“Mother! Mother! Look how funny they all look. Look how funny you look. Like a crow, Mother. You look like a crow that’s been drowned in a lake. Your feathers are all droopy. Are you sad, Mother? Are you sad that I am dead? Sad that you left me behind to die?”
The night before, when Tamora/not-Tamora had come into her room, Amelia had told her that she had not meant for her to die. She had cried and begged Tamora/not-Tamora for forgiveness. But the thing pretending to be her daughter only stared at her and laughed.
Doctor Beard had finally come at Randolph’s insistence and had given her some medicine to calm her. She had quieted, letting them think that the medicine had worked, but Tamora/not-Tamora remained in the corner of her bedroom, waiting until they left to begin torturing her again.
Amelia knew she would live with the torment until she could bear it no more, and then she would die.
“I’m tired,” she announced to no one in particular. A sympathetic clucking spread through the cluster of men and women gathered around her, and as she rose, the group parted to let her through.
She didn’t look back though, she could feel them watching her. Tamora/not-Tamora stood waiting at the foot of the stairs, also watching. There was no sympathy in her face, but only mocking.
No, this wasn’t her daughter. This was her own demon. Her Tamora was somewhere else. Perhaps somewhere else in Bliss House, hiding. She would only come out when Amelia was able to tell her it was safe. There was only one way that Amelia could think of to be able to do that.
Chapter 37
KIKU
February 1879
Kiku answered the door to find Doctor Beard standing on her porch looking vaguely irritated, as though he didn’t want to be there.
“Mister Bliss has asked me to do an examination. Please disrobe and lie on the bed with a blanket to cover yourself. Do you understand?”
She didn’t even think of refusing, and there was no one to whom she might appeal. If she had refused, Randolph would have been displeased. Odette had told her several times that it was about time she was examined by a doctor or midwife. The only western doctor she had ever seen was at Madame Jewel’s, and he had inspected her for syphilis, a malady of which Madame Jewel was particularly wary.
When she had arranged herself on the bed, he came in and took her pulse and listened to her heart, and palpated her abdomen. Then he shifted the blanket, instructed her to spread her legs, and inserted a viciously cold metal instrument into her vagina.
He was just as brusque and unpleasant as he had been when he had come to see Tamora’s body.
When he was finished with the examination, he asked her if she knew when she had become pregnant. Kiku held the blanket to her body, feeling far more exposed than she had felt when undressed in front of the men at Madame Jewel’s. “June?”
“Ah. I would say that is about right. This baby should come in the next six to eight weeks.” Then he was gone.
Six weeks. She felt as though she had been pregnant forever, and yet also that it had only been a few months. Odette would be happy to know that it wouldn’t be much longer. She supposed that Randolph would be pleased as well.
With the doctor gone, Kiku dressed and went back to arranging the baby’s wrappings and diapers and gowns in the drawer she had set aside in the dresser. Everything was soft, though not quite as soft as the velvet that held Aaron’s painting. Fortunately, most of the baby’s clothes had still been at Odette and Mason’s house when Amelia had come and destroyed all that she could in the cottage.
Randolph had not apologized for Amelia’s behavior. When he arrived to look things over after Mason told him what Amelia had done, Kiku did not speak or weep, but only waited to hear what he would say. She had come to feel that the things that Amelia had destroyed were hers, but so often Randolph, when he was feeling particularly cruel, reminded her that everything she had belonged to him, and that she could be replaced by any other woman at any time.
“Only the size of the clothing would matter. But there are plenty of small young women like you. Not quite as exotic, but you have proved to me that women from other places are not so different, my dear. I might as well have a Negress from Richmond or Cuba if I hunger again for something strange.”
So Kiku did not complain to him, though she later told Odette her real feelings. It was not for herself or her things that she was worried. She feared that Amelia might come after the child. Odette had told her of the war and of soldiers who had cut babies from their mothers’ wombs. Amelia was no soldier, but she was mad from grief. Kiku had sympathy for her grief, but she’d had nothing to do with Tamora’s death, no matter what Amelia believed.
Randolph had not stayed long that day. “You may reside with Odette and Mason until the furniture is replaced.” He had closed the door behind him, leaving Kiku standing near the scattered pieces of broken window.
At his request, Aaron had replaced the upholstered furniture, the mattress, and all the shattered dishes. Mason had seen to the broken window quickly, covering the opening with boards until the new glass could be delivered the following week.
With the baby’s clothes arranged, Kiku saw to her own toilette. Her hair seemed to have grown two inches since Christmas, and if it had not been so fine, she might have been able to style it into a high bun, the way Odette was now styling hers. At least she could get it back into a ribbon now. Aaron had said that she had hair as soft and dark as a summer night, and he liked to press it to his lips. He had only kissed her, though she had told him that she would like to be his lover after the baby came.
“I want you to be so much more than my lover, Kiku. We must be patient.” She was hopeful that he would soon return.
But it was Randolph’s boots she heard on the porch that evening.
Once inside, he embraced her with uncharacteristic affection. “I’ve brought you a little present from Doctor Beard, my dear.”
“Doctor Beard does not seem the sort of man to give presents. What could he want to give to me?” The mention of Doctor Beard made her uncomfortable again. The metal device he had put between her legs had been colder and more distressing than any item that Randolph had taken pleasure in putting inside her.
Randolph smiled. “He’s a doctor. Not all doctors have pleasant bedside manners, but he knows his job.”
“I’m sure you’re right.” Kiku went to the stove to put the root and chicken stew that she had made on their plates. It was Odette who kept the chickens. She had told Kiku that she should ask Randolph for her own chickens, but Kiku had no interest in chasing chickens around a yard or wringing their necks. She had no trouble with fish, which panicked for a few moments out of the water before dying on their own. It was not a way in which she wished to die, gasping for air, but it would be preferable to having her head squeezed from her body.
“He’s sent you some tea. You should only eat lightly with it. Not a full meal.”
“I have plenty of tea, Randolph. You are very generous.”
“Ah. Chicken stew. Another one of Odette’s recipes? It occurs to me that I should have her in the house as a cook. Maud Poole has her strengths, but her skills are limited, and Clayton is a far better driver than he is a houseman.”
Kiku regretfully scraped half of her serving of stew back into the pot. She was hungry, but she knew that Randolph would be watching how much was on her plate. She suspected that the doctor’s tea would be as distasteful as he. Not once had she had tea here in America that tasted like anything she drank at home in Japan.
Odette would not approve of her drinking the tea that Randolph had brought, she was certain. She made sure Kiku had plenty of dried peppermint tea to settle her stomach, but there were no other medicines that she thought Kiku needed. Odette had little trust of doctors and preferred to use local remedies from a woman she knew. Kiku thought she might also be the woman Odette had suggested she go see to get rid of the baby.
“I won’t be staying tonight. Amelia is still in a bad way.”
Kiku looked up. He rarely spoke of Amelia.
“I am sorry for her. Will she not eat?”
“Maud leaves a tray for her. Sometimes she’ll eat a little at night, but I cannot press her. She’s been in the nursery for weeks, and won’t open the door when we knock. Doctor Beard says she may need to go to an asylum. Her grief has overcome her.”
Kiku poured the steeped tea through a strainer and into a cup.
“Doctor Beard says you should have three cups of the tea.”
Kiku smiled, careful not to show her teeth, as Madame Jewel had instructed, a habit she saw no reason to break. “Three cups? But I shall be awake all night.”
When he complained that he had gone to the cost and trouble of having the doctor see her, and wished that he had not as she was ungrateful, she quickly apologized and said that she would do as he asked. She knew that if Randolph left, she would not have to drink the second and third cups.
He patted her hand across the table and told her that he was only concerned for her health. It was an uncharacteristically gentle thing for him to do.
When he resumed eating, she lifted the cup and, pleasantly surprised by the minty smell of the stuff, took a sip.
Randolph held up a hand. “Wait! Oh, my dear, I almost forgot.” He took a small corked jar from his pocket, removed the cork, and spilled some of its contents into a spoon. “He said to put two good-sized spoonfuls of this into the tea. I had forgotten.”
The stuff foamed as he stirred it in, changing the smell from something minty and pleasing to a smell like the breath of a man who has drunk too much beer.
Kiku made a face.
“Just drink it along with your dinner. It will taste better.”
She drank, finishing the cup under his steady, benign gaze.
He had said that he would not be staying the night, but he changed his mind, and when dinner was over he told her to clear the table and then come to sit with him in the parlor.
The tea did not settle well in her stomach, and she was only too happy to get up and have something to do. When she finally came into the parlor, Randolph was in the middle of his cigar and had a book open.
“Sit down. I want to read something to you.”
Another astonishing surprise. She had long ago come to the conclusion that Randolph might never surprise her again. She had been in Old Gate for nearly six months and had gotten used to his routines. He no longer even surprised her with new degradations in the bedroom. But this evening something was different. Perhaps, she thought, the plight of Amelia had softened his heart. And who would not be touched by the loss of a child? Tamora had been dead for more than three weeks, and Amelia hadn’t been seen out of the nursery since the funeral. Was it possible that Randolph had become lonely?
She took her place on the sofa and covered herself with a wool lap rug that Aaron had brought along with the furniture. All hope that she might see Aaron that night was gone. He would not come near the cottage if he knew Randolph was in residence, and because of Amelia’s illness—if that was what it could be called—Randolph was frequently at home, and Aaron could not take the chance of visiting.
“It would be bad enough for him to know that I was calling on you, and even more distressing for Amelia.”
Kiku understood his position, but what she did not understand was why he did not leave Bliss House. Yes, Randolph was his employer, but he was not a captive, as she was. He was a man who could take care of himself, and not a woman without resources. She reminded herself to ask him why he did not leave.
Randolph adjusted the lamp.
“It’s a book that I had always hoped to read to our Tamora. But she would not sit, would not listen to me for more than a few minutes at a time. I don’t know if she even knew that I was speaking to her.”
There had been evenings when he had read a bit of a book to her, and then questioned her about it. If she could not answer the questions, he teased her, saying that she had so little understanding that he might well be reading to a housecat. They were not happy memories. But she smiled and nodded, ready to listen.
He read to her of a girl named Alice who followed a rabbit into a hole and found herself in a strange room where she drank a potion from a bottle labeled “Drink Me.” It was an odd sort of story. The idea of talking animals was not an unfamiliar one, but together with her uneasy stomach, she found the story unsettling. Inside her the child was still, which was unusual because it was often very busy after she ate a meal. As she listened, she relaxed: The fire was warm, and the wool rug was comfortable on her legs and belly, and Randolph’s usually booming voice was calming. Soon, unease was overtaken by comfort and she felt her eyes get heavy and close. Her chin nodded onto her chest.
“Let’s get this next cup of tea into you.”
Kiku woke to see Randolph bent over the small tea table where, not so long ago, on Christmas night, she had shared tea with Aaron. For the briefest of moments she imagined that Aaron was in the parlor as well, but when her eyes adjusted to the dim light (Randolph had extinguished his reading lamp), she saw that they were alone.
“I want no more tea. I want to go to bed.” Her voice was petulant and childish, and Randolph tut-tutted.
“No one likes to take their medicine. That is a universal truth. After this cup you should have to take no more, and I’ll give you a few sips of brandy as a reward.”
Kiku shook her head vehemently and cast off the wool rug, nearly upsetting the fragile table.
“My dear, it’s on orders of the doctor. He’s concerned that you haven’t taken good care of yourself, and this will help you feel much better.”
Kiku wanted to tell him that she hadn’t felt badly at all until she had drunk the tea, but only managed to mumble that her stomach had taken ill and she wished to go to her bed.
“You shall go straight to your bed like the good girl that you are. Right after you have your medicine. Would it help you if I put a label on it that read, ‘Drink Me’?” He smiled, pleased with a joke, but Kiku couldn’t quite make out why. The memory of the words “Drink Me” came to her, but it was a fuzzy memory. Had she heard a story, or had it all come from a dream she’d had? She recalled a mouse, and a sea of tears, but then it became confused with walking in the woods with Aaron as they collected pinecones together, and someone was watching them, and she had no baby in her belly, and the snow melted wherever they stepped.
“I’ve put some sugar in it. That will make it all the better. Only don’t tell Doctor Beard if he questions you about it. He is a stickler for the rules.”
Rules. Kiku knew she had broken some rule, but she wasn’t sure which one. Her belly ached, but the thought of some tea with sugar sounded good. Still, what she most wanted was to go to bed.
Randolph picked up the cup and came to sit beside her. He looked stern, but kinder than she had ever seen him look before. She thought of the girl in the book and the rabbit, and for a moment she imagined Randolph as a rabbit and the thought cheered her. She took the cup and saucer from him and sipped the tea. Perhaps there wasn’t quite as much of the foaming stuff in this cup, and Randolph had been generous with the sugar as well. It was the perfect temperature for drinking, and as she sipped he talked to her of springtime in Virginia. Of the dogwoods whose white blossoms among the leafless trees seemed to float in the air.
“Kodama.” She rarely interrupted Randolph, but tonight she felt somehow free.
“What is kodama?”
“Kodama are the spirits of the trees. Maybe here they show themselves in the spring.” She wanted to add that Tamora might now find a home among the kodama.
He nodded, but she knew he did not believe in spirits or gods. Though he sometimes went to church, he would then come to her and mock the people he saw there, calling them “pious Pollys.” That he acknowledged her words with even a nod was almost as unusual as her contributing to the conversation.
He continued on, talking about the small frogs, called peepers, which emerged as
soon as the night air warmed a few degrees, and the lengthening of the days. It was as though the doctor’s visit had made a new man of Randolph. He didn’t mention the child, but surely he was thinking of it. It would be born so soon, and would no doubt be able to recognize his father by the time the dogwood blossoms on the trees turned to leaves.
Would Aaron have gone away by then? If only she could believe that they could escape together. Or that Randolph might tire of her and simply give her to Aaron.
She finished the tea, and he offered her the promised brandy, telling her she had been a good little patient. But she took one sip and shook her head. It was no better than the tea, certainly, and not at all a treat.
He waited on the back porch as she went to the privy with the rug around her shoulders and a muffler around her neck.
In the privy, she struggled to make water. Everything between her legs felt oddly numb. She felt she had to go badly, but could make little happen. Randolph was patient and did not call after her to hurry, though he must have been cold and uncomfortable on the porch. When she came out, apologetic for taking so long, he said it was of no matter and helped her up the slick porch stairs so she would not fall.
“What is the bell for? I don’t remember having it put there.” He touched the large dinner bell that Mason had mounted on the porch’s railing.
“When the baby starts to come, I’m to ring it for Odette. She says that she will be able to hear it, even in the night.”
“Ah. That is very sensible.”
Inside, Kiku made a move toward the dirty dinner dishes. Before Randolph had arrived, she had brought water in to wash them, and had warmed it on the stove. Randolph waved her away.
“To bed. Those can wait.”
She did not argue.
The pains woke her from a dreamless sleep, and she opened her eyes to a muted dawn. Randolph was not in the room, but she heard sounds from the parlor. Odette had told her that she might have a few contractions in the last month, but that they would not be real contractions. This pain, though, was strong. It felt very real.
The Abandoned Heart Page 31