Clara Callan (44 page)

Love, Evelyn

P.S. If you really do want another abortion, I’ll phone friends in New York and see what I can do, but I’m not too hopeful.

Sick this morning. Vomited copiously, as one ancient writer put it. Pepys? Boswell? de Quincey? Coleridge? Walked through the hours of this day as if in a dream. Milton in his office listening to the radio. Italy and France are close to war and he thinks Britain will be dragged in and us with them. He follows every turn of the screw over there and seems very excited by the possibility of war.

When all is said and done, I have only three choices.

1. See Milton within the next few days and ask for a year off. Bad nerves and so on. He’ll be flustered by the suggestion, but he might
   go along to the board and plead my case. I will probably fool no one with this gambit. Go to Toronto or Hamilton or Timbuktu and talk to the Salvation Army. Find a place to live and some temporary work. What? Have the child and give it up for adoption. Return to the smirks and gossip and carry on with the rest of my life. Would the board rehire me? Surely they would have to if there were no proof of moral turpitude? What about the house? It would have to stand empty for a year; I couldn’t bear the thought of someone else living in it, though the money would be useful.
   
2. Throw myself on Nora’s mercy and see if she can arrange something in New York. Get it over with as soon as possible.
   
3. Declare my condition to this small world. It won’t matter whom I tell because it will soon be widespread news. A match to dry grass, etc. I will almost certainly lose my job, and how then will I support myself? With Father’s bonds, I probably have enough for a year or maybe two if I am very careful. Could move away, I suppose, but where to? Hate the thought of giving up my home, the house I love, my refuge . . . I will be vilified by many. There will perhaps be a few sympathetic voices: Joe Morrow, the Brydens, Marion (once she overcomes her astonishment), poor Helen Jackson, Milton(?).
   

Dear Nora,

Please secure yourself in a chair and try not to scream as you read this. In plain words, I am pregnant again. Damn it and damn it again. I didn’t mean for this to happen, but it has. I was foolish and careless and now I have to face the music. Don’t we always? I’m not sure what to do about it. I should have written you before this, but I am so ashamed of my stupidity that I have simply spent the time stewing. Sorry to bear such news. As the saying goes, I am at a loss.

Clara

Awakened before five o’clock and by six I was walking along the railway tracks. A fresh morning and sunlight low across the fields. A red-winged blackbird swaying on last year’s cattail in a gully. It was nearly three years ago today and so I stood in the spot where it happened. Or where I think it happened. It could have been a few feet either way. Who can be absolutely certain in a field of grass? Where are you now, Charlie? Still careening through life with your wide-mouthed monkey grin, your hard, soiled hands and jokes? Still wreaking havoc on the lives of others? A man who deals in sorrow. Charlie, the griefmonger!

When I got home I thought of driving over to Linden to phone Nora. She would be home today, and she will not yet have received my letter. But I couldn’t summon the heart to do it. “Why what a coward am I/ Who calls me fool,” etc., etc.

Marion and I went down to the asylum to visit Helen Jackson. Marion was abashed by the sight of the human wreckage around us; the frog woman especially fascinated and repelled her. “Golly, look at her” and so on. Helen Jackson was sitting on a bench under a tree reading a novel by Taylor Caldwell. She seemed distracted. Remarks came out of nowhere and were unconnected to anything. She said her husband would have visited today, but he must keep Saturdays free to prepare his sermons. The pale abstracted beauty of her face. The small hands clasping the book in her lap. A young woman appeared and stood leaning against a tree with her arms across her chest watching us. Cropped brown hair and startlingly angry eyes, a feral-looking creature on sturdy farm girl’s legs. “That’s Freda,” Helen whispered. “Don’t look her way.” After a while, however, the girl approached and stood a few feet from us. Marion didn’t know what to make of her and looked off instead at
an old woman who was reciting the cardinal numbers over
and over. Then the young woman said the most extraordinary thing; I have never heard anything like it in my life. And she said it to me. She said, “I’d like to suck your ___ for ever and ever. Amen.”

Helen looked up. “Now, Freda, please don’t talk that way. These are friends of mine and they’ve come for a visit. They don’t want to hear such things.”

But the girl said it again, still looking at me before abruptly turning and walking away. It was very frightening and I wondered how anyone could be expected to recover her wits in such a place. On the way home, I let Marion talk. I scarcely listened, my ears still burning from that girl’s venomous tongue.

Good news at last on the radio. France and Italy have come to some agreement and so it now looks as if there won’t be war in Europe. Tomorrow is a holiday, thank goodness.

A harrowing sleepless night, but at four o’clock this morning I decided that I am going to keep the child. It was not yet daybreak but I could hear the robins. So I am going through with this. I am not going to have another New York experience. Fell asleep finally and didn’t awaken until an hour ago.

A special delivery letter from Nora who seems furious with me for being pregnant and without a telephone. Will write her tomorrow. All the urgency about what to do has now vanished. Time will take care of events. Feel much calmer, but good Lord, the difficulties ahead!

Dear Clara,

By now you must surely realize how absolutely crazy it is for you not to have a telephone. We could have been dealing with this by now instead of fooling around with letters. I had thought of phoning the Brydens tonight, but I guess you don’t want to talk about this in front of them. Well, at least you have a car now, so here is what I want you to do. I want you to drive over to Linden and
phone
me. Call after seven!!! I’m here every night reading over the script for the next day’s show, so for heaven’s sake, get in touch with me as soon as you get this. Then maybe we can deal with things in a sensible way. You know how important time is in these situations. How far along are you anyway? Is this the same guy as three years ago? If it is, the bastard ought to be locked up and castrated. If I’m talking about the man you love, Clara, I’m sorry, but I’m just very upset. I got your letter on top of a bad day. We have a new girl on the program and she’s a perfect little
bitch. And Les and I are now in the middle of something that started on the weekend. Christ, I wish I were married and just had three or four kids to worry about. Then I get a letter from my sister telling me that she’s pregnant for the second time in three years. Really, Clara, don’t you know anything about douching? Can this man of your dreams not afford rubbers? They may not be perfect but at least they are something. How could you be so careless after what we went through three years ago? To be honest, I don’t know what to do at the moment. I phoned Evelyn, but she was still at the studio and they don’t allow personal calls there. Maybe she can put us in touch with that “doctor” we had before. I need time to think about all this, Clara. Phone as soon as you get this letter. After seven! I’ll be waiting.

Love, Nora

P.S. We’ll work something out, I promise.

Dear Nora,

Received your letter yesterday and regret adding to your woes with my news. You’re right to scold me for my carelessness, but this is not like the first time. Three years ago — I hope you are ready for this — I was raped. You are the only person who knows this.

Walking along the railway tracks, one Saturday afternoon that spring, I met two men (one of them simple-minded). These men had done some yardwork for me the day before, but it was sheer chance that they came upon me down by the tracks. I imagine that they were looking for a freight train to catch. In any case, they raped me (or one of them did, the other couldn’t manage it, thank heaven). So that was that. You can understand now why I couldn’t think of keeping a child from such an encounter.

This pregnancy is altogether different. It comes from “a moment of carelessness,” true enough, but the man and I had been seeing each other for the better part of a year. It’s the same man I wrote to you about last fall. I stopped seeing him for several months and then . . . well, obviously I saw him again, didn’t I? And with obvious consequences. So now I have to deal with this and I will. I have thought of little else over the past month, and I wrote to you in a moment of panic when I seemed to be at my wit’s end. I am over that now and in fact I feel quite calm. I have decided to keep this child, Nora.

Yes, yes, I can hear you. In many ways it is foolish and wilful. I will almost certainly lose my job and whatever reputation I have (“Well, I know she’s always been a bit odd, but this is perfectly scandalous,” etc.). I thought of moving away, but where would I go? Anyway, I haven’t the heart to leave. This is where I live and this is where I must raise this child. It will be difficult, and in years to come the child will have to put up with some ugly gossip. Still I feel that this is the best course. I intend to go through with it, Nora, so you may save your breath to cool your porridge, as Father used to say. And in case you’re
wondering, I am not interested in involving the man in any of this. He will never know. So there now. You have heard me out. Please try not to be too disappointed in me.

Clara

Things That Must Be Done and Soon

1. See a doctor in Linden. There are, I think, four. Which one will be the least censorious? Perhaps ask Mrs. Bryden? Tell her the truth?
   
2. Talk to Milton this week. Hard to say how he will take this “remarkable” news. He will have to tell the board and they will be suitably outraged that one of their teachers, etc., etc.
   
3. ;See Bert Moore about Father’s bonds. How much are they worth if redeemed, etc.
   
4. Work out a budget for the next twelve months. How much will I need to get by on? Must be frugal, but comfortable.
   

Confession is such a relief. The radio detectives are right when they are “grilling” their hoodlums under the spotlight. “Come on now, Spike, you’ll feel a lot better if you spill the beans.” And so this afternoon, I “spilled the beans” and in a way I do feel better. Trepidation, because I have now declared my condition but I feel better all the same.

Milton was in his office in shirtsleeves and braces. There were large sweat stains under his arms. I could smell the heat of the day on him. He never removes his suit coat until the children have left. Milton at fifty years of age behind his desk and I remember him as a nervous young man in the front room talking to Father. The summer of 1913. I was ten years old and I had come in when Nora said we had a visitor. I remember standing in the hallway listening to the murmur of voices from the front room. I was hoping that the new teacher would be tall
and handsome, but Milton even then was stout and uncommonly plain and already married to his Agnes. Over the years, we have never said much to one another that didn’t have to do with the school. We have always talked about this pupil or that pupil, and in fact we don’t know one another all that well. In a way, I am still Ed Callan’s daughter to him.

Milton was reading yesterday’s
Herald
and looked up when I appeared in the doorway. He was too polite to ask what I wanted and so I began.

“Milton,” I said, “I have some news which may startle you.”

He took off his glasses to polish them with his handkerchief. I have seen him do that a thousand times while he gathers his thoughts. “Now don’t tell me, Clara, that you’re going to leave after all these years. You’re not going to go off and get married on me, are you? I’ve heard there’s a fellow in your life these days. Down in Toronto, is he?” He settled the glasses back into place.

“It’s not quite like that, Milton,” I said.

“Is that so? I’d hate to lose you, Clara. We get along pretty well, don’t we? All these years together. I think highly of you as a teacher. I hope you realize that.”

“I’m pregnant, Milton,” I said. “I’m going to have a child, probably next January.”

Milton looked down at the
Herald
, his neck reddening. “Well, well, well. Now that is something, isn’t it?”

“I realize how awkward this is for you and I’m sorry, but you have to know sooner or later.”

“Of course I do, of course I do. You bet I do.” The poor man couldn’t meet my eyes and continued to stare down at his newspaper. “My goodness, pregnant! And are you getting married then, Clara?” He looked up at me.

“No,” I replied. “That’s out of the question. The father of the child is already married.”

Poor Milton. The glasses plucked off again. “Well, well, that is something now, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is and it must be dealt with.”

“Of course it must. You’re absolutely right. Goodness gracious, Clara, pregnant!”

He was about to say something else, but stopped. Then after a moment he said, “It’s going to be hard on you. In the village, I mean.”

“I suppose it will be, but I think I can manage that.”

“Of course you can manage it. I know you can.”

“I don’t suppose there is much chance of my staying on once this is known.”

Milton looked so glum that I wanted to tell him not to worry about it. Then he said, “Well, if it were up to me, you could certainly count on it, Clara. But the board? I foresee a problem there.”

“I do too,” I said. “Actually, I’m not counting on it. I just wanted you to know about this. You are the first person in the village to know.”