The Oak Leaves (19 page)

Cosima watched James caress the center of the cross again and knew well what it felt like, for she’d done so herself many times. “Finally even his
Selah
was beaten as the last bellow of the storm spewed its great torrent and hail. Grandfather heard the splinter and thought surely he would face the Lord God.

“And yet,” Cosima went on after a deep intake of air, as if she felt the suffocating storm whip the breath from her, “even as
Selah
broke into pieces, the Lord let the little boat bring young Branduff to safety on the bow—all that was left of her. When the wind calmed and the rainbow came, as is God’s promise, Branduff saw the land at last and
Selah
carried him there on the hand of God. Aye, ’twas a sweet boat, that one, so it’s said. And here it is—” she motioned to the relic—“all that’s left of her you hold in your hands, fashioned into the cross of the Lord who plucked me great-grandfather from the jowls of death.”

“Why do you have it and not him?”

“He died many years ago,” Cosima said.

“Why didn’t he give it to a son, like a title to the oldest boy?”

“Nearing the day of his death when he was very old, he gave it to my grandmother. ‘Your brothers need no reminder of the strength in their blood,’ he said. ‘They use their strength ever’ day. But you, my child, you will need the sum of their strength together to live in this land a woman. You will work as hard as any of your servants if you want the work to be right. You will bear children and bury some, weep with other mothers and sisters and daughters when the men go off to war. Life comes with tears, child, because we serve a God who knows suffering.’”

Cosima took the cross gently from James. “And my grandmother gave the cross to me on her own deathbed. I took it in my hands, just as I do now, without fear but rather awe, because it reminded me of the blood that runs through me, blessed and chosen by God to survive all and whatever comes my way. I remember when I hold it that I have the strength of the Lord on my side, and I can survive just as my grandmother Josephine did, and my grandfather Kennesey before her. All and whatever.”

“All and whatever,” James repeated softly, staring at the cross Cosima now held.

“Interesting story,” said her cousin Walter from behind her.

Cosima looked up, suddenly aware that it wasn’t only James who had listened to her story. Everyone in the room had quieted somewhere along the way.

“But tell me,” Walter added. “Your Irish family actually
works
? I mean, alongside the servants, the way you mentioned in the story, or was that just the older generation?”

Cosima could have listed a great many tasks, from gathering herbs for medicine to cleaning up after Royboy when necessary. But before she opened her mouth she caught sight of Dowager Merit and amended her answer.

“No, that was for my grandmother’s ears, many years ago. But I believe life comes inevitably with sorrow, sooner or later, no matter one’s station in life.”

“Something most young sprouts have yet to learn, the way these youngsters are coddled,” said Dowager Merit as she slowly rose to her feet. She approached Cosima, putting a hand to Cosima’s chin and directing her face upward. “You have a fine voice for storytelling, child. You must hear some of the Escott tales so your education of family history is not limited to one side. You’ll come back tomorrow afternoon.”

Dowager Merit turned to leave the room, pausing to lean on her cane only a few feet from Cosima. “And at the next dinner, Cosima, you will wear white, as is customary. You may miss your Emerald Isle, as the poem calls your Ireland, but you do not need to remind us of such in the color of your dress.”

Cosima felt her heart sink and looked around the room at all the faces staring at her. So much for stepping outside custom, if only for a family dinner. “Yes, Lady Merit,” she said, eyes downcast.

“I wish everyone to enjoy the rest of the evening,” said the dowager as she continued her slow progress toward the door. “But I must say good night.”

Cosima breathed deeply. Would she never be able to please her grandmother?

Cosima saw the dowager nod toward Lord Hamilton before exiting. He followed Dowager Merit from the room. Cosima found this odd, considering her grandmother’s feelings for Lord Hamilton. Would they have a private meeting?

Slipping the cross back into her reticule, Cosima watched James wander off, and a moment later Beryl took his place beside her.

“Don’t let that old hag ruin your mood, Cosima,” Beryl said. “Your gown is the loveliest here tonight.”

“I shouldn’t have worn it. I don’t know why I did.”

“Because white is a boring theme! And coal dust is everywhere in this awful city.” Beryl brushed away a black spot on her own snowy skirt. “I much prefer the day events, where we’re free to wear any color we like.”

“We don’t host many evening parties back home.” Cosima spoke before she could catch the words back. She couldn’t talk about the reason.

“Oh, because of the blight, you mean?” Beryl said, and with relief Cosima nodded. “Well, don’t worry about it another moment. Your grandmother not only invited you back for tomorrow afternoon; she said at the
next
dinner you should wear white. There wouldn’t be a next if she didn’t intend having you back.”

Cosima was instantly soothed by Beryl’s presence and words. Soon she put any discomfort from her mind. The children were taken back to the nursery, and Cousin Walter invited everyone remaining to the billiard room. Cosima was more than a little curious about the room normally reserved for the men. There more beverages were served, and Walter daringly challenged the women to a game. Rachel consented for them with a giggle. The entire room watched as one by one each of the women took a turn.

Cosima shot carefully during her chance and knocked a ball in, and everyone hooted. But on her next turn she proved her lack of skill, making Rachel smile her way.

Soon there were more serious games on the table, first between Walter and Reginald. As the winner, Reginald challenged what looked like a reluctant Peter, who was forced to play amid dares to prove a reputation rumoring him to be an expert.

Cosima had vowed not to watch Peter, but everyone seemed riveted to the game. She tried to talk to Beryl, but she was eager to see if her brother would win and didn’t engage in much conversation.

Making each shot look easy, Peter won in short time.

Although the evening hadn’t been perfect, it was an overall success. Surely Reginald could rest easier now. She would have to contend with whatever came with that.

Cosima should have welcomed the end of the evening but didn’t. It meant the resumption of Peter’s exile from her life.

27

“Can you find the duckie? Where’s the duckie?”

From behind a one-way mirror, Talie and Luke watched the doctor with their son. Ben was on the floor in the middle of a playroom full of colorful toys, mirrors, mats, and balls bigger than he was. Dr. Karen Cooper knelt in front of him. Considered an expert in childhood development, Dr. Cooper had been trying to engage Ben in play for the past five minutes. And having little success.

Talie had watched three therapists with her son in the past hour, each of them assessing Ben’s developmental level from their own areas of expertise. While they “played” with Ben, they jotted notes or checked boxes, then handed Dr. Cooper a single sheet of paper upon completion of their evaluation. Seeing how little Ben cooperated, Talie was suddenly struck with how odd Ben’s behavior must seem. Obviously they expected him to do far more than Talie would have guessed any child his age capable. Why else would they test him on certain functions? Each scribble on their papers was a jab to Talie’s maternal spirit.

Dr. Cooper was the last to spend time with Ben.

Ben sat with his typical poor posture, looking at everything except the doctor, who had just hidden a small yellow duck beneath a red-and-white bandana.

“Here’s the duckie!” She pulled the toy from its hiding place and gave it a squeeze. The noise startled Ben and his lower lip quivered, but he didn’t cry, for which Talie was grateful. Sometimes it took a while for Ben to calm once he became upset.

The doctor put the duck on her head and gave Ben a smile. He looked at her but the eye contact lasted no more than a moment.

“One . . . two . . . threeee . . .” She stretched out the last number and tipped her head to let the duck sail to the floor in front of Ben. He laughed and reached for the toy.

Before Ben could touch it, the doctor shrouded the duck with the dotted scarf once again. “Find the duckie, Ben. Where’s the duckie?”

Ben put his forefinger back in his mouth and looked away, disinterested now that the duck was out of sight.

Leaning back, the doctor rose from her knees to her feet and motioned toward the glass where Talie and Luke observed from the darkened room.

Luke was the first to the door, and Talie followed slowly. The pediatrician didn’t look at either Talie or Luke; she just made more notes on her pad.

All morning Talie had denied what she felt inside. Now her long-held fears would be either confirmed or relieved. Something tightened the pit of her stomach. Cold and hard and unwanted. This doctor thought there was something wrong with Ben, and it wouldn’t be long before Talie must hear what she had to say. Talie’s gaze sought Luke’s again, but he was focused on the doctor.

Talie reached for Ben.

“Let’s go into one of the examination rooms, where we can all have a seat.”

Was Dr. Cooper stalling? Why couldn’t she say what she had to say right here? Talie followed them, her gaze straight ahead, holding Ben close. He squirmed, but she held on tighter. When Ben squealed, Luke took him and put him on his shoulders, where he calmed.

The room was typical for a pediatrician’s office, decorated with bright colors and shapes that would appeal to any child who noticed his or her surroundings. One wall was lined with a cushioned bench seat, and in the corner a few playthings were neatly stacked. Talie had brought along Ben’s favorite toy, one that lit up and played music when he pushed large, colorful buttons. It was the first toy he’d played with appropriately, and Talie had chosen it to show he could do some things right, even though she knew the age recommendation for this particular toy was three to six months. Far younger than Ben at fifteen months.

“I’m not going to tell you anything you don’t already know,” the doctor began, placing the folder under her arm. She took a seat on a small, round stool as Luke placed Ben on the floor. Ben slipped his finger into his mouth, ignoring the toys.

Talie looked at Luke again as they took seats on the bench nearby. They’d talked about coming here today, about the possibility that something was really wrong with Ben. Luke had said all along he hadn’t been around enough babies to know much, but if Ben wasn’t doing things other babies his age were doing, it was logical to have him examined. And while Talie ignored the feeling that she’d put this examination off too long already, she reminded herself how easy it had been to be persuaded by a pediatrician who didn’t see anything drastically wrong. And by her own wish that Ben would catch up.

But facing a specialist who saw only kids with something more serious to consider than an ear infection or sore throat, it was all too easy to think she’d been wrong.

“Your son is well behind in development. Speech in particular, but also in general cognitive ability.” Dr. Cooper pulled out the folder and glanced again at some of her notes. She looked at it rather than at either of them. “And he doesn’t engage—by that I mean he isn’t interested in other people. He makes little or no eye contact, doesn’t interact even when invited to play.”

At last she looked up at them, but neither spoke. Talie waited, and so did Luke. The silence seemed to go on forever, like darkness during a sleepless night.

Finally the doctor spoke again. “He’s young yet, but old enough to be recognized, I believe, as autistic.”

Autistic.
Talie felt Luke reach for her hand. She registered nothing except the physical sensations that came with hearing a specialist tell her there was something wrong with her son: Her head felt instantly light, almost dizzy. Her throat dried, and the heavy weight in her stomach wrenched at her. If she stood she would fall, so she stayed put, even though what she wanted most was to scoop up Ben and flee somewhere. Anywhere but here. Take Ben and the new baby far, far away.

Lord God, what is happening? Are
You here? Can
You hear me? Tell me what’s happening.

She’d heard about those with autism, about those who were described as living in their own world, like a bubble they didn’t want to penetrate—or have anyone invade.

“But Ben likes to be around us.” Perhaps Talie could convince the doctor she was wrong. “He doesn’t want to be alone. He smiles all of the time.”

“I’m sure that’s true, Mrs. Ingram,” said the doctor, not before glancing down at the paperwork in her lap. Perhaps she’d forgotten their names and had to check before addressing Talie. “But at this point you need to be aware you’re not imagining his delays. He needs speech therapy, occupational therapy, perhaps some sensory integration therapy, as well as physical therapy. . . .” She went on, describing successes made in one-on-one teaching with autistic children that followed an intensive schedule and routine.

But Talie couldn’t listen. Somewhere during the course of advice she felt herself slip away. She looked at her son, giving him the only toy he loved, the one meant for infants instead of toddlers. He pushed the buttons. . . . Couldn’t the doctor see he did that right?

But it didn’t matter that a fifteen-month-old child who couldn’t walk or talk could play appropriately with a toy meant for a three-month-old.

All Talie heard was that word.
Autistic.

Then Luke was speaking in his normal, calm, intelligent voice, and she had to listen again.

“My wife is almost four months pregnant, Doctor. What are the chances of this baby being autistic too?”

The doctor looked at Talie. “You’re pregnant?”

Talie nodded. The loose cotton shirt she was wearing hid the slight protrusion in her middle. Talie felt the tingle of perspiration pop into her palms. She pulled away from Luke, unwilling for him to feel it.

Dr. Cooper jotted some notes, studied the other papers in the stack, and then looked at Talie again. “Are there any other kids in your family with learning disabilities? Or maybe an uncle somewhere along the way, one you thought was maybe a little slow, but otherwise okay?”

Talie couldn’t speak. Ellen Grayson came instantly to mind, a woman Talie had had no knowledge of before reading the family Bible. And Willie, Royboy, Percy . . . but they’d lived
generations
ago.

“I have an uncle who’s kind of strange,” Luke volunteered. He turned to Talie. “You know, my uncle Wade.” He addressed the doctor again. “He sold everything he owned to live in a van. Painted all the back windows black and is traveling the country somewhere, living out of that van.”

The doctor smiled, but the gesture looked shallow, polite. “At this point I’m more interested in Mrs. Ingram’s side of the family.” She looked back at Talie. “Is there anyone with delays or mental disabilities in your family?”

Talie knew what she should say. She should tell them. But the last known person in her family to suffer developmental delay had been dead for over sixty years. Talie had convinced herself Ellen’s condition could have nothing to do with Ben.

Talie shook her head. “Not in my immediate family. My sister and I are both fine.”

“Ben is the first grandchild born to your parents?”

She nodded.

“What about cousins or uncles?”

“I . . .” She started to tell her about Ellen Grayson, started to reveal everything. But her throat constricted, and she had to force out her words. “I have several cousins a little older than me and second cousins a bit younger. . . . They’re all fine. Just fine.”

The doctor scrawled a prescription and handed it to Talie. “This is an order for a blood test on Ben. I recommend that you stop by Dr. Benson’s office in the genetics department here at the hospital before you leave today.”

“Today?” Talie repeated, and her voice cracked. Hadn’t they been through enough already today?

“There are some disorders known to be genetic that can cause developmental delay. Since you’re pregnant, it would be best to eliminate all the worries.” She turned to Luke. “To answer your earlier question, Mr. Ingram . . .” She glanced again at the paperwork in her lap. “I should say,
Dr.
Ingram. I see the nurse wrote on your referral that you’re a PhD.”

“That’s right,” he said, “but I only use the title in business.”

“Well, at any rate,” Dr. Cooper went on, “they don’t know yet exactly what causes autism. Genetics might have something to do with it, and some families seem to have a somewhat higher risk of having multiple affected children, but it’s not dramatic in the occurrence of classic autism. My advice to both of you is to go home, engage your son as much as possible, love him, love him, love him, and don’t think about blood tests. I will add, Dr. Ingram, we have a lot of genes that we pass on to our children. Your son may not be able to present the level of intelligence you might hope for your offspring, but you’ll find he’s still your son. A diagnosis doesn’t change that.”

Though the doctor wasn’t speaking directly to her, Talie listened to every word, each spoken in a businesslike tone. Luke was smart; of course he expected to have smart children. What other genes meant as much as ones that had to do with the brain? What did this woman know about
anything
? It wasn’t her child who had just been given a life sentence.

Talie knew one thing. If Ben was autistic . . . or feebleminded . . . she knew through whom he’d inherited it.

Her.

A few minutes later they left the multistory medical building that housed some of the leading children’s experts in the state. Luke held Ben, and when they reached the car in the attached garage, he placed him in the car seat before sliding behind the wheel. Talie was already seated on the passenger side.

Luke sat still. He had the keys in his hand but didn’t put one in the ignition.

Talie waited.

“Was it just my imagination, or is that woman about as cold as a fish?”

Talie leaped on his bandwagon. Feeling anger toward the messenger was easier than facing the message itself. “How anyone can say ‘love him, love him, love him’ so many times without any warmth is beyond me.”

Talie put from her mind every name in the old family Bible, refused to think of any one of them. She turned around to check on Ben. He was already leaning back in his car seat. He hadn’t slept well the night before and would probably be asleep before they left the parking garage.

Luke started the engine but glanced at Talie before pulling out. “She could be wrong, you know. It’s not like there was a blood test with some kind of evidence. Autism is just her opinion.”

But Luke wasn’t dealing with all the facts. Maybe autism was more genetic than they thought. Maybe it could last through generation after generation.

“We’ll have to look up some facts on autism before we buy what she’s trying to sell. The Internet, books, maybe a second opinion.”

“Right,” Talie said and tried to summon a courageous smile but didn’t think she succeeded. The smile felt almost like a sneer.

Luke reached over to her lap and took one of her hands. “It doesn’t change anything, you know. He’s still Ben.”

Her heart squeezed with love, and she pinched her eyes shut. When she opened them again, she looked at Ben in the backseat, sitting so contentedly. “I know.”

“We’ll definitely get another opinion. I didn’t like her much anyway.”

Talie wanted to agree, wanted to say something���anything—to concur, but she bit her lip instead. Her voice would tremble, and the sound might break the dam holding back her tears.

Luke glanced at his watch. “Ben was the only one who had lunch back there. Are you hungry?”

The thought of food made her stomach lurch, but she knew she had to eat. She had another baby to think of, and besides, it might help to settle her thoughts if they went about their normal activities.

At least that was what she told herself.