A Pledge of Silence (36 page)

What she saw in the mirror frightened her, the skin of her face all splotchy, eyes overly bright and ringed by dark circles. The blister on her foot burned, and her fingers and toes ached from the cold. She splashed water on her face and tried to fluff up her matted hair. She had only the vaguest recollection of how she came to be in Ann Arbor.

Back in the kitchen with Gracie and Kenneth, she sipped some water and tried to eat the soup and crackers Gracie heated up for her.

“How did I get here?”

“It seems you walked,” Kenneth said dryly. “The police found your car in a ditch just outside Little River. They contacted Wade and started searching for you down there. No one thought to look here. It’s 15 miles from the accident.”

As the events of the recent past came back to her, Margie’s hands began to tremble so hard she dropped her spoon. Focusing her gaze on Gracie, she moaned, “Oh, Gracie. No! No!”

Gracie motioned to Kenneth to leave them alone. He nodded and left the room.

Keeping her voice low, Gracie asked, “What happened? Can you talk about it?”

Margie’s voice sounded strangled. “I was holding the baby. She’s not Wade’s. Did you know?”

“I knew there was a chance.”

Desperate for reassurance, she grabbed Gracie’s arm. “You won’t tell anyone, will you? Not even Kenneth?”

“I promise. I won’t say a word. How much do you remember?”

“I don’t know.” A sob escaped her, making her reply barely intelligible.

“I killed Max, didn’t I?” Her eyes grew large, and her hand covered her mouth. “Oh, God! Oh, God!”

“Margie, Max died from a blow to his head and there’s nobody on this earth who can say any different.”

“I know what I did! And now there’s this baby! She looks just like him. It’s like he’s reaching out to me from the grave.”

Gracie leaned in closer, “You’ve got to tell Wade about the rape. It’s all he needs to know. I’ll back up whatever you say.”

“It’ll tear him apart.”

“You have to. You can’t keep this baby. It’s unthinkable. I’ll help you find a home for her. Do it now. The longer you wait, the harder it will be.”

“I can’t. Wade has fallen in love with her. He thinks she looks like his mother!”

Just then, the telephone rang. Gracie answered it.

“That was Wade. He’s on his way.”

Margie buried her face in her hands.

When home, she couldn’t stop crying. She woke up every morning feeling exhausted. Bathing and dressing used the whole day’s energy; combing her hair was out of the question as her arms felt so heavy she could barely lift them. The smell of food sickened her, so she ate almost nothing.

Wade pleaded with her to tell him what happened, but she couldn’t explain. She said only that she felt she’d fallen to the bottom of a well, and couldn’t climb out. He phoned Dr. Middleton, who paid a house call.

The doctor perched on a chair beside her bed. “My dear. What’s going on with you?”

She said, “I’m so tired. I just want to sleep.”

He took her temperature and blood pressure, then checked her from head to toe. “Are you having any pain or cramping? Any burning when you pee?”

“No. Nothing like that.”

“I’m not finding anything physical.” He took out his prescription pad, scribbled a note, and handed it to her. “Take one of these vitamins each morning. I’m going to tell your mama to make your favorite dishes, and I want you to eat. You need to get your strength back. Every day, I want you outside walking, no matter how hard it seems. Start with 15 minutes and increase the time every couple of days. Take someone with you until you’re stronger. Will you do that?”

She nodded, but wondered if she could when getting from the bed to the bathroom seemed a monumental task.

He said, “You had a hard time giving birth. Even in the best circumstances, some new mothers go through periods of sadness. It’s both physical and psychological. Your hormones are all over the place. Your body is changing. Your life has changed too, and you’re going through a period of adjustment. When the baby comes home, caring for her will lift your spirits.” He packed his instruments in his bag. “I looked in on her today. She’s a cutie. She has quite a head of hair.”

Margie tried to smile. “Wade says she looks like his mother.” She turned her face toward the wall.
If only it were true
.

In early December, Mama and Wade brought Barbara Ann home from the hospital. The house took on that new-baby aura, with everyone’s senses on high alert for the slightest flutter of her lashes or her tiniest gurgle. Mama and Irene took turns feeding and diapering. Excited by his new cousin’s presence, Billy climbed on the edge of the bassinet to see her, almost tipping it over. Wade carried his daughter on his shoulder when she cried and in the crook of his arm when she slept, gazing into her face as if trying to memorize it. Margie watched him nervously, waiting for the moment he guessed her horrible secret.

The holidays rolled around again. Frank stuffed Billy into his snowsuit, and the excited little boy hopped all the way from the house to the truck. Wade retrieved a saw from the barn, and the men of the family left to find the perfect Christmas tree. Irene rearranged the living room furniture to make room for it, and Margie hauled boxes of decorations down from the attic.

Most of the ornaments dated from Margie’s childhood. She picked up one of her favorites, a delicate blown glass angel, and felt tears welling. She wanted to delight in the holiday preparations denied her for so many years, but this year they brought no joy. She quickly dried her eyes so no one would see her crying again.

Irene patiently replaced each bulb on a long string of lights, searching for the burned-out one that kept the others from illuminating. She said, “Next year we’ll have our own tree, though I swear, I don’t know where we’ll put it.”

Irene and Frank had plans to move out soon after the holidays. He’d gotten readmitted to the university’s pre-veterinary program, and they rented a small silver trailer in university housing beginning January first. It had a banquette that collapsed into a double bed, and a couch that folded down for Billy. The kitchen was miniscule, and, behind an accordion door, a tiny space held a toilet and sink. They would shower and do laundry in the community facility.

“I think it’s great he’s going back to school,” Margie said. “Is he looking forward to it?”

“Yes and no. He thinks he’s too old. He’s worried about money. I’m licensed to do income taxes, but that’s another whole issue—me working.”

“He seems more settled,” Mama said.

“Yeah. But he’s still impulsive, and has trouble sleeping. Then there’re those terrible nightmares. I wish I could do more to help him. His attitude’s changing, though. He’s not so negative. I think talking to Dr. Garber helps.” She replaced a bad bulb and the whole string lit up.

“Yay!” the women chorused.

Irene looked at the tangle of lights still on the floor. “One down, six to go,” she said, putting the repaired string to one side. “Margie, why don’t you go see Dr. Garber? It couldn’t hurt.”

Both Frank and Irene urged her to make an appointment with Frank’s psychiatrist. She resisted the idea, believing she would regain her footing on her own, given enough time. She answered, as always, “I’ll think about it.”

Snow fell in earnest a few days before Christmas, blanketing the brown and gray countryside with a thick layer of unspoiled brightness. Margie thought of the days in the Philippines when she yearned for snow, to hear the squeak of it under her boots, to feel the sting of a snowball on her frozen fingers, to catch falling flakes on the end of her outstretched tongue. She watched from the kitchen window as Frank, Irene, and bundled-up Billy played tag, leaving trails of footprints in three different sizes.

“Why don’t you go out and play?” Mama suggested. “It would do you good.”

She had heard that line and its myriad variations hundreds of times as a child, Mama shooing her out of the house into the fresh air. It
would
do her good, she decided. She put on her warmest coat, dug her snow boots out of the back of the closet, and joined the others, helping build a family of snowmen. Mama supplied carrots for noses and old hats for icy heads.

Feeling a thud on her back, she spun around to see Frank with an armload of snowballs. The fight began, three against one. Margie, Irene, and Billy pelted Frank relentlessly; in the end, he had to beg for mercy.

When Wade returned home from work, they were all still pink-cheeked, bright-eyed and ravenous for bowls of Mama’s hearty beef stew, served with thick slices of bread still warm from the oven.

Margie hadn’t played like that for years and it exhilarated her for a while. Even in that storybook setting, though, surrounded by love and laughter, the black cloud of her depression returned, leaving her feeling detached and alone. She laughed at Frank’s silly jokes and watched Irene roll her eyes, but wondered if her smile looked as fake as she knew it to be. Ugly thoughts scrolled through her discontented mind.
I don’t belong here.
I don’t deserve to be happy.

Chapter 27

Little River, Michigan, 1946

Moving Frank, Irene and Billy into their new home didn’t turn out to be much of a job; they had little to take with them, and no space to put even that. After waving goodbye from the front porch, Wade and Margie went back upstairs to begin their shift to the larger bedroom. Pointing to the longest wall, Wade said, “If we put the bed there, you won’t have to climb over me in the morning, not that I mind.” So they dragged the four-poster bed there and man-handled the highboy to the space by the door.

Margie paused to evaluate the result. She had enough room left to put her cedar chest under the large window and for a comfortable chair in the corner by the smaller one—a sunny place all her own, a luxury she hadn’t enjoyed since 1941.

“While I’m in London—” Wade said, interrupting her reverie.

“I wish you didn’t have to go.”

“It’s only five days. Mama will be here. Will you be okay?”

She didn’t know. A constant anxiety kept her jumpy and unsure. She wanted the stability Wade represented close to her. Besides, who would rock Barbara Ann to sleep?

“While I’m gone, you can fix up Barbara Ann’s room, you know, curtains and things. Make it girly. She can be up here with us. We’ll be like a real family.” He lifted Margie’s hand to his lips.

Inexplicably, the gesture brought on a wave of nausea. In the bathroom, she sat on the edge of the tub and laid her head on the sink, the porcelain cool against her cheek. When the sick feeling passed, she returned to help Wade make up the bed. Together they transferred their clothes to their new, more spacious closet.

Margie felt best when she kept busy; while Wade traveled to London for work, she sewed a coverlet for the crib in a bunny print and matching cushions for the rocking chair. She replaced sheer panel curtains at the window with ruffled Priscillas. While Mama hung pictures, Margie filled a bookcase with her childhood books and Barbara Ann’s baby toys.

At the end of the week, they stood back to admire their work. “Wade’s going to love this,” Margie said.

They finished their chores while listening to soap operas on the radio. Later, Margie fed the baby as Mama made dinner. Ladling leftover stew into bowls, Mama said, “Tonight’s my quilting guild. Why don’t you come with me?”

“I don’t know. The baby—”

“She’ll be fine. My friends would love to see her.”

Barbara Ann kicked her legs as if excited by the prospect.

“You want to go bye-bye, sweetheart?” Mama cooed, kissing the tiny fingers. “Look how bright she is. It’s almost like she knows what I’m saying.”

Margie sometimes got that feeling too, that Barbara Ann knew what she was thinking, especially when the baby’s expressive dark eyes locked onto her face. She hefted Barbara Ann to her shoulder as she poured glasses of milk and put crackers and bread on the table. “You go and have a good time, Mama. I’d just be a wet blanket.”

Mama spread a napkin on her lap. “I don’t like leaving you alone. I know you’re unhappy. Can’t you tell me what’s wrong? I don’t mean to interfere, but is it you and Wade?”

“No, Wade and I are fine. Dr. Middleton says it’s just the baby blues, and it’s not unusual. He says I’ll perk up soon. I’ll try not to be such a sad sack.”

Mama said, “I don’t know, Margie. It seems more than that to me.”

At 7:00, Mama left with her arms full of sewing supplies, and the house fell quiet. Margie wheeled the bassinet into the kitchen and placed Barbara Ann into it, hoping she would be content watching her new butterfly mobile, a gift from Billy. Giving it a spin to set it in motion, Margie turned to folding the diapers that had dried on a line in the basement. That task finished, she took the stack to the hall table. Returning to the kitchen, she sterilized baby bottles in boiling water and cooked oatmeal gruel. The pots, pans, spoons, bottles, nipples, caps, funnels and the cheesecloth used to strain the mush cluttered up Mama’s usually neat kitchen.

Barbara Ann began to fuss. Margie changed her diaper, and dressed her in a nightgown, struck anew by how much at 3 months she resembled Max. Her plentiful dark hair had not fallen out, as the maternity nurses predicted. To Margie’s eyes, the nascent widow’s peak and the dimple in her chin grew more prominent daily. Mentally shaking herself, Margie kissed her daughter’s perfect foot.

“You look just like your Grandma Porter. Your daddy says so, and he ought to know,” she said aloud.

She felt her heart-rate increase, her attempt at self-persuasion unconvincing. She felt heat rising from her chest to the roots of her hair: within minutes her body was drenched in a cold sweat. She gave Barbara Ann her pacifier and replaced her in the bassinet, then lit a cigarette to slow the tide of anxiety—the feeling of imminent doom, the racing heart, the ragged breaths—that threatened to break down her carefully cultivated defenses.