Nolan Trilogy (53 page)

“Of course.”  She smiled, giving him a brief wave before heading to the door.

As painful as it was, neither of them wanted to let go of the sweet torment of their clandestine meetings.  She wanted to be with him, and he with her, even if they could never consummate their feelings, even if it hurt.

Rumor had it that Marty had left town with her baby in tow.  Leah wondered if she had sacrificed her ten thousand dollar Mary Magdalene payout and gone to Australia instead.  Her answer came in the form of a postcard, with a fat koala on the front, and simply the words
Gregory Adam
.  There was no return address, no signature.  But Leah knew.  Gregory Adam was the name Marty had chosen for her baby, if it was going to be a boy.  She and her little boy were starting a new life somewhere else.

Leah wanted to do the same.  She had never gotten paid for that night by the Mary Magdalenes because she and Marty had left early.  Every time she closed her eyes, she saw him.  She had memorized his features, the way his hair brushed his shoulder blades, his strong jaw, those capable, creative hands.  She would’ve known him anywhere.  Had he seen her?  She’d taken off her mask, unveiled herself, she would’ve thrown herself at his feet, naked and pregnant with his child, and begged him to love her again.

If only Marty hadn’t gone into labor…

But she had.  And Frannie too, delivering identical twin boys two months early, right around Thanksgiving.  Jean had delivered her baby during the girls’ Thanksgiving feast.  They had been in the kitchen all day long, roasting turkeys, two of them, mashing potatoes and snapping green beans.  Jean hadn’t felt well all day, complaining her stomach hurt, and the sisters gave her milk of magnesia and sent her to bed.  But Jean slipped down the staircase, coming back into the kitchen to be with the girls, sitting in the corner on a chair, accepting little bits of food here and there—
taste this, what you think? 

It wasn’t until her baby’s head was crowning that anyone knew she was even in labor.  She didn’t scream or cry or flail.  Leah noticed her face getting red a couple times and handed her a wet washcloth, telling her she really should go lay down, but Jean was adamant.  She wanted to be in the middle of things.  She got her wish, and thank goodness Sister Lawrence was peeling carrots with them when Jean’s head popped up, like it did whenever she sensed something coming, and announced, “The baby is coming! Uh-oh!” 

At first Sister Lawrence had urged her to go upstairs, but right when Jean tried to stand, water gushed down her legs, splashing all over the kitchen linoleum.  Then there was no time for anything.  They all were witness to the birth of Jean’s baby.  She squatted right there on the kitchen floor, Sister Lawrence demanding towels, and the girls running to find any available cloth.  She spread kitchen towels down on the floor, but by that time the baby’s head was out.  It turned, a quarter turn, Jean gave another grunt, her face pink, and that was it.

Leah would never forget that moment.  She’d never seen anything like it.  The sister had wrapped the baby in her wimple, having nothing else to put her in—all the towels were now wet.  It was a little girl, with just about as much hair as Sister Lawrence had under her head covering—which wasn’t much.  Jean announced her name, “Lizzie!”  Of course, the girl Jean had adored had another name, but Lizzie was what she had called her.  Someone had called the ambulance, and they had to cut the cord and deliver the placenta before putting her on a stretcher and taking her to the hospital.

It had been the strangest Thanksgiving dinner Leah had ever experienced.

Leah’s name was near the top of the chore list now.  They moved Elizabeth back in with Leah after Jean had her baby, but they were alone only for a few days, and then a new Frannie and a new Marty arrived, except they called the former Frances and the latter Martha.  They were nice enough girls, but Leah didn’t want to get too attached.  She stayed quiet, contemplative, not telling them about the secret turret, keeping the space and those memories to herself.

She was in her last month, the final stretch, and every week Dr.  Glum, whose demeanor never improved, would make her get up on the table and put her feet in the stirrups so he could shove his whole hand up inside, feeling for the baby.  He said he thought it was breech.  He said they’d have to cut her open to get it out.  Leah didn’t want an operation, so she prayed in bed at night, whispering to her little man, encouraging him to turn around.

She finished his little going home outfit, smuggling it upstairs under her dress and hiding it under her mattress.  Frannie came back to visit, before her parents arrived to pick her up.  She told her birth story, giving far more detail than Lizzie had, all the blood and pain and suffering.  But Leah had seen it firsthand, had watched Jean labor all day long, and no one even knew.  Frannie said the ghoul told her the babies went to a nice family, a good home, together.

Leah didn’t have the heart to tell her she had overheard the ghoul telling Sister Benedict, “You get more money giving one baby to two couples then giving two babies to one couple.”  Which, of course, made perfect sense when you knew Magdalene House was run by donations, and those donations came primarily in the form of money given by infertile couples who were looking to adopt.  She’d overheard one of the laundry women saying some couples paid as much as fifty-thousand dollars for a baby.  Even if they were giving the Magdalenes ten thousand each, the church was coming out way ahead. 

She’d heard Jean had been put to work in the laundry and had already had a horrible accident and had ended up in the hospital with third-degree burns.  Apparently her family—a distant cousin who had been caring for her before she came to Magdalene House—had never come back for her.

When Father Michael came to visit, he exclaimed over Leah’s belly, how big she had gotten since he last saw her.  She was, as Marty would have said, “Ready to pop.”  Leah just wanted to know, had he found out?  Was there any word?  Did he know if Robert Nolan was indeed her biological father? 

“Do you know your blood type?”  Father Michael asked.

“The doctor typed me.  He said I’m O positive.  Why?  ”

“Well, according to the research I’ve done so far, there’s no way to prove parentage.  Meaning I can’t ever prove Robert Nolan is your father.” 

“Oh.”  Leah’s heart sank.

“However, depending on your blood types, there may be a way to rule him out as your father.” 

Leah’s heart soared.  “So what’s his blood type?” 

“I don’t know.”  Father Michael sighed.  “And I can’t exactly ask him.” 

“What about church records?  What about previous blood drives?” 

“He hasn’t given blood, to my knowledge.” 

“Oh, that’s right.”  Leah smiled.  “He’s squeamish.  He never gives blood.” 

“I wrangled him in as a sponsor this year.  Erica and I have a plan to get him to donate blood.” 

“Erica!”  Leah felt a sharp stab of pain in her chest.  She desperately missed Erica, so much it was almost too painful to think about her.  “How is she?” 

“She’s...”  Father Michael smiled.  “She’s Erica.  She misses you.” 

“I miss her too.”  She had felt so light and full of hope after his visit.  The blood drive was just a few days away.  If Rob wasn’t her biological father, then they could be together, they could have this baby, she could have the life she had dreamed of living since she’d fallen in love with him.  She thought nothing could put a damper on her newfound calm and peace.

December arrived with a wicked storm, bringing almost a foot and a half of snow with it.  Leah watched with the other girls from the front room windows, knitting needles clacking, as the world was blanketed in white.  The nuns let them have an hour to play in it, and everyone put on their coats and boots, and gloves, labels sewn into each, and trudged out into the snow to make angels.

Leah made a snow angel, staying there on the frozen ground, looking up at Magdalene House.  When she had first climbed the long steps to the front door, it had been July, hot and humid.  Three seasons she had spent, from sweltering heat to the turn of the autumn leaves and now the frigid white of winter.  Three seasons of her life, a seed planted, gestating, sprouted and growing.  She would meet her baby soon.

She looked up at the familiar house, a red brick prison, the green turrets with the golden crosses on top.  She missed the girls.  She missed Marty the most.  It still felt like a dream, the night Marty had gone into labor.  Had she really seen Erica, her best friend, perhaps even her sister, splayed naked on a cross?  Had she seen Erica’s father filming, unawares?  It was so surreal, so insane.  The entire time she’d been at Magdalene House, she had hoped and wished and prayed to see her best friend and her best friend’s father again.  She never in her wildest dreams could have imagined seeing them like that.  I guess you had to be careful what you prayed for.

Two days later her mother came for a visit, unannounced.  It was during lunch time, and Leah was starving, but the nuns made her visit with her mother in the front room.  They didn’t say anything of any substance.  More about the weather, her mother’s job, the ladies’ auxiliary.  It was always the same.  Leah had changed so much in the past few months, but her mother remained stuck in time, and seemed to expect Leah would be coming back with her, into that time warp.

“Mrs. Goulden tells me you’re having second thoughts again about giving the baby up for adoption.” 

Leah continued knitting her blanket.  She had learned not to sit still from the nuns more than anything.  Idle hands did the devil’s work.  The ghoul had been wearing her down, seeing her weekly after her doctor appointment, asking again and again about the baby’s father, about Leah’s intentions.  She showed Leah a picture of the couple who wanted to adopt her baby, telling her how disappointed they would be if she changed her mind.  Did she want their despair and unhappiness on her conscience?  Leah was exhausted, and she was sure her mother’s visit had been the ghoul’s doing, calling in reinforcements again.

“I don’t know what to do.”  Leah looked down at her knitting—knit one, purl two.

Leah’s mother looked out the window at the snow.  “Remember when you were little and you asked me why I didn’t have any wedding pictures?” 

Leah’s clacking needles stopped.  “Yes.” 

“There were no wedding pictures because there was no wedding.” 

Leah just looked at her mother.  She didn’t say anything at all.

“Victor Wendt was a boy I dated in high school.  He was a sweet boy.  But I didn’t love him.  He wanted to marry me.  But I was in love with someone else.” 

“So you and my father… You and the man you told me you were married to… you were never married?” 

“Yes.  That’s true.”  Leah’s mother sounded very far away, lost in a memory.  “I was in love with Robert Nolan.  But he loved my best friend, Susan.” 

“Mom...” 

“It was only him,” her mother went on.  “He was everything to me.  And one night, we got drunk and things happened.  Things happened… between the three of us.” 

Leah’s eyes widened.  “All three of you?” 

“I wanted him any way I could have him.”  Her mother’s smile was bitter.  “If that was the only way, then...” 

Leah’s mother looked down at her hands in her lap, clutching her pocketbook.  “I’m not proud of what I did.  Or what happened.  And I’m sorry I’ve been so hard on you.” 

Leah looked around the room for witnesses.  Had hell frozen over?  Her mother had just apologized.

Leah’s mother raised her eyes, meeting her daughter’s gaze head-on.  “I know, better than anyone, how charming he is and how easy it is to fall in love with him.”