Authors: June Ahern
“
Ah, dinner’s ready. What a good wife you are,” he said slurring the last two words together.
Cathy abruptly slammed down a plate on the table, sending the peas and potatoes flying up in the air.
“What the bloody hell!” Jimmy exclaimed.
“
Daddy, please,” Annie said calmly as she rose to pull out her father’s chair at the head of the table for him to sit.
He stumbled over and plunked down heavily, rocking the water glasses on the table. Dave immediately started a conversation with him about baseball. The topic helped to lighten the tension while dinner was eaten.
Cathy sat in silence, her face as white as her best tablecloth spread across the dining room table. With her head hanging low, she pushed her food around her plate. She chastised herself for not leaving him.
She raised her head to the sounds of clinking spoons and requests to pass the milk or sugar. A cup of steaming black tea appeared in front of her. Annie smiled down at her mother as she placed a slice of cake next to her tea. Cathy saw Annie nudge Dave with her elbow as she sat back down next to him.
Dave smoothed back his hair, cleared his throat and sputtered forth, “Umm, Mr. MacDonald. Annie and me, we…umm…would like to get married, sir. If that’s okay with you, sir.”
Somewhat sobered by the food, Jimmy carefully placed his cup down onto the saucer before speaking.
“You seem like a good enough young man. It’s just that you’re both too young. You’re no ready for marriage.”
Cathy saw her daughter
’s jaw clench, grinding her teeth. “We are ready, Daddy,” Annie said, her hands balled into tight fists.
Dave placed a hand over hers and spoke to Jimmy.
“Mr. MacDonald, I’ve been accepted into the Police Academy. I’m going to make decent money.”
“Will you
become a Catholic?” Jimmy asked.
Dave raised his eyebrows.
“I’m not really a religious kind of person, Mr. MacDonald. So, why lie? But I’ve already agreed our children will be baptized Catholic, if that helps.”
“We’re getting married, and that’s that,” Annie said wrapping her arms around her midriff and looking sternly at her father.
“
Over my dead body will I give you permission to marry,” Jimmy blared.
Annie
’s response was sharp. “You’ve got no control over this. I’m nineteen, I don’t need your permission.”
“I’ll no bless your marriage,” said Jimmy, fiercely.
“
Since when did you ever thank me for anything I’ve done for this family? I don’t need your blessing either!” Annie said furiously.
Abruptly, father and daughter stood up, squaring off. Annie
’s face had become as red as her father’s. Dave stood next to her. Mary silently sneaked out of the room.
“
Out of my house!” Jimmy demanded, pointing toward the direction of the front door.
“
You’ll not throw out another one, Jimmy MacDonald! I’ll not have it,” Cathy spoke up. To the young couple she said, “You have my blessing.”
Jimmy
’s beady eyes peered into his wife’s face. He threw his hands up in the air. “I wash my hands of all of you. Get married and have a load of wee bastards.”
Dave tugged Annie
’s hand to pull her from the room. Before budging, Annie said, “Mom?”
Cathy told them to leave.
When the room was cleared, she spoke. “I’ve had it. You’re killing me.”
“
Me? It’s your whore daughters,” Jimmy said cynically.
Ignoring his insult, Cathy said,
“First, it’s my baby locked up for months in that nut house! Then my Maggie and now Annie. Who do you think you are, throwing them out? It’s my house, too!” she said hotly. The memory of that struggle was still fresh in her mind.
Maggie had come to her mother in late September to confess that she was four months pregnant and Tim was the father. After the shock, Cathy assured her eighteen-year-old daughter they’d work something out. Finding the courage to tell Jimmy, her worst fears were realized.
Jimmy ranted and raved about ho
w sex before marriage was a sin and about the horrible shame of having a baby with a colored boy. When he insisted on speaking with Tim’s father, Maggie reluctantly gave him the telephone number. After a curt introduction, he got to the purpose of the call, only to learn Tim’s father was equally upset. He told Jimmy that his son would be attending the University of California at Berkeley and marriage was out of the question, especially to a white girl. After Jimmy slammed down the phone, he turned on Maggie and threw her out of the house by the scruff of her neck. When Cathy objected, he yelled, “You condone her having a bastard child?”
Cathy
’s answer was to grab a coat off a peg in the hallway and join her daughter outside. Together they went to the Callaghans where Sadie and Bernice welcomed Maggie into their home. Later, when Maggie calmed down, they helped her find an apartment.
Jimmy slurped his tea as Cathy gathered dishes off the table. S
he could not calm her seething emotions. Her voice echoed in the spacious room. “What kind of father are you to abandon your daughters when they need you the most?”
Her comment startled him.
“What a joke, coming from you. Going to bed every time there’s a problem and leaving me to manage the girls.”
She jabbed a finger up to his face.
“Don’t you dare judge me. You, get out of the house.”
With his face menacingly close to hers, he said with measured words,
“I worked for this house. It’s mine. All of it, mine!”
“
I’m not yours. No, never was I yours,” Cathy answered him through clenched teeth.
“I married you
, even knowing I was getting a whore,” Jimmy said cruelly.
“
And I’m going to bring June home, whether you like it or not. What drove her to madness was you and me denying her the truth. I believe she is fey. I know it,” she said in a trembling voice.
“
Women! Bah! Crazy lot. Burn them at birth!” Jimmy yelled as he banged out of the room and up the stairs.
Cathy finished picking up the dishes and moved toward the kitchen. The light of the moon caught her attention. She placed the dishes on the kitchen counter and walked through the back porch and out under the October sky.
The night air was brisk and refreshing. The illuminated moon was more than a half circle. In a couple of days it would be swollen to its fullness. The scent of a neighbor’s burning wood fireplace drifted through the air. The branches of the large tree in their yard moved as a cat jumped onto the roof of the porch. She thought of the time when she had stood on a hilltop making a wish for the future. If there was ever a time to fortify that desire, it was now.
Cathy carefully unhooked her nylons from the garter belt and folded them inside her slippers. She unbuttoned her blouse and let it slip to the ground. She tugged at her skirt and let it fall, too. Her bra and panties swiftly joined the other pieces on the ground. Naked to the celestial skies, she stood with her arms outstretched to the pale orb above her. With the grit of a warrior going to battle, she cast her spell.
“Mother Moon, goddess of wisdom, insight and love. Great Calleach and Juno, goddesses of power. I call upon you to stand by my side as I manifest a loving healing within my family. Blessed be, so mote it be.”
* * * * *
THE WISE MAN
THE BUS RIDE from
Eureka Valley to Russian Hill was an anxious journey for Cathy. She was worried about her meeting with Dr. Weissman. Would he really understand June, or would he scoff at her as so many others had?
The nippy Fall morning reminded her of the many times June had rushed into the house after school, with cheeks rosy from the crisp weather, red hair sprouting in every directi
on, blue eyes dancing with life and full of tales about school. As quickly as she had entered, she would run off to play with Brian. Now that seemed so long ago.
Catching a reflection of herself in the window, Cathy patted down the powder-blue
pillbox hat and noted how worn-out she looked for her forty-four-years. Even with her best woolen jacket and a new hat, she was uncertain if she was presentable enough to visit Pacific Heights, one of San Francisco’s upper-class neighborhoods.
“
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Cathy gasped for breath as she reached the front door of Dr. Weissman’s apartment building, perched on top of Hyde and Lombard Streets. Afraid of being late, she had opted to doggedly climb the steep hills instead of waiting for the cable car, all the time cursing her decision to wear high heels.
Finding Dr. J. Weissman
’s name on the list of occupants on the callbox outside his building, she pressed the button to ring his apartment. A moment later, a loud buzz indicated the door had been unlocked and she could enter. The elevator ride was a quick, smooth ride up to the doctor’s fourth-floor home office. On his door was a large brass bull’s head knocker. Cathy laughed, lifted its nose ring and banged down sharply. Before her hand came to rest, the door was flung open. An elderly man with a face decorated with many deeply grooved lines stood before her. Thick-lensed horn-rimmed glasses magnified his lively brown eyes. A pleasant smile framed by a pencil thin mustache and a sparse gray goatee gave him a positively impish appearance. She could see Dr. Jacob Weissman, a small man stooped with age, was full of robust life.
She would have laughed at this delightfully cheerful-looking old man if she hadn
’t known of his importance. Nurse Morales had said Dr. Weissman was an esteemed psychiatrist, whose long career had included being chief of psychiatry at Langley Porter at the University of California, San Francisco. He had also written a book on schizophrenia and sat on several prestigious boards of directors for organizations dealing with the advancement of treatment for mental disorders.
“
Mrs. MacDonald, I assume?” he said with a lilt of laughter.
She smiled broadly and nodded slightly, not wanting to upset her hat.
“Please come in,” he said stepping aside.
Cathy entered a long hallway, painted a deep red. The walls were covered with colorful artwork. She wanted to stop and enjoy them, but was shy about taking up the doctor
’s time. He motioned her in the direction of a soft light shining at the end of the hallway, which led to a spacious living room. Her high heels sank into a luxurious Oriental carpet with brilliant yellow flowers woven throughout. A sleek Siamese cat curled in the center of a red velvet ottoman opened a lazy eye, then faded back to sleep in the warmth of the sun. The beautiful room was an uplifting delight for Cathy.
The doctor took
a pile of magazines off a dark brown, leather chair. “I’ll be right with you,” he said, as he scurried out of the room.
Cathy stood facing a floor-to-ceiling picture
window. She stepped over to it and was awestruck by the spectacular panoramic view spread out beneath her. The late October dew clung to the buildings, glistening in the sunlight. The sapphire blue sky, patched with billowy clouds, matched the blue of the shimmering bay waters. Above the water, towered the majestic Golden Gate Bridge. The orange paint on the bridge reminded Cathy of the day her family had first crossed the bridge ten years ago. She remembered being surprised to find out it wasn’t gold. She thought back to the day the gypsy had predicted she’d cross a bridge of gold to live in a faraway place. The gypsy had been right about crossing the bridge, although Cathy didn’t pay heed. At the time, she was still a young woman full of romantic notions of living with a handsome, loving husband in a wee cottage in the Highlands.
A flock of birds flew by. One straggled behind, before disappearing into a fluffy cloud. The others flew on, across the bridge and toward the Marin Headlands. Cathy felt sad for the slower bird. She wanted to call out to the flock to wait. The birds and the clouds brought an image of Helen. She pined for her dead child. Didn
’t I fly away from her in search of some peace of mind? She reproached herself. Tears glistened in her eyes. Her breath became ragged as she struggled to hold back the tears.
“
Here we go.” Dr. Weissman’s voice startled her.
Embarrassed he
’d see her teary eyes, she spoke to him over her shoulder. “This view is so very beautiful.”
After a few moments, she turned to find a silver tray sitting on the oval coffee table. It held a white teapot decorated with pale pink roses and two matching cups.
“Tea?” he asked.
“
Please,” she said eyeing the platter of assorted cookies and feeling hunger pangs. She nodded “yes” to some cream and settled into a chair, eager to enjoy a cup of hot tea.
Dr. Weissman first poured a thick cream into a cup and then added the steaming black tea, blending the liquids into a perfect light brown.
Picking up silver tongs, he asked, “Sugar?”
Cathy enjoyed the familiar ritual.
“Two, please,” she said, relaxing her tightly crossed ankles and hands.