The House of Eve (51)
“He’ll need a good Jewish name like Samuel. I don’t want a Simon Shapiro the second.”
“Simon? Is that your real name?”
“I never told you that?”
“No. How could you keep that from me?” I squeezed his wrist. “And what if it’s a girl?” I giggled.
“Then Ruth or Sarah.”
“Heck no, Ruth sounds so old. Maybe Sarah though, it has a sweet ring.”
I sank deeper into his embrace. My imagination had taken over, and I was picturing Shimmy and me in that park across from Inez’s house pushing our egg on the swing, with our lunch in a woven basket on a beautiful blanket. I could almost taste the potato salad with just a squirt of mustard when I heard the front door close, and footsteps pound heavily from inside the candy store.
“Shit,” Shimmy said, clamoring for his pants.
We exchanged looks, and just like that, I knew that Shimmy and me inside that park would never come to be.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN THE RITUAL
Eleanor
Every morning before her feet grazed the white furry rug on the side of her bed, Eleanor kissed her fingers and then tapped her hand to her belly.
“Good morning little Pride,” she whispered, while reaching for her day planner on her nightstand. With big, long strokes, she crossed off the previous day with a purple felt tip marker, celebrating another twenty-four hours with her baby still nestled inside her. Eleanor would then ease out of bed before William opened his eyes, brush her teeth, and pad down to the kitchen barefooted, to put on the percolator for their morning brew.
While William showered, she packed his lunch. Today, it was oven-roasted turkey on a baguette with mayo, and a few slices of dill pickle, topped off with two oatmeal raisin cookies. Some mornings they would sit at the kitchen table and sip their coffee together, before William headed off to the hospital for his residency. Wednesday was his early day, so Eleanor also packed his coffee in a thermos.
“Thanks, babe.” He looked around the kitchen and Eleanor knew he was searching for his keys. She pointed to the hook next to the Frigidaire where she always hung them, and he smiled.
“How did I ever get along without you?”
“I have no idea.”
He fastened his leather briefcase. “Classes today, right?”
“Yeah, should be done around five.”
“I’ll pick you up in front of the library. Take care of our baby.” He kissed her belly and then headed out the back door.
As Eleanor pulled the screen door closed behind him, she could hear an airplane flying overhead in the distance. She stood in the doorway for a few more minutes watching the cars ride by, making sure William didn’t double back for some forgotten item. Satisfied that he was gone, she closed the door and then climbed the stairs. Shuffling down the hall, she turned into the guest bedroom and closed the door behind her. A deep sigh of relief passed from her lips.
The spare room was naturally well lit and would suit her parents well when they came to visit after the baby was born. Her shoulders slipped down her back as she walked the few steps and opened the door to her prayer closet, then tugged on the string that switched the light on.
The closet was empty except for her hope chest and her high school choir robe adorned with satin yoke and cuffs. Eleanor pulled the choir robe over her arms and buttoned it. Her prayer closet was barely large enough for her to genuflect in, but each day she managed to shove her whole body inside, kneel with her hands cupped over her belly and pray.
She didn’t pray the way they did at St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, the way a proper wife of a soon-to-be doctor would pray. At St. Luke’s, prayers were whispered by people sitting stiffly, their hands in their lap. In the closet, Eleanor worshiped with fervor, the way her mother and the members of Second Baptist Church in Elyria did. She had gotten away from daily prayer once she arrived in D.C, but now that she was with child, she had returned to it with daily precision.
Eleanor called out loudly, gutturally, with lots of “have mercies” and “I’m not worthy Lords,” until she had exhausted herself with her begging. When she finished her praise, she reached into the hope chest her mother had given her after the wedding. It had been constructed with cedar by her father’s hands, and then filled by her mother with two hand-stitched quilts, baby blankets and booties, silverware and table linens. On the side of the chest was a small vial of holy water that Eleanor used to trace the sign of the cross on her stomach, and that concluded her ritual.
* * *
William insisted that she call for a taxicab to transport her to campus, but Eleanor caught the streetcar instead. Even though she had married well, Eleanor had not gotten into the habit of spending money just because she could. With a little time to kill before her class, she decided to stop at the library. As soon as the double pane doors closed behind her, she heard her name being called.
“Eleanor, my goodness. I just spoke you up.” Mrs. Porter waved to her while coming down the main stairs. Her hair was parted down the middle and curled tightly, and her black-and-white polka-dot dress hung loosely from her frame.
“Hello, Mrs. Porter.” Eleanor held her bag with both hands, trying not to bounce on her toes from the giddiness she felt from running into her former boss.
“Marriage looks good on you, darling. Your cheeks are filling in nicely.” She patted Eleanor’s hand.