The Four Seasons (12 page)

Jillian looked at the small, wizened nun. She saw in Sister Celestine's eyes the hardness and lack of sympathy of a seasoned veteran, one who had gone through this same routine with far too many girls for far too many years.

She lowered her head in defeat. Her hand rested on its usual spot over her belly. Would the adoptive mother know what she had given up to provide this perfect couple with a complete family? Would her child know that she'd tried to keep it? That she was doing the best thing by giving her baby up?

I'm sorry
, she told her baby.

“I'm sure in time you will see that this is the best for you as well. You will be able to return to the life you just left, finish high school, maybe college. And some day, you will marry and have other children.”

Sister Celestine gathered her papers, tapping the edge of the pile to even out the sheets. “We can continue this discussion
another time,” she said, not giving Jilly a chance to respond. “We really have to go, so you can meet the others. There are twelve girls here now and we expect two more in the next few days, bringing us to our capacity of fourteen. You'll find all the girls to be friendly, but remember, these are not easy times for any of them and you can expect more emotion and tears than you might under normal situations. I hope you will make friends while you are here, but—” She paused to fold her hands over the table and lean forward. Her voice was stern.

“Privacy is absolute at Marian House. All friendships begin and end here. It is very important that you remember that. When you leave, do not try to make contact with any of the girls. To that point, you must never divulge your last name or ask it of another. Everyone is on a first-name basis only. Nor may you tell anyone where you are from, what school you attend, or offer any other information that might reveal personal clues about yourself or your family.” She speared Jilly with a look. “We do not tolerate any infraction of this rule. Should you break it, you would be sent home immediately. Do you understand?”

Jilly nodded.

“There are a few other rules, but I can tell you them on the way to the dining hall.” She was already rising from her seat. “We'll have to hurry. I'm afraid lunch will have already begun.”

Again, Jilly hustled to follow the amazingly quick-paced nun out of the building and across a brick-paved walkway, a kind of shortcut through a tall hedge. Beyond was a gracious, redbrick mansion bordered by tall white pillars and a series of glorious arched Palladian windows. It took Jilly's breath away.

“I'll walk you through the front entrance, just this once,” Sister Celestine said as they hustled up the circular drive. “The novices are all in church now, so we can slip through unnoticed. They are not allowed to mingle with the outside world.”

Especially not with the worst kind of sinners, Jilly thought to herself as she followed along the path that linked the austere Marian House for unwed mothers to this lovely mansion for the young, virginal brides of Christ.

Inside, the house was even lovelier than the outside, but she wasn't allowed time to admire it. They rushed through a maze of doors, at one point leaving the high ceilings and elegant dark-paneled walls of the mansion to enter the peagreen-colored walls of the institution. In here she could smell the scent of food, nothing she could identify, just a general, pleasing aroma of meat, cooked vegetables and potatoes. As they drew near a pair of double doors, she heard the sound of chairs moving, dishes clanking and the animated, high hum of women's conversation.

Sister Celestine paused before opening the doors, smiling encouragingly, her eyes sparkling. Then she pushed open the doors to a large, bright, institutional cafeteria. Sun poured in through enormous plate-glass windows that dominated three walls. A dozen or more gray metal tables were set up in the middle, and there was a school-like cafeteria serving area to the right, complete with brown plastic trays and silver. Hanging on the back wall was the sole decoration: an enormous wooden crucifix.

The talking ceased when she entered the room. She felt paralyzed as Sister Celestine introduced her to the girls, using only her first name. In her ears she heard the rush of blood and she looked at the blur of faces staring up at her. Only one thought raced through her mind, over and over again, as she stared back at them.

These were not the toughened, wisecracking, gumsmacking bad girls she'd expected. They looked like the girls who went to her school.

They looked just like her.

 

The months passed quickly. By February, Jilly was already entrenched in the routine of Marian House. They lived by the bells. At six o'clock, the bells rang to roust them from their beds. The air was always chilly and the floors always icy to their feet. By seven o'clock, they had to have their beds made and be dressed and ready for mass. The sound of the young mothers' stomachs growling competed with the high chant of the nuns' morning prayers. After breakfast, they went to the school where retired nuns of the order tutored them. Lunch was at twelve sharp and was the main meal of the day.

Lunch time was also special because mail was delivered and spread out on a table in alphabetical order. The return addresses were all blacked out in magic marker to conceal any personal information. At home her mother collected the letters from Birdie and Rose, as well as from her friends, and put them into a large envelope to mail once a week. Jilly would then respond, carefully writing about the fascinating and
très amusant
experiences she was having at the French immersion school at the University of Wisconsin she was supposed to be attending. The nuns had agreed to the scam of mailing her letters from the extension in Green Bay on days when a few of the sisters went to the university to study.

Benediction at five signaled the end of their free period, followed by dinner at six. Then it was television time until the bells told them to go to bed at ten.

By March, she was really showing and her baby was somersaulting within her. When her baby stretched, she could just make out the round outline of a small rump, or feel the sharp pressure of a little kick. In April, Sister Benedict gathered Jilly, Simone and Sarah in a small, private room with comfortable chairs and a stereo. They were the next batch of girls due to
deliver. She played ballads, mostly Joan Baez and Judy Collins, which Jilly thought was incredibly cool. She also served them hot chocolate and cookies. Jilly loved Sister Benedict, not only because she taught them the difference between an epidural and general anesthesia, but because she treated them like contemporaries, not naughty children without feelings or opinions that mattered. The girls were starved for information and asked hundreds of questions. “Were blindfolds really put over their eyes so they couldn't see the baby at birth? Were earmuffs placed over their ears so they could not hear their baby's cry? Did that really happen? Were the stories true?”

Sister Benedict's face grew somber and reflective, then she shook her head. “Years back, perhaps. But don't worry. It's definitely not true now.”

But they never once discussed the developing baby or infant care. All the girls were encouraged—expected—to relinquish their babies after birth. During the last visit, Sister Benedict told them it was only recently that Marian House even allowed the girls the option of holding their babies after birth. Many homes still did not. “Don't look at—or hold—your baby,” she advised them. “Endure the ordeal. Pray for strength, then later it will be as if none of this had ever happened.”

May 1 came and went. Then, on May 9, Simone went into labor. She returned from the hospital two days later, flat-bellied, subdued and unwilling to talk to anyone. It was as if the baby that had ballooned in her body had held all her joy and energy. After the delivery, all that was Simone had deflated, leaving behind an empty shell. She kept to her room. It was an unspoken rule among the girls that no one was to be disturbed in their rooms after the return from the hospital if the door was closed. The following day Simone's parents came to pick her up and return her to wherever she came from. She was dressed
in her “normal” clothes, and though they were obviously brand-new, she looked like a lost waif standing in the foyer, her suitcase by her side. When she turned to wave goodbye to Jilly, her usually dark and expressive eyes were dull and vacant. Jilly wept that night, feeling very alone and knowing she would never see her friend again.

That same night, Sarah went into labor. Jilly clutched her thin pillow tight as she heard Sister Celestine hurry past her door to Sarah's room. Sarah was groaning miserably, making a terrible racket and complaining of pains in her back. Jilly's breath came short, knowing she was next. She couldn't escape the inevitable. There was only one way for this baby to come out. Oh, God, she didn't want to do this, she prayed as she heard Sarah's moaning escalate to a keening wail as they escorted her down the hall. When the girls rose the following morning, Sister Celestine announced that Sarah had given birth to a son.

For the next several days, she lived in a state of heightened senses. Every thought, every movement was predicated on whether she would have the baby. She took long walks, avoided spicy foods and went to bed early. Finally, on May 17, two weeks overdue, Jilly felt her first contraction.

Dawn was just piercing the darkness. Jilly lay in bed, wide-eyed, listening to the birds chatter in the trees outside her window. In her hands she held a small alarm clock to time the pains that gripped her abdomen. No one had to tell her that labor had begun. She was filled with both bubbling excitement and overwhelming sadness. Before the sun set again, her child would be born. Most women would be jubilant. For her, these were the last few hours she'd ever be able to spend with her baby.

“Hush, little baby, don't say a word. Mama's gonna buy you a mockingbird.”
She sang to her baby in the gray light of early morning,
cradling her belly in her arms as the tears flowed down her cheeks and contractions hit in an increasingly steady pattern. When the morning bell rang at six o'clock, her contractions were five minutes apart.

She rose with aching slowness and carefully made her way to the large communal bathroom on the floor. The other girls had been watching her closely all week and there were hushed whispers as she made her way into the shower. She didn't want to tell anyone what was happening, not yet. There was so little time left. The hot water felt glorious on her back where a dull ache was pressing hard and low. She placed her palms against the tile and leaned forward, allowing the precious hot water to hit and massage the small of her back, not caring if she was using up more than her allotted amount of hot water. Just this once…

“Jilly, hurry up in there! You'll be late for mass.”

“Go on without me,” she said, opening the door. She was wrapped in her terry robe. “I'm staying here.”

“But you'll get in trouble.” This came from Pat who, along with Nancy and Julie, had been watching her suspiciously all morning.

“I think it's a bit late for that.”

“Do you want me to get Sister Celestine?” asked Julie, a kindly girl of sixteen due to deliver twins the following month. Her room was next door to Julie's and they'd become friends.

“No! Please don't. Don't tell anyone!” she begged. “I'm not ready to go to the hospital. It's not time yet. I know. I learned all about this from Sister Benedict, really.”

Julie, who was currently taking those classes, looked unconvinced. “Okay, but I'll stay with you, just in case. Oh, don't look at me like that. So Sister Celestine will get angry with both of us. What else is new? I'm not going to leave you here. You've got that look.”

“What look is that?”

“The same look my dog had when she began sniffing closets and corners to drop her litter. How far apart are your contractions?”

“Oh, God,” whispered Nancy with fear. “Contractions?”

“Oh, I don't know, not too close,” Jilly lied. Then she doubled over, her eyes closed, and released a muffled wail as her first serious, walloping contraction hit.

“Oh, God,” Nancy whined again.

“Uh-huh,” said Julie, nodding her head. “Nancy, you'd better get Sister Celestine. I'm sorry, Jilly, but you know we have to. You may not want to admit it, but you're having a baby.”

So much happened so quickly in the next few hours Jilly could only remember it as a blur of quick movements and sounds. The rustle of Sister Celestine's billowing habit and the clicking of her long, wooden rosary beads, the wailing siren of the careening ambulance, the glaring brightness of the emergency room light, the harsh tone of the admitting nurse telling another, “She's one of those Marian House girls.”

It was a busy night at the hospital and the labor rooms were full. The nurses were harassed and muttering something about a full moon. Jilly cringed and thought it must be true because all around her women were howling at it. She tried to relax, to smile and cooperate, but at every turn cold looks and even colder hands met her. Sister Benedict had told her that she'd be well taken care of at the hospital by a professional and courteous staff. Perhaps they were that to the married women who came in with their husbands, but at every phase she was treated as something expendable, the indigent case they didn't have to be nice to.