The Wooden Chair (31 page)

Bill came into the bathroom, the furrow between his brows deep. He stood by her side next to the sink as she rinsed her mouth before she splashed cold water on her face.

“Feeling better, darling?” A slight tremor was in his voice.

“Not really, I still feel sick.”

He scanned her face, his look penetrating. “Maybe it’s something you ate?”

“I don’t know. I’m never sick.” She preceded him to the kitchen and took her place by the table. With a shudder of distaste she pushed the cup of coffee and toast to the side, taking small sips from a tumbler of ice water.

Leini felt listless and tired. Bill agreed it was a good idea to spend a lazy Sunday, despite the balmy, sunny day. After lunch of fresh baguette and cheese rounded off with chilled melon, Bill suggested a nap. In bed, as he started fondling her naked form, she begged off and promptly fell into a deep sleep.

* * *

Leini awoke to the ringing of the alarm clock. On the side of the bed she ruffled her hair with both hands. A wave of nausea made her sprint to the bathroom, barely making it past Bill, who was shaving in front of the mirror. When the paroxysm receded, she leaned against the wall, cold sweat leaving traces of wet between her breasts, gluing hair to her skull. Another fit of nausea cramped her stomach, but this time she only retched miserably.

Bill wiped her face and breast with a wet towel. With an arm around her waist, he half carried her to the bed. He handed her a glass of water from the bottle on the dresser.

“This is the second time in a couple of days you’re sick. Why don’t you take the day off, stay in bed, get a good rest?” He caressed her matted hair. “Don’t you think you should see a doctor?”

She waved a limp hand in dismissal. “I feel so terrible, I think I’m going to stay home. Maybe I have the stomach flu…I’ve heard there’s one going around. Several of our employees are down with it.”

“You know best, darling.” He glanced at his watch. “I have to rush. I’ll call you later, see how you are.” He enfolded her in his arms, holding her pressed to his chest. “I love you, chérie. Sleep tight.”

“I love you, Bill.”

After he left, she stayed in bed, hands clasped behind her head, staring through the widow at the blue sky.
Maybe it’s not the stomach flu
. The bedside clock told her twenty to eight. Dialing Vickie’s number, she hoped to catch her before she left to teach her first class at middle school.

“Hi,” she said after Vickie answered. “I’m glad you’re still at home. I need some advice; I’ve been sick a few mornings. Bill thinks I should see a doctor. Do you…”

“Leini, I’m late. Do you have pen and paper?”

“Yes, right here.” She wrote down the name and phone number Vickie dictated.

“He’s my doctor. Call him immediately. Tell him you’re my friend, that he should see you as soon as he can. Sorry, I have to rush.”

“Do you really think…?”

“Yes, I do. Call the doctor now, you hear.”

Before dialing, Leini looked up Doctor Dutoit in the phone book.
Huh? He’s an obstetrician! Vickie’s sent me to see an obstetrician?

Closing her eyes, she thought hard, counting. It couldn’t be…they’d been careful. Then again, maybe. She’d go see the doctor. Confident her stomach problem would settle, she hoped he would prescribe something for the fatigue.

* * *

Removing surgical gloves, Doctor Dutoit straightened his tall frame. He pulled the robe to cover Leini’s thighs and helped her sit.

“I’ll see you in my office when you’re dressed.”

As Leini sat, she tried to read his face before he turned and left the examining room. Dressed, she found him behind his desk making notes. From her seat in the empire-style visitor’s chair, she stared at him.

The doctor glanced at her over the rim of half-moon glasses, a glimmer in his eyes, so blue they lent him an air of innocence.
In his line of work, yet.

“When did you have your last period?”

She gave him the date. “I looked it up earlier this morning.”

“From the examination, I’d say you’re pregnant, Madame Gardet. I’ll run the test to make sure.” Turning pages in his desk calendar, the doctor seemed to count days. “If I’m right, the baby is due early May.”

Dumfounded, Leini gaped as her vision blurred from tears. Closing her mouth, she took a tissue and dabbed at her eyes.

“Anything wrong, Madame Gardet?”

Clearing her throat to speak, Leini shook her head. “No. In fact, everything’s great. I guess I’m surprised.” She gave him a tremulous smile. “We’re recently married—my husband and I wanted to wait a little. We’ve been careful, so I didn’t think I was pregnant.”

How dense can I be? I had all the symptoms.

“My husband will be very happy. He loves children. So do I.” Remembering the way Bill looked at her from time to time, she was sure he’d guessed.

She accepted the little card with her next appointment. After she thanked the doctor and the receptionist, beaming a smile at the patients in the waiting room, she left. In the street, the first autumn leaves danced and swirled in the wind, whipping her skirt around bare legs, undoing her teased hairdo. A mounting joy and happiness washed over her.

Too impatient to wait to get home, she looked around for a pay phone and spotted a seedy bistro further down the street. With a look as if he’d just swallowed fifty nasty pills, the waiter gave her change for a ten-franc note, mumbling under his breath this wasn’t a bank. Giving him a huge smile, Leini thanked him and ordered a coffee. In the phone booth she dialed Bill’s office, balancing from foot to foot while she waited for the call to go through.

“Bill! I couldn’t wait to tell you. I had to call immediately. Darling, I hope you’re happy.”

“What is it, sweetie? I hear strange noises. Where are you? I thought you were going to stay at home, get some rest.”

“I’m in a bistro. I’ve seen a doctor, Vickie’s obstetrician. He thinks I’m pregnant.”
There, I’ve said it. It seems unbelievable, but it’s true. We’re having a baby!
She laughed and cried into the phone.

“Oh, Leini! Oh my gawd! Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. The doctor is going to run a test, but he was pretty positive. I don’t have the stomach flu; I…I’m pregnant!”

“Oh, sweetheart. That’s so wonderful! When’s the baby due, do you know?

“The doctor thinks early May.”

The line was quiet for a moment, Bill’s breathing distinct in her ear.

“That’s perfect. A spring baby. Now promise me you go straight home, have a rest, take care of yourself.”

“I promise, darling.”

Forgetting the coffee she ordered, Leini left the bistro. She walked the short distance to her car as if on glass, careful not to hurt her baby. About to insert the key in the ignition, a disturbing, frightening thought struck her. Eyes squeezed shut, she held her breath as fear like a freezing wind numbed her.
I’m going to be a mother, but what do I know about being a mother?

She wrung her icy hands while tears blurred her vision. Mira slapping her for saying she had as beautiful eyes as the cow when she was only a small child of five; of Mira manipulating her to have the eye operation, which cost her the sight in one eye. Memories, all of them terrifying her. In her distress and anguish, Leini was hard put to remember a single caress, a kind word, a gentle gesture. There must have been some. Mira hadn’t been all nastiness. But right now—about to become a mother herself—she was hard put to remember anything positive.
No matter what, I’m not going to be a mother like Mira!

Chapter 32

Geneva, Fall 1960

At home again after the appointment with the obstetrician, Leini considered going to bed, but the queasiness from the morning was gone. Her mind was in a turmoil, but physically she could find nothing wrong. She changed into a pair of jeans and settled in a pool of sunlight in the living room in one of the deep armchairs, feet on a cassock. Pen and pad at hand, she looked up “Psychiatrist” in the phone book, noting the names and phone numbers of the two she already considered. Before she could talk herself out of it, she grabbed the phone.
If this one answers, he’s the one I’ll see.
She dialed and stood twining the phone cord around her free hand. The line was busy. She tried the second number and got through. Giving her name, she said she wanted to make an appointment.

The receptionist’s terse and impersonal voice put fur on Leini’s teeth. “Do you mind giving me a short summary as to the reason for seeing the doctor?”

Yes, I mind very much.
“I have some issues I need to talk about.” Leini inhaled and straightened her shoulders, making her voice firm. “I prefer to explain it all to the doctor.”

Leini noted date and time in her agenda; the day after tomorrow seemed awfully soon. As she hung up, a shiver of apprehension like an arctic chill coursed up and down her spine.
At least this will make Bill happy.

A tendril of excitement tickled inside at the thought of Bill’s return from work. She imagined his expression and comments at the prospect of becoming a father.

In the kitchen, running the electric beater to prepare a cheese soufflé, Leini didn’t hear Bill before he stuck a bunch of long-stemmed roses in front of her. Setting the flowers on the counter, she wrapped her arms around his neck. She sensed a difference in the way he held her; less ardent, more prudent, almost reverential. Moving her lips against his, she tickled the corners of his mouth with the tip of her tongue. In response, he held her head, kissing her forehead, her cheeks, light touches against her closed eyelids.

With her hands on top of his, she smiled. “You can hold me, darling. I’m pregnant, not breakable.”

He grinned. “Give me some time; this is new to me. I don’t know how to behave. I’m in awe, sweetie. And I’m so happy.”

“Oh yes, so am I. It’s a bit earlier than we planned, but now that it’s happening, it’s wonderful.”

He enveloped her in his arms, her face pressed against his shoulder. She gave a fleeting thought to the soufflé that was probably ruined, but this was more important. Leading her to the table, he sat next to her, arms around her, her head resting on his shoulder.

“Since I lost my parents I’ve missed having a family. I can’t quite believe I’m going to be a father. Sure takes some getting used to.”

“I guess you’re right. Pregnancy has already brought on some physical changes so this is more real to me.” She closed her eyes for an instant. “Bill, I want to be a good mother, the best mother I know how.” Her sigh was like a sob. “Mira hasn’t been a good role model.

“In fact, I don’t know anything about mothering. I want to avoid making the same mistakes with our baby she made with me.” She glanced at Bill. “Since I left the obstetrician’s office I’ve been thinking: I must come to terms with some of the wounds I carry. When the baby comes, I’d like to be rid of these nightmares, emotionally free to love our child.”

“You look so serious. Darling, you’re going to be a wonderful mother.”

She shook her head. “I’m not so sure. Mira wasn’t a good nurturer; I have no points of reference. A long time ago Karl told me it’s possible not to copy her behavior. He said it depends on what I’m willing to do to break the pattern.” She took a deep gulp of air. So, I’m following your suggestion—I’ve made an appointment with a psychiatrist to start therapy.”

He stared at her for a long while. His bright smile brought feather creases to the corners of his soft eyes. “Leini, that’s wonderful news. I agree, these nightmares have to go, they’re eating at you. You’re doing the right thing.”

“I know I am. Our baby deserves the very best—the best father, the best mother, the best start in life. I’ll do my utmost to work on the trauma from my past so I can start healing while I’m expecting our baby.” She grabbed his hands, body tense, passion in her voice. “Bill, I want our children to have every possible chance at happiness. I don’t want to perpetuate Mira’s behavior. With the psychiatrist’s help, I’ll change and heal. I so want to be a good mother.”

“We’ll do it together, be good parents, I mean.”

Groping for a tissue on the table, she used it like a towel to dry her tear-streaked face. “Oh, Bill, I love you so.”

* * *

The psychiatrist’s waiting room was furnished with comfortable groups of chairs and small tables. There were none of the standard-issue seats marching along the walls. Despite the bleak day, the room was bright from a bank of windows and a domed skylight. The pale pink of the painted walls harmonized with the magenta-colored, wall-to-wall carpet.

Tense and apprehensive, Leini brought several typewritten pages in preparation for the appointment. In her state of nervousness she wound them into a tight tube.

Doctor Morgenthaler came to get her in the waiting room, rather than have the receptionist tell her he was free. Walking by his side, he was a whole head taller than she. His toffee-brown hair grew past his ears. She noticed he was a big man altogether, and she was partial to big men. They made her feel secure.

“Have a seat,” he offered in his office.

Leini glanced at a black leather chair behind his large desk. Taking in the three overstuffed armchairs, she wondered which one would suit her best. The seating in a psychiatrist’s office wasn’t a banality. In her work with troubled employees, she was particular about her space in relation to her client.

Seeing her indecision he made a sweeping gesture with his hand. “Take any chair you like.”

Used to psychiatrists arranging the seating mindful of their own comfort zones, she gave him a sharp look before she sank into one of the overstuffed chairs. Doctor Morgenthaler took a seat directly opposite her—a positive surprise. He didn’t need to hide behind the shield of his desk. He flipped the pages in her intake form, made a note here and there. Smiling with even white teeth, he looked at her with eyes gleaming like black oil.

“You have a master’s degree in psychology. Where did you study?”

“Right here, at the Geneva University.”