Quite often Ellen awoke during this time, and a stream of curses and admonitions erupted from Martin, who had moved the crib out of the bedroom he shared with Olivia. Jane would hold the baby and rock her, trying to shut out the sound of Martin’s voice and the language he used. Her embarrassment was compounded by the disgusted stares of her neighbors in the mornings.

  Several times, when Jane went to get a drink of water during the night, she found her sister staring into the crib, or at the kitchen table looking at nothing. Yet every morning, no matter how early Jane arose, Olivia was up before her. Dark circles had come back under her eyes, and she was losing weight again.

  “Did you sleep well?” Jane asked one morning, shortly before Ellen’s first birthday.

  Olivia turned vacant eyes to her sister. “About the same as usual. I’m not very tired these days.” She pulled at her housecoat. “Maybe it’s because of the sun coming up so early.”

  That did not make much sense to Jane. The sun was actually coming up later than it had been when Olivia first came home. But she let it go, promising herself to call Dr. Mann and ask him to have a look at Olivia.

  “I told her I was calling you because Ellen has the sniffles,” Jane said, when she called him.

  “Has the baby been sick?”

  “No. She’s fine, wonderful. A joy.”

  “Jane, tell me what’s been going on.”

  She told him all she knew. “I think she’s stopped sleeping again, and I know she doesn’t eat. She just picks at her dinner, and her clothes.”

  “She was doing that in the hospital.”

  “That’s what has me so scared.”

  He came the next evening. For a while he examined little Ellen, and pronounced her healthy, then he quietly asked to speak to Olivia alone.

  Jane was left with Martin and nothing to say. She managed to keep him out of his own bedroom by offering him a second slice of cake.

  She jumped up when Dr. Mann came out of the room. He nodded at the door, and Jane followed him, making a show of escorting him out.

  “You were right to be worried,” said the doctor. “She’s very thin, and very nervous, and I’m sure she hasn’t slept in weeks.”

  “Why would this be starting again? I thought she was cured.”

  “There was always a chance there could be a recurrence.”

  Jane gripped the doorknob. “She can’t live through another time like that.”

  “Pray it isn’t so. I’ve told her to come in for some tests.”

  ****

  It was a sweltering hot day in the second week of September, the fourth in a string, with unbearable humidity, and Jane and everyone else felt short tempered. Two women fainted on the platform, waiting for the train, and five men got into a brawl over the last newspaper at the newsstand. The whole building was hushed, as if everyone were asleep, waiting out the heat of the day. Jane went upstairs slowly, since there was so little air, and turned toward her apartment. But when she opened the door and saw a policeman standing next to Mrs. McGill, who was in tears, clutching Ellen close, she knew the worst had happened.

  “There’s been an accident,” the officer said. “At the subway station. Your sister fell off the platform in front of a train. I’m very sorry. She did not survive.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Dr. Mann injected Jane with a strong sedative. “Don’t worry about Ellen,” he said. “Mrs. McGill will take care of her.”

  “I don’t understand about Olivia,” cried Jane. “She was just going to see you. That’s three blocks away. Why was she at the subway station?”

  “She must have gone there after I saw her.”

  “What did you tell her?”

  “Jane, I think you should know. She was pregnant.”

  The horror of the situation began to sink in as the medication started to do its work. Jane fell asleep knowing her sister had voluntarily stepped off a subway platform in front of an oncoming train.

  ****

  The funeral was held on a cool, crisp day that gave promise to the coming autumn. Dr. Mann came to check on Jane before she left for the service. He took a look at Ellen too, who sat comfortably on Mrs. Roche’s lap, unaware that her mother was dead.

  “It was kind of Martin’s mother to come all the way down here to take care of Ellen,” Dr. Mann whispered at the door.

  “Her heart is in the right place,” said Jane.

  “Maybe Martin’s is too, at least a little,” said the doctor. “He went to the funeral home before the casket was closed and asked for Olivia’s ring. He told the director it meant a lot to him.”

  Jane looked into the old doctor’s eyes. “If you’re saying this wasn’t all his fault, I’m sorry, but I just don’t believe that. He knew how fragile she was. He didn’t care.” She looked guiltily over at Mrs. Roche, hoping she had not heard.

  “You mustn’t let yourself become bitter,” Dr. Mann warned. “You will only hurt yourself.”

  Jane sighed. “I’ve got to go. Thank you for stopping by.”

  The doctor kissed her on the forehead and walked her downstairs. She knew his arm was around her shoulders, but she was too numb to feel it.

  An hour later Jane stoically watched as the coffin was lowered into the ground, then murmured responses to the other mourners. She felt as if she, too, were being buried, standing there holding both Anne’s and Mr. Dobbin’s hands. Mrs. McGill stood a few feet away, sobbing, and a few of the neighbors clustered around her trying to offer comfort. Standing alone, on the other side of the grave, was Martin, looking bewildered, who left as soon as the first shovelful of dirt was put onto the coffin.

  That evening, Jane sat rocking Ellen to sleep. Martin had done his disappearing act again, not even bothering to try to take the baby with him. He did take the two silver picture frames Mr. Dobbin had given him and Olivia. One had a picture of the baby and the other had their wedding photo in it. Jane was touched but mystified by his sentimentality, because it was in such contrast to his behavior.

  He put the frames, all his clothes, and any of the small, valuable gifts he and Olivia had received at their wedding into the good suitcase that had belonged to Jane and Olivia’s father. When he slammed the door on the way out, it was clear he would not be back.

  The minute she could, Jane resolved she would sue for custody on the grounds of abandonment by the baby’s father. Martin’s mother, who had witnessed his departure, agreed with her, calling him several names. These included many pertaining to the debt he owed her, since he had never paid her one cent to defray the loss of her wages while she cared for Ellen.

  ****

  Jane did not see Martin again until the hearing, when he swaggered into court looking more disheveled than ever and stated to the judge that he did not want Jane to have custody.

 
“Your honor,” said Jane’s lawyer, Mr. Smith, “this man has twice abandoned his baby daughter, and since the child’s mother is dead, we ask you to grant the petition to award custody to Miss Baldwin.”

  “Did she tell you her own freak baby died?” Martin asked the judge. “Now she wants mine. You can’t let her take Ellen. Uh, your honor.”

  The judge pounded his gavel. “Order. Are you contesting this lady’s right or ability to take care of the child?”

  “I am, your honor.”

  “I’ll hear motions on this, with full documentation, by Friday. Adjourned.”

  Mr. Smith took Jane’s arm and escorted her out of the courtroom. “Let me take you to lunch,” he said. “We can talk there.”

  “Can he really block custody?” Jane asked, when they were seated. She felt as if the world was coming to an end.

  “He is the baby’s father.”

  “He keeps abandoning her.”

  “Yes. But he can contest your right to gain custody.”

  “What if I tell the judge about his drinking and gambling?”

  “You can’t do that. He’ll deny it, and he might bring up things about you that would be more damaging.”

  Jane had told Mr. Smith about Z.Z. and the circumstances of his birth. “Martin is not making a good impression on the judge. If he finds against you, Ellen could end up in an orphanage.”

  The room began to swim. Mr. Smith patted Jane’s hand solicitously. “In your favor, though,” Mr. Smith continued, “is the fact that you have a good paying job and a reliable babysitter. If we don’t sling stones at Martin, maybe he won’t have an opportunity to impugn you.”

  Jane struggled to calm down. “What are we going to do?”

  “My guess is Martin wants something. We’re going to find out what it is.”

  It did not take long. Martin called and told Jane he wanted money. A lot of it. And he promised to sign whatever he had to, if he got it.

  “Can’t we tell the judge?” Jane asked Mr. Smith. She had called him right away. “It’s extortion. He’s asking me to buy the baby.”

  “It won’t help you. Do you have the money?”

  “Me? No! I spent everything I had, plus some, on Olivia’s hospital bills and her funeral. I still owe a lot of money.”

  “Then I don’t know what we’re going to do. See what you can do. I’ll check things on my end. We only have until Friday.”

  Jane looked dismally at her bank book. There was not nearly enough money there to meet Martin’s demands. She swallowed her pride and called Anne.

  “Schuyler is out of the country,” Anne reminded her. “His ship sailed right after the funeral. I don’t have access to that much money, at least not right away. All I have in the household account is five hundred dollars. Can’t you stall him until Sky comes back or I can sell some stock?”

  “We only have until Friday. Can you sell it by then?”

  “I don’t think so, but I can try.”

  Jane talked to Mr. Dobbin, although she knew he had no ready cash. “If only you had asked before I bought that material and the new machines,” he said.

  Jane became desperate. She ransacked her apartment, looking for anything she might be able to sell. All she found was her father’s pocket watch. She knew she would not get much for it, but maybe Martin would take the money over a period of time and the watch would be enough for a down payment. She had to try.

  She straightened the veil on her hat with her gloved hand as she stepped into the pawn shop on Rodgers Avenue. It was dark inside, and Jane felt the sadness of all the people who had sold their property out of hopelessness. Her eyes roamed the shelves while the pawnbroker inspected the watch.

  Then she saw them. The two picture frames Martin had taken from the apartment, side by side, with the pictures still in them. She did not hear the pawnbroker state his price.

  “I’m sorry if that is too low,” he said quietly. “But it is the best I can do.”

  “Where did you get those?” Jane asked, pointing to the frames.

  “Oh, that is a sad story. A young man came in a few weeks ago and sold them to me, along with a wedding ring. He said he needed the money for medicine for his little daughter. I gave him a good price for them. I know it wasn’t good business, but look how cute that little girl is.”

  Jane looked at the picture of Ellen, then back at the pawnbroker. She could see he had not believed a word Martin had said. Who would, when he had not bothered to keep the pictures?

  “I’ll give you the watch for the ring and the frames,” Jane said, knowing she had lost whatever money she might have made on the watch.

  “You have a deal. Let me just take the pictures out.”

  “No! Leave them just the way they are.”

  ****

  Prescott Weaver sat behind the desk in his office, but his mind was far away. It was in Europe, and Northern Africa, with war all around him. He pictured himself at the Kasserine Pass, in that disaster, amid all the casualties. But even then, when he had a moment, he had contrived to place himself in the peaceful oasis of a letter from Jane. Her words then, when he still imagined her becoming his wife, had carried him through the worst days.

  He knew she had thought herself plain. She had not seen herself the way he saw her, as the picture of love. He knew that. Maybe he should have told her. Certainly he should have told her the way he felt about her. His hindsight was perfect, and his life was ruined. He had let someone else take her right out from under his nose, and she had been hurt.

  Now someone else was trying to hurt her again. As if she had not been through enough with her poor son. He remembered her face at her child’s funeral. She was devastated, but she had held onto Olivia, easing her sister’s pain. After all that, Jane now had to bear the pain of what had happened to her sister. The man Olivia had married was the lowest form of life, according to Anne, his lifeline into Jane’s world. If only she had come to him for help. But she would not. Besides her pride, he was a married man. She could not know it was in name only.

  But what she did not know could help her. That was why he had sent that note to Martin Roche.

  A knock on his office door told him the bait had been taken. Martin Roche was on time.

  Prescott answered it himself, since he had set this appointment for after his secretary left. He did not need anyone else seeing the man.

  Martin came in carrying his hat, looking around as if he were in a museum. “This sure is a fancy office,” he said. “I could get used to working here.”

  Prescott motioned for him to sit in the studded leather chair facing the mahogany desk. “Where do you work, Mr. Roche?”

  “I’m between jobs right now. Would you have an opening?”

  “Do you know anything about trading stocks?”

  “Nah. I leave that to my know-it-all sister-in-law. But I don’t have to tell you about her. Isn’t that why you called me here?”

  Prescott fanned out his hands on his desk. “You know what I want?”

  “I have an idea. You want me to lay off my claim to Ellen. You have a lot of nerve, trying to get me to give your ex-girlfriend my baby.”

  “You seem to have your facts mixed up.”

  “Nah, I got it straight. Olivia, my crazy late wife, told me.”

  “Told you what?”

  “About how you were in love with Jane, although I don’t know why. You should try living with her. She’s no picnic, let me tell you.” He smiled, or actually, leered. “But you seem to have done all right for yourself, even with your, uh, broken heart. I hear you married some rich daddy’s girl who gives her everything she wants.” He stopped, showing his teeth in an evil grin. “Oh, yes. I’ve been poring over the society pages for years, ever since Olivia told me, reading all about you. Too bad your wife hasn’t given you any kids yet. Or maybe there’s something wrong with you. Is that it? Are you in the market for my kid? Well, well, maybe I should think about this. How much do you want her? I’ll tell you, she�
�s cute, and healthy. Make me an offer.”

  Prescott was around the desk by this time and had Martin by the throat. Martin put his hands up, trying to release the grip. When Prescott finally let go, Martin sank back into his chair and straightened his collar.

  “You listen to me,” Prescott growled, “you worthless excuse for a man. There obviously isn’t a shred of honor or decency in you. I can only hope your child never finds that out.” Prescott returned to his chair and pulled his checkbook out from his top desk drawer. “I’ll ignore your offer to sell me your baby. My wife and I are not interested. But based on what I’ve heard, and certainly from today’s demonstration, you shouldn’t be allowed within ten miles of Ellen. I understand Jane wants to adopt her. You will not stand in the way of that adoption.”

  “Oh, yeah? And what’s going to stop me?”

  “Your big bank account. I’ll give you twenty thousand dollars to sign away your rights and never see Jane or the child again.”

  “Ha. I only asked her for ten thousand.”

  “I know. You see, I know everything I need to about you. I know you are deeply in debt for bad bets on the horses, and that you haven’t got a prayer of getting a decent job in New York. Too many people have too many bad things to say about you.” He wrote out the check and started to hand it over to Martin.

  Martin made a grab at it but Prescott pulled it away. “This check has strings attached. One is that you will move out of town.” His voice had taken on a tone he had never used before. It was cold and threatening, and he meant every word he said. “Seek your fortune elsewhere.”

  “I’ve thought about it,” Martin said, his fingers twitching at the check held so close. “I thought I would give Florida a try.”

  “Good idea. And you will never try to see Ellen again.”

  “But she’s my daughter.”

  Prescott pulled the check farther out of Martin’s reach.

  “Okay,” Martin squeaked, “I’ll stay away.”

  “And the last caveat is,” Prescott continued, “you will never tell Jane about our meeting. Ever. If you do, your future anywhere in this country will be without a job.” He moved the check closer, holding it between two fingers.