The House of Eve (65)
“Okay.” Eleanor felt a slight ease in her chest. “I’ll give her a call in the morning and make the appointment. No harm in gathering more information. Let’s just see where it takes us.”
William got up from his seat, and for the first time since Dr. Avery’s news he pulled her into his arms and kissed her on the lips.
* * *
When Eleanor phoned Mother Margaret two days later to inquire, the nun insisted that if they were interested, they needed to meet with her quickly. William rearranged his work schedule and they set a meeting for the following evening. Eleanor knew it was wrong, but she still hadn’t been able to bring herself to tell anyone about the miscarriage. She didn’t lie, but when her telephone rang, she just didn’t answer it. The shame haunted her, and although she knew she couldn’t keep it to herself forever, she had decided to wait until after the meeting with Mother Margaret before she told anyone the truth.
William picked her up thirty minutes early for the seven p.m. meeting. She had dressed in a mint-green dress, with a nipped-in high-top waist, and leather peep-toe shoes. Neither said much on the way over. They parked on a side street just off MacArthur Boulevard in Northwest, and as they walked toward the office building, Eleanor clasped William’s hand tightly to keep herself from shaking. The tree-lined street was quiet, and she could hear her heels echo against the concrete. The whitewashed building looked deserted, but when William pushed the door it clicked open. They rode the elevator to the fifth floor and knocked on the second door to the right, as instructed.
A voice rang out, telling them to come in.
When they stepped into the office, Eleanor saw the nun who’d prayed with her back in the hospital—Mother Margaret—and could smell years of wear on the dank carpet.
“I’m sorry it’s a bit warm in here. The air-conditioning conked out a week ago, and I haven’t gotten around to fixing it. Please have a seat.” She gestured.
It was a small office, with a framed photo of the Washington Monument on the wall, next to a wooden cross. Eleanor moved a peppermint around in her mouth to calm her nerves, but she could still feel the pulsing at the back of her neck.
“I’m glad you called, Mrs. Pride. I wasn’t sure that I’d hear from you.”
“We haven’t decided on anything. But I told my husband about your proposition, and we are curious to learn a bit more.” Eleanor pushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
“Of course.” Mother Margaret leaned forward and repeated what she had disclosed at the hospital and then added, “Our babies come from well-bred girls who have fallen into trouble. They are incapable of raising a baby on their own. They are happy to turn them over to good parents in exchange for a second chance at life. It really is that simple.”
She flipped through the file on her desk. “What was your intended due date, Mrs. Pride?”
“January 3.”
Mother Margaret pushed her glasses up her nose. “I have a Negro girl who is set to deliver around that time. She comes from a fine family. Highly educated and good-looking. It would be a match made in heaven.”
Eleanor had been living in D.C. long enough to know that by good-looking she meant fair-skinned. A baby that would grow up to look like the Greta Hepburns of the world.
“I must assure you that we are so thorough in our procedures and so confidential in our record-keeping that no one will ever know that you didn’t birth the child yourself. If that’s what you want, of course.”
Eleanor caught William’s eye as her heart started beating wildly in her chest.
Mother Margaret said, “Don’t take too long deciding. There are several well-meaning families like yours who would love to take home this baby.”
“Can you give us a few days?” William asked.
“I can do anything you like, Mr. Pride. It would help, though, if you offered a small donation to our cause in the meantime. The operation is very expensive to run.” She tapped the wooden box in front of her and smiled. Eleanor noticed that the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Of course,” William said as he removed his checkbook.
Mother Margaret stood and then showed them to the door. As Eleanor passed her by, she could have sworn she smelled a whiff of gin.
* * *
When they reached their home, William locked the back door behind them and then Eleanor fell into his arms. He smelled like a hard day’s work, but she didn’t mind.
Eleanor pulled away and leaned against the counter. “I’m scared. This feels like cheating.”
“With all things considered, it might be our only way.”
Eleanor turned her wedding band around on her finger. During the whole ride home, she had been thinking about Dorothy Creole, the formerly enslaved woman who adopted the boy and raised him as her own. When Eleanor had classified her story for the library, there was something about it that made her read it several times. Perhaps it was to prepare her for considering adoption herself.
“Listen, Elly. It doesn’t matter where the baby comes from, just that we love it and raise it as our own.”
“I don’t want anyone to know,” she blurted. Mother Margaret had offered them a confidential exchange, and for Eleanor that was the only way this would work. “About the adoption I mean. Let’s pass this baby off as our own.”