All Good Women (31 page)

A worldly person like Reuben had made love before. And during the war things happened differently. People needed each other for solace and courage and distraction. Yet, even as she ran these notions through her mind, she rejected them.

Ann recalled Reuben's visit to her sick bed last winter and his strange encounter with Mark Speidel. Odd, how the two men had become friends, talking politics, attending football games. Also odd the affection she had developed for her fellow roomer. At first Mark seemed to have a crush on her. However his attentions flagged as soon as he recognized Reuben's place. Occasionally he still looked at her as if, well, as if he could be quite attracted. For her own part, she found Mark great fun and, if he had been Jewish and if Reuben hadn't been around, something might have developed. As it was, Mark played faithful friend to both of them, no doubt a tricky balance. He was one of the few people with whom she was able to discuss Reuben. Mark was much less sentimental than Esther. She recalled their last talk, as the two of them waited for Reuben outside a theater.

‘He's got pluses and minuses,'
Mark shrugged. ‘He's a man of principles. But a moody man of principles.'

‘He wants a family,' she said.

‘Take it slowly. He'll wait. Your problem is that your confuse the two of them. You can adopt the girl without making Reuben any promises.'

‘Sponsor. Not adopt. And even then, I'd have to get special permission.'

‘If you made it over here, you can break through the red tape about Leah.'

‘That's hardly the point.'

‘What's the point?' he asked.

‘The child's welfare,' Ann stammered, ‘her …' She was saved by Reuben's approach.

Now, Ann decided
Mark was
not the most responsible person with whom to discuss Leah. Besides she had made her decision. She reached into her bag for Papa's letter.

Dear Ann.

Thank you for your last letter which arrived a couple of weeks ago. I think I mentioned this in my most recent letter, but perhaps one of yours got lost, so I thought I would repeat that I enjoyed your description of Southend. I remember Uncle Iz liked to go to the English resorts for holidays. I often think about Iz these days. I think he must have got out. But he was never much of a letter writer. He wouldn't think about his poor brother worrying about him, coddled in America.

Well, Mama is the same. Sometimes, it's a horrible thing, I think that she would at least show signs of life if she got worse for a day or two. I visit her faithfully and continue to read aloud the letters from you and Daniel.

I thank God Daniel is still fine unlike so many boys including tragic Howard Nakatani. I heard about that from Teddy and Moira, who came over last week …

Your work there sounds very responsible. So, your agency has saved 10,000 children from Nazi persecution. Yes, that's worthwhile. But I wonder when you will return. There's work here too, Annie. Think about it. Think about the fact that Mama may not have much time left …

Ann sniffed back the tears
and cleared the anger from her throat, then the sadness and desperation. More couples strolled through the park now. She had better rush.

Chilled from the damp bench, she worried about catching another cold. Really, it was quite ludicrous to have sat there for an hour, mooning about her life. As she walked to Piccadilly Circus, she was disappointed to hear the lorries and buses out in full chorus. The city was rolling again, coughing, wheezing, roaring, functioning the way only London could function in this fog. She pulled her coat tighter and shivered again. Damn, she would be furious at herself if she got the flu.

Quickly, she bought a ticket and rushed to the northbound platform. Normally, she loved the long, curving escalators and carefully inspected the other passengers as they swooped deep into the safety of the Piccadilly Line. She often thought of what it was like when they camped out here during the heavy bombings. Despite its enormous size, there was something friendly about the station, even about the posters warning, ‘Careless Talk Costs Lives'. Yes, she could imagine coming down here with her mattress every night. Not that she wanted to, not that she wasn't grateful she had missed most of the early danger and that Mrs MacDonald had quite an ample shelter. But there was something about the warmth of the station after the morning chill outside. Normally she would have stayed with these thoughts, marvelling that she was actually here in Britain. Ann Rose, American girl in London. But this morning she was irritated with herself for being late. She was in London all right and she was responsible to people and she had better remember that. The escalator let her off as the train was whooshing in.

The platform was crowded with weary people returning from their night jobs and with more alert folk on their way to work. She got a seat facing the direction in which the train was moving. Good. Ann rolled herself a cigarette and inhaled slowly. The smoke was harsher than last night. She did prefer Reuben's American brand. Peering out the window into the darkness, Ann watched the tunnel lights flash by, each one with a different face on it — Leah, Papa, Reuben, Esther, Mama, Mama, Mama.

Ann pulled out
The Horse's Mouth
and tried to read. But Reuben and Leah interrupted. The train pulled into a brightly lit station. She took another puff and stared down at the page summoning the sentences to distract her.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Late Fall 1944, San Francisco

ROOSEVELT PREPARES FOR FOURTH TERM

US COST OF LIVING RISES 30 PER CENT

STRASBOURG LIBERATED

‘CONCENTRATE,' TEDDY TOLD HERSELF
as she sat tall at her desk outside Mr Whitney's office. She inserted a familiar form into the typewriter, placed her fingers on the keys and was suddenly overwhelmed with a rush of Moira's soft pink skin. She closed her eyes and there was Moira lying next to her breathing evenly. She cleared her throat to conjure Miss Fargo. She tried to smell the teacher's carbolic soap and hear the tart instructions. ‘Back straight; head to the side; fingers moving as lightly as if you were whipping a soufflé.' Nothing seemed to help. She was in a fog of happiness. Every time she thought of the new Moira in her life she had to stop herself from breaking into a grin.

‘In the life,' was what Dawn called it. ‘It ain't all roses,' Dawn had warned her yesterday. And for the first time in their friendship, Teddy was cross with Dawn, who wouldn't permit her to enjoy this love, who seemed to bear some kind of grudge against Moira, herself. ‘Just watch out. You gotta be careful
inside
and
out
when you're in the life.' Teddy shook herself. Well, she did have to be careful, to pay more attention with the typing. Mr Whitney had brought back three forms this morning. That had never happened before. Never had Teddy received one complaint about her work at the Emporium. The strangest thing was she didn't know if she cared.

Moira was happier too, more relaxed, slower somehow. She had recovered quickly from the last phone conversation with Mrs Finlayson. Teddy had heard only half the exchange. But she could imagine Mrs Finlayson's sure, crisp voice when she insisted Moira surrender the baby for adoption.

‘I will
not
sacrifice
my
child for your sense of propriety.' Moira had gripped the phone, staring at her tea.

‘Selfish? How is it selfish to want to be a mother to your child?' Moira took a sip of tea and closed her eyes.

‘Mother,' her voice grew higher, ‘this is my life. And my baby's life.'

After a long silence, Moira said, ‘Mother? Are you still there, Mother? Oh, damn.' She slammed down the phone. ‘She hung up. That woman. Teddy, if she calls again, just tell her I'm not here.'

Teddy had thought
Moira was
kidding until several days later when Moira did, indeed, refuse to come to the phone. It had been weeks since mother and daughter talked. Teddy found this an unnatural state so close to the birth. Still, what could she do? And being so happy, she found it hard to worry, even about her father, who had been in the hospital again last week.

Startled by the sound
of
her buzzer, Teddy noticed her hand trembling as she pressed the button.

‘Yes, Mr Whitney?'

‘Time, Teddy. Have you noticed the time?'

Teddy checked the impassive moonface of the old wall clock. The black hands seemed like skis set at cross purposes over the lunar craters. ‘3.30,' she read with distraction. ‘Oh, no, your tea. Sorry sir. I'll be right there.'

Concentrate, she told herself, concentrate. Yet even as she served Mr Whitney's tea, she was in a state of oblivion. She forced herself to check the number of sugars and to stir in just the right amount of milk. Grateful that her boss was too busy to talk, she returned to her desk and breathed deeply. The strange thing was that this happiness was much more distracting than trouble. She felt so excited all the time, as if she might spin off into the universe. As if she might throw up. She couldn't believe the fullness she felt with Moira, the joy and satisfaction of making love and the contentment of sleeping with her arms around the girl. She couldn't believe it. Yes, that was the problem. She couldn't believe she was so happy.

The phone startled her as if Teddy were in a deep sleep. She had to let it ring again while she caught her breath. Her stomach knotted suddenly. If she didn't get a hold on herself she would lose this job and a fine thing that would be now that Moira was on leave from the shipyard.

‘Mr Whitney's office,' Teddy answered in her most polished secretary voice.

‘Miss Fielding, please.'

Teddy couldn't quite place the woman's voice.

‘This is Teddy Fielding.' What was it, bad news about Pop? Or Moira, had she already gone to the hospital?

‘Teddy, this is Moira's mother.'

‘Oh, Mrs Finlayson, how are you?' Teddy tried to restrain the panic in her voice. Instantly, she understood something about Moira. Just the sound of her mother's voice put you on alert.

‘Fine, thank you. I am sorry to disturb you at work. I need to inquire about my daughter, about Moira. Is she all right? Has she, has she had the baby yet?'

‘No, Mam. I mean she's fine and, no, the baby hasn't come yet.'

Mrs Finlayson sighed and spoke more slowly. ‘Then I wonder if I might ask you a favor?'

‘Yes, Mam?' Teddy said tentatively. She felt that familiar sensation of standing between Jolene and Pop.

‘Please call me when Moira goes into hospital. I'd like to come up.'

‘I, I don't know, Mrs Finlayson. That's something between you and Moira and I don't want to butt …'

‘Yes, dear, I understand. I wouldn't bring you into this if it weren't absolutely necessary. But you must know that my daughter refuses to speak to me at the moment. This is the only way. I do regret involving a stranger.'

Stung by the ‘stranger', Teddy could only say, ‘I don't know.'

‘Of course, I appreciate your position.' Mrs Finlayson's voice was so tight Teddy thought it might snap. ‘But please think about it. For Moira's sake.'

‘Yes, Mam.' Teddy sometimes regretted her endless fund of deference. The truth was Moira needed her mother at a time like this.

‘Thank you, Teddy. I must let you get back to work now.' Back to work. Teddy stared at the moon and watched the skis sliding past the minutes. Yet another thing to think about. Would she be betraying Moira if she called? Or would Moira be grateful to be saved from her own pride? No, it didn't seem right. But there were at least two weeks to worry about it. She stared at the form in her typewriter, drawing it into focus.

‘Watch it. Be careful.
Don't
slip. Can't you see I just washed it?'

Teddy stared at the kitchen floor and then at Moira scrubbing her way out of the back door. A tilting, hennaed buddha banishing ancient stains.

‘Yes,' Teddy said finally. ‘I can see you. But I'm not sure I believe you. Didn't the doctor say that the point of leaving the shipyard was to rest, to avoid strain, to prepare …'

‘Oh, Teddy, I feel like a pressure cooker. If I don't do something I'm going to explode. Besides, I'm not due for two weeks.'

‘But you push yourself too much and you might have the baby right here, while I'm at work.' Teddy leaned on the doorframe.

‘Dear, that could happen anyway. The baby isn't punched into your timeclock, smart as any child of mine might be. Besides, Mrs Bertoli said she'd take me to the hospital any time. And Mr Minelli offered. He came around this afternoon with more eggs from his sister in Petaluma.'

‘Well, a man with a heart condition isn't the best …' Teddy stopped herself. Mrs Bertoli was reliable; she was always around the shop. Moira had it all under control. It was such a funny feeling — to see Moira cool at the helm.

‘You're the one who needs to relax. Just go into the living room and read your mystery. Supper will be ready in half an hour. And,' she rubbed her back, ‘so will I.'

After supper, they snuggled on the couch, listening to ‘People Are Funny' on the radio. Teddy didn't follow the program at all, waking from her daze only when the audience laughed or when Moira shifted to a more comfortable position. ‘Inside and outside,' Dawn's words kept coming back to her. She understood the outside problems — that this new life could cost the Emporium job and this house. Although Mr Minelli was remarkably tolerant of Moira's pregnancy, he would hardly accept homosexuality. But inside? No, Dawn just didn't like Moira, that was all there was to it. She — they — were perfectly safe here in each other's arms.

‘Oh, oh, ohhhhh,' Moira gasped and sat forward.

‘What is it?' Teddy demanded.

‘You mean who is it?' Moira smiled, her upper lip beaded with sweat.

‘Now? Already? Now?'

‘Calm down,' Moira said, amazed at her own composure. ‘Could be false labour pains, remember. We have to time them if they — oh, ohhh — yes, time this — ohhh — one, Teddy.'

Two hours later
when the
contractions were close enough, they borrowed Mr Minelli's car and drove to the hospital. Teddy had planned the trip a hundred times and proceeded automatically. She had planned where she would park, how long it would take to walk from the car to the hospital. Yes, she told herself, it was going to be fine. Moira was going to be fine. Concentrate, Teddy, concentrate.

Moira could not believe the pain. She had to control herself. She couldn't break down here in the car. Teddy would crash. She was an adult. Millions of women had done this. Her own mother at nineteen. Ohhhhhh, she couldn't believe the pain; she just couldn't. ‘Teddy?' she heard herself ask.

‘You all right?' Teddy maneuvered around a double parked car. ‘Moira.' She turned quickly. ‘You're not having it now. Not yet, not here, I mean if you have to …'

‘Teddy.' Moira's voice was steady now that the contraction had passed. ‘I'm fine. But could you do me a favor? Would you call Mother for me? Tell her where I am and say if she wants to …'

‘Oh, that's a girl.' Teddy patted Moira's thigh. ‘That's a good thing to do.'

Taken aback by Teddy's enthusiasm, Moira decided her friend was simply panicked. And this hysteria helped keep her on an even keel, herself. She twisted the plain ring Teddy had given her to wear for the occasion.

Teddy held Moira's hand as they checked into the hospital. She was distressed by the chaos: rolling stretchers, bustling nurses, ringing phones. Ten o'clock at night. Finally the nurse turned to Moira.

‘Yes, your doctor called.'

‘But where is he?' Teddy persisted. ‘She needs the doctor to have the baby.'

The nurse studied Teddy and then turned to Moira. ‘Your first, isn't it? Well, that'll take a while. Dr Emerson will be here. Hasn't missed a launch yet.'

Teddy carried the bag and followed Moira and the nurse down the hall.

Overcome with pain, Moira leaned against the wall. Teddy took her elbow, soothing her. Inside and outside, Teddy thought, holding on to Moira despite the nurse's stare. How much was she imagining?

The nurse cleared her throat. ‘I think we should be moving on.' She took the satchel from Teddy and smiled kindly. ‘The waiting room is over there. If that's what you want. It's likely to take quite some time.'

‘Oh, yes, of course,' Teddy blushed. ‘Yes, I will wait. Thank you.' Would Moira be all right? The girl was exhausted. If only she could stay and hold her hand.

Moira glanced back forlornly, her face suddenly overtaken by pain.

‘I'll be right here,' Teddy called, using her will to restrain herself from hugging her friend good-bye. Oh, this was horrible. If only she could have the baby for Moira. She was so much better at handling pain. She stood in the hallway until Moira and the nurse had turned the corner, then rushed to the telephone.

Moira lay on the stif
f
bed
feeling impossibly alone. Which was longer — the time between the contractions or the pain itself? Why had they left her here? What if the baby decided to come right now? No, she reminded herself, it took time. They had plenty of other people to care for. She tried not to hear the screams from the next room. Mother would be horrified if she behaved like that. Oh, why hadn't she broken down and asked for Mother? Still, they wouldn't let Mother in here. Yes, she would have to wait outside with … oh, dear, what had she done to poor Teddy … of course, it would take her hours to arrive. The baby would be born by then. The little girl or boy … Oh, no, Moira tried to hold her breath against the pain, but still it came in waves of sharp determination. ‘Owwwww,' she heard another scream from the other … no, not from the other room, but from this room, from her own mouth. Then she felt a damp cloth on her forehead.

‘Relax honey and breathe.' She looked up to the face of a new nurse and thought she heard a trace of South in her accent. Why had they given her another nurse? Had they discovered she wasn't married? Is that why she was in this room alone? Was this the unmarried nurse? The anxiety and pain disappeared as quickly as it had come. And so did the nurse.

This was so unfair;
she
hadn't asked for a baby. They had been careful. She was too young. She had been inducted involuntarily. Why did she think she was so special? Because Sister Lawrence had said so. A sin is a knowing offense against … she hadn't meant to get pregnant, so why was she having a baby? Sin, sin, sin. Pregnancy was punishment for sex. No, that didn't make sense; it hadn't felt evil. It had felt right. She thought of Randy holding her tight, whispering — no, she mustn't think about him. Sex was a mortal sin, a very fleshy, very mortal sin. Oh, she would be punished doubly for this blasphemy. Her baby would be born deformed. Owww, the pain. Breathe, the disappearing nurse had said, breathe against the pain. Oh, the pain.

Anger coursed through her now. She did not deserve this. She had tried to do everything right, but there were no more reliable models like Susie Fitzpatrick and Cindy Patton. Whatever happened to them? Had they wound up here too? Were they, perhaps, the ones screaming in the next room? The married room, for no doubt they had done it right. You can't have models your whole life. At some point you just have to fly, to trust your instinct and your conscience. But every time she did that, she seemed to lose. She lost her acting chances when she went to the shipyard. She lost Randy after she gave him all she had. If you couldn't trust your judgment and there were no models, what did you have? A code of behavior, a sense of morality. She heard Mother's voice. Oh, the pain, the pains were getting closer.