Modern Girls (28 page)

I looked from Mr. Klein to Mrs. Klein to Zelda. Each face seemed to be sending me a different message. Mr. Klein showed indifference. Clearly he wasn’t concerned with Willie’s fate; he merely wanted to keep his wife’s fury in check. Mrs. Klein was hoping I would stay, that I could yet force Willie to remain for the child’s sake. Zelda’s face reflected longing, the dream of a life of adventure, far away from drudgery. But once I was a mother, it would be the same drudgery in Paris. I loved this baby, but could I manage being a mother in a country where I didn’t speak the language, didn’t know the customs? Yet, was I going to stay here alone, everyone knowing my husband had left without me? I would be humiliated. And it would give Willie an excuse to divorce me the moment the baby was born.

Then there was Mrs. Klein, who surely wouldn’t allow her
grandchild to be born on the lower East Side. I would be under the thumb of this shrew if I stayed. And if I left, I could return with the child and no one would need know how early it had come. Everyone would think I was simply foolish Dottie: angry at Abe, so I rushed into marriage with another. No one would know the truth.

I looked into Willie’s eyes. Did he want me there? Or was I merely a burden? Well, it didn’t really matter. Willie had played an equal part in the mess I was in. At last here was something
I
could decide. I could choose.

“Yes,” I said. “I will go with you to Paris.”

Mrs. Klein threw up her hands. “This is madness! You’ll be completely on your own,” she shouted at me.

With steel in my voice, I said, “No, I won’t.” I threw back my shoulders and stood tall. “I’ll have my husband.”

Willie rewarded me with a genuine smile and held out his arm. “We have a wedding to celebrate. Let us go, Mrs. Klein.”

That was me.

I took his proffered arm and walked side by side with him out of the apartment, ready to try on the life of a married woman.

THE journey home was twice as long as the one that had taken me there. Briefly I considered taking a streetcar—my belly throbbed and my leg ached—but my wooziness overruled my pain. I feared the jostling would make me ill. Slowly I walked, the cries of the neighborhood children piercing my ears. What had I done? Who had I become? Thinking of the daughter I wouldn’t hold, the sweet scent of a baby’s head, her skin as soft and delicate as
challah
dough, I cried. I cried for the baby who wouldn’t suckle at my breast, who wouldn’t greet me with coos and sighs. I cried for the child who wouldn’t trail behind me, pulling at my skirt, begging for sweets. I cried for the young woman who wouldn’t love and despair and have babies of her own. The depth of my sadness took me unaware. I thought of all my babies, the ones still on earth and those already departed to the heavens.
Forgive me, daughter,
I thought.

Yet, amid the sorrow, another feeling grew. I couldn’t identify it at first. As it slipped through my body, a sense of calmness bathed me, and soon I recognized the feeling for what it was: relief. Pure and total relief. With my hand on my belly, I felt sadness but not regret. It was possible, I found, to both mourn a loss and yet be grateful it had happened. All around me, children shouted, fought, sang, and cried while they played stickball, shot marbles,
and swarmed the stoops, and my convictions were confirmed; my days for bearing children were over.

Dottie, though, was just at the beginning. Decisions had to be made. Abe, it seemed, was a lost cause, but her idea of going out of town could work. A place in the Catskills was impossible, of course. How would we pay for it? This was not a vacation. But cousin Freyde could be trusted and we could stay with her in Baltimore. When we returned, I could claim the baby as my own, as long as she was willing to care for it. Or would a few weeks with a child show Dottie how difficult motherhood could be? Would she consider a foundling hospital? No, probably not. And what would we tell Ben? I wished my mind weren’t hazy from the ether.

As I walked, I thought again of Mama. How she did nothing for herself but sacrificed everything for her children, toiling until exhaustion for eleven hungry mouths, eleven dirty faces. For eighteen years her belly rounded, with children born and children lost. For eighteen years, she fed babies from her breast, day and night without ceasing. I wasn’t that kind of mother. I loved my children and gave that love generously, but wasn’t I important, too? Standing up for what was right, being able to fight for the jobless, the homeless, the Jews under threat in Europe—this was important. Time for me and Ben to be alone was important. My children were important, yes, but they were not the only ones. Why did I see this when so many women didn’t? Wasn’t the work that Perle was doing as important to mankind as bearing children? I’d need to wait a few more years, but my time to return to that work would come soon enough.

A sharp pain in my abdomen made me stop and buckle over. Was this a sign, a reminder from
Hashem
that I was still Dottie’s mother, and my thoughts should be with her? Yes, I would claim Dottie’s child as my own, but she would have to compromise, do much of the tending. I could save her reputation and still fight for the lifting of immigration quotas, save my brother, and even attend Workers’ Alliance meetings with Perle.

With each step, blood oozed down my legs. The rags weren’t enough. Despite the pain, I tried to hurry home. I needed to find Dottie. She must know it wasn’t too late. I would take her baby. We would figure this out.

•   •   •

BY the time I got home, the sky had darkened and I knew my family would be worried. The stairs were pure agony, and I leaned heavily on the rail as I climbed the three flights to the apartment.

As I opened the door, the last of my strength gave out. “Beryl,” I called, but my voice was barely more than a whisper.

He must have heard the front door open. Ben came in from the other room. “Rose, where have you been? There’s no supper and—” He stopped suddenly when he saw me. “Good God, Rose! What’s wrong?”

The pain overwhelmed me, and crying, I said, “The baby. I’m bleeding.”

Ben sprang at me, put his shoulder under my arm, and helped me to the bed. Ben was half a head shorter than I and about thirty pounds lighter, but he hoisted me as if I were no heavier than a sack of potatoes.

“Izzy!” he called out. “Go to Mr. Baum’s apartment and ask to use the phone. Call the doctor. Tell him to hurry. Go!”

The doctor! “No!” I said. “We don’t need a doctor’s bills.” As soon as he saw that I had been shaved, the doctor would know exactly what I had done. “I’ve gone through this before,” I said. “I know what to expect. Just have Perle come over.”

“Nonsense,” Ben said, wiping sweat from my forehead. “You have a fever. We can afford a doctor. This is not the time to be worrying about bills.” He rubbed my brow gently. “I should have listened to Dottie and installed a phone. Next week, I tell you. Next week we get our own phone.”

“Get Perle. Please.” I was sweating profusely, the heat engulfing my body.

“Fine, fine. Perle.
And
the doctor.” Shouting again into the next room, Ben said, “Alfie! Alfie, stop that racket and listen. Your ma needs you. Go, run get Perle. Tell her your mother needs her urgently.”

A knock on the door, and I heard Mrs. Kaplan’s voice. “Everything all right in there?” The busybody, looking for gossip.

“Yes, yes, fine,” Ben shouted. I could tell, though, she didn’t budge, perching in the hall to listen to every word we said. The whole street would know of my loss within the hour.

Turning back to me, he said, “Oh, Rose. I am so sorry. So very sorry.”

How should I act? Should I pretend to be sad? Admit what happened? No, of course not. I kept plenty of secrets in my life. One more was a mere grain of wheat added to the mill; it would mean nothing.

I slipped in and out of sleep as Ben fussed over me, bringing water, dabbing my forehead with a cool cloth. I had no sense of time passing before I heard the door open and close and voices murmuring in the front room.

Dr. Auerbach came into the bedroom. “Mrs. Krasinsky. I’m so sorry.” I was in such a haze, I didn’t have the energy to protest his presence. And this time, I admit, was nothing like when I’d lost babies before. This pain was much more intense, the bleeding much worse. “Mr. Krasinsky said to let you know he’s taken the boys to his sister’s,” the doctor said. “Now, let me examine you.” His Yiddish was accented, the Yiddish of an American-born boy. Dr. Auerbach was probably a few years younger than me, with deep blue eyes and hair already graying. His long face lent him gravity even when he was attempting a joke—something he didn’t do very often. Perhaps it was the job, but he had a seriousness about him that belied his years. He had grown up in the neighborhood, and had practiced with his father, now old and ailing. It was his father who’d saved Alfie. It was his father who’d lost Joey.

A moment later the front door slammed open again. In my heart, I wanted to call out, “Don’t slam the door,” but I had not an ounce of energy.

“I’m here,” Perle’s voice called from the front room.

“Perle,” I said, but my fever muted my voice, and the doctor didn’t hear me. I repeated, a little stronger, “Perle. I want Perle in here.” That slight exertion took all my stamina.

“But I need to examine you.”

“I want her here.”

He hesitated, clearly reluctant, but finally he nodded and called for Perle.

When Perle walked in, she was startled to see me lying on the bed. “You!” she said. “I was expecting—” With a glance at the doctor she stopped abruptly. The doctor looked from one of us to the other, trying to glean her meaning.

Coming to sit in the chair by the bed, the chair that had been my perch for those long months nursing the twins, Perle said, “My poor
bubelah
.” She sat, held my hand and comforted me.

The doctor knelt at the foot of the bed. “Let’s take a look,” he said. “Slide down and bend your knees.”

My bad leg resisted and it took a moment to arrange myself. Perle took my hand in both of hers. Her skin was rough and dry from hours handling the pamphlets for leafleting. When she was younger, we’d experimented with balms to soften them, but eventually Perle gave up. Hands were important for what they could do, not for how soft they might be.

The doctor squeezed into the small space between the dresser and the mattress. He began his examination by pressing on my belly, which drew a moan from my throat. So tender. Then he cleaned the blood between my legs so he could get a better look, and I heard his cluck of disapproval when he saw the bareness of my skin. I closed my eyes and tried to imagine I was somewhere else. Preferably in the future, where this could all seem like a bad dream. This too would pass. Dr. Auerbach continued his
ministrations, but his sighs of censure were as clear as the
hazzan
on the Day of Atonement.

“Oh, stop your huffing,” Perle said.

I opened my eyes in time to see the doctor glare at Perle before returning to his task. I gave Perle’s hand a weak squeeze.

The minutes stretched in silence while I waited for Dr. Auerbach to speak. But I couldn’t stand the tension, the quiet. “I told Ben we didn’t need to call you. We’ve all miscarried before. We know how to manage.”

The doctor continued his silence. After finishing the examination, he said, “Clean rags?”

Perle jumped up and rummaged through my drawer till she found some. Without a word, she handed them to Dr. Auerbach and returned to my side.

He replaced my rags and then said, “I’m going to wash my hands. I’ll be back in a moment to talk.”

The minute he left the room, Perle leaned close and whispered in my ear. “Rose, I thought this wasn’t for you. Why didn’t you tell me? I would have—”

“Shhh.” I nodded toward the door. I didn’t want the doctor to hear.

Perle gripped my hand more tightly as the doctor reentered the room.

He looked fiercely at us. “I have to say I’ve never seen a miscarriage quite like that.”

Perle returned his sternness. “Oh, I don’t believe that for a second.”

“Don’t antagonize him, Perle.” I didn’t fear the doctor would turn me in to the police, but he might gossip, and I couldn’t bear the idea of the truth getting back to Ben. He couldn’t find out. Not ever.

“You’ve lost a tremendous amount of blood,” he said. “I’ve tried to stanch the bleeding, but if you continue to soak through your rags in the morning, you’ll need to enter the hospital.”

My eyes widened with fear.

He looked down his nose at me. “There are reasons that woman shouldn’t interfere in the work of the Lord.”

Trying to look contrite, I nodded.

“Why would you do this?” he asked.

Light-headed, I closed my eyes.
Why had I done this?
There wasn’t a single answer I could give that he would understand. Luckily, Perle spoke up for me. “Men cannot be expected to understand the trials of women.”

He shook his head as Perle continued: “Now, I trust you won’t go telling that wife of yours. You might not approve, but no need to harm Rose further by spurring malicious gossip. And it would cause Ben great pain if he knew.”

The doctor’s eyes sank into the hollows of his face as he turned to glower at Perle. “I would never repeat the misfortunes of others.”

Perle harrumphed. “Yes, sure. That’s why we all knew when Mr. Lebowitz caught—”

“Enough! The good doctor understands your point.” I looked at him, trying to work my face into a solemn expression. My voice was barely a whisper, but in the small room, it came through clearly. “I’m sure the doctor understands and will do what’s best for everyone.”

After a moment of scowling, Dr. Auerbach reached into his bag and pulled out a small bottle. “You may take this for your discomfort.” He handed me the bottle. “I will tell Mr. Krasinsky to keep the boys at his sister’s. You will need peace to recover.”

With that, he donned his hat and left the apartment without so much as a good-bye.

“Well, that’s a fine how-do-you-do,” Perle said. “As if he’s so high and mighty. Why, I bet he’s just upset that he didn’t make any money performing the procedure himself.”

I managed a small laugh.

Perle stroked my hair and looked at me with a kindness that
reminded me of my mama. Being taken care of by Perle made me feel protected, like nothing truly bad could happen.

“Do you want some of the medicine?”

I nodded. Perle retrieved a spoon from the kitchen and returned. She poured some of the syrupy brown liquid from the bottle and fed it to me. I drank it greedily.

A thickness fell over me, as I hovered between wakefulness and sleep. As the medicine took hold, all those emotions the pain had tamped down rushed to the surface. I was flooded with relief and anger and heartache and confusion and optimism and despair, but my mind was so hazy it was impossible to settle on any one. My eyes fell closed, as if my lids were weighted, and in the darkness of my mind, I was greeted with a vision of the child that was not to be: a lovely towheaded baby resting happily and cozily in the arms of Mama, with Joey and the other lost babies by her side. I knew she would be protected, loved, and cared for in the world to come, and a sense of peace washed over me.