The Battered Heiress Blues

by Laurie Van Dermark

  Struggling to get my body upright, Henry braced my torso and pushed me back down on the bed. I fought against his hold to no end. I was too weak. He placed his arms under my neck and drew me to him, whispering in my ear, “He didn’t make it Julia. I’m so sorry. There was so much damage. The knife severed the cord. The baby wasn’t getting oxygen. The doctors worked on both of you for such a long time…”

  I couldn’t process what he was saying. My breathing became erratic. There wasn’t enough air. Hysterically, I grabbed my throat. Instinctively, Henry pulled me forward to the edge of the bed and placed my head between my knees. The nausea was overwhelming. Pushing by him, my hands secured the trash can. The familiar sensation of warm fluid pooling beneath me startled him and he began to yell for help as my stomach purged itself of the remaining anesthesia. Succumbing to my irrevocable state, my head surrendered to the coolness of the tile floor.

  I couldn’t hear the noises that must have accompanied the staff entering. My view became the shoes that scurried in and out of the room. I was alone with my mind. I had my silence back. My only desire was to become smaller until I disappeared.

  Henry protectively crouched down at my side as countless hands grabbed at my body. His face appeared in my line of sight speaking words with no sound. Pulling my body onto his lap, he motioned for the hospital staff to stand aside. A nurse steadied my arm and added medicine to the intravenous line. The heaviness of my limbs returned, but he easily lifted me as the nurses kept their instructed distance. I felt the softness of the bed before the medication overtook me.

  A surgical resident woke me in the early morning hours to examine my incisions. He spoke very little; just mentioning insignificant details like how much fluid had collected from the tubes that were protruding from my abdomen. I couldn’t blame him for the lack of conversation. What do you say to a woman who has lost her mind? – Whose baby suffered a tragic death? He uncovered me, lifted my gown, admired his handiwork and expeditiously left, waking Henry who had fallen asleep in a rocking chair across the room.

  “Hi love.” He walked over to the bed and helped me prop my back up on the pillows. Sitting down next to me, his fingers traced the colorful bruises on my face which I had only then discovered as I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. They stained my otherwise pale complexion. He pushed a stray piece of my long dark curls behind my ear. Tears began streaming down my cheeks, having no control over them. His jaw tightened as he tried to stifle his anger. My hands found his and I tried desperately to pull myself together. Learning to compartmentalize my emotions would be a necessary tool if I were to survive the days ahead.

  “How did you know about all this?”

  “The Bishop called your brother’s parish. Tommy phoned your father. We were in a meeting. I came straight away.” He busied himself out of nervousness, taking the water pitcher off the table and pouring me a glass. When I didn’t eagerly accept it, he placed it in my hand.

  “You didn’t have to come.” He looked away as if I had injured him with my low expectations, but I quickly recovered. “I’m glad you did.” I took a sip of the water and placed the glass down.

  “Where else would I be?” Pulling me forward, his embrace was delicate and full of compassion; an effort ruined by the words that were to follow. “Your father wants you home…immediately. I’ve made arrangements.” Henry pulled a thick ivory colored envelope from his jacket pocket and held it in front of my hands, subconsciously willing me to grab the correspondence. “He asked me to give you this. John sends his love.”

  I grabbed the letter and placed it on the bedside table, with no desire to read it. “I need some time to figure out…”

  “Everything will get sorted.” He paused and I could tell that he was unsure of how to proceed. “Julia, there is a matter we need to discuss.”

  His business-like approach made me feel uneasy.

  “The police would like a statement. You shouldn’t be alone for something like that, so I’d like to stay.” The attorney in him needed to tie up loose ends- anything that would restrict my ability to leave the country. “Are you up for that?”

  “I need to see my son, Tru. I need to hold him. Can you find him for me?” My arms came to rest on his shoulders as our eyes met. “It’s important.”

  He nodded, not in agreement, but acceptance, pulling my hands down to his. “Let’s talk to the police and get that over with. Then, I promise I will find Conner. I’ll bring him to you. You have my word.” He walked to the sink and wet a washcloth, returning and wiping dried blood from my hairline.

  “I won’t think about that night. I can’t.” I turned away from him toward the window, losing myself in the vastness of the sky, angry that he was pressing me to participate in remembering the attack.

  “You have to tell them what you know. There is nothing more important. He has to pay for what he did to you and the baby.”

  “I can’t…talk about this…ever.” My eyes began to well up with tears, but I held onto them as best I could.

  “They’re not going to accept that, Julia. The embassy wants answers on why an American was attacked. They won’t let this go.”

  “I don’t remember anything. I don’t know who did this.”

  “I don’t think that’s true.”

  “What will the truth bring me? My son is dead. There’s nothing to tell. You tell them that. It’s done. I’m taking him home. Make the arrangements.”

  Henry could sense that I was fragile. He didn’t push against my defiance. He reluctantly shook his head in agreement.

  “I’ll tell them that we’ll send a written statement in a few weeks, once you’re home and you’ve had some time to reflect on the importance of justice.”

  “Get Connor…there is nothing more important,” I replied, my tone unkind.

  “In here?”

  “Yes. Can you help me into the rocking chair?” I said, trying to pull my body up into a seated position.

  “Of course, but wait- let me help you,” he insisted. Henry walked over to the rocker and placed it alongside the bed, carefully pulling me to the edge and down into the chair. The discomfort was evident on my face.

  “Thank you,” I muttered, trying to catch my breath.

  “Are you sure about this, Jewels? Is this a good idea?”

  “Probably not, but I was supposed to deliver him, in this very hospital, next week. I have to hold him, Henry. Please.”

  While his judgment softened, the expression on his face was one of worry and premature regret. “Then I’ll be back in a few minutes. Will you be okay alone?”

  “Yes,” I responded as if asking a question.

  After he left, my mind returned to the day of the assault. I grew concerned wondering if Maria and her family were safe. Helping them had cost me everything. As I reached for the phone to make inquiries, the door opened and a nurse cautiously pushed a bassinet toward me.

  There was my son, swaddled in a white blanket with a blue cap pulled down over his head. His eyes were closed and his face was very pale, but the corners of his mouth seemed to hold a small smile. He looked as if he were simply sleeping- like any loud noise would startle him and prompt a crying spell.

  Henry knew me well. Dismissing the nurse, he asked that no one disturb us. I was thankful for that- for him being with me. He reached in and picked up Connor, pausing to steal a moment before gently placing him in my arms. That’s when it happened. A mix of emotions overwhelmed me so completely. I was happy, but sad. I was enraged, yet at peace. He was finally in my arms, but unable to respond to my voice or touch. Our roles had reversed. As a mother, the job of comforting my child was meaningless. Connor comforted me now.

  Henry stood over me as I began to rock my baby. His discomfort was palpable. He wasn’t a man that was accustomed to not having the answers or perfect quip to alleviate an awkward moment.

  “Do you want me to go?” he whispered.

  “Do you want to stay?”

  “Do you need me
to stay?”

  “No,” I replied, letting him off the hook.

  “I’ll go get us some coffee. Would that be okay?”

  “Okay? Yes.” I became keenly aware of the remarkable talent I had for clearing a room.

  We were alone at last. With Henry gone and the promise of no interruptions, I began humming a lullaby- mostly for me. I wasn’t so far gone that I expected to soothe my dead child, but I needed a moment of normalcy. Unwrapping him as we rocked, I counted his fingers and toes. He had ten of each. This was the time that Connor should have gripped my finger. He didn’t.

  My hands were drawn to his cap. Tugging at the fabric revealed dark, thick hair- so soft. This was too much. He was only sleeping. There were no visible wounds on his perfect body. All I could do was press him to me and rock.

  As I moved back and forth in repetition, warm liquid ran down my chest, wetting my gown. My milk had come in; only there was no baby to receive it. I cried over what should have been. Even my body was deceived.

  Henry returned without the coffee. My sadness must have drawn him back to me. You could see the conflict in his eyes as he struggled to find the right words to speak.

  “Do you want me to call the nurse? Get you a new gown?”

  “No,” I quickly responded, knowing that the nurse would likely snatch Connor.

  “Shall I take him then?”

  “No. Where would he go- back to strangers?”

  “Jewels, I’ve made arrangements for Connor to be flown back to Savannah. I assume that you want him to be buried next to your mum?”

  “I hadn’t given it much thought.”

  “I can make alternant plans if you like.”

  “No. Of course, you’re right. He should be in Savannah with Mom. Thank you.”

  “The doctors won’t release you for another week. They are insisting on keeping you here until the drains are removed. They’re worried about an infection. I think it’s a good idea. You could use the time to regain your strength. Anyway, people will need time to travel to Georgia.”

  “People? I don’t want anyone else to come. Just us…okay? Tommy will say the funeral Mass.”

  “I’ll apprise John of your wishes.”

  Continuing to stare at Connor, I conversed with Henry, barely taking my eyes off my son. “Has the house been opened for the summer yet?”

  “It’s being taken care of, Julia. Don’t worry yourself with those details.”

  “I want Connor to have the blue blanket that I knitted for him. Also, he should wear the white christening gown hanging in the nursery closet. It’s all in my New York apartment. Can you send someone over to get them?”

  “I’d be happy to.”

  “I should donate his furniture and toys to the women’s shelter. There are some clothes in the drawers. They are welcome to them as well. I can’t go back to that nursery, Tru.”

  “I know. I know. Let me take him now, Jewels. You need to rest.”

  I laid him in my lap and wrapped him in the same manner I found him, tucking the edges in like a package. I was a natural. A stray lock of hair poked out of the blue knit cap and my fingers were drawn to the curl.

  “Can you find a pair of scissors for me?”

  He left and quickly returned, offering the scissors and a handkerchief from his jacket pocket. He knew what I was after. Snipping the brown curl, I carefully wrapped it in the embroidered cloth and stared at that beautiful face awhile longer, kissing my son’s cold cheeks. He didn’t have that baby smell like I expected. He smelled sterile, like his surroundings.

  The nurse knocked on the door and walked in front of me with outstretched hands. She didn’t speak, but I knew exactly what she expected of me. The exchange felt like it took place in slow motion. She was kind and patient as he lingered in my arms. Once relinquishing my hold, she whisked him away before I could change my mind. He would soon be on his way back to the States, without me.

  My belly remained sore, but the doctors were pleased with the progress. After removing the drains, they marveled at how the incisions were neatly sutured. The chief surgeon gave me instructions about refraining from lifting for another month and cautioned about physical intimacy for awhile. Then he delivered grim news. My uterus had suffered a serious insult and was weak. The chances of being able to sustain a future pregnancy were slim. He encouraged me to seek the advice of a specialist when the time was right. In my view, there would never be another time. They should have removed it when they took Connor.

  Our days in Lima were spent roaming the hospital halls. The doctors lamented about the necessity of being mobile, instructing me to make daily laps around the surgical ward. At first, walking was dreadful. When I stood upright, my abdominal muscles and the underlying sutures felt like they were tearing me in half, causing a great deal of pain. I saw very little reason to venture out and comply, but Henry was a serious task master- a real masochist. Within a few days of his regimen, I was no longer hunched over. The exercise stayed off the blood clots that would have tried to form in my legs had I remained in bed.

  Henry slept in my hospital room night after night, refusing to go to a hotel. Once Connor left, he gravitated toward lying in bed with me. I looked forward to this time every night when his arms built a protective barrier between me and the rest of the world. In the morning, he would walk me to the shower and assist in washing my hair. After helping me dress, he’d sweetly brush my curls out, before making me comply with his carefully devised exercise program. With lunch digested, we’d participate in the beautiful custom known as the siesta, watching one of the English speaking channels on the television until I drifted off. There was a short period of time, between CNN and REM sleep, which left me anxious, thinking of Connor alone. I wanted to crawl out of my skin or peel it off altogether, but I didn’t want Henry to know I was troubled. I didn’t want to burden him further. I would solve my own problems. A Spencer shouldn’t need to be rescued. I found myself counting backwards from one hundred slowly, usually making it to thirty-four, before my consciousness shut down and I was alone with my son. In my dreams, we played together. He laughed and smiled. The visions felt real and fulfilling. Waking only led to great disappointment because it ended the fantasy.

  Over the course of the week, with little else to do, I began to notice how the nurses adored Henry. They paid me very little attention, but offered to have his clothes laundered and food brought in from local restaurants. If I weren’t so sad and tired, I might have minded. What they didn’t realize was that Henry was one of those men that didn’t know how attractive he was. Flirting was wasted on him. His mind was typically occupied with business. They would have to be much more direct in order to garner a longer than usual glance from him.

  Waking up first, on our last morning in Lima, I took the opportunity to appreciate the blessing of having Henry back in my life. He lay beside me still, exuding that sweet peace from his sun kissed face. Henry was a ruggedly handsome man. He always looked like he just stepped out of a GQ magazine. His hair was precisely messy with every strand perfectly out of order, yet still in place. His five o’clock shadow was always sexy. His style was effortless, whether he was in a Hugo Boss suit or casual khakis and a button down.

  Then there was me- battered Jewels. I was not particularly put together. Henry always referred to me as a fine mess. I was his Picasso- bold and beautiful, but with an unpretentious quality that made me the girl next door- evidently, the messy girl next door. My long curly hair was unruly unless I made a concerted effort to tame it and look refined. I felt most at home in jeans and a t-shirt, but would make the sacrifice to dress properly if the social event dictated better attire. I appreciated fashion, but loathed shopping. I wasn’t your typical socialite. My trust fund deserved a more dedicated social climber.

  Looking at Henry still gave me butterflies. I had always known that he was my destination. The trip, up to this point, had gotten a little muddled. I learned a very difficult lesson about ultimatums. After asking Tru to
choose between his career and me, a terrible fight ensued and no one won. He stormed out and Jackson stormed in, literally. After too much wine and the loss of good sense, Jackson and I stumbled in to one another at a party. I made the mistake of asking him to walk me home. When Henry came to apologize the next morning, he witnessed Jackson leaving my apartment. That was that. We never discussed the end- it just happened. He continued to work for my father and I married the worst mistake of my life. At the time, it seemed like the thing to do- to prove Henry’s judgments about me correct. I was a fine mess.

  My hands found his hair and I toiled until he woke up. Before his eyes opened, that gorgeous, knock your socks off smile greeted me. His confidence was intoxicating.

  “How long have you been awake?” He rolled over on his side, facing me, and swept his hand over my cheek.

  “Not long. I’m ready to leave.”

  “Me too. I’ve had enough of Peru to last a lifetime. Have you had breakfast?”

  “No, but I’m sure one of the nurses would be more than happy to get you something,” I scoffed, making fun of his groupies.

  “Funny,” he laughed with fake bravado, sitting up and turning towards me. “We could always eat on the plane.”

  “Sounds like a plan. Let’s go.” I started to unravel the sheets from under me.

  “Can I get a shower first?”

  He didn’t need one. He smelled great and looked even better, unlike me. “Do you need help?”

  He started to walk toward the bathroom, but looked back, flashing that devilishly gorgeous grin of his. “Don’t trouble yourself. I’m sure one of those dedicated nurses would be more than happy to wash my back.”

  After successfully dodging the pillow I threw in his direction, he disappeared. With the sound of the water started, I decided to make haste and be ready to go, calling the nurse to remove my intravenous line and prepare the paperwork for my departure. She reviewed the discharge instructions left by the doctor and exited the room.

  Henry had bought a few choice outfits for me to wear over the past weeks that included jeans and sweats. Though longing to wear the jeans, the thought of buttoning them and applying pressure to my waist made me quickly decide to choose the pink sweats. Hopefully, they were the absolute last things available in my size. Why would he choose such an obnoxious color, knowing my gravitation toward all things neutral?