by Scott, Jamie
‘I did at first, but it’s been months. It’s as if she never carried him at all. I just don’t know anymore. Sometimes I think it’d be best if she wasn’t here. Then at least we wouldn’t have to worry about Jim. I feel guilty even saying it. She’s my daughter... I raised her. But she’s just been so difficult these last few years. Tell me, Mirabelle, what do you think?’
Mirabelle knew Clare needed her to say it was okay. She couldn’t do it. Banishing Cecile was the worst thing for her. ‘Clare, you can’t say that. Don’t you dare ever say that to her!’
For a few months Clare managed to bite her tongue. Then she snapped. Horrible things came out of her mouth, things Cecile would never forgive her for. She disappeared from Savannah just after her fourteenth birthday. It was more than a month before Mirabelle got her first letter, and in the meantime she was frantic. They had the entire Savannah police force out after the girl, and for three terrifying days they’d dredged up and down the Savannah River. Clare was inconsolable. It was her fault, she insisted. Julius withdrew even further into himself. He’d stopped putting up appearances at home and was rarely out of his bathrobe. Much as Mirabelle disliked him, she preferred the pompous know–it–all to the shell he’d become.
Finally, Cecile’s letter let her aunt know that she was okay. She was staying with their cousin, the daughter of the kind aunt who’d taken Mirabelle in. They said she could stay as long as she wanted, and she was thinking about going back to school. She had to get out of Savannah, she said, there were too many memories there for her. She promised to write more in a little while. In the meantime Mirabelle could write to her cousin’s address.
As time put distance between Cecile and her old life in Savannah, her letters got happier. She never asked about Jim at all. Mirabelle was so used to lying about their lives that she made up a loving mother for the boy. She was in Atlanta he was told, where she was getting on her feet. She’d come for him as soon as she could. She relayed messages to Jim, from his mother, she said, about how much she loved her son and wished they could be together. It nearly broke Mirabelle’s heart to see how happy he was at Christmas or on his birthday to open his mother’s gifts. Mirabelle spent a long time on those gifts, careful to choose just what he wanted.
Chapter 31
I waited until I was two days late to tell Fie. She sat on my bed with her eyes as wide as a preacher’s smile at Easter. Her pencil slipped off her notebook to the floor.
‘Aw, Fie, for God’s sake, say something.’
Quiet sat between us. I saw everything I thought about myself looking back at me. Then Fie reached over and hugged hard, squeezing the tears out of my eyes. ‘You poor thing. What are you going to do?’
Through sniffles I said, ‘I guess I’ll have to go to a doctor eventually.’
She pulled back. ‘What kind of doctor?’
‘Not that kind. A regular doctor I mean. But... I guess I don’t know anything for sure yet, right?’
‘I don’t know. If you’re sure you’re late then, I don’t know. I think that’s the main thing.’
‘But I don’t feel sick.’ Not all the time anyway.
‘Not everyone gets sick. My cousin didn’t.’
Her cousin again. ‘Well, it doesn’t do any good to guess about it. I need to know all the symptoms. We need to think of a way to find out without telling Ma.’
She leaned her face on her hand. I did the same and we looked at each other. She picked absently at a mosquito bite on her arm. Then she sat up straight. ‘Wait a minute, I know a way to tell!’
‘You do?’
‘Listen. We take a needle, and thread it with your hair. Then I’ll hold it over your belly. If it spins around then you are.’
‘Are you sure? I thought that was for finding out if it’s a boy or a girl.’
‘It is. But if it moves that means there’s a baby in there, doesn’t it?’
It seemed a reasonable thing to try. At least no rabbits had to make the ultimate sacrifice for my error in judgment. I found a needle and yanked out a couple strands of hair. My heart started a rhythm in my chest as I lay down. ‘Ready?’ Fie held the needle still over my abdomen. It might have been my imagination, but I swore it stuck out more than usual.
‘Is it moving?’
‘Not yet.’
‘That means I’m not.’
‘Hold on a minute.’
‘What?’
‘It’s moving.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. Maybe it’s because I’m talking.’
‘Then stop talking.’
We went on like that all afternoon. Sometimes it moved and then it didn’t. We tried it on Fie and got the same response. Either Fie was the target of an immaculate conception, or the needle test didn’t work.
I went to visit Missus Robinson after school the next day to see if she was any more help. When I arrived I suggested a walk around town so she could show me all her old haunts. She turned me down flat. She hadn’t set foot off the property in my lifetime, and had no interest in seeing Savannah the way nineteen forty–eight had painted it. Her happy days were back in the teens and twenties, and she was content to let them stay there. As far as she was concerned, nothing good happened in the city after her husband died. With her kids gone, she’d packed up a few keepsakes, sold the house and moved in with the widows. She didn’t so much lock herself away from Savannah as make herself at home in its past. I had to accept that my relationship with Missus Robinson was destined to be confined to the old folk’s home.
She was predictably astounded when I told her about my “friend’s” predicament. ‘Well, what on earth is a sixteen year old child doing having intercourse? Honestly, the world has gone to hell in a handbasket.’ Her wrinkles jumped around on her face while she lamented the decline of the civilized world. Her hands flew absently across her knitting, pushing out row after row of wooly scarf that no one south of Virginia could possibly wear without risking heat stroke.
‘I know, Missus Robinson, but she needs to know. Is there any way to tell?’
‘By the sight of her, I’d imagine. Pregnancy shows on the face.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘A glow is what I mean. Pregnant women glow. Their skin is clear and bright. And their eyes are bright too. Is she glowing?’
‘I don’t know. I’ll check when I see her.’ I resisted the temptation to crane my neck toward the wall mirror.
‘Anyway, I don’t think you should be keeping company with such a loose girl. She’ll ruin your reputation, mark my words. What did you say her name was?’
I didn’t miss a beat. ‘Charlene.’
Speaking of the self–professed victim, she decided not to wait for Clay’s circumstantial evidence before presiding over June Wardor’s monkey trial. At lunchtime she ratcheted her voice until it carried across the tables. ‘You know very well what I’m saying. I think you’re disgusting. Both you and your dirty boyfriend. Look at you. You don’t even have the decency to be ashamed of yourself.’ She glared at June, whose shocked expression should have told everyone that she hadn’t the faintest idea what Charlene was braying about. However, her face protesting innocence couldn’t hold a candle to the rumors that had been circulating about her.
‘Charlene, I–’
Minty said reasonably, ‘June, you aren’t actually trying to deny what happened, are you?’
‘How can I deny anything when I don’t even know what you’re talking about?’ She protested with a shaky voice.
‘Fine,’ Charlene jeered as she spun June roughly by the shoulder to face her again. ‘If you want me to remind you, I will. You lost your virginity on my bed the night of my party. And, you dirty thing, you ruined my bedspread.’
I watched the faces of my classmates. A good number giggled, enjoying the spectacle.
‘I did not! I swear I didn’t. Ronnie? Tell them. Charlene, nothing like that happened, I swear.’
Ronnie was as dumbstruck as
his girlfriend. He protested their innocence. I thought Charlene was going to hit him. ‘Shut up, Jewboy! No one wants to hear your filthy kike lies.’
Ronnie’s face hardened. ‘What did you call me?’
‘You heard me. Jewboy. Kike. What, are you going to try denying that too?’ Some of the kids laughed.
Jimmy the Pimple spoke up. ‘Charlene, why don’t you lay off? There’s no need to call names.’
She turned on him, venomous. ‘You Jews all stick together, don’t you? What’s the matter? Don’t you like the truth?’
I didn’t realize how mean she was until she opened her mouth and her mother came out. It’s true what they say, that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.
I guess guilt about letting other people get the short end of the stick finally wore me down. For the first time since moving, I said what should have been said. ‘For Pete’s sake, Charlene, stop being so ignorant. Who cares what religion he is? No one calls you a bible beater, do they?’
‘She’s right, Charlene,’ Minty pitched in, tiring of the scene. ‘Why don’t you calm down and leave them alone. You’re not going to solve anything with name–calling. It doesn’t make you look very good, you know.’
Minty’s ability to manipulate her friends was astonishing. Charlene grabbed her pocketbook, turned on her self–righteous heel, and walked out. The rest of us sat back down to our lunches. It was the last we heard about the bedspread saga.
Chapter 32
My time of the month passed twice without so much as a cramp. I gave up trying to convince myself that fear threw my cycle off. I was pregnant. Mornings were best for crying. That gave me a little while to hide in the bath before having to make pleasant conversation around the breakfast table. Mornings, in fact, were hardest, not because I felt sick, though I certainly did sometimes. It was those seconds upon waking that made the realization of my situation hurt so much, when my mind floated pleasantly in the afterglow of pre–dawn dreams. Then I remembered my predicament.
I hated lying to Fie, but I knew what I was going to do. What a relief, I told her, cramps never felt so good. She hugged me and got teary. After a respectable time she asked the inevitable question. ‘What would you have done, if you were?’
‘I might have had it.’
‘Might?’
‘Oh Fie, I don’t know! I’m not, so let’s not talk about it.’
‘Sorry... Can I ask you something else?’
‘Sure.’
‘What was it like?’
‘Terrifying.’
‘No. I mean,’ she whispered. ‘The sex.’
‘Honestly? It hurt.’
‘But it was nice too, right?’
‘No. It just hurt.’ Her face crumbled and I hurried to shore up her romantic ideals. ‘But I’m sure it’s different when two people are really in love. Aw, it probably wasn’t that bad,’ I lied. ‘Why? Thinking of doing it yourself?’
She flushed like a thermometer stuck in hot water. ‘No! I was just, wondering is all.’ The pattern on my bedspread caught her attention for a very long time. ‘May? How’d you know how to kiss?’
‘Uh.’ It was my turn to blush. ‘I practiced.’
‘On your pillow?’
‘Uh uh. On my arm.’ Kissing fabric that smelled like your mother’s detergent was no way to get the hang of the thing. ‘Here, I’ll show you. Take your arm, like this. And kiss. It’s easy.’ We puckered up on our forearms until she got the general idea. It seemed like the first time I’d laughed in months. The freedom of being a teenager again was almost enough to make me forget that I had nothing to laugh about.
As soon as Fie left, I was an adult again. How could everyone fail to notice? Ma and Duncan, Jim, Fie all acted as if nothing was different about me. How was it possible that they didn’t see? I reminded my hurt feelings that I didn’t want anyone guessing my secret. What I needed was someone to tell me how to alleviate my situation. There was only one person I could talk to who wouldn’t condemn or murder me.
Twice a week Ma disappeared for the afternoon in search of provisions to stock our Frigidaire. She was adamant about being the one to do the shopping, as if opening her wallet gave her the right to take credit for cooking. As soon as Ma left, I cornered Dora Lee in the living room where she was folding clothes.
‘I need to talk to you about something.’
‘Take this end.’ She threw a corner of the sheet at me and we pulled and smoothed and folded and turned and met and folded and met like a couple of square dancers. ‘Did you finish your homework?’
‘Yes, ma’am. Can I ask you something?’
‘Fire away.’
‘But you have to promise not to tell Ma.’
‘That depends on what’s to tell.’
‘No, now, Dora Lee, you have to promise or I’m not going to ask you.’
‘Look here, miss, you have to leave that to me. If I think it’s something that needs telling, I’m going to tell it. That’s a chance you got to take.’
I didn’t have any choice. ‘If someone needed to get rid of a baby, where would she go?’
‘Good Lord, are you pregnant!?’
‘No! It’s not me. It’s a friend. I need to find out how to help her.’
‘You sure?’
‘Yes, ma’am, I’m sure.’
‘Tsch. Well, it’s bound to happen these days, what with everyone runnin’ wild. Times have changed, they sure have.’ She looked at me. ‘Now I’m not saying it didn’t happen when I was a girl, but it’s more common now, much more common. It’s like children are eating slap–and–tickle for breakfast.’ She chuckled at her own joke. ‘Who is it?’
‘Now, I don’t want to tell you. I know you’ll tell her parents, and they’ll skin her alive. It’s a friend of mine. Best leave the details alone.’
‘And you want to know what to tell her?’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘She should be talking to her own ma about this.’
‘She can’t. Her parents’ll kill her, literally. It has to stay a secret.’
‘But someone needs to pay for it.’
‘Pay for what?’
‘Well, whatever it is that needs doing.’
‘How much does it cost?’
She moved to the sofa and sat down heavily. ‘Come here. Let’s back up and I’ll tell you what I know about it.’ She pinched her lip between thumb and forefinger, blowing out loudly. ‘First off, has she tried to get rid of it herself?’
‘Can she do that?’
‘Naw, not really. Those things don’t usually work.’
‘But what would she do if she wanted to try?’
‘Now, don’t tell her to do anything like that. In the old days folks believed you could get rid of a baby by getting punched in the stomach or falling down stairs. More likely she’ll just hurt herself and the baby’ll be fine.’
‘What does work?’
‘Nothing that she’s gonna try. Now, I’m telling you, don’t let her be stupid. Getting rid of a baby is no easy matter.’
I remembered a passage in Mirabelle’s diary. ‘What about medicine? Or herbs?’
‘Yes, well, there are herbs.’
‘Which ones?’
‘Cottonroot. Pennyroyal. Motherwort, black cohash. Some say they all work.’
‘Do they, though?’
‘Sometimes.’
‘But not guaranteed?’
‘Nothing’s guaranteed. Some herbs might kill her. Or she might end up with a mongoloid baby.’
‘Aw jeez, what am I gonna... tell her?’
‘Miss, she needs to get herself to a doctor. There’s lots in town who’ll do the procedure. Does she have money?’
‘No, why, how much does it cost?’
‘That I don’t know. But you can bet it’s not cheap. Doctors take a risk, especially these days. They aren’t going to take it for free.’
I felt so ignorant, so dependent. ‘Are there any cheaper doctors, or maybe someone who isn�
�t quite a doctor? Someone who helps out girls in trouble?’
‘You mean like a pregnancy tooth fairy? Well, let’s have a think about that. In the meantime, you tell your friend I really think she should trust in her parents, and tell them. Will you do that?’
I crossed my fingers and promised I would.
Chapter 33
Real life is better than fiction, ask anyone sensible and they’ll tell you it’s true. There’s no such thing as pace, or pause for dramatic effect when it comes to people’s lives. So, alongside my own troubles I had to work out how to tell, or keep from telling, Jim what I’d discovered about his family. Keeping quiet was like trying to hold down chili I’d eaten too fast. It required constant vigilance, but nevertheless announced itself regularly at the back of the throat. It was clear to anyone who knew me that I wasn’t destined for a career in the diplomatic service. I told Lottie Jim’s saga by letter, but the leisurely pace of the medium frustrated me. I had ideas that needed to bounce, not amble. I settled on Missus Robinson as my confidante, whose incarceration guaranteed she couldn’t spread my gossip too far.
‘Oh my, yes, of course I knew the family.’ We sat together enjoying the springtime breeze in the little garden at the back of the Home. My armpits were prickly from the sun, but my old friend was mummified, her body’s thermostat having gone haywire some decades earlier. The flowering bushes vied for our attention, wriggling their blooms and throwing delicious smells our way. I said I was surprised she knew them.
‘Why’s that? The old families all know one another. I was the eldest of six remember. My sister Nettie was Clare’s age, they went to school together. That business about the adoption, sure we knew something suspicious was afoot.’ She gave a snort. ‘Your generation didn’t invent reasoning after all. The circumstances were peculiar. You don’t just take it into your head to adopt a baby at that age. I think they were in their forties. Yes, sure we knew something was amiss. But to my knowledge nothing was ever proven one way or the other.’
I told her about Henry and Mirabelle, his death and her brief stint in Atlanta.