“Yes, Gennie, I just got the news. Isn’t that something, girls?”
“Yes, Sister Maria,” they chimed in unison.
“The prize is spending an afternoon with Senator Rick Murphy.” Sister Maria smiled, deep dimples appearing on both sides of her mouth, which made her seem less like a nun and more like a peer. When she’d arrived last year to teach English and history, the rumor had gone around that she’d been married before becoming a nun. “We’ll expect an article about him for the school paper, Gennie.”
“Sure. I’d love to,” Gennie said.
Margaret rolled her eyes and pretended to shudder. She hated writing.
“Did you have something to share with the class, Margaret?” Sister Maria asked.
“No, Sister,” Margaret said.
“Now, open your books, so we can discuss your reading assignment from last night,” Sister Maria said.
Gennie opened her English book to the Hemingway story Hills Like White Elephants. She’d read it last night but hadn’t understood how the precise sentences unfolded into a plot of any kind. There was no story. Two people waited for a train. They drank beer. They disagreed about a decision, but for the life of her, she couldn’t fathom what.
“Who knows the origin of the expression ‘elephant in the room?’” Sister Maria asked.
Gennie had no idea. She should have looked it up last night. Why didn’t I think of that? Sister Maria always asked questions that Gennie was incapable of discerning before class.
“Yes, Rosemary?” Sister Maria asked.
“Elephant in the room: that which is there, but not acknowledged,” Rosemary said.
“Correct,” Sister Maria said.
“And white elephant means something no one wants,” Rosemary said.
Rosemary. She always knows the answers to everything. Rosemary the know-it-all. She probably knows what this silly story was about too.
Sister Maria crossed the room, her heels clicking on the wood floor, and closed the door. The room fell quieter as if the girls were all holding their breaths. She perched on the edge of the desk, smoothing her skirt. The Sisters wore regular clothes at St. Ann. No habits or robes like in the movies. Sister Maria wore long skirts and turtleneck sweaters. “I’m going to tell you something that cannot go out of this room.”
The girls leaned forward in their seats. All but Margaret. She pretended not to care, doodling in her notebook.
“I’m not supposed to teach this story,” Sister Maria said.
In her peripheral vision, Gennie saw Margaret’s head jerk up. The clandestine had interested Margaret since her father had left her mother for a local barmaid. Since then, she’d been suspicious of everyone. Everyone has a secret, Gennie.
“Why?” Margaret asked. “Because it’s about abortion?”
Several of the girls gasped. All thoughts of the contest evaporated from Gennie’s mind. Abortion? That’s what the story is about? Her heart beat fast in her chest, and her hands went numb as she waited for Sister Maria to continue.
“That’s correct, Margaret. I take it you actually read this story?”
“It was short.” Margaret shrugged. “Plus, the dude uses the shortest sentences ever. What’s up with that?”
In a voice just above a whisper, Sister Maria said, “Girls, I struggle with certain sins. My love of Hemingway is one of them. God gave him a great gift.”
“Not really,” Margaret said under her breath.
If she’d heard, Sister Maria ignored Margaret. “His writing is from God, but not of God.” Gennie smiled behind her hand, amused. This was surely a subtle difference. It was as if Hemingway were a forbidden fruit Sister Maria could not resist, even though she believed it would poison her. “I admire him. He created art, but we mustn’t forget his ways—the drinking and suicide, the disregard for tradition.” Sister Maria’s eyes shone brightly in the dim room. “All that said, even though it’s forbidden to teach this story, I’m compelled to do so.”
“Why?” Margaret asked without raising her hand.
“It’s a conversation we must have, and this story is a way for me to have it with you. The woman in the story does not want to do it. Do you all agree with that statement?”
No one, not even Rosemary, answered. Gennie had no idea, still reeling from the knowledge the story was about an abortion.
“It’s a sin to kill a human life, no matter how small. This, girls, you must remember. Outside of these walls, you will hear differing opinions, but I want you to think about your own life. What if someone had decided to dispose of you? Think of it. No you in this world.”
Gennie glanced over at Margaret. She stared down at the desk, a lone teardrop rolling down her cheek. What is wrong?
“That’s all I’m going to say about this subject, but I hope in the years to come you will all remember this lesson. Do not put yourself in a position where you ever have to make a choice like this one. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Sister Maria.”
“Excellent. Then we will talk no more of this distasteful subject.”
Later, Gennie walked home from school with her backpack slung over her shoulders, warm in her long, down jacket, thick gloves, and snow boots. She never walked to and from home in her loafers this time of year; they were left behind in lockers, their duty done for the day. A white powdering covered the sidewalks, but the snow had stopped, leaving a dense cloud layer swollen with unshed flakes. Margaret sidled up beside her.
“Hey,” Margaret said.
“Hey.”
Both their mothers worked and didn’t arrive home until dinnertime. When Gennie had turned thirteen, her mom had decided she was old enough to stay home alone. Gennie liked the freedom and not having to ride the bus to her mother’s work, but sometimes she missed the time with her mom, especially the drive home when they would listen to music or chat about their day.
Since then, she and Margaret had often spent the afternoon together doing homework. That is, until lately. The boy had ruined their homework schedule. “No park?”
“Not today.”
Margaret had been quiet since English class. Gennie knew better than to press. Her best friend shut up tight if you asked too many questions. Since her parents’ divorce, Margaret hadn’t shared her feelings. Gennie wanted the old Margaret back. This new Margaret was hard and almost cold. Regardless, Gennie would never desert her. They’d been friends since they were first graders at St. Ann.
They passed the hardware store and waited on the corner for the light to change.
* * *
“Do you ever think the world would be better if you were never born?” Margaret asked.
Gennie glanced over at her, a flutter of shock in her chest. “I’ve never thought about it.”
The light changed. They crossed the street.
Stopping in front of the candy store, they peered at the display of truffles in the window. Mrs. Wilson, the shopkeeper, waved to them but did not invite them inside to try samples as she was helping a customer. “No samples for us today,” Margaret said.
“Maybe tomorrow,” Gennie said.
With reluctance, they walked away from the window and continued down the street. “My parents got married because they were pregnant with me.” Margaret spoke in a soft voice instead of the sassy tone she’d used so often lately. “I heard them arguing about it when he left. He said he would never have married her if it hadn’t been for me.”
Gennie wriggled her fingers inside her gloves, unsure what to say, as anger on Margaret’s behalf surged through her. It was bad enough that he had left without explanation, but to add cruel words on his way out the door? There was no way to explain his words away or make them better than they were. Margaret’s mother was kind but deflated, like a balloon a week after a birthday party, whereas her father remained buoyant. Underneath his charisma lurked a streak of cruelty.
Margaret slowed her pace. “Today, in class, I thought about how much better it would be if they’d had
an abortion.” Gennie strained to hear Margaret over the roar of a passing car in need of a muffler. The driver shifted gears and sped up, spraying muddy water on the sidewalk a hundred yards in front of them. “Then, my mother could have married someone else. Someone who loved her.”
A wave of sadness swept over Gennie as she imagined her world without Margaret.
“Margaret Louisa, I would be lost if you weren’t here. Think if I was alone at St. Ann without you. I’d probably be best friends with Rosemary.” They giggled.
Gennie halted and grabbed her friend into an embrace. “Don’t think these awful thoughts ever again. I need you here with me.”
Margaret rested her head upon Gennie’s shoulder. “It’s hard to be a person sometimes.”
“I know.”
They walked in silence past the coffee shop where some of their classmates were standing in line for hot chocolates. Neither Gennie nor Margaret had money for two-dollar hot chocolates. They kept on walking.
“I don’t think about what it would be like if I weren’t here,” Gennie said, “but I think about how different our lives would be if my dad hadn’t died. I can’t stop thinking about it.” Five years ago, while on his way home from work, her father had been killed when a drunk driver swerved into his lane. “My mom’s still sad all the time. She doesn’t think I know, but I hear her crying at night.”
Margaret switched her backpack to her other shoulder and linked her arm through Gennie’s. “Yeah, my mom cries too.” They headed down the street in silence, avoiding the crack in the sidewalk outside the butcher shop. Bad luck to step on it.
A snowflake landed on Gennie’s nose. “Hey, it’s snowing again.” They were at the end of town. The road to Gennie’s house was to the right, Margaret’s to the left. “You want to come over?” Gennie asked. “You could help me think of some interview questions for Senator Murphy. My mom made some banana bread last night.”
Margaret drew a line in the snow with her foot. “Yeah. Sure. My mom’s going to freak when she hears you get to meet Senator Murphy. She always says you’re destined for something great.”
“That’s nice of her.” Gennie wasn’t sure what Margaret’s mother meant. Other than finding school easy, she was as ordinary as they came. She liked it that way. There was no reason to be anything but ordinary. They linked arms again and headed down the dirt road to Gennie’s home. Snow fell steadily now, fluffy flakes landing in their hair and eyelashes.
“I think I’m going to stop seeing Eugene,” Margaret said.
“Why?”
“He’s pressuring me to go all the way, and I don’t want to.”
“I think it would be best if you gave him the boot,” Gennie said.
“The boot? You sound like my mother.”
They laughed, their warm breath white in the cold air. When their laughter trailed off, Gennie heard the faint sound of a high-pitched cry. It sounded like a kitten. Gennie tugged at Margaret’s sleeve. “Do you hear that?”
Margaret’s eyes widened. “Is it a meow?”
“It’s kittens. Has to be.” Gennie scanned the area, searching for the source of the mews. Near a tree, a small box perched on top of an exposed trunk, like a teeter-totter. “There, by the tree.” She ran toward the box with Margaret at her heels.
Inside, two black kittens were curled together, their fur exactly alike, and their bodies squished together so they looked like one cat with two heads.
“Someone just left them here?” Gennie asked. “How could you leave a living creature in the snow?”
“What do we do?” Margaret asked.
“We have to take them home with us.”
“My mother will never allow it.”
“I’ll take them to my house. My mom won’t be able to resist them. She can’t turn away any animal, especially not a baby one. If she doesn’t want to keep them, we can find them homes. They can be adopted.”
Gennie leaned over the box, picking up one of the kittens. Its green eyes stared into Gennie’s. It mewed and mewed. Gennie stroked its soft fur and kissed the top of its head. “Don’t worry, kitty. We’ll make sure you have a good home.” She smiled at Margaret, feeling mischievous. “Hopefully it’ll be my home.”
To her surprise, Rick Murphy asked that Gennie come to his mansion for the interview. Over the phone, his secretary, Mrs. Woods, told Gennie that the senator worked from home on Tuesdays. They would send a car to fetch her after school. Nothing had ever sounded more exciting or glamorous.
* * *
Margaret and a few other students stood at the curb, waving to Gennie as the car drove away from campus. The driver, an older man wearing a black suit, said nothing after his initial greeting, other than to tell her it would be about an hour’s drive. It began to snow on the way. By the time they reached their destination, several inches had covered the ground. Flakes the size of nickels continued to fall. Gennie pulled her coat tighter around her middle as she slipped from the back seat of the town car and followed the driver up the slippery walkway. “Careful not to fall,” he said. At the front door, he rang the bell. “Mrs. Woods will take care of you from here. That’s the senator’s secretary.”
Mrs. Woods, tall and narrow, with eyes that snapped with intelligence, opened the door and introduced herself as the driver headed back to his car. Gennie struggled to remain composed as she followed Mrs. Woods across the foyer and through a grand living room to the back of the house. It was the biggest home she’d ever seen, with high ceilings, white pillars, and thick tapestries hung over the windows. Every surface shone under a crystal chandelier. The air smelled of lavender.
At a set of closed double doors, Mrs. Woods asked Gennie to sit in a hardback chair. “This is the senator’s office. He should be with you shortly. I’m just down the hall if you need anything.” Her heels clicked on the hardwood floor as she walked away, disappearing inside another door.
Gennie took off her coat and hung it over the back of the chair. She waited, fidgeting. The chair was hard and cold. There were no windows in the hallway. Was it still snowing? Her Mom would worry if she were too late getting home. What were the kittens doing? Probably asleep near the heater, all curled up together. So sweet and cuddly, and she’d been right. Her mom hadn’t been able to resist them either. They’d named them Midnight and Moon. Given their jet-black fur, only one name made sense, but she didn’t care. The names belonged together.
Gennie doodled in her notebook, drawing cats and wishing she’d brought a book to read.
Thirty minutes later, Mrs. Woods brought her a glass of water and a cookie, setting it on the side table. “The senator shouldn’t be too much longer. He’s on the phone with Washington. He’ll spend a few minutes with you, and then send you home with his driver. The rest of the staff has gone home because of the snowstorm, and I’m afraid I must go as well.”
“Snowstorm?”
“Yes. We’ve had ten inches in the last hour, but don’t worry, the driver’s car is a four-wheel-drive, so he won’t have any trouble getting you home.”
Gennie thanked her. Adults always exaggerated about the severities of snowstorms. They lived in Wisconsin, after all. Weren’t they used to it by now? Anyway, it didn’t matter how she got home, just that she was here.
She shivered with excitement. The senator was talking to Washington. He was probably on the phone with the president. What an amazing life the senator must have. She wouldn’t take too much of his time. He had important matters to attend to. She would ask just three questions and be out of his way.
Gennie reached for the glass of water and took a sip to quench her dry mouth. The icy water made her teeth hurt. She picked up the cookie, then set it back on the plate, feeling too nervous to eat. Next to the plate, a purple orchid drooped in a graceful curtsy and tickled her hand. A painting of a seascape hung on the wall across from her. She stared at it, imagining what it would feel like to stand at the edge of the sea. Wisconsin had lakes, but no oceans. Someday she would visit the oc
ean. When she was grown and making money, she would take her mother there. They would have a picnic and swim, the sun warming their cold bones.
Finally, the double doors to his office opened, and Rick Murphy appeared in front of her. “Miss Banks?”
“Yes, that’s me.” She stood, her legs shaking. He was taller than she expected, with a barrel chest and wide shoulders. On television, he appeared handsome and charismatic, but he was even more so in person. There was an ease and self-assurance to his movements. This was a powerful man, and he knew it. He smiled, flashing white teeth, and held out his hand. She stared at it for a moment, unsure of what to do. Was she to shake his hand? She had so little experience interacting with men, she wasn’t sure. “Thank you for this opportunity.” She held out her hand, and he seized it in a tight grip, her entire hand disappearing in his large one. His nails, trimmed short and neat, were shiny like they had clear polish on them.
“Come on in. We can talk in my office. I’m sorry to have kept you waiting. When the president calls, one has to answer.”
The president! She knew it. Her stomach did a flip as she looked around his office. It was just as she’d imagined, masculine and conservatively decorated in greens and tans. A mahogany desk, the centerpiece of the room, was set in front of the large picture window with a view of the rolling yard, now covered with snow. Four cozy chairs were arranged around a round coffee table. A bouquet of red roses decorated the table. Fresh flowers in November? She couldn’t guess how much they’d cost.
“Please sit. I’m all yours. However, it’s after five, Miss Banks, which means I’m allowed a cocktail.” He crossed to the bar in the corner of the room and poured an amber liquid from a crystal, pitcher-type thing into a short glass. Was it whiskey? She didn’t know anything about alcohol. Her mom didn’t drink. After her dad had been killed, her mother had thrown away the few bottles of liquor he’d kept in the cabinet above the refrigerator. She never said why, but Gennie figured it was because a drunk had killed her dad.
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