by Lynn Shurr
“Yeah, that’s what I said, and I’m still here, tootsie. No one is coming to carry off Eloise. It’s not such a bad life until you lose your looks. Good eats, plenty to drink, drugs if you want them to dull the pain, fancy clothes, and sometimes fancy men. The lucky ones out here are dead before they pass thirty.”
“Come with me,” Roz told the girl.
“Wally and his boys would slice you up for taking someone who owes him,” Eloise said casually.
“It true. Take my baby girl somewhere good. Tell them her name is Innocent.”
Roz swaddled the baby in a pillowcase and nestled her in a towel. “Then, you hold her, Eloise, while I finish here.”
She dumped the dirty water out back and disposed of the afterbirth in the privy. Gathering up the basins, scissors and string in a bundle of soiled linens, Roz reclaimed the infant, flipping a corner of the towel over its small face to keep out the draft. She marched across to the barn, dumped the bundle of bedclothes at Bubba’s feet, and held out the baby. Bubba recoiled. “I said I ain’t no orderly, me.”
Roz laid the baby on the bar and untied the splotched apron, added it to the pile. “All this needs to be washed.”
“Here, take dis.” Bubba warded her off with a five-dollar bill. He offered another from the cash box. “I’ll double it, you get rid of da baby. Just get it outta here.”
Roz snatched the ten dollars. “Get rid of it?”
“Drown it like a kitten, wring its neck like a chicken, I don’t care. Get it outta here. It’s bad for da business.”
“I’ll find a home for it.”
“Bonne chance wit’ dat. Kid is part nigger.”
“And part DeVille.”
“Like I say, bonne chance wit’ dat.”
Roz picked up Innocent and went back to her table.
“Someone give you a present?” Edna asked.
“Oh, dear, you have some sort of stain on your pretty dress.” The widow dabbed at it with her hankie.
“I’m sorry to break up our party, but I have to take this child back to town.”
Bernard Toomey blinked. Faye turned pale under her freckles. “A baby?” they said in unison.
“Yes, a baby. One of the girls back in the cribs gave birth. Bubba asked me to attend. She can’t keep the child.”
“Jeez, and we all thought you got lost trying to find the necessary,” Edna marveled.
“Cher little heart.” The widow peeped under the towel.
“As I said, the party’s over.” Roz led the way back to Bernie’s auto that, like him, was small and immaculate. They crushed together in the back seat, Edna, the widow, and Roz. Faye sat in the front next to Bernard.
“Faye, would you take the baby? It’s so crowded back here,” Roz implored.
“No.”
“Please.”
“No.”
“Faye, take the baby,” Bernard Toomey ordered in his classroom voice. Reluctantly, the English teacher took the bundle, but she refused to look at the child, cuddle, or coo to it.
“Should we take it to the clinic?” the driver asked.
“No, I’ll keep the baby overnight. She’s normal and healthy enough not to need special care. Miz Purdue, would you have any rags we could use for diapers? If I could trouble you for some milk, we’ll boil a formula in the morning. A sugar-tit should get her through the night.”
“I have rags aplenty, all nice and clean. We’ll make a little bed for her in the clothesbasket and put her in my room. Yours is far too drafty. If she cries, I’ll get up and give her the sugar-tit. I used to make them for my son when he was cranky.”
At the boarding house, they unloaded. Faye tapped her foot impatiently as Bernard ran around to open the door for her. She thrust the baby into his arms. “Here, you take a turn. I have a headache.”
Faye marched up the steps and nearly tripped over the packages left on the doorstep. One was a large brown paper parcel addressed to Roz, the other a paper bag containing a re-used brown patent medicine bottle with its label peeled off and a fresh cork inserted.
“Looks like there’s one for you and one for me.” She tossed Roz the parcel, barely missing Bernie who, holding the baby as carefully as he would a test tube of volatile liquid, came slowly up the steps.
Faye entered the house and, leaving the door open behind her, ran up the stairs to her room. The rest of the group went into the kitchen where the widow dashed about pulling cloth for diapers from her ragbag and padding the wash basket to make a baby bed for the infant whom Bernard Toomey continued to hold. He flipped up the corner of the towel and ran his little finger down the baby’s delicate cheek. Innocent turned her head toward the pinkie and rooted until she had it in her mouth. She sucked earnestly, then made little fretting noises.
“You is a miracle of biology, yes, you is. Miss Faye doesn’t like you, don’t know why, but Uncle Bernie does. Yes, he does.”
Edna shook a cigarette from the pack in her purse, started to light it, put in back in the box after a glare from the widow. “Faye has been all kinds of moody lately. Maybe, she’s trying to give up the smokes. That always makes me edgy.”
Roz jerked her head up from where she attempted to cut diapers from a pair of faded red flannel long johns with a worn out flap. “Bernie, I can see you are fond of children. Are you that fond of Faye?”
The little man’s face suddenly generated enough heat to melt his moustache wax. “It wouldn’t be proper to discuss my feelings for Miss Faye with others,” he said primly.
“I don’t want you to tell me. I want you to tell her. Right now! Give Edna the baby and run up those stairs and tell her before it’s too late. Go, go, go!”
At least, Edna got the message. She snatched up the baby with one arm and gave Bernard Toomey a push in the right direction with the other. He stumbled from his chair and, looking confused, bolted for the staircase. The baby, missing Bernard’s fingertip, began to wail. Miz Purdue finished wrapping a lump of sugar in a wet rag. She twisted it into a nipple shape and popped the sugar-tit into Innocent’s wide-open mouth. The baby clamped down and sucked.
For a moment, silence filled the house. Then, an upstairs door slammed, and two sets of feet thudded down the stairs. Bernie dragged Faye into the kitchen.
“Roz, she drank a bottle of poison…because of me,” the chemistry teacher said in anguish and wonder. “Save her, Roz.”
“Faye, go over to the sink and put your finger down your throat. Make it come up!” Roz commanded.
Faye gagged and wretched but only a small amount of brown fluid came out.
“Miz Purdue, do you have any syrup of ipecac?”
“I used to when my son was small. Boys, they’ll eat anything on a dare, you know. Let’s see. Here it is way back on this shelf, and all covered with dust.” The widow shook the little bottle. “Think it’s still good?”
“We’ll have to try it. Drink it down, Faye.”
“What if I cramp up? What if I lose—”
“You’ll lose your dinner. Quickly.”
Faye swallowed, making a face. The entire group waited as intently as tourists wait for Old Faithful to erupt. Suddenly, the teacher bent low over the sink. She spit out a volume of dark fluid, followed by a gin and tonic, birthday cake, that evening’s rice and gravy, canned sweet peas, and pot roast. Bernie held her head and wrapped one arm around her waist. The retching seemed to go on long after the food was gone.
Through it all, Innocent, eyes closed, sucked her sugar-tit until she went to sleep.
The baby was tucked into her wash basket. Bernard helped wobbly-legged Faye up to her bed. He made it clear that, rules or no rules, he intended to sit beside her throughout the night. No one objected, evidently their secret not as well kept as Faye thought.
“If she cramps or bleeds, anything at all abnormal, come for me, Bernie,” Roz told him. “We’ll have to get her to the clinic if that happens.”
Edna watched the couple go. “Jeez, where am I going to sleep? Who wo
uld have thought Faye would try to kill herself over someone like Bernard Toomey? I can’t believe it. Sorry, Miz Purdue, I need a smoke right now.”
“Very well, finish your cigarette, then take one of the rooms in the attic. With the rivers high and the roads bad, the drummers aren’t coming through—but no smoking up there. You could burn us out. Roz, I’ll take the baby to my room, cher little lamb. I suppose you’ll take her to the nuns tomorrow. Why, you never opened your package. Here it sits on the table after coming all the way from New Orleans.” The widow pointed out the abandoned parcel, the one Roz had been hoping for earlier and couldn’t care less about now.
An envelope addressed to Roz Boylan—Purdue’s Boarding House—was tucked under the string. She recognized Loretta’s handwriting and Henri’s artwork on the construction paper card it contained. Several green and purple dinosaurs grazed on giant yellow daisies, though the tyrannosaur appeared to have two hairy legs dangling from its jaws. The crayoned greeting read, “Have a Happy Birthday, Cousin Roz, from Henri and Mama.” A folded five-dollar bill fell out into Roz’s lap.
Some of my pin money will not be missed. Put it to good use. Love from Loretta, said a message, written with a fine-nibbed fountain pen that had blotted here and there on the thick paper.
Roz untied the string without enthusiasm. The parcel contained several boxes of sheer stockings, the latest popular novel, and a golden carton of expensive chocolates, all of them reminders of her past life, and none of them costly enough to hock.
Edna shook the box of chocolates. “Could I have one? It’s been quite a night, and I could use the lift.”
“No, sorry. I have other plans for the chocolates, but help yourself to a pair of the stockings.”
“You mean it?”
“Certainly. Widow, would you like a pair?”
“Show my legs in sheer stockings, never!”
“Take a pair up for Faye when you go, Edna. That still leaves two for me. What I really want is some sleep. Tomorrow is going to be busier than I thought.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Roz woke to the sound of rain slamming against the wall of her room and a dark, gray dawn showing through the small, high window. The boarding house remained quiet, but she finally had patients to check on. Roz dressed in her midwife clothes. She wanted to look as official as possible this morning.
In the kitchen, baby Innocent rested in her basket near the gas range where water boiled in a kettle. The coffeepot sat nearby ready to drip. Widow Purdue came in from the back porch on a gust of wind. She carried the milk pail and set it in the sink.
Seeing Roz bent over the basket, she remarked, “You’re up early considering the night we had. Drip that coffee for me, dear, while I skim off the cream.”
“We need to scald some of the milk for Innocent. We’ll dilute it with some boiled water, add a little syrup, and let her suck it from a clean rag.”
“No need for that. I found the nursing bottle I used last year to feed the runt puppy in my son’s litter of German shepherds. Pup’s as big as Rin Tin Tin now. In fact, they call him Rinny. I’ve washed it clean. You want to pour some of that hot water over it and the nipple?”
Roz sterilized the baby bottle. “You know more about this than I do, and I’m supposed to be an expert now.”
“Experience, that’s all it is.”
Bernard Toomey stumbled into the room. Neither woman could recall ever seeing the man without a fresh shave and clean shirt. He’d lost the curl in his moustache, and last night’s starched shirt hung limp and crumpled.
“Faye has the dry heaves. I thought tea and crackers might help her. I can make it in my room if you’d loan me a tea bag and put it on my tab.”
“No need, Mr. Toomey. Just for today, coffee and tea are on the house. I can’t recall when I last had such an interesting group of boarders—dancing at the Barn, bringing home abandoned babies, taking poison. You were all so quiet before Rosamond moved in.”
“I seem to have that effect on people,” Roz sighed. “I’ll look in on Faye if you will keep an eye on the formula.”
The widow nodded as she finished preparing a tray for her ill boarder and handed it to Roz. Innocent began to fret, and to Roz’s surprise, Bernard picked her up. She made a small, wet spot on his already soiled shirt. “I think we need a dry diaper here.”
“Stir the formula, Mr. Toomey.” The widow efficiently unwrapped the bundle of joy on the kitchen table, held the tiny legs up as she washed the small private parts and sprinkled it with cornstarch. She had the clean diaper pinned before Innocent drew in a deep breath and began to squall. Bernard Toomey watched with fascination.
Upstairs, Roz knocked on Faye’s door and backed in with the tray. Her friend stared up pale and woebegone under the covers.
“My stomach is still unsettled. What do you think that means?” she asked Roz.
“I think it means you’re still pregnant. No cramps or bleeding?”
“None. Yesterday, after you told me where to go, I rushed right out to find Miz Senegal before I lost my nerve. She said she didn’t know what I was talking about, but since I was a friend of yours, maybe I might find a bottle of medicine to help me out on the doorstep later in the evening. I had to take it before I lost my nerve. That baby, she made me think twice. Then, Bernard knocks on my door, all nice and polite like he always is. I told him to go away, no sex tonight. He said he wanted to talk to me, just talk—about our future together. I still had the bottle in my hand, and I blurted out everything. You know the rest. I am so ashamed.” Faye looked away.
“Oh, drink your tea and enjoy the crackers. It isn’t often the widow gives anything away. Bernard was so pathetic she didn’t even charge him. Right now, he’s down there watching a diaper being changed as if the widow were teaching a class on French cookery. I think he’ll make a good father, Faye, if you give him a chance.”
“I know. It’s just that a girl always thinks she’s going to marry someone tall, dark and handsome like Lord Byron or Mr. Darcy, and Bernard is short, clean, and well-groomed.”
“There’s a lot to be said for the last two, and he can’t help being short.”
“Well, I hope this baby gets my legs, and Bernie’s nice, straight brown hair. I don’t think there’s much chance of him being handsome.”
“Does that mean there is going to be a wedding?”
“As soon as school lets out. If we do it during Lent, everyone will know. Besides, it’s against my contract. Bernie said he’d get me an engagement ring even though he doesn’t have to, and I won’t be able to wear it in public. He’s so sweet.” Faye dabbed at her eyes with a corner of the blanket and took a sip of her tea.
“I’ll send him back up.”
“No! Let me primp a little. The last two times he’s touched me, he’s been holding my head over a basin. I want to erase that picture from his mind.”
“Sure. I’ll tell him you’re getting dressed.”
In the kitchen, Bernard Toomey, patting Innocent on the back, paced the planks as they waited for the milk to cool. Finally, the widow tested a few drops on her wrist and declared the formula ready. She tickled a corner of the baby’s mouth with the bulbous nipple and watched the infant latch on like a starving Armenian.
“Cher poor heart, she’s so hungry.”
“May I feed her?” Bernard Toomey held out his arms, and the widow slipped the infant into them.
“Would you have a market basket I could carry her in?” Roz asked.
“Oh, surely she doesn’t have to go so soon. You can’t take a newborn out in a storm like this,” the widow protested.
Roz wondered if they would be so fond of the child if they knew her skin might turn darker and her tight black curls become nappy as she grew, but she wasn’t about to deprive the baby of some much-needed cuddling and attention by announcing its lineage.
“I’ll wait for the rain to stop. Then, I intend to see she gets the home she deserves. Bernie, could you drive me over to t
he mayor’s house around ten? I need to visit Anaise DeVille.”
By ten, the rain had slowed to a drizzle, and Roz, holding a market basket with Innocent wrapped snuggly in red flannel and covered with a light cloth, dashed through the puddles to the car. In her other hand, she clutched her birthday chocolates. Bernard held both the door and an umbrella for her and the baby.
The trip was short, just a few blocks to the brick mansion painted white from its iron grillwork balcony to its tall, fluted columns. The DeVille ancestral town house sat on an artificial rise to prevent bayou flooding from entering the home. Two live oaks, a hundred years old if they were a day, flanked the walkway. Bernard Toomey parked, opened the wrought iron gate, also painted white, and held the umbrella over Roz and the baby as they walked up the gravel path skirted with the broad green leaves of aspidistra, the iron plant that grows so well in the deep shade of the oaks. They mounted the semi-circle of brick steps that jutted out from the portico. Roz thanked Bernie and told him to go home to Faye. She rang the bell.
A colored maid in full uniform of black dress, ruffled apron, and cap answered the ring. She took a good, long look at Roz in her white uniform with a basket over her arm and said, “Deliveries to the back.”
Never had Rosamond St. Rochelle entered a house through its service entrance—unless she was sneaking in from an escapade. She raised her chin and skewered the maid with the glare honed by old French families for centuries and learned at her mother’s knee. “Mrs. Rosamond Boylan to visit Mrs. Hector DeVille the Third. Please announce me.”
The maid eyed the woman in white. “Miss Anaise jus’ had a baby and ain’t seeing nobody who ain’t invited.”
“I’m aware of that as I was her midwife. I have a small gift for Mrs. DeVille and won’t stay long. She’ll be quite upset that you kept me waiting.”
Knowing her employers would be more upset if she let a pushy stranger in the front door, the maid stared at the basket. Under the light covering, Innocent wiggled and let out a sharp cry followed by a small stinker.