The Surrogate

by Henry Wall Judith

  And she wondered if Joe was married yet. If he ever thought about her at all.

  She recalled the day he stopped by the dry cleaner’s to tell her that he was going to get married. He had tried to make it seem like a by-the-way sort of announcement on his part and not something that he felt the need to tell her because there had been any sort of understanding between them. Which there hadn’t been. Not ever. But that was the last time she saw him, and if he thought of her as just a friend, wouldn’t he have continued to drop by to say hello when he was in the neighborhood?

  Of course, only a few weeks later, she had taken her semester finals and gone home to take care of her dying grandmother, so she never had a chance to discern the nature of his exact feelings for her. But even if Joe had fostered some level of romantic feelings for her, apparently they weren’t deep enough or strong enough to keep him from wanting to marry someone else.

  The afternoon before the insemination procedure, Jamie watched her car being loaded on to a flatbed truck for its journey to the Hartmann Ranch. That evening she purchased a carry-out meal at a nearby restaurant and tried to watch television but couldn’t concentrate. She paced for a while, which made Ralph nervous. Finally, she took a bath and crawled into bed. Ralph took his usual position on the blanket beside the bed, but she patted the place beside her. Once he had resituated himself, she put an arm around him and curled her body against his.

  She wondered about tomorrow. Would Amanda and her husband be there? Or would Toby have been there earlier to…

  She struggled for a term that was not indelicate to describe the act that Toby would be required to perform but could not come up with one. God, it was so weird. Toby would masturbate to provide the semen that would be used to impregnate her. She hoped that Toby had already left the clinic by the time she arrived. She would blush if she saw him. Which would be mortifying. Maybe he had already done his part. He’d said that he and Amanda traveled a lot. And mentioned a trip to Florida and then a ten-city “crusade.” Maybe she wouldn’t see him and Amanda again for weeks and weeks.

  The next day, Dr. Betty Winslow showed Jamie the instruments she would be using and explained that Jamie might experience some discomfort but it would be over very quickly.

  Jamie closed her eyes and tried to keep her mind blank while Dr. Winslow carried out the procedure.

  Once it was completed, the examining table was tilted so that her feet were higher than her head, and she was told that she would need to remain in that position for a half hour. As Jamie lay there staring up at her feet, she wondered what the baby’s last name would be. Would he be given his father’s last name or his mother’s far more famous one?

  Then she put such thoughts out of her head. The baby’s name was none of her business. She didn’t want to know its name. Didn’t want to know anything about it at all. Except that it was healthy. She would like to know that.

  She wondered if a woman who had been penetrated by an instrument could still be considered a virgin. Would she someday have to explain to a man that she had never had sex but had given birth?

  Or did one just keep such things a secret?

  “How’d it go?” Lenora asked when Jamie entered the waiting room.

  “Okay,” Jamie said. “I’m sorry you got stuck with making sure I don’t go on some sort of a binge.”

  “No problem,” Lenora said, linking arms with her. “Let’s go treat ourselves to a wonderful dinner, then curl up in bed and watch a movie.”

  They had dinner at T.G.I. Fridays, then watched a Harry Potter movie on pay-per-view and called it a night. Jamie knew that sleep was once again going to be difficult for her. She tried to put aside the events of the day so that she could mentally and emotionally prepare herself for tomorrow’s flight.

  Jamie hadn’t flown in an airplane since those childhood trips that ended when her parents died in a plane crash. Her stomach was knotted with apprehension, and she was afraid to close her eyes lest she dream of planes plunging from the sky.

  Finally she gave up on sleep. If it weren’t for Lenora in the other bed, she would have watched television or turned on the lamp and read. Ralph sensed her wakefulness and came to comfort her. She curled her body around his, and the next thing she knew, the alarm was going off. An hour later, she and Ralph were in Lenora’s car on their way to the airport.

  The Hartmann airplane was a great deal larger than her father’s had been and had jet engines instead of propellers. The words The Messenger were painted in script on the side. Beneath the words was a golden cross.

  The uniformed pilot and copilot introduced themselves. They were father and son—Russ was the father and Rusty the son. They were based in Virginia and flew regularly for Miss Hartmann and her brother, Russ explained.

  Suddenly the moment of departure was at hand.

  “You’ll be fine,” Lenora said. “Amanda and Toby are not your run-of-the-mill folks, but you will be well cared for.”

  Jamie hugged Lenora and thanked her for everything. They promised to stay in touch, and yes, Jamie would let her know if she needed anything.

  Ralph was hesitant about climbing up the steep steps, so the young copilot carried him. Jamie turned and waved at Lenora before entering the spacious cabin. No, this wasn’t like her father’s little airplane at all, she thought as she took in the easy chairs and individual television monitors. In the back were a conference table and chairs.

  As soon as Jamie took her seat, Ralph jumped onto her lap. Jamie let him stay there, putting her arms around him and burying her face against his neck while the plane raced down the runway and lifted heavenward.

  She avoided looking out the window during the short flight, but when she felt the plane bank and begin its descent, she moved to a window seat and looked down on the emptiest landscape she had ever seen. Not a house, not a road, not a hill, only an occasional clump of stunted mesquite along a creek bed. But already there were the beginnings of one of those spectacular sunsets Toby Travis had promised.

  Then miraculously there was a landing field, and beyond it were a water tower, a silo, and rooftops emerging from an oasis of trees and cultivated fields. As they descended farther she spotted a large greenhouse and a trailer park.

  The plane made a looping turn over the large L-shaped stone ranch house with a turreted tower. Behind the house were two swimming pools, one a large free-form pool with a small island in the center and the other a rectangular pool with swimming lanes. Beyond the pools were tennis courts. The place looked more like a resort than a home.

  Obviously, the people to whom she was now contractually bound were wealthy beyond anything she could even begin to imagine, which represented enormous good luck for the baby she would carry for them. The child would have every advantage that money could buy. He or she would never be made fun of for wearing secondhand clothes.

  Which hadn’t been the worst thing in the world, she decided.

  The plane descended very quickly and soon the wheels were touching the ground. When it had rolled to a stop, Rusty emerged from the cockpit. “Welcome to Hartmann Ranch, home to the only bowling alley in Marshall County,” he said with a grin. “If the ranch were a town, it would be the second largest in the county, which may not be saying too much since there are only two so-called towns in the whole damned county, and one of them is just a wide spot in the road.”

  Chapter Seven

  WAKEFULNESS INTRUDED on the woman’s sleeping brain like water slowly seeping into a hard, dry sponge. She struggled against it for a time, then opened her eyes and took in her surroundings. Always the same place. The room that wasn’t square and wasn’t round and had lots of skinny windows with diamond-shaped panes.

  Her neck hurt. It always did when she nodded off in her wheelchair.

  And she was hungry. Surely it was time for the witch to bring up her tray. She didn’t like her anymore, but at least she spoke English. The witch used to work for her, but now somehow she was the boss. Which was irritating. Very irri
tating.

  The woman was trying to decide what time of day it was and whether her next meal would be breakfast, lunch, or dinner when she heard the roar of a plane.

  Frantically she spun her wheelchair around. Maybe someone was coming to see her. Her daughter, maybe. Or even her son.

  She saw the plane roaring by and knew it would make a big curve before coming in for a landing. She waited until it completed the curve and rolled her wheelchair to the correct window in plenty of time to watch it touch down and roll to a stop.

  She used to fly in airplanes all the time. Handsome men in limousines would be waiting for her. Sometimes she sat up front with them. Sometimes she invited them inside.

  She watched while a figure climbed down the airplane’s steep stairs. The person was too far away for her to see who it was. And it was getting dark.

  She continued watching as headlights approached the house, then she leaned forward hoping to see who was in the vehicle, but it disappeared under the portico.

  “Shit!” she called out angrily.

  A young Mexican man in a golf cart met the plane.

  Jamie held Ralph on the short ride to the ranch house. The setting sun reflected in its many windows, making it look as though there were a raging fire within the stone structure and its octagon-shaped tower.

  Two women were waiting for her by the imposing front door of roughhewn wood with heavy iron hinges. One woman was tall and somewhat formidable-looking with very erect posture and her coal-black hair pulled back into a bun. She was wearing a tailored navy suit with sturdy navy pumps on her feet. The other woman was younger with a stocky build, very short hair, and dressed in khaki pants and shirt, with a holster and flashlight hanging from her wide leather belt.

  “Good evening, Miss Long,” the older woman said, extending her hand. “I am Ann Montgomery, head housekeeper, and this is Chief Katy Kelly, who is in charge of ranch security.”

  Jamie shook hands with both women. “Everyone calls me Kelly,” the younger woman said.

  “And this is Ralph,” Jamie said, looking down at her dog, who was looking up at the two women expectantly, with his crooked tail wagging. After living most of his life in a cage, Ralph was turning out to be a very friendly dog.

  Kelly dropped down on one knee and scratched Ralph’s head. “Hey, buddy, why don’t you take a walk with me while Montgomery shows your mommy around?” Ralph dutifully wagged his tail again, and Jamie handed the leash to Kelly. Then she followed Miss Montgomery through the front door into the delightfully cool interior of what she realized was a solid stone structure. Like a castle.

  An arched entryway opened onto a pillared hall with a beamed ceiling. Twin curving staircases led to a landing with three enormous windows comprised of small round panes of brilliant gemlike colors. From the landing the staircase branched again and continued to a second-floor gallery.

  “I feel like I’m on a movie set,” Jamie said.

  “Yes, it is rather impressive, isn’t it?” Miss Montgomery said. “The original ranch house was built by Amanda Hartmann’s grandfather, who was a cattle rancher and founder of Palo Duro Oil and Gas Company,” she explained, speaking with authority and a touch of reverence in her voice. She was older than Jamie had at first thought. Well into her sixties. Or older. Her erect bearing belied her age. Her blue-black hair was obviously dyed. Her dark red lipstick had bled into the creases that radiated outward from her mouth.

  “Every stone used to construct both the original structure and the south wing was quarried in the state of Texas,” Miss Montgomery continued, “and all the lumber was milled from Texas trees with the exception of the hand-hewn doors, which were made in Mexico. The south wing was added by Amanda’s parents—Senator Jason Hartmann and Mary Millicent Tutt Hartmann—to provide additional accommodations for guests and to increase the size of the kitchen and service areas. They loved to entertain at the ranch. When Amanda and Mister Toby had their wedding here, it was like old times,” the housekeeper said with a wistful sigh. “Some of the stockmen even put on a rodeo for the guests.”

  “How long have you worked here?” Jamie asked.

  “I have lived here almost all of my life,” the housekeeper said as she started up the stairs.

  Jamie listened as Miss Montgomery explained that the ranch had long served as a retreat for family members and friends, Palo Duro board members, and board members of the Alliance of Christian Voters, which was founded by Mary Millicent. In addition to family quarters, there were six guest suites. The ranch-house compound was enclosed by a security fence and included a large garage, a shed used by the gardeners, four bungalows for in-house staff and their families, and two bungalows for overflow guests. Other ranch employees lived in an area north of the ranch known as Hartmann City.

  From the second-floor gallery, Jamie paused to look across the great hall at the soaring stained-glass windows as they captured the last rays of the setting sun.

  “Amanda’s grandfather saw similar windows while touring in Italy with his wife back in the early 1900s,” Miss Montgomery said. “He had Italian artisans duplicate the windows and hired an architect to design a house that would properly showcase them.”

  “Was the tower his idea?” Jamie asked.

  “No, actually the tower was Mary Millicent’s idea. It was added when the south wing was built.”

  “What’s it used for?” Jamie asked.

  “The first floor is a storeroom, and there’s a chapel on the second floor,” the housekeeper said. “The upper part is just an empty shell.”

  Jamie followed the housekeeper through a doorway that led to the south wing. On the left was an arched entryway to a tiny chapel with a softly illuminated altar. As they walked down the hall, Jamie noticed that each door had a brass plate with the name of a biblical landmark. The housekeeper stopped in front of “Cana.”

  “Do you know why I am here?” Jamie asked.

  Miss Montgomery nodded.

  “Do other people here at the ranch know?”

  “Only myself, the nurse who will care for you, and Chief Kelly. As far as everyone else is concerned, you are Miss Amanda’s guest. It isn’t unusual for her to allow individuals to live here for a time—to heal, to meditate, or to write. When it becomes apparent that you are pregnant, those who live and work here will assume that you are an unmarried young woman that Amanda has taken under her wing. And you will tell no one otherwise. I understand that you have signed a confidentiality agreement with Amanda and her husband. That agreement began the minute that you signed it.”

  Jamie nodded. “Yes, I understand that.”

  “All of us here at the ranch think very highly of Amanda,” Miss Montgomery went on. “She is not only our employer, she is our spiritual leader.”

  Unsure if a response was required of her, Jamie fiddled with the handle on her small traveling bag.

  “And you, too, will feel the same as time goes by,” Miss Montgomery continued, moving closer to Jamie and placing a hand on her arm. With her face so close that Jamie could see the pores in her nose, the housekeeper said, “You will come to understand that God put you on this earth to bear a child for Amanda Hartmann.”

  Jamie took a step backward. She started to tell the woman that she had not come here to carry out a godly mission. She had a business arrangement with Amanda Hartmann and Toby Travis that had nothing to do with God.

  But she decided to change the subject instead. “Is there another stairway that I should use to the take the dog in and out?” she asked.

  Miss Montgomery pointed to a door at the end of the hall and, returning to her businesslike demeanor, said, “The stairs lead to a back entrance by the kitchen. The security alarm is activated between ten P.M. and six A.M. You will be served your meals in your rooms, except for Sunday morning, when the kitchen is closed. Laundry should be bundled and left outside your door. Other than the immediate grounds, Amanda has specified that you are not to leave the house unless I or a member of the security staff
accompanies you. The cook will visit with you in the morning about your food preferences. Now, if you’ll tell me what you would like for dinner, I will see that it is prepared. In the meantime, make yourself at home.”

  “What about my car?”

  “It is parked in the garage behind the house. After you remove whatever of your possessions you’ll need during your stay here, the car will be stored in the motor pool in Hartmann City.” The housekeeper said good-night and promised to take her on a tour of the ranch in the morning.

  Jamie thanked the woman and entered the rooms that were to be her home for some months to come. French doors opened onto a small balcony. A large cabinet housed a big-screen television and several pieces of colorful Native American pottery. Indian blankets hung on the walls, and the furnishings were handsome handmade Mexican pieces. A kitchenette hidden behind folding doors was already stocked with dog food, bottled water, and snacks. A small desk sat under a window; beside it was an electric typewriter on a metal stand. Jamie remembered her father typing on a machine like that but hadn’t seen one in years.

  The spacious bedroom was furnished with a king-size bed, an easy chair and ottoman, a lamp table, and a cabinet with a second smaller television set. The bathroom had a large oval tub, a glass-enclosed shower stall, a large mirrored vanity, and a skylight. A cabinet by the tub held stacks of thick white towels and washcloths and a basket of bath soaps and toiletries.

  Jamie put away the things from her traveling bag, then sat on the sofa waiting for Kelly to return with her dog. For now, this apartment was her home, but it would feel homier when she had some of her own possessions in place.

  Jamie took another look around and did some push-ups and crunches. Then she opened the door and looked up and down the empty hallway.

  She went back to the sofa and reached for the remote control. Soon the familiar voice of a CNN anchor filled the small room. She watched the news and then tried to plan how she would make the two rooms seem more her own. She would move the Indian blanket over the sofa to another wall and hang her great-grandmother’s mirror there. Or she might leave the blanket there and move the sofa.