Tessa McDermid - Family Stories (13 page)

When she opened her eyes, she was lying on the parlor sofa. Rebecca stil sat in the same chair. Clara knelt beside Marian, fanning her face. Frank moved closer to her.

"How do you feel? I shouldn't have been so blunt."

Marian shook her head, then regretted the action. The room swam before her eyes. She swal owed, regaining her equilibrium. "Where's your mother?" she asked.

Clara answered, "One of the neighbor ladies is sitting with her. She's asleep now."

Marian looked at Rebecca, and Frank fol owed her gaze. "She doesn't understand what's happening. Not that any of us do," he added. "She's been like this since he came home. She knows there's a problem but she doesn't know what."

Marian felt a surge of dislike for Frank's mother. She should be comforting her children, not taking to her bed.

But then she thought about Frank. How would she respond if something happened to him? Her heart softened a fraction.

The next few days passed in a blur. Mr. Robertson worked at the store, sleeping in the back room. Mrs.

Robertson decided to move herself and the girls to her parents farm, west of town. Their belongings were packed up, and Frank's grandfather arrived in a rumbling truck to take them al away. They left behind an empty house and the few furnishings that were to go to the new owner.

"Strange to think how quickly life can change," Frank mused as they walked back to their smal apartment.

Marian held his arm. She had to tel him about the baby but this wasn't the time. He was worried about his family, and his job was precarious. Joe had kept him on, but only because he worked on commission. He lived in daily fear of losing his job.

"They'l be fine. Your grandfather will take care of them." She had liked the gruff older man, seeing a survivor in the weathered face and rough hands.

"Poor Clara." Frank's voice was fil ed with compassion and she squeezed his arm, loving him even more for the way he cared about his sister. "Now she'll never marry Sam Johnson. Moving out to the country will guarantee she'll end up an old maid."

Marian sighed in agreement.

But they were wrong. The next day, as Marian rested on the bed, Frank at work, there was a knock at the door. Feeling anxious, she answered—to find Sam Johnson standing there.

"You probably think I'm a fool or poor-spirited," he told Marian over the tea she'd made for them. "But I'm neither. I'm al my mother has, and I've had to look after her. However, I don't mean to lose Clara. I want to marry her. Mother agrees we've waited long enough. What I need from you, please, Mrs. Robertson, is her present address."

"Oh, Frank, he was so solemn. And so determined," Marian said that night, as she related the story. "I couldn't say anything except to give him the directions to your grandfather's house. He thanked me, then went off. I felt like I was playing a part in an old-fashioned romance."

Frank stretched out in bed. "Wel , I hope this works out for Clara. They'l be living with his mother and she's a hard woman to please."

"Clara should be used to that," Marian replied. With a startled gasp, she covered her mouth with her hand.

Frank chuckled and pul ed her hand down. Kissing the palm, he said, "Remember, I lived with my mother, too.

I'm sure life wasn't always easy for her. My parents didn't marry for love," he added.

Marian looked at him in astonishment. He nodded. "Their parents were friends. They were expected to marry and they did. I believe they've grown to love each other, though."

Marian snuggled into his arms. "Wel , Clara deserves some happiness in life."

As the Christmas season approached, Marian squandered a few of their precious savings on fabric for presents. She sewed every day after Frank was gone, shirts for Frank and his father, a new dress for Rebecca, pil owcases for his mother, a set of sheets for Sam and Clara. They were to be married on New Year's Day, in a smal ceremony.

A week before Christmas, Mrs. Sul ivan stopped her after their last meeting of the year. "Marian, congratulations. How does Frank feel about the baby?"

Marian wasn't surprised at Mrs. Sul ivan's perspicacity. The older woman always seemed to recognize what people needed before the request was even voiced.

And it felt so good to have someone else know her secret. "I haven't told him yet," she confided. "He's so worried. How can I tel him there'll be another mouth to feed?"

"The baby won't be born until spring. By then, things will have settled down. After al , we're beginning a new decade. Tel him tonight." Mrs. Sul ivan gave her a hug before she left.

Frank was tired when he came in but happy. He'd sold a pair of shoes, the first sale in days. The money wasn't much, but it clanked reassuringly as she added it to the can.

He sat down in one of the kitchen chairs, waiting while Marian finished the supper preparations. As she set the table, he noticed the fancy china dishes.

"What's this?"

She blushed. "Mrs. Sul ivan lent them to me. I have some special news for you."

Dark eyes intent, he watched her closely. She took a deep breath. "Frank, I'm pregnant."

He didn't speak. He sat stil for a moment, then leaned forward, scooping mashed potatoes onto his plate. She sat down across from him and mechanical y fil ed her own.

They didn't talk as they ate. The easy camaraderie of the past few weeks was absent. The cutlery clinked against china, echoing in the silent room. Frank ate slowly and methodically, chewing each bite for a long time.

She tried to eat but her stomach kept jumping. Whether that was because of the baby or the continued silence, she wasn't sure. When he pushed his plate away, she sat back in relief. Finally, they would talk.

"Aren't you excited, Frank? Sometime in the spring, we'll have a baby." Now that she was used to the idea, she could envision walking the baby down the street, into the little park two blocks away, playing there while they waited for Frank to come home. Eventual y they'd need a bigger place, but for the first year or two, their apartment would be sufficient.

"How far along are you?" he asked gruffly.

She blinked away the visions. "Maybe three months or a bit more."

His chair toppled to the floor as he stood up. "Three months? When did you find out? Why didn't you tel me at once?"

She hunched in her chair. "I didn't want to bother you, Frank. First, there was your family's troubles. And then you were so worried about your job. I didn't want you to worry about anything else."

"Not worry? You sil y fool." She cringed at his harsh tone. "How are we going to feed a baby? Do you realize what's happening out there? Millions of people have no work, no place to live. I only have a job because of Joe's kindness. He may decide he doesn't have enough business for two salespeople and then where wil we be? Mrs. Sul ivan doesn't nag us about the rent, but she won't be able to afford that sort of generosity too long, either."

"But, Frank, what can we do? I'm pregnant. We'll have to manage the best we can."

"No, we won't." He paced around the room, his hand clasped behind his back. "I'll talk to a friend of mine. He'll have the name of a doctor who can get rid of it."

His words penetrated the fog that had been surrounding her since his first words. She jumped to her feet, her chair meeting the same fate as his. "You listen to me, Frank Robertson." Her hands cradled her stomach protectively. "I'm going to have this baby. You can run scared the rest of your life, but I'm not. I'll go home if I have to, but I won't visit your doctor. I will not commit a sin for you."

She grabbed her coat from the hook and stomped out of the house, not waiting for his reply.

She walked for hours. The evening was cold and she wrapped her coat more closely around her. A few homes had Christmas decorations, and the irony of arguing about her baby's birth at this time of year wasn't lost on her. She passed families huddled over fires built on the street. She hurried past, her own burdens enough to carry for this night.

Frank was asleep when she came in. She turned out the light, then curled up in a chair, stil wearing her coat.

A smal fire burned in the fireplace and she stared at the flickering flames for hours before she drifted off to sleep.

The baby was not mentioned again. She went along with the pretense, relieved to have the fear of an abortion gone. Frank left for the shop each morning. She sewed her Christmas presents, met with Mrs. Sul ivan and her committee, and kept house.

Early Christmas morning, Frank's grandfather picked them up; they were to spend the day at the farm. Marian brought a pie she'd baked, scrimping to save enough ingredients for the sweet pastry.

Rebecca ripped open the paper on her package. "Oh, look, a new dress!" She ran down the hal and soon returned wearing her new outfit.

"You look lovely," Clara said. She'd gushed about her own gift, a set of sheets with embroidered initials.

"You want to model with me?" Frank teased his father. They'd opened their presents while Rebecca was changing.

His father's grin was weak. Marian was glad to see a spark of his former self appearing. "Enough nonsense,"

Mrs. Robertson said. She careful y folded the paper that had been wrapped around her pil owcases.

"Did you like your present?" Rebecca bounced over, tracing the pattern of roses Marian had embroidered near the hem.

Marian glanced at her mother-in-law. "They're nice," Mrs. Robertson said. Marian was content.

On New Year's Day, the family met together in the farm's living room for Clara's wedding. Marian listened to the vows, remembering her own simple service. "Wil you love her, comfort her, honor and keep her?" the minister asked Sam. "In sickness and in health, for richer, for poorer, for better, for worse?"

She stole a look at Frank. He was staring straight ahead, his mouth grim. She clutched her fingers together and swal owed her tears.

Frank started coming home late again. Marian wondered if he was working late, avoiding her by staying out or with another woman. She didn't want to know. Since the night she'd told him about the baby, they didn't speak unless necessary. She was often in bed when he returned and she had perfected the pretense of being asleep. He would quietly slip in, and soon she'd hear his gentle snores.

Near the end of January, the baby moved for the first time. As she felt the sensation of tiny flutters, she stopped, resting her hands on her now-rounded abdomen. A deep peace settled over her.

In February, Mrs. Sul ivan took her to a doctor. After his examination, he said, "You're very healthy, Mrs.

Robertson. Continue to take care of yourself. You should deliver in early May."

That night, when Frank came home, she waited until he was eating supper before speaking. She had taken to eating earlier, then sitting in her armchair, sewing baby clothes from leftover scraps of material. He would eat his meal alone at the table.

"I saw a doctor today. He says the baby will be born in early May. We'll need to decide if I'm going to stay here or go home to Winston for the delivery."

"Suit yourself," he said curtly.

"Frank, please." She dropped her sewing into the basket. "This is your child, too. Can't you be excited?" She got up and stood next to him. "Put your hand on my stomach. He real y moves around. You can feel him." She reached for his hand but he jerked away.

"You know my feelings about this, Marian. This is a rotten time to bring a baby into the world. I can barely support us, let alone another person."

"But babies cost so little! Mrs. Sul ivan's promised to help as much as she can. She has a lot of her daughter's baby clothes stil here."

"Charity? Is that how you want our child to survive? On charity? We might as well go back to your parents'

house if that's how we're going to live." He slammed out of the apartment and Marian didn't hear him again until early morning.

She relished her changing shape and altered dresses to fit her larger size. She added to the col ection of baby clothes, and Mrs. Sul ivan polished the old cradle she had in the attic. Together they planned for the baby that Frank ignored.

One mid-April night, Marian awoke from a deep sleep. Frank wasn't in bed and she turned over. As she did, her stomach knotted.

Clutching her middle, she staggered out of bed. The pain was excruciating. Dragging herself down the steps, she stumbled across the yard toward Mrs. Sul ivan's house.

She saw the rock but couldn't avoid it. Her arms folded around her stomach to protect the baby, she crashed to the ground.

She lay there, panting. Her legs hurt and her vision was clouded. She cradled her stomach, whispering words of reassurance to the baby. No quivering kick answered her.

Frantic, she tried to stand up but her legs shook. With a desperate cry, one hand holding her stomach, she crawled toward the house.

She fainted twice before she made it as far as the steps. Her entire body hurt and the ache in her abdomen frightened her. She wil ed herself to think of nothing but reaching the door. She had to get to the hospital. Mrs.

Sul ivan would arrange it.

El ie answered her pounding at the door with a shocked cry and hol ered for Mrs. Sul ivan. Together, the two women bundled Marian into the backseat of the ancient vehicle kept in the garage for emergencies. Marian sank against the cushions. "Please," she whispered, "please, God, let my baby be safe." She hadn't prayed much since she'd left the parsonage. Would He even hear her?

She fainted again before they arrived at the hospital. When she opened her eyes, she was in a hospital room, her stomach feeling incredibly light.

She shifted, and a nurse came out of the darkness. "Mrs. Robertson?" she murmured.

Marian tried to sit up, but she was so tired. "My baby? Where's my baby?"

The nurse took her hand. "Mrs. Robertson, I'm so sorry. The doctor did al he could, but your son didn't make it."

A son. She had a son. With a tiny whimper, she turned her head into the pil ow and sobbed. The nurse stood there, holding her hand.