The Great Plains (6 page)

December, 1886 – Dallas, Texas

During the birth, as Aloysius waited, Philomena was escorted into the sitting room from somewhere in the asylum. Aloysius thought of the creaking boards he'd stepped upon on entry that very day and the silence that graced this creature's tread. She waited patiently by the bedroom door, flanked by a nurse and a grim-faced male attendant, whom Aloysius had seen stalking the halls of the asylum on previous visits. Gone was the green silk and dressed hair. In its place was a plain blouse and an ankle-skimming brown skirt. During his numerous visits to the asylum, Aloysius never again saw her in the green silk gown. Curiously, he was glad to see her dressed in simple clothing; it suited Philomena and, if anything, only accentuated her natural beauty. She no longer hissed and spat in his presence but nor did she acknowledge him. Aloysius may well have not been there.

Following their initial meeting five weeks earlier, Aloysius had returned daily to the asylum in the hopes that regular contact might awaken some memory within his brother's child. He was loath to accept the doctor's prognosis and wary of being too hasty in making an irrevocable decision, but the odds weighed heavily in the doctor's favour. There had been little change in Philomena's disposition. While the great fury that had so engulfed her on their first meeting had abated, she remained indifferent to him and had continued to behave oddly. For the duration of each visit she would spend most of the time standing and staring out of the window – one hour, two hours, it made little difference. Regardless of whether Aloysius spent the time talking about her family or reading aloud from a book, Philomena remained disinterested. Her silent vigil was punctuated by a mournful wailing that sounded much like a funeral dirge. At her feet sat her daughter, her hand resting on her mother's foot, like a dog beside its master.

Finally the bedroom door was opened and the nurse entered, leaving him alone with Philomena and a male attendant. Aloysius noticed the pull of material on his niece's arm where she was held in a tight grip. ‘Have you noticed any improvement in my niece?'

The attendant turned to face him and Aloysius noticed the three red welts that ran across the man's cheek. The marks were fresh. ‘Been with the Injuns too long, this one has, sir. If you don't mind me saying so, she should be with the rest of the lunatics, not taking up space in this here room that's meant for them that appreciate quality care.'

‘Actually, I do mind you saying that,' Aloysius replied stiffly.

‘Didn't mean no offence, sir.'

Philomena was watching Aloysius and mumbling under her breath. For a fleeting moment her features appeared to soften but then it was as if a shadow passed overhead and her gaze grew challenging. Aloysius wondered if some sort of hex had been placed upon him and he shivered at the thought. Then the door opened. He caught a whiff of something raw and pungent.

‘Bring her,' a nurse directed.

The attendant pushed Philomena into the bedroom and shut the door before slumping onto the settee. ‘Must be hard after waiting so long to see one of your kin like that. Them Injuns did a right job on her, eh? And your niece being so comely and all, well, it must be hard, is all I'm saying.' He stretched a thick arm across the back of the settee. ‘If she could talk, eh? Well, wouldn't that be something. To know what Geronimo was like, a real live war chief and all. You know they say he hung a young white girl by the base of her skull on a meat hook. Was all over the papers, my mother tells me … Guess you're not one for conversation, eh? Well, I wouldn't be either, under the circumstances.'

Outside the pale day drifted into a dreary late afternoon. It was not a pleasant aspect. The trees blotted out the remnants of the winter sun and the altered shapes of the garden lengthened and moved in the lifting wind. Philomena's daughter began to scream, waking the sleeping attendant and causing the doctor's voice to rise in protest.

‘Never heard a person scream like that,' the attendant said uneasily.

Aloysius stretched out one leg and then the other. The sitting room was cold and ill-lit, his sense of discomfort heightened.

The attendant leant forward. ‘Some of them Injuns scream to keep evil away. Do you think that's what she's doing?'

Aloysius looked blankly at the man sitting opposite. He knew nothing of their customs.

‘They have Injun medicine men, I know that, so maybe there's a woman that should be here for woman's business.'

Eventually the girl's screams became intermittent, peppered with moans of exhaustion. Aloysius began to wonder at the length of the procedure. Philomena's presence clearly did not serve to quiet the girl and when a nurse appeared to fetch bandages, he bade her to tell the doctor to give the girl laudanum. The woman barely acknowledged him and instead returned from the bedroom with Philomena in tow.

His niece was red of eye, expressionless.

Aloysius stood. ‘Is everything all right, my dear?' he enquired automatically.

The nurse looked at Aloysius as if he were an idiot. The waiting attendant was on his feet immediately. Roughly grasping Philomena by her arms, he marched her out into the hallway where she was locked in a room across the passage. The nurse returned to the bedroom.

Aloysius was left alone. He wondered, not for the first time, if he had made the right decision keeping Annie and the rest of the family away. Not even his old friend Clarence Hocking had been permitted to meet Philomena. Aloysius couldn't see the point of submitting his niece to the scrutiny of strangers, especially when she'd made such little progress since her arrival in Dallas. She was not some kind of side-show freak. Indeed, he had a grudging respect for the woman who now inhabited his niece's body. She was proud and beautiful. She had learnt to adapt in a strange world and had found an inner strength to do so. Yet the great tragedy was that his brother's daughter, Ginny's girl, had been lost in the process. Sometimes, in the moments when Philomena and he were alone, usually just before he left the asylum, she would look at him and he would be reminded of Ginny and a youth lost. His regret and guilt were of equal proportion when he remembered Ginny and realised with some shock that his feelings for Ginny were morphing into her daughter. He didn't want to let Philomena go.

Now here he was acting the part of the great-great-uncle standing in for the great-grandparents who couldn't be present for the birth of the newest addition to the Wade family. It was preposterous. There was no need for him to bear witness to Philomena's disastrous legacy. Annie had told him the very same thing and yet he felt obliged to be present for the child's birth, believing it his duty to both support Philomena and to do what Ginny would have expected of him.

There was a single electric lamp burning on the table and he realised sleep had overtaken him. Some hours had passed. His limbs were chilled and his patience eroded. Hunger verged on nausea. A thumping noise from across the hallway jolted him as a rush of words in the Indian tongue sounded loudly. It was Philomena. His niece's yells became more desperate and were joined by other inmates, then suddenly there was silence.

In the stillness that followed, mewling, much like a cat, carried from the bedroom. Harry Fitzgerald appeared at the bedroom door to advise that the baby was a girl and seemed to be quite normal.

‘Normal?' Aloysius repeated, staring at the dark blood splattering the doctor's white gown.

‘Providence is indeed with us, Mr Wade, for the child is not Indian in appearance at all. This is a boon for one and all, and worth consideration.'

Aloysius failed to grasp what the doctor alluded to. ‘I don't understand, Harry.'

‘The child is white. There is no sign, indeed no trace of an Indian heritage.'

Aloysius's brow creased.

The doctor gave a brief nod of understanding. ‘I know this is difficult to comprehend. I know this is unexpected, but it would seem that the Wade likeness, the Wade breeding, has come to the fore. You have a healthy baby girl, Mr Wade. The nurse will bring her out directly.' Myriad thoughts rushed through Aloysius's mind. He walked cautiously to the bedroom, aware of the time already passed. There was a stink of blood in the freezing room and, although a clean sheet covered the new mother, messy rags were piled on a table. The doctor, bloodied to the elbows, was washing in a basin, the nurse fussing with the crying child. It was then Aloysius realised that the girl was dead. A stain of blood seeped through the sheet covering the girl's body. Her wrists were tied to the bedpost and a gag shoved in her mouth. Through the walls Aloysius believed he could hear Philomena wail. He watched as the baby was swaddled and then stood awkwardly, arms outstretched, as the bony-fingered nurse handed the child to him. With trepidation, he grasped the warm bundle to his chest and looked down at Philomena's grandchild. The baby was indeed quite ‘normal' in appearance. Pulling away the swaddling material, he admired the snow-white of the baby's skin, counted the perfectly formed fingers and toes and finally a smile crossed his features. His brother's great-granddaughter had china-blue eyes and wispy, silver-blonde hair. She was simply exquisite. Here, then, was his dead brother's legacy, here was Joseph's blood, his as well.

‘A breech birth,' Harry advised. ‘Unfortunately a messy end, complicated by her ranting.' He dried his hands on a towel. ‘It was either save one or the other, not both. I didn't trouble you by asking the obvious.'

‘Yes, of course,' Aloysius replied vaguely.

Harry laid a hand on his shoulder. ‘It is hard for the God-fearing man in us, Mr Wade, for the Bible says that we are all created equal.'

‘You best call me Aloysius,' he answered, aware of an unexpected complicity between them. The doctor had made the choice of who would live and who would die and Aloysius wholeheartedly agreed with the decision. He turned his back firmly to the body on the bed. ‘She does look normal.'

‘Yes, quite normal, Aloysius, a pleasing result.' Harry gave a weak smile.

The phrase reminded Aloysius of a successful horse purchase or positive monthly sales figures.

‘You may have, by all intents, lost a beloved niece, Aloysius, but if you and your good wife are willing, I firmly believe that you can salvage something from Philomena's misfortune.'

Aloysius looked from the baby in his arms to the doctor.

‘The child is clearly white,' Harry continued, resting a blood-rimmed fingernail against the child's cheek. ‘She is of Wade blood. Granted, there is some dilution circulating through the child but there is no reason not to assume that she would not assimilate into society with ease. Nature versus nurture, Aloysius. The ongoing debate of whether an individual is formed by birth-right or upbringing is most definitely leaning towards nurture. This baby will be moulded by her environment. Your environment.'

The baby was asleep in his arms. Aloysius was surprised by the feeling of tenderness that rose in his breast as he digested Harry's words. ‘I'm not sure that my wife would agree to such an undertaking and then there is the simple fact that we are unprepared for such a task, not to mention the responsibility. Annie and I are no longer young. Our own family is fully grown. My daughters have children of their own.'

‘Wet-nurses and nannies can be engaged, Aloysius, but those concerns aside only you can decide whether the child should be returned to the bosom of her family.' Harry paused. ‘Your family.'

Aloysius didn't reply immediately. He walked out to the adjoining room and stood before the barred window, the baby heavy in his arms. A weak light was just beginning to streak the sky. The doctor was talking to one of the nurses. Aloysius heard the words ‘undertaker' and ‘wet-nurse' mentioned in the same sentence; life and death colliding at the start of a new day.

Harry came to stand by his side. ‘Aloysius, I can assure you that the baby will be placed in a good home. A white home, should you decide otherwise.'

‘I thought that Philomena …' His words trailed into silence.

‘There is no question of the baby returning to the reservation with her grandmother.'

‘Of course not.' Aloysius took a breath. What was he thinking? He could hardly give the baby to another family to rear. The doctor was right. Philomena's grandchild was quite clearly white. There was no reason not to take her home. ‘I'll take the child,' he said brusquely.

‘Good, I'll arrange a wet-nurse and one of the nurses will call on you later in the morning with some initial supplies for the child.' Harry cupped the baby's head with his hand. ‘You have made the right decision.'

Aloysius pressed his lips together. ‘I hope so.' His thoughts turned to his wife as he thanked the doctor and walked out into the empty hall.

‘If you wait, we'll fetch a basket for the child.' Harry instructed a nurse to find something suitable as Aloysius paused outside Philomena's room. A light shone beneath the door. Although he couldn't hear anything, Aloysius knew that the child's grandmother was standing on the opposite side of the door.

‘Here you are, sir.' A nurse appeared at his side. Taking the baby from his arms, she nestled the child in the basket sitting on the floor and then handed him the carrier.

Aloysius gripped the woven handle.

‘She's very serene,' the nurse cooed, fidgeting with the baby to ensure she was well covered.

‘Indeed. Thank you.' Aloysius waited until the woman left. He lingered briefly outside Philomena's door. He felt like a thief, yet if he could he would see Ginny's girl one last time … He wanted to leave with the image of Philomena cradling the child, of Ginny holding Philomena. Aloysius knew that his niece didn't belong in his world and he was reconciled to her leaving, to her returning to the reservation, but that did not make the moment any easier. Harry had been convincing in his arguments. He had taken the very worst of a situation and turned it around. The end result was proper, acceptable. Ginny and Joseph would be both delighted and relieved that the baby was to be returned to her rightful place in the Wade family, and Aloysius could only hope that Annie and the rest of his family supported his decision, for it had not been made lightly.