Welcome to the World, Baby Girl! (49 page)

“What kind of talks?”

“Oh, all kinds—Ruby Robinson, the radio nurse, would give
health talks—and Audrey would give religious talks. Anybody that wanted to come on and talk on the radio could. People used to stick their heads in the window and chat about things.”

“Things like what?”

Aunt Elner laughed. “I don’t know, somebody might have lost a dog or wanted to announce a pot luck or something.”

“What’s a pot luck?”

“Don’t you know what a pot luck is? Don’t they have them in New York?”

“I don’t know, what are they?”

“It’s just a dinner where everybody brings something. We have one up at the church the first Friday of every month. Why don’t you come? It’s a lot of fun. You never know what all they might have to eat; it changes every month. One time Bess Truman came.”

“To the pot luck?”

“No, on the ‘Neighbor Dorothy’ show. All kinds of people would come on, people would send in letters. She had contests where you could win a sack of flour. She put out a real good cookbook. I lost mine but Norma may still have hers.”

“What was she like?”

“Who?”

“Neighbor Dorothy.”

“Oh, she was just a nice lady, had two children …”

“What did she sound like?”

“Real sweet, like she was glad you were listening. It’s too bad they didn’t have tape recorders back then, I’d love to hear one of her old programs again. I sure do miss not hearing her. I got used to hearing her. Neighbor Dorothy was a lot of company, I can tell you that. Not that I didn’t love living on the farm while Will was alive, but one of the bad parts about living way out in the country is I’d get so lonesome for people. My closest neighbor was twelve miles up the road. Will wasn’t much of a talker and I used to be starved for the sound of another person’s voice. If it hadn’t been for Neighbor Dorothy’s show, I would have been twice as lonesome for sure. It was like having a next-door neighbor to visit with every day. Made it easier to get through the days all by yourself out there. And at night,
you could see the red light on the radio tower she had in her yard all the way out at the farm. I don’t know what kind of a show you’d call it but it always made me feel better. Eat all the biscuits you want, honey, I was just going to give them to the birds.”

Dena took another one and put butter and jam on it.

“Did you ever meet her, Aunt Elner? Neighbor Dorothy?”

“Oh, lands, yes. She was a good friend of your grandmother’s.” She looked at Dena. “Come to think of it, you met her, too; don’t you remember?”

“No. When?”

“Oh, lots of times. Anna Lee, her daughter, and her friend, Patsy, ran a little nursery school out there on the back porch. That’s where you used to go to nursery school. Don’t you remember going there?”

“Are you sure it was me?”

“Yes, I’m sure. I can even remember one time, you must have been four, and you had your birthday party there with all your little nursery school friends. Your mother dressed you up like a china doll; she was working at Morgan Brothers department store, and kept you in the cutest dresses. Your grandparents came, your mother got off work early so she could be there, I came, Norma came, we all came.”

Dena was surprised. “Really?”

“You were so happy, a happy little child, and you were such a sweet little thing, not one bit spoiled.”

“I was happy?”

“Oh, yes. I think that was the happiest time of all our lives when we had our Baby Girl with us. We sure hated to lose you, I can tell you that.”

“I don’t remember ever having a birthday party.”

“You sure did. You know, I might have a picture in Gerta’s things. I think we took a picture that day if I’m not mistaken. Hold on and let me go get that box. I’ll go look in my bottom drawer, see if I can’t find it.”

Dena could hear her opening and closing drawers.

Then she said, “Here it is!” and came back into the kitchen and handed a photograph to Dena. “Looka there. Now if that isn’t you, a happy child, I’m a monkey’s uncle.”

Dena looked. It was a picture of a little blond girl sitting at the end of a small table full of other children. The girl was her and there was her mother, leaning against the wall with her arms behind her. Her head was turned toward Dena and she was smiling and looking at her with love in her eyes. The photograph had captured her mother in an unguarded moment. Dena had never seen her mother look at her like that; she had never felt that love she saw now.

Something else in the picture caught her eye. It was a cake with what looked to be a miniature merry-go-round on top.

“What’s this?”

“Neighbor Dorothy made you that. She made you one of her famous carousel cakes. It was pink and white; you remember that, don’t you?”

On the way home Dena tried to remember what it was. There was something familiar about that cake and yet she couldn’t quite place it. It was something she had seen before. Then, all of a sudden, it hit her. She knew what it was.

When Dena got to the house, she walked out on the back porch and stood there, staring at the picture in her hand, and cried. This was the same merry-go-round she had been dreaming about for years. This was the place she had been trying to get back to, where she had once been happy.

“Good morning, everybody. It’s another beautiful day here in Elmwood Springs and we have hardly been able to contain ourselves waiting for this morning.… We are so full of good news today, you will think I made it all up. First of all, I want to start by saying a great big welcome to the world to little Miss Dena Gene Nordstrom, who entered into the human race yesterday afternoon at four-twenty. The baby girl is the brand-new granddaughter of Lodor and Gerta Nordstrom and the daughter of their son, Gene. We all remember what all we went through when we lost Gene in the war … but by some miracle we have a little piece of him back, a part of him lives on … and we couldn’t be happier. Gerta says that as soon as baby Dena is able to travel, her mother will be bringing her to Elmwood Springs and we can’t wait to see you, so hurry up and get here so we can all give you a proper welcome. Also, yesterday we received a letter all the way from Canada. Last month a Mrs. D. Yeager said she was switching her dial when she heard us as clear as a bell … it was such good radio weather. Don’t faint, but Bobby actually got an
A
in deportment. Don’t ask me how, and we have lots more good news. We have a big winner in the Who’s the Most Interesting Guest You Ever Had in Your Home? contest. Wait until you hear this one—
and I know it’s not nice to toot one’s own horn but—Mother Smith and I are so proud of Doc. He has won the Rexall award for proficiency in dispensing drugs for the second year in a row. So if you are listening down there at the drugstore … Doc: we are mighty proud of you.

“And now here are the Goodnight Twins to sing for you that old favorite, ‘I’ll Keep a Light Burning in the Window, Dear, ’Cause I’m Still in Love with You.’ ”

As the days went by, Dena sat with the cat, whose name turned out to be Bottle Top III, wondering what she was going to do with the rest of her life. She had not thought much about life other than her work and pushing for success. It had never occurred to her what she could do without either. What was left? Who was left? She had even forgotten why she had wanted to succeed in the first place, and why was she so devastated to think of life without success? What difference did it make anyhow? What difference did it make if she lived or died, for that matter? Nothing lasts, what’s the point?

After the first week in the house, Norma had brought over an old copy of
The Neighbor Dorothy Cookbook.
Lately, Dena had spent hours staring at the picture of the smiling lady on the cover. Her eyes seemed to be looking right at Dena. She looked so alive—but she was gone. Where had she gone? She was here, she was gone, and nothing was left, just a place where she used to live. Dena began to wonder about the past. Was it gone forever? Or late at night, when all was dark and still, did it come back? When the house stood empty, did the past suddenly come flooding back into the rooms? Was Neighbor Dorothy still there somewhere, her voice still up in the air? Dena didn’t know. All she knew was that she felt the presence of something
in that house. She did not feel alone. Maybe it was someone there or maybe, thought Dena, she was slowly losing her mind. But whatever it was, it did not scare her and that was some relief, not to be afraid.

In the meantime she waited and listened. And, sometimes, she thought she heard things. It had happened the first week, early in the morning. At about four-thirty she sat up in bed and she could have sworn she heard someone rattling around in the kitchen. She looked over and Bottle Top was in bed with her, so it wasn’t the cat. She got up and as she walked down the hall, she could have sworn she smelled coffee brewing. But when she got in the kitchen and turned on the light, no one was there. There were times she thought she heard someone singing or the screen door slam or a sound like someone bouncing a ball against the house, but when she went to look, there was never anyone there. As the weeks went by, New York and the Ira Wallaces and the Sidney Capellos of the world seemed farther and farther away. When she had arrived in Elmwood Springs, her nerves were in such bad shape that any loud noise caused her to jump. But now, she felt safe here, a million miles away from the real world with its harsh lights and loud noises. As her ears adjusted to the quiet she began to hear other sounds—birds, crickets, and at times the sound of children playing. She could hear the church bells and lately she could even tell which bells were ringing, the Unity, the Methodist, or the Lutheran. Each had a distinctive sound.

She would sit for hours late at night with nothing but the orange glow of the radio light in the room, listening to the pleasant voices of strangers talking about God or the weather or crops. There was something so intimate about being in the dark with this talk about God that she almost began to be seduced into believing that they were telling her the truth. Her days were long. She had not known days could be so long. She woke up with the sun and watched the sunsets and the moon and the stars come out, amazed each time.

She sat in every corner, looking at the light from every angle. At night she began experimenting with the lighting in each room. She loved to put lamps against the honey-colored pine walls of one room; it looked so inviting.

Sometimes, she would go outside and stand on the lawn, looking in at the house with the lights on, and a wave of homesickness would sweep over her, a feeling so powerful it brought tears to her eyes. She would stand alone and cry, not knowing what she was crying about, or what she was homesick for. She began to feel like she did after she had been to the dentist and the Novocain started to wear off; it was painful, but a bittersweet pain. Slowly she was beginning to feel like the girl she used to be, the one that had gotten lost along the way.

Fall approached and the network kept calling Sandy, wanting to know when she was coming back. She sent him a telegram.

DEAR SANDY
,

TELL THEM I’M SORRY BUT THEY WILL HAVE TO START THE FALL SEASON WITHOUT ME. I FIND THAT I CANNOT COME BACK AT THIS TIME. NOT YET.

LOVE, DENA

Dr. Diggers had told Dena to take her time making any decisions about her future, but as the weeks went by and she began to feel stronger, it became clearer and clearer to her what she had to do first. She had to find out the truth about her mother. She had to find out for herself what had happened. As painful as it might be, she had to know before she could make any decisions about what to do next.

But she needed help. She needed someone she could trust. Someone who was not in the business, someone who wouldn’t turn around and sell information or talk to the press or simply talk. God, how she wished Howard were still alive.

On September 21 she was sitting out in the yard in the sweetheart swing, when a name popped into her head: Gerry O’Malley. The more she thought about it, the better the idea became. She didn’t know him all that well, but she trusted him. He certainly was not connected to the television business. She had been his patient; anything she told him should be privileged information, shouldn’t it? That night when Dr. Diggers called Dena asked, “You know Gerry O’Malley very well, don’t you?”

“Yes, why?”

“Do you trust him?”

“With my life. Why?”

Dena told her that she had decided to find out about her mother. Dr. Diggers was pleased; this was what she had hoped for. “Good for you. Is there anything I can do?”

“Thank you, but the problem is I can’t look for her myself, for obvious reasons. What I need is to find someone to be a middleman who would be willing to say that it was
his
relative he was looking for so my name would not be involved. Do you think Gerry would help if I asked him?”