A Cry In the Night (28 page)

She knew with absolute certainty that Erich had not changed the name on the birth certificate.

The baby began to whimper. “My poor little darling,” he said. She stood up. “If you'll excuse me, I have to . . .” She paused, then finished quietly, “I have to take care of Kevin.”

•   •   •

Long after the baby fell asleep she sat by the bassinette. She heard Erich bring the girls upstairs, his voice soft. “Don't wake up the baby. I'll kiss Mommy good night for you. Didn't we have a wonderful Christmas?”

Jenny thought: I can't live like this.

At last she went downstairs. Erich had closed the gift boxes and stacked them neatly around the tree. He was wearing the new velvet jacket she'd ordered from Dayton's for him. The deep blue suited him. All strong colors suit him, she thought objectively.

“Jen, I'm really happy with my present. I hope you're as pleased with yours.” He'd bought her a white mink jacket.

Without waiting for a reply, he continued to straighten the gifts, then said, “The girls really went for those bassinettes, didn't they? You'd never guess
they got anything else. And the baby. Well, he's a little too young to appreciate them but before long he'll have fun with those stuffed animals.”

“Erich, where is the baby's birth certificate?”

“It's on file in the office, dear. Why?”

“What name is on it?”

“The baby's name. Kevin.”

“You told me you'd changed that.”

“I realized it would have been a terrible mistake to change it.”

“Why?”

“Jenny, hasn't there been enough talk about us? What do you think the people around here would say if we corrected the baby's name? My God, that would give them fuel for the next ten years. Don't forget we weren't married quite nine months when he was born.”

“But
Kevin.
You called him
Kevin.”

“I explained the reason for that. Jenny, already the talk is dying down. When people talk about the accident, they don't mention Kevin's name. They talk about Jenny Krueger's first husband, the guy who followed her to Minnesota and somehow went over the riverbank. But I can tell you this. If we changed the baby's name now, they'd be trying to figure out why for the next fifty years. And by God, then they'd remember Kevin MacPartland.”

“Erich,” she asked fearfully, “is there a better reason you didn't change the birth certificate? Is the baby sicker than I realize? Is it because you're saving your name for a child who will live? Tell me, Erich, please. Are you and the doctor hiding anything from me?”

“No, no, no.” He came over to her, his eyes tender. “Jenny, don't you see? Everything will be fine. I want you to stop worrying. The baby is getting stronger.”

There was another question she had to ask him.

“Erich, there was something you said in the delivery room, that the baby had dark red hair like the girls. Kevin had dark red hair. Erich, tell me, promise me, that you're not suggesting that Kevin was the baby's father. You can't believe that?”

“Jenny, why would I believe that?”

“Because of what you said about his hair.” She felt her voice quivering. “The baby's going to be the image of you. Wait and see. All his new hair is blond. But when the others were here . . . The way you picked me up when I said he'll look just like his daddy. The way you said, “That's what I've been saying right along.' Erich, surely you can't think Kevin is the baby's father?”

She stared at him. The blue velvet gave an almost burnished look to his blond hair. She'd never really appreciated how dark his lashes and brows were. She was reminded of the paintings in the palace in Venice where generations of lean-faced, smoldering-eyed doges looked disdainfully down on the tourists. There was something of that contempt in Erich's eyes now.

His facial muscles tightened. “Jenny, is there any end to the ways you misunderstand me? I've been good to you. I brought you and the children out of that miserable apartment to this beautiful home. I gave you jewelry and clothes and furs. You could have had anything you wanted and still you allowed Kevin MacPartland to contact you and cause a scandal. I'm sure there isn't a house in this community that doesn't discuss us over the dinner table every night. I forgive you but you have no right to be angry with me, to question every word out of my mouth. Now let's go upstairs. I think it's time I moved back in with you.”

His hands tightened on her arms. His entire body was so rigid. There was something frightening about him. Confused, she looked away.

“Erich,” she said carefully, “we're both very tired.
We've been under a strain for a long time. I think what you should do is start painting again. Do you realize how few times you've gone to the cabin since the baby was born? Go to your own room tonight and get an early start in the morning. But bundle up; it's probably very cold there now.”

“How do you know it's cold? When did you go there?” His voice was quick and suspicious.

“Erich, you know I've never been there.”

“Then how did you know . . .?”

“Sshh, listen.” From upstairs they heard a wailing.

“It's the baby.” Jenny turned and ran up the stairs, Erich behind her. The baby's arms and legs were flailing. His face was damp. As they watched he began to suck his clenched fist.

“Oh, Erich, look, he's crying real tears.” Tenderly she bent over and picked him up. “There, there, Pumpkin. I know you're hungry, my precious lamb. Erich, he is getting stronger.”

From behind her, she heard the door close. Erich had left the room.

S
he dreamed of a pigeon. Somehow it seemed terribly ominous. It was flying through the house and she had to catch it. It mustn't be allowed in the house. It sailed into the girls' room and she followed it. It flew frantically round and round the room. It escaped her hands and fluttered past her into the baby's room. It settled on the bassinette. She began to cry, no, no, no.

She woke up with tears drenching her face and rushed in to the baby. He was sleeping contentedly.

Erich had left a note on the kitchen table. “Taking your advice. Will be at cabin painting for a few days.”

At breakfast, Tina paused over her cereal and said, “Mommy, why didn't you talk to me when you came into my room last night?”

That afternoon Rooney stopped in to visit and it was she who first realized that the baby had a fever.

•   •   •

She and Clyde had had Christmas dinner with Maude and Joe. “Joe's doing fine,” Rooney informed
Jenny. “Going down to Florida right from the hospital did wonders for him and for Maude too. Both of them that tanned and healthy. Joe gets rid of the brace next month.”

“I'm so glad.”

“Course Maude says she's happy to be home now. She told me Erich was real generous to them. But I guess you know that. He paid every cent of the medical bills and gave them a check for five thousand dollars beside. He wrote Maude that he felt responsible.”

Jenny was stitching the last of her quilt together. She looked up.
“Responsible?”

“I don't know what he means. But Maude told me she feels real bad that the baby hasn't been well. Says she remembers saying awful things to you.”

Jenny remembered the awful things Maude had said.

“Guess Joe admitted that he'd had a pretty good hangover that morning; insists it was likely he'd mixed up the poison and oats.”

“Joe said that?”

“He did. Anyhow I think Maude wanted me to give you her apologies. I know when they got back last week Joe went down and spoke to the sheriff himself. Joe's real upset about all the rumors flying around his accident. You know, because of the wild thing he said about seeing you. He said he don't know why he ever said anything like that.”

Poor Joe, Jenny thought. Trying to undo irreparable harm and then making it worse by stirring it up again.

“My, Jenny, do you realize that your quilt is just about finished? Real lovely too. That took patience.”

“I was glad to have it to do,” she said.

“Will you hang it in the dining room near Caroline's?”

“I haven't thought about it.”

She hadn't thought about very much today except the possibility that she was sleepwalking. In her dream she'd been trying to chase a pigeon out of the girls' room. But had she actually been in the room?

There were too many episodes like this now over the past few months. The next time she went in to see Dr. Elmendorf, she'd talk to him about them. Maybe she did need some counseling.

I am so afraid, she thought.

She had begun to doubt whether Erich would ever forgive her for the notoriety that she had caused. No matter how hard they both tried, it would never be right again. And no matter what Erich said, she believed that subconsciously he was not sure that the baby was his son. She couldn't live her life out with that between them.

But the baby was a Krueger and deserved the best medical attention Erich's wealth could obtain for him. After the baby had the operation and was well, if things hadn't gotten much better, she'd leave. She tried to visualize living in New York, working in the gallery, the day-care center, picking up the children, hurrying home to start dinner. It wouldn't be easy. But nothing was easy and many women managed it. And anything would be better than this terrible feeling of isolation, this sense of losing touch with reality.

Nightmares. Sleepwalking. Amnesia. Was even amnesia possible? She'd never had any trouble in the apartment in New York. She'd be bone-tired at the end of the day but always slept. She might not have had nearly enough time for the girls but now it seemed she had no time. She was so worried about the baby and Erich kept whisking Tina and Beth off on outings that she couldn't or wouldn't attend.

I want to go home, she thought. Home wasn't a
place, maybe not even a house or apartment. Home was where you could close your door and be at peace.

This land. Even now. The snow falling, the wind blowing. She liked the savageness of the winter. She imagined the house as she had started to arrange it. The heavy curtains down, this table at the window, the friends she'd expected to make, the parties she would have given over the holidays.

“Jenny, you look so sad,” Rooney said suddenly.

She tried to smile. “It's just. . .” Her voice trailed off.

“This is the best Christmas I've had since Arden went. Just watching the children so happy and being able to help you with the baby ...”

Jenny realized that Rooney never called the baby by name.

She held up the quilt. “Here it is, Rooney, complete.”

Beth and Tina were playing with their new picture puzzles. Beth looked up. “That is very pretty, Mommy. You're a very good sewer.”

Tina volunteered, “I like it better than the one on the wall. Daddy said that yours won't be as nice as the one on the wall and I thought that was mean.”

She bent her head over her book. Every line of her body suggested injury.

Jenny could not help smiling. “Oh, Tinker, you're such an actress.” She went over, knelt down and hugged her.

Tina returned the hug fiercely. “Oh, Mommy.”

I've given them so little time since the baby came, Jenny thought. “Tell you what,” she said, “we're going to bring Pumpkin down in a few minutes. If you two wash your hands you can have a chance to hold him.”

Rooney interrupted their squeals of delight. “Jenny, may I get him?”

“Of course. I'll fix his cereal.”

Rooney was back downstairs in a few minutes, carefully holding the blanketed baby. She looked concerned. “I think he has a fever.”

•   •   •

At five o'clock Dr. Bovitch came. “We'd better take him to the hospital.”

“No, please.” Jenny tried not to have her voice quiver.

The pediatrician hesitated. “We could give it till morning,” he said. “Trouble is—with infants the fever can go high pretty fast. On the other hand, I'm not crazy about taking him out in the cold. All right. Let's see how he is in the morning.”

Rooney stayed and prepared supper for them. Jenny gave the baby aspirin. She was chilled herself. Was she catching cold or was she simply numb with anxiety? “Rooney, hand me my shawl, please.”

She wrapped it around her shoulders, sheltered the baby in it as she held him.

“Oh, dear.” Rooney's face was ashen.

“What is it, Rooney?”

“It's just that the shawl, I didn't realize when I made it that the color . . . with your dark hair . . . for just a minute it was like watching that painting of Caroline. Made me feel kind of queer.”

Clyde was coming at seven-thirty to walk Rooney home. “He won't have me out of the house alone at night,” Rooney confided. “Says he doesn't like my wild talk after I've been out alone.”