A Sin and a Shame

by Victoria Christopher Murray

  “So, are you saying you’re going to have this baby?”

  It wasn’t until Mae Frances asked the question that Jasmine realized that was exactly what she was saying. She staggered back to the couch; the thought took her breath away. In the weeks that she’d suspected this pregnancy, never once had she considered having this child. That was an impossibility.

  But now, as she thought about it, it was an abortion that was impossible. If she aborted this baby and then told Hosea she’d had a miscarriage, he would insist on speaking to the doctor. And, if she told him that she’d had a miscarriage at home, he would insist on taking her to the doctor. And if she didn’t oblige, he would be suspicious. And suspicion triggered questions. And questions demanded answers. And every answer would have her appearing in front of a judge in divorce court.

  “I can’t have this baby,” Jasmine said, placing her hands on her stomach. “There has to be another way.”

  Mae Frances’s eyes were sad as she glanced at where her friend’s hands rested. “There are doctors who could give you something…some kind of poison…make it look like a miscarriage.”

  Jasmine jumped up.

  Mae Frances said, “But I wouldn’t recommend that. Could kill more than the baby. Could kill you.”

  Jasmine leaned against the mantel that held the empty picture frames. “Oh, God,” she moaned, feeling the nausea rising. She couldn’t ingest poison, but on the other hand, giving birth to this baby would be just as toxic. How could she live the rest of her life with this lie?

  “Do you think you can pull off having this baby?”

  “I don’t know,” Jasmine whispered. “What do you think?”

  Mae Frances shrugged. “I think you should pretend the miscarriage. Have that baby sucked right out of you.”

  Jasmine rushed back to the couch. Held her head in her hands.

  “If you can’t do that…” Mae Frances strolled to the wooden desk that stood on three legs and a stack of old telephone books. From a pile of papers, she lifted a card and handed it to Jasmine. “Call him,” she said. “He’ll help you.”

  Jasmine took the card. Dr. Jeremy Edmonds.

  Mae Frances walked out of the room, returning a momemt later with a cordless phone. “Call Jeremy. Tell him you need him to convince your husband that you are only two weeks pregnant.”

  “Who is he?”

  “Don’t worry; Jeremy is a good doctor.”

  Jeremy. “Can he be trusted?”

  Mae Frances crossed her arms, twisted her lips, and released enough of a breath to make her annoyance apparent. “Would I put you in touch with someone you can’t trust? Jeremy is a reputable doctor who’s caught in this web of ridiculous malpractice insurance premiums. So, he’s been forced to make some…unscrupulous moves. Believe me, you can ask any number of people and they’d be able to refer you to someone like him. It’ll cost you, but it’ll be worth it.”

  Jasmine nodded. Dr. Jeremy Edmonds could help her weave this web of deception. Could she do this? Did she want to?

  “It’s not like you have a lot of choices,” Mae Frances said, reading Jasmine’s thoughts. “And you don’t have much time.” Mae Frances looked at her watch. “Your husband is going to take you to somebody’s doctor tomorrow.”

  With the tips of her fingers, Jasmine massaged her temples, hoping to ease the confusion that had latched onto her.

  “This is your only hope,” Mae Frances said. “Because if your husband finds out—”

  That is not an option. “It will work out,” Jasmine said, as if just speaking it would make it so. “This bed’s been made—”

  “And now you’re going to have a baby in it,” Mae Frances finished. “Look at it this way, that baby is going to be your insurance policy. If anything ever happens between you and the preacherman, he’ll have to pay, because of the baby. Here,” she said. “Make the call now.”

  Jasmine shook her head. “I’ll do it from home.”

  Mae Frances laughed. “Jasmine Larson, please don’t tell me you’re that dumb. Your husband just heard one conversation; do you want him hearing this one too?”

  Jasmine hesitated then grabbed the phone, dialed the number, and after she told the nurse she was referred by Mae Frances Van Dorn, was asked to hold for the doctor.

  Even as she talked to Dr. Edmonds, it amazed Jasmine the way her life had changed. She’d never thought about being a mother, but this might not be so bad. The way Hosea looked at her earlier—Mae Frances was right. This baby could be insurance. But not in the way Mae Frances thought. This baby could insure that Hosea would always love her. She would, after all, always be the mother of his child.

  Chapter 37

  Jasmine hadn’t known what to expect.

  But as her eyes roamed, there was nothing in the doctor’s office that would spill her secret. Degrees that had been received in the sixties from Ivy League schools and other framed notations of accomplishments peppered the walls. The furniture—heavy, expensive—befitted any Upper East Side workplace.

  Hosea paced behind her, but she sat, sure that her anxiety was greater than his. On the telephone, Dr. Edmonds was professional enough, but now Jasmine quivered with liar’s remorse.

  Before she had time to wade in regret, Dr. Edmonds sauntered in.

  “Good morning,” he greeted them as Hosea sat next to her. “So,” Dr. Edmonds began, “you two think you’re pregnant.”

  It took a moment for Jasmine to close her mouth. She recognized this man—the only person she’d ever seen come out of Mae Frances’s apartment.

  Hosea spoke as she stared. “We’ve only been married for two weeks,” he said, “but my wife took those home pregnancy tests and they were all positive.”

  Dr. Edmonds smiled as if he didn’t know their story. “Congratulations.”

  “But don’t you need to test her?” Hosea asked.

  “Definitely, but those tests are pretty reliable.”

  “Doctor, as I said,” Hosea continued, “we’ve just gotten married; will you really be able to determine if my wife is pregnant this soon?”

  The doctor chuckled. “Modern medicine has come a long way. We can revive a dead man. Certainly, we can tell when a woman is pregnant, almost at the point of conception. I’ll perform a blood test which can detect pregnancy just four days after a missed period.”

  Hosea nodded, squeezed Jasmine’s hand.

  “Well, Mrs. Bush, I have all of your information. Let’s get started.”

  When they both stood, the doctor said, “Mr. Bush, would you wait here? This won’t be long.”

  His stance said he didn’t like that idea, but Jasmine knew the doctor’s plan. He’d examine her alone, get the results, and then they’d talk before they faced Hosea.

  Jasmine kissed Hosea and then followed the doctor—to begin to lay the lies that would become the foundation of the rest of her life.

  Even swanky Upper East Side doctors used the thin blue paper robes.

  Jasmine’s arms were covered in goose bumps as she held the clipboard in her hand. She’d answered the three pages of questions that had only served to raise her anxiety. And now waiting didn’t make it any better. The quick knock on the door gave her relief.

  “Mrs. Bush?”

  After she said “Yes,” he entered with a smile. She tried not to stare, as he took the clipboard from her, but she was tempted to ask if he were Robert Redford’s brother. His looks seemed wasted here, where he was forced to deliver babies and cover up indiscretions for extra money. Surely he could play a fifty- or sixty-year-old leading man in somebody’s movie.

  “You can relax, Mrs. Bush. It’s just the two of us now.”

  She half-grinned.

  “So,” he said, beginning his examination. “How have you been feeling?”

  “Fine, if you don’t count the nausea.”

  “That’s normal, especially for being eight weeks pregnant. That’s what you said, right?”

  “That’s what I think. Will I
know for sure from the blood test?”

  “No, we’ll just know that you’re pregnant,” he said as he listened to her heart beat. “We’ll need the ultrasound to determine dates.” He jotted notes onto a chart. “Have you ever been pregnant before?”

  She shook her head.

  “Okay, Mrs. Bush. The nurse is going to take your blood.”

  “Doctor, my husband—”

  He held up his hand. “We’ll make this work for you,” he said as if he’d done this a million times.

  “But if I’m right, and I’m eight weeks pregnant, how will we explain the baby’s early arrival?”

  The doctor chuckled. “That’ll be easy enough. I’ll know more as your pregnancy progresses. But, there are a number of ways to explain a premature birth.” He flashed his actor’s smile again. “Relax, your husband won’t suspect a thing.” Now she was sure—he had done this a million times.

  “And your…fees?”

  “We’ll discuss that. You’re a friend of Mae Frances Van Dorn, right?”

  His question took her away from the seriousness of her situation. Allowed her curiosity to return. “Yes.”

  “Then I’ll take care of you.”

  “How long have you known Mae Frances?”

  “For many years.”

  She wanted more. But before she could ask another question, he left the room.

  “You are pregnant.”

  Hosea cheered, the words sending him into a joy-ridden tail-spin. But Jasmine didn’t share his zeal. To her, the doctor’s words made certain that she would spend the rest of her life as a liar.

  Hosea took his wife’s hand and kissed her, and Jasmine smiled as if she were pleased too. She pretended to listen as Hosea queried the doctor.

  “Is it okay for her to work?”

  The doctor tried, but couldn’t hide his chuckles. “Of course; your wife is healthy and from what we can tell at this point, this should be a normal pregnancy. We’ll want to watch things a bit, since your wife is—” the doctor paused, glanced down at the chart.

  Hosea said, “She’s thirty-five.”

  “Yes.” The doctor glanced at Jasmine. She stared straight at him, unblinking as if she really was five years younger.

  She’d told the doctor the truth. After the nurse had taken her blood, she’d asked Dr. Edmonds if being forty would affect her or the baby.

  “The chance of complications increases each year after a woman leaves her twenties,” the doctor explained. “But in today’s times, women are having babies well into their forties, even their fifties. Prenatal care is the key.”

  “Mr. Bush,” the doctor said, grabbing Jasmine back from their earlier conversation, “there’s no need to worry. Women have been doing this since the beginning of time.”

  “I understand, but no woman has ever done this for me.”

  His voice was so soft, his words so sincere, it tugged at her heart. Made Jasmine almost want to tell him the truth. Almost.

  Dr. Edmonds nodded. “Mrs. Bush can do everything she would normally do. Of course we want you to eat right and only do the exercise that you’re used to doing.”

  Jasmine nodded, and smiled when Hosea squeezed her hand again.

  “So, that’s it for today. Again, congratulations.” The doctor stood, dismissing them. His lies complete.

  Jasmine had no idea how long Hosea held her once they were outside of the office. “I love you,” he said so many times she almost tired of hearing it. Almost.

  She held him too, saying nothing. Just tried to believe that life would still be normal. When they got into the car, Hosea said, “We’ve got to do something to remember this day.”

  “Let’s go home.”

  He grinned. “I’m with you. We can begin practicing for baby number two.”

  But a celebration was not in her thoughts. She hadn’t been able to wrap her mind around the verity of the fact that she was going to be the mother of Brian Lewis’s baby. For the next ten, twenty, thirty, forty years, maybe even fifty years, she’d keep that secret. The thought overwhelmed her, made her want to stay in bed for all that time.

  She said nothing for the ten-minute drive home, and once there, she headed straight to the bedroom.

  “Darlin’, what’s wrong?” Hosea asked as he turned back the comforter, making room for her to crawl in.

  She nodded. “I just need a nap. Need to push this aside for a moment.”

  He sat on the edge of the bed. “I guess we never talked seriously about having children, but Jasmine, I couldn’t be happier.” She let seconds tick by, said nothing. He asked, “What about you?”

  “I’m…surprised. I’m overwhelmed.” When he frowned she added, “But, I’m happy,” she said, making his smile return.

  He reached for the pillows and made her comfortable.

  “Aren’t you going back to work?” she asked, trying to keep the hope out of her tone.

  “No, I told them I wouldn’t be in today.”

  She wanted to tell him to go because it was hard to look at him now. Yet she said nothing more. Just closed her eyes, laid her head and her burdens down.

  But minutes later she was shaken awake; thoughts of her troubles dragged her back to consciousness. She couldn’t rest with the mantra blasting in her mind.

  How am I going to do this?

  It had been her plan to never have a plan again. But now, life would be nothing but a plan. A well-thought-out plot to keep her child’s paternity an everlasting secret.

  She sighed, knowing that she had to accept this fate. Because now, short of throwing herself down a set of stairs, she would have this baby, call it a Bush, and tell tales for the rest of her days of how Hosea knocked her up on their honeymoon.

  But as she thought about it, there was really no reason why she couldn’t pull this off. As mammoth as this seemed, she was Jasmine Larson Bush, the master planner. The rock on her left hand proved how good she was.

  “Darlin’, are you awake?”

  “Yes, sweetie,” she said when Hosea walked into the room.

  “Good, because I have a surprise for you.”

  Jasmine waited; surprise had become synonymous with gifts from the best shops, dinner at first-class restaurants, and attending special events with some of the city’s most elite. Now that she was carrying his child, she couldn’t wait to hear what this surprise might be.

  Hosea said, “I’ve ordered all your favorite dishes from ‘Twenty-one.’ They’ll be delivered within an hour.”

  Jasmine clapped. That restaurant didn’t do take-out or delivery. But she’d come to understand that celebrity had its privileges. She wrapped her arms around Hosea’s neck. “That’s great. We can have a romantic lunch and then—”

  He moaned as he kissed her. “We may not be able to do that for a couple of hours because Pops is on his way over.”

  “Pops?” she asked, hoping that he’d given that name to someone besides his father.

  “Yeah.” He chuckled. “It’s kinda funny to hear you call him Pops. What do you plan on calling him anyway?”

  She wanted to tell Hosea that she didn’t plan on calling his father anything. Didn’t want to say his name—or see him—at all. She asked, “Why is your father coming over here?”

  “Well, we haven’t seen him since our wedding.”

  “And?”

  “And I can’t wait to tell him that he’s going to be a grandfather.”

  No way, she thought. She’d never be able to convince the reverend the way she’d convinced his son. The son loved her. The father didn’t; he would take a single look at her and know. “Hosea, it’s too early to tell anyone.”

  “I think we should tell the world.”

  “The doctor recommends that we tell no one until we get through the first trimester.”

  Hosea frowned. “I didn’t hear him say that.”

  “He said that in the examination room,” she lied.

  “So, you want me to wait three months before I tell anyone
about the second happiest event of my life?”

  “Well, maybe we won’t have to wait the entire three months, but I certainly don’t want to mention it now.”

  Hosea sighed. “Okay, I don’t understand, but if you don’t want to tell people for a while, I’ll go along.”

  Jasmine exhaled.

  “So, we’ll only tell Pops, and Serena too, if you want.”

  Jasmine answered him with a moan.

  He said, “What’s wrong with telling just the two of them?”

  “Hosea, please, sweetie,” she begged. “I don’t want to tell anyone.”

  “My pops and your sister are not just anyone. My father has waited a lot of years to be a grandfather.”

  “That’s my point. He’s waited and it would be hard to go back to him if something were to happen to this baby.”

  Hosea frowned. “Jasmine, ‘this’ baby is ‘our’ baby.”

  “I know, it’s just that—”

  He interrupted. “I don’t know why you’re talking like you expect to lose our baby.” He lowered his voice. “We’re not claiming that, and it would help to have Pops and Serena praying for us anyway.”

  She held out her hand and when he took it, she pulled him onto the bed. “Sweetie, you and I are a family now. It’s not that we don’t need other people’s prayers, but we have to stand for ourselves, together. And this is a wonderful time to begin doing that.”

  He sighed.

  “I know nothing is going to happen to…our baby.” She rested his hand on her stomach. “But I also know how hard it would be if something were to happen. And it would be so much harder on me if I started telling people.” When he said nothing, she added, “Did you know that Tina just had a miscarriage?”

  His eyes widened. “No, I didn’t know that.”

  Jasmine nodded. “And she spent an hour in my office crying about it. She’s been so stressed. And then there’s my cousin…,” she paused, trying to think of a name, “Faith. She had three miscarriages before she carried her son to term.” She stopped again. “And Dr. Edmonds told me fifty percent of all pregnancies end in a miscarriage.” She paused and checked those words into her memory to give to the doctor later. Just in case. “All I’m saying,” she continued, “is that I want to share this beginning with just you and me, and our baby.” Then, she added, “And God.”