Authors: Belva Plain
Caroline was feeling sick from the flicker of sun
and shade, from the swerve of the car as it sped through red curves and down gold-colored slopes, or perhaps it was simply the panic that sickened her, the terrifying thought that she was losing her mind—or to put it more politely, having a nervous breakdown.
Her hands were clasped tight in her lap. Every aching muscle in her shoulders was tense. She stared at the back of Joel’s head. He was looking out at the scenery, a blurred field skimming past, a wooden farmhouse and mild cows waiting at a gate, as if this ride and his place on the front seat were quite normal, as if this were a normal outing with family or friends who had a common past and a common destination. And she had a crazy wish to flee, to open the door of the car and leap out.
“It may seem immodest, though I hope you will take it as I mean it,” said the doctor, “to tell you that we people have brought new life to this town in more ways than one. The high school now has a teacher who was once a professor of ancient civilization in Heidelberg. We have a thriving little chamber music group. We have a cancer specialist from Vienna who commutes between our county hospital and the city, also a dermatologist, the first one Ivy has ever had, and then, if I may speak of myself, I, once a cardiologist abroad, am now an internist as well. I understand you’re a nurse, Miss Lore? I may call you that, may I? If you will call me Alfred, or even Al, in the informal American way. We all want to be as American as possible.”
“I have a first-class degree, Alfred. What I need is a license.”
“Ah, well, that will come. There will certainly be room for you in the county hospital. Meanwhile, we won’t let you starve, I promise.”
In the rearview mirror, Caroline saw again the man’s reassuring smile. You could see the kindness in him. Maybe she should speak to him of her despair. He was different from those good people in Brooklyn; that, too, was plain to see. The environment that had made her what she was would be familiar to him; he would understand her.
He said now, “To me, it’s always a happy thing to see a young couple in love and already starting a baby, a new life. It’s nature’s way.” And then, no doubt having seen Caroline’s face in the mirror, he added quickly, “I’m sorry. Is it a secret? Was I not supposed to know?”
Just as quickly, Joel turned to face her. “I told Alfred when I asked him not to drive too fast. It’s my fault.”
Why did he have to be so—so possessive? Clumsy fool, playing the loving husband!
“It’s all right,” she said very calmly. “Sooner or later everyone will know, anyway.”
Lore put her hand on Caroline’s. The hand was warm and strong. Lore alone was familiar and steady. But if Lore should die …
Silently, attached by their hands, each watched the scene run past; now farms and vineyards were interspersed
with roadside stands; then came a canning factory and a small farm machinery outlet. Finally, they were in the scattered outskirts of a town.
Joel read the sign aloud: “Welcome to Ivy.” And the doctor, with hearty emphasis, repeated it, adding descriptions as they progressed: “Main Street. Practically everything you’d ever need is on this one street. There’s Berman’s Department Store. It has clothes and housewares, even some furniture. Fred’s father had a place like that in Austria, so he grew up knowing the business. He’s doing nicely, considering that we’re only now starting to come out of the Depression, and there still are a lot of men without jobs. Here’s the Great War memorial. It’s strange to think that my father fought on the other side. There’s the library. Wonderful that the smallest towns in this country can have a public library. Really wonderful.”
To Caroline, the scene was monotonous and drab. These wooden structures were insubstantial, as if it were a cardboard village for children’s play. Yet a cardboard village would have a backdrop of mountains, snowcapped or green. It would have a duck pond and window boxes with bright flowers—
“So! Here we are. Sycamore Street, number seventeen. Home! They’re all waiting for you.”
Several cars were parked in front of a narrow gray house that needed new paint. It had a rickety front porch and a scrap of unkempt lawn, both in contrast to the fresh lace curtains in the upstairs windows.
“I see that Emmy finished the curtains,” said the doctor. “She swore she’d have them ready and hung by the time you arrived.” He swung about in the seat to face Lore and Caroline. “The house belongs to Gertrude Fredericks. Used to be Friedrichs, but she anglicized the name. She’s a widow. Emmy says she seems like a pleasant woman and keeps a clean house. The second floor’s been made into a nice apartment. Plenty of room, and you will have use of the yard, which will be good when the baby comes. You’ll get along fine with Gertrude and Vicky. Victorine, she’s twelve, Gertrude’s niece. Well, you’ll set everything straight for yourselves in no time, I’m sure.”
Joel, obviously impatient, had already gotten out of the car and was lifting the luggage from the trunk.
“He takes charge, doesn’t he?” Lore whispered to Caroline. “He always does. Haven’t you noticed?” She approved.
Of course Caroline had noticed that about him. But it was of no importance. She followed the short procession into the house and up yet another flight of narrow stairs. And climbing, as her hand slid up along the banister, she watched the pale gleam of the ring, that sliver of gold that legitimized the growing life below her ribs. She was trapped.
In the front room waiting for them were four women and a girl, although, when she recalled it later, it had seemed as if there were many more. There had been all those voices, talking at once in
German, in English, then back again, babbling with Lore. There had been much noisy, cheerful laughter, embraces, tears, and questions. The women showed them through the rooms, revealing their labor: the curtains, the new carpet, the kitchen wallpaper in red and white with matching red teakettle, the radio, the three easy chairs, the cupboard with shelves for books, and even some books already provided. Everything was either new, or carefully, lovingly refurbished. The little bedroom with its single bed, flowered spread, and carefully painted blue-framed mirror was for Lore. Then they entered the “big bedroom,” which, not much larger than the first, was chiefly filled by a huge, carved walnut bed.
“We brought it with us when we came here,” Alfred Schulman explained. “It was in Emmy’s family, and we didn’t want to leave it behind, although we had our own bed. So now it will have good use again.” His smile beamed. “A real European marriage bed, feather quilt and all. New feathers, of course.”
Flushed with a humiliation that must be hidden, Caroline looked at him. No, he would never do as a confidant or adviser. Doctor or not, he was merely a good-hearted man who would have foolish platitudes to offer.
He resumed, talking to the air. “They have been married only a few months, so this is practically their honeymoon. Their honeymoon house.”
Joel, with his back to them all, stood looking out
onto the yard. The women smiled nervously at Caroline, meaning to say that they sympathized with her modest embarrassment.
They were so warmhearted, so extraordinary, these good women who had made this home for strangers, and Caroline was grateful. Yet she was beginning to feel tired of having to be grateful. How right was that old saying about how much better it is to give than to receive!
Emmy, who was obviously the leader of the group, said now, “Well, we’ll be leaving you. You’ve all had a long ride on the train and a long day. If there’s anything you need, I’m sure Gertrude will come right up and help.”
Gertrude was a heavy woman with dull-blond hair drawn back into a strict bun. The girl, Vicky, would be heavy, too, someday, when she had passed first through a voluptuous youth. Both of them had prominent, glassy gray eyes and wet, pursed lips. They looked like fish. The other women, Emmy and Fanny and Mae, were cows, benign and solid. It was queer that you could have such weird, awful thoughts while in the very same moment you knew how weird and awful they were. Perhaps she really was going to lose her mind.
She stood bewildered in the center of the room when they had left. “I don’t feel that anything is real,” she said.
Joel, turning from the window, answered quietly,
“It’s because you’re tired and afraid. You’re not losing your mind, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
How could he have guessed that?
Lore agreed. “Of course. You’re simply tired. Why don’t you go to bed? I’ll fix some soup and bring it to you. They’ve stocked the pantry very well, I see.”
“I’ll sleep here on the sofa,” Joel said. “Then Lore can have the room intended for her, and you can have yours to yourself, Caroline.”
To this, although the idea of sharing a bed with Lore was not very welcome, she protested. “It’s not fair to you. It’s wrong.”
“It’s fair and it’s right,” he said cheerfully. “I’ve slept on far worse than this new sofa.”
T
HE
room, when Caroline awoke, was dark except for a thin slice of light that struck through the space where the door had been left ajar. The sheets were slippery smooth and smelled of potpourri. There was a little bowl of pompon chrysanthemums on the bedside table. Somewhere a dog gave the complaining bark of one that has been let out and forgotten. She must get up and let Peter in. From nearby, Father and Mama were talking in their room. They must not have heard him.
But no, these voices were only Lore’s and Joel’s. Ah, God, only Lore’s and Joel’s. Close your eyes again. Turn back the calendar, Caroline. You are in your old room. You have lain in Walter’s arms. You
are going to go away together, and you are both so happy. Remember the feeling, the warmth and the start of laughter.…
In the front room the voices stopped. The floor creaked. That was Lore going to bed. Then the light vanished. Joel had gone to bed. So now they were three. Why do things that come in threes seem to stick in your head? Three little maids from school, or three men in a tub? Miss Fawcett, the English governess, had a little rhyme: “The rule of three doth puzzle me.” So here we are, this curious company: an unemployed man, a desperate pregnant woman, and another woman with cancer of the jaw.
Oh, Caroline, whatever has happened to your life?
“P
AIN
?” Lore’s cheek was very slightly swollen. “Oh, quite some, but it’s not unbearable,” she said.
Of course, it was like her not to complain. Unconquerable as always, she sat at the breakfast table, checking yet another list out loud.
“Unpacking
. Finished. There’s nice closet space. It’s a joke, considering that all we own fills two trunks.
Location of market
. It’s two streets over, across Main Street, Gertrude says. But we don’t need to go yet. Those women bought perishables enough, milk and eggs, to last out the week.
Letters to the Sandlers and Schmidts
. I woke up before six this morning and took care of those.”
“I hope you didn’t write to the Schmidts about—about Joel, did you?”
“About your marriage, you mean?”
The word “marriage” made Caroline wince. It sounded like a taunt, although it certainly had not been intended that way. But she wished Lore wouldn’t use it so often.
“If, by some turn of good luck, they should find Father and Mama,” Caroline said, “I wouldn’t want them to learn about what’s happened from anyone but me.”
“I haven’t said, and I won’t say, a word.”
“I need to explain it myself.” As if the whole grotesque affair could ever be properly explained to people like Father and Mama!
And yet, if she could only be sure of seeing them again, what would that matter?
“Well, that covers everything I can think of right now,” Lore said. She looked at her watch and stood up. “Ten past eight. I’d better get a move on. Dr. Schulman—Alfred—I can’t get used to this intimacy—Alfred has really gone out of his way for me, hasn’t he? Taking the day away from his office and driving me all the way to Buffalo. And the specialist has squeezed an appointment in for me, with no charge, besides. These people are wonderful.”
Caroline, almost afraid to touch the subject, could not help but ask how soon they would know.
“The biopsy? It can be rushed through. When I get back tonight, I’m sure we’ll know.”
Bravely, Lore was going about the fateful visit, adjusting her hat and pulling on her gloves. Her clothes, provided by Mama, were stylish enough, and yet she was dowdy, her lipstick too bright and her stockings the wrong color. She was awkward. And as always, Caroline thought: Lore doesn’t deserve what life has given, or failed to give her. And surely she doesn’t deserve what’s happening to her now.
Her eyes were starting to fill, so she turned away, murmuring, “I wish you would let me go with you.”
“No reason to. You stay here and relax, if you can. By the way, Joel went out early to see that Italian baker about a job. If he should come back, there’s stuff for a sandwich in the meat drawer. Well, I’ll go down and wait in front of the house.”
A sandwich. She makes it sound like a wifely responsibility for me. But I am not a wife. This is not a family. This is an insane dream.
Now there was the whole long day to be gotten through with nothing to do and nothing to think of except negatives. She stood at the window until Lore had driven away. Then she went to the shelf and chose a book that seemed interesting, but finding no interest in it, put it back. Clearly she was in no mood for books. She was a clock that has run down. No, she was a clock whose gears have gone berserk, so that it keeps striking the hour long after the hour has passed.
She took a hat from the closet. Then, remembering
that it was autumn and one didn’t wear a straw hat whatever the weather, she replaced it. With a brown felt hat on her head—not the dark blue because in the autumn one never wore navy blue—she went downstairs and out into the street.
There was no one in sight except a horse-drawn milk wagon at the corner. Children were in school, women were doing their housework, and men were at their jobs. She ought to think about finding a job, although she had no idea what she was fitted for or what the town offered. The best way to find out, then, was to look for herself.