A Pledge of Silence (35 page)

Ignoring Frank, Wade took the stairs two at a time and turned on the bedroom light. He froze for a second when he saw the pool of blood on the bed, then shouted for help.

Frank charged up the stairs, Mama and Irene right behind him.

Struggling to come to, Margie heard Frank’s urgent voice. “For God’s sake, call an ambulance!”

He took off his coat, pushed up his sleeves, and rolled her onto her side. He ordered Wade to support her back, and told Irene to boil water and bring towels, string, and scissors. “Margie,” he said, hovering just inches above her, “I want you to breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth like you’re trying to whistle. Watch me.” He demonstrated the technique. Margie followed his lead as a crushing pain in her head preceded another contraction, this one longer and harder. Something inside her wanted to tear her apart. Seizing again, she went rigid, then slipped into darkness, only to wake up with a towel clenched between her teeth, and feeling a mass between her legs. The bedroom was full of strangers. As emergency personnel lifted her onto a gurney for the trip downstairs to the ambulance, her last memory was of Frank carrying a bundle wrapped in a towel, tears streaming down his face.

She regained consciousness in the hospital with a blood pressure cuff strapped onto one arm and the other one immobilized on a board. Lines of tubing hooked her to bottles of blood and IV solutions hanging overhead. More tubing brought oxygen into her nose, and a catheter drained urine from her bladder. Her mouth felt dry, her tongue swollen and raw. The room seemed too bright, and the beep of the paging system hurt her ears.

A soft voice from near her head said, “Margie, I’m Donna, your nurse. You’re in the hospital. You had a little girl.”

“A girl,” Margie repeated groggily. She drifted back to sleep, feeling the blood pressure cuff expanding and squeezing her arm.

By late afternoon, she was well enough to sit up. Her head felt fuzzy, and the vision in one eye blurred. She heard Dr. Middleton out in the hall. He came into the room and pulled the curtain around the bed. “You gave us quite a scare, young lady. Do you know you were having seizures?”

“I don’t remember much.”

“We almost lost you. You’re familiar with eclampsia?”

She had studied it in school—the high blood pressure, swelling, and headaches that could quickly progress to seizures, life-threatening for both mother and fetus. She said, “Is the baby all right?”

“It’s too soon to tell. She’s small to begin with, and when you seized, her oxygen was restricted. If she survives the next 24 hours, we’ll know better. I’ve asked Dr. Crane to take over her care. He specializes in preemies.”

“Can I see her?”

“Not yet. She’s in isolation, and I don’t want you out of bed. The medication in your IV controls the seizures, but makes you sleepy. I’ve ordered a private-duty nurse for you.” He stood. “Wade’s outside. Would you like to see him?”

She hadn’t even thought of what Wade must be going through. She nodded.

“All right. Ten minutes. No more.”

Wade came to Margie’s bedside, looking disheveled, apprehensive, and carrying a teddy bear. He kissed her, told her how beautiful she was, and how much he loved her. She assured him she was all right and asked about the baby. He said he hadn’t been able to see her. After a few more minutes, Donna insisted he leave. He gave her the teddy bear and promised to be back in the morning.

Alone, Margie held the teddy bear against her bosom and feared for her tiny daughter, struggling to survive. If only her depleted body had been more nurturing. If only her heart had been more loving. If only she hadn’t denied Barbara Ann’s existence for so many months. She mumbled a prayer, asking forgiveness.

Every day was touch and go, as Barbara Ann clung to life by a thread. She remained in isolation and on around-the-clock surveillance. Restricted to her bed, Margie could only dream of her daughter.

During his visit, Wade relayed the details of the night of the birth to her. How Frank had a premonition that he was needed at home, and how he had rushed in the door just as Margie called for help. He said, “Frank took complete charge. He was amazing. I’ll never think of him as a kid again.”

“You need to tell him that. He needs to hear it. Do you know where he is?”

“He’s at home with Irene and Billy.”

After several days, the threat of seizures passed, and Dr. Middleton allowed Margie out of bed. Wade walked with her to the nursery. For the first time, Margie beheld Barbara Ann, a scrawny little being with a bush of silky dark hair.

Wade said, “She’s certainly distinctive. She looks like my mother.”

Dark and distinctive—like his mother. Margie hoped Wade was right, but she didn’t feel so sure.

Her hospital stay dragged on for three more weeks. As her strength returned, she took frequent walks to the nursery to watch Barbara Ann sleep, naked except for the tiniest diaper. Her daughter grew stronger every day. When the nurse positioned the incubator by the window, Margie baby-talked and tapped on the glass, hoping to generate a response from the baby or feel some sort of connection in herself. Neither happened, making her feel inadequate and sad.

Margie got home in time for Thanksgiving Day, but with Dad gone a year now and Barbara Ann still in the hospital, the family felt incomplete. Frank claimed his dad’s place at the head of the table to say the blessing and carve the turkey. He kept up a steady banter. “What side of the turkey has the most feathers?”

Irene smirked.

“Come on, take a guess. Margie, what side of the turkey has the most feathers?”

“The outside?”

“Aw. You heard it before.”

“You’ve been telling that joke since you were six. Can’t you come up with a new one?”

“Not anything for mixed company.”

They feasted on turkey stuffed with Mama’s sage and raisin dressing, potatoes, gravy, green beans, and beets. Later, they played Parcheesi and ate pumpkin pie with homemade ice cream. Margie luxuriated in being back home, where Wade doted and Mama fussed. Frank seemed more settled in his mind, though Irene still eyed him warily. Billy patted Margie’s tummy and asked, “Where’s the baby?”

Margie stepped out to the back porch to join Frank in a postprandial cigarette. They both stared up at the sky. He said, “I don’t do well in small spaces. I spent too many nights spooning with my buddies. You ever been that cold?”

“I was in the Philippines. We prayed for a breeze.” She blew out smoke. “When did you learn how to deliver babies?”

“I never did, but I know a lot about pain and seizures. Good thing I was there. Your husband was useless.”

“He loves you too, little brother.” She shivered in the brisk air. “He’s grateful for what you did. He admires you. Your ability in an emergency. He said you were amazing.”

“He did?”

“Yes. What was that about a premonition?”

“You never get them? My gut told me something bad was happening. I thought it was Irene or Billy. They mean a lot to me. I know that now.”

“I’m glad you’re home. Are you doing better?”

“I’m trying. Out there … I reacted … you know. There wasn’t time to think. I can’t turn it off. And I have these awful images. I never know when they’re gonna hit. Irene won’t leave me alone with Billy, and I don’t blame her.”

“She said you’re seeing a doctor, a psychiatrist.”

“Yeah, she made me. Dr. Garber. He works with vets.”

“Is he helping?”

“I don’t know.”

Margie hugged her brother. “I’m so proud of you.”

Barbara Ann continued to gain weight and her breathing stabilized. The neurological tests Dr. Crane performed didn’t reveal any immediate deficiencies. Pleased with her progress, he moved her from the incubator to a bassinet on the first of December. He wrote in her chart that Margie could hold her, and the nurse phoned her with the good news.

“I envy you,” Wade said while getting dressed for work and straightening his tie. “What time are you going in?”

“Noon. I’ll be giving her a bottle.”

“Give her a kiss for me and tell her I love her.” He kissed Margie goodbye.

At the hospital, the nurse gave her a gown to wear over her clothes, and left her alone in a small room off the nursery that contained a rocking chair and table. Posters on the walls gave how-to instructions for feeding, diapering and swaddling an infant. Margie dressed in the gown, read the information on the posters then sat in the rocker. Nervous, she smoothed the wrinkles from her gown, and drummed her fingers while watching the door.

At last, the nurse wheeled in Barbara Ann’s bassinet. Swaddled in a pink blanket, she wore a wee knitted cap on her head. Her eyes were closed and fringed with dark lashes. At 6 weeks old, she was still tiny, but her cheeks showed signs of chubbiness. Her rosebud mouth suckled.

The nurse put her in Margie’s arms and handed her a bottle. “She’s a sleepy one. You’ll have to jiggle her a bit. She’ll eat well enough once you get her started.”

Margie was in awe, holding her child in her arms for the first time. She jostled her awake only to be rewarded with a frown. “Goodness! What a pouty face!” She placed the nipple to the baby’s lips. Barbara Ann ignored it. Margie laughed. “I guess this is going to take a while.”

“Keep trying. She should be hungry. There’s a call bell on the table if you need me.”

The nurse left Margie alone with her daughter. She’d fed newborns when a nursing student, and she knew how to tickle a fuzzy cheek and stroke under a tiny chin. Barbara Ann started to take the nourishment while Margie studied her face for clues to her heritage.
I won’t let it matter.
After two ounces of formula were gone, she lifted the infant to her shoulder and patted her back, feeling her weight and warmth. Barbara Ann burped as robustly as any man, and Margie laughed again.

She greedily finished the bottle. Margie made a lap and placed her there, removing the cap and unfolding the swaddling blanket. Barbara Ann lay curled, tightfisted, bowlegged, a perfect miracle, her silky newborn hair plentiful and black, her skin tones dusky. A petite dimple decorated the tiny chin. A foreboding stirred in Margie. She stroked a downy-soft cheek.
I won’t let it matter
. Unable to quell the need to know, she traced the baby’s hairline with her fingertip and found the hint of a widow’s peak. Barbara Ann opened her dark eyes wide, and Margie found the gaze familiar and mesmerizing.

She felt like she had been punched in the chest. This wasn’t Wade’s child. A wicked, violent man spawned her.
It doesn’t matter! She’s my baby too!

Chapter 26

Margie felt the walls closing in around her. She quickly placed Barbara Ann back in the bassinet, tore off the gown, and grabbed her coat. With no nurses in sight at the station, she hurried from the nursery to her car, something not feeling right in her head. Wavy lines crossed her field of vision, so she needed several tries to get the key in the ignition. When the engine turned over, she slammed the transmission into gear and raced out of the parking lot. The miles flew by as she stepped hard on the accelerator, but she couldn’t outrun the traumatic memory trying to surface.

Blinding images struck like bolts of lightning—she heard shells blasting, felt fires raging, experienced again the smell of the dead and the moans of the dying. Unable to see, she drove off the side of the road, her front right wheel angled into a roadside ditch.

Bent over the steering wheel, she relived the terror as if it were happening this minute—Max grabbing her throat, her knee ramming his crotch, his convulsing, her collapsing onto him, the syringe of morphine plunging into his neck, his lifeless eyes staring accusingly at her. Every muscle in her body shuddered.

“Oh, God! Oh, God!” she whimpered.

Leaving her purse on the seat and the keys in the ignition, she stumbled out of the car. Turning her collar up and shoving her hands in her pockets, she started to walk. Unaware of either her surroundings or destination, she plodded down the side of the road, one foot automatically moving ahead of the other, her thoughts a jumble of horror and self-loathing. When passing cars slowed to offer help, she waved them away, not wanting anyone to see the real her, the evil core of her.

Time passed, as did the miles. The landscape gradually changed from rural to commercial, neon signs glowing in the darkening sky. The temperature dropped, and snowflakes swirled around her head, landing on her nose and chin. Hunger made her stomach rumble, and a sore spot on her toe caused her pain with each step, a just punishment, she thought, welcoming each stab.

A horn honked, then a car came to a screeching halt in front of her. The passenger-side door flew open and Gracie scrambled out, trotting to Margie’s side just before she collapsed in a heap by the side of the road. Right behind Gracie, Kenneth took Margie’s arm; together they steered her into the back seat of the car. Gracie made a quick assessment of her condition.

“Everyone’s looking for you, honey. What are you doing out here?”

Margie’s parched throat wouldn’t allow her to respond. Feeling lightheaded, she lay down on the seat, curling into a ball.

Gracie removed her own coat and tucked it under Margie’s head. “Let’s get her home,” she said to Kenneth. “I don’t think she’s totally with us.”

Their apartment was only a short drive away. Once inside, Gracie settled Margie on the couch with a pillow and blanket, a shot of whiskey, and a glass of water. Brushing the hair away from Margie’s eyes, she looked deeply into them.

“Can you hear me?”

Margie nodded, not entirely sure where she was.

“Kenneth talked to your mother. Wade is out looking for you. He’ll be here as soon as he can. Are you hungry?”

Margie nodded again. “I need the bathroom.”

Gracie pointed down a short hallway.