The House of Eve (66)
He scratched the side of his head. “You sure about that?”
Eleanor’s voice cracked with emotion. “You have no idea what it’s like, William. Marrying into a family like yours where everything and everyone is perfect.”
“Whoa, slow down.” His eyes widened.
“You’re not a woman—it’s different for us. I won’t be able to live the rest of my life knowing that people are judging me and looking at our child differently. Like he or she doesn’t belong. I just want to fit in. I’m tired of being on the outside,” she hissed, much louder than she had intended.
It could have been the imbalance of hormones, but she had finally said it. She was tired of being on the outside.
William looked taken aback. “Baby, I didn’t know you felt like that. I thought I was doing everything—”
“It’s not you. It’s your mother and her fancy friends,” she sighed, and she noticed William bristle.
“I know my mother is trying, in her own way.”
Eleanor kept her lips pursed. She didn’t want the conversation to become about her relationship with Rose Pride. But she was sure that keeping the adoption a secret was the only way her dignity would remain intact.
“It’s what I want. This must stay between us,” she whispered, as the idea that had been forming in her head took shape. “I’m going to pretend to have this baby myself.”
“That’s going to be hard to pull off.”
“I’ll stay in the house for months if I have to. It’s the only way for us to live as a family without everything we do being under a microscope.”
William stepped closer and ran his hands up and down her arms. “Okay, however you want to do this is fine by me. I just want us to be happy.”
Eleanor looked up into William’s eyes and could see a glimmer of a new sparkle. “So, I’ll phone Mother Margaret in the morning and tell her that we’ll take the January baby?” Her hand flew to her mouth. “That sounds so weird, January baby.” Eleanor giggled for the first time in a week.
“We will welcome baby January into our home and love it. Everything is going to be just fine.” William pulled her face to his.
“Our baby.” Eleanor squeezed him around the waist.
Now all they had to do was figure out how to pull it off without anyone finding out.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE THE HOUSE OF MAGDALENE
Ruby
Before I’d even reached the side of the house, the silver storm door screeched open. A woman in a nun’s habit stood in the doorway. Her face was stern and wrinkled.
“Welcome to the House of Magdalene. My name is Mother Margaret.” She was an Amazon of a woman who towered at least four inches over me. Then she looked down her nose and ushered me inside. “Come along.”
I trailed behind her down a short hallway that opened up into a wide kitchen. The room was muggy and smelled of simmering meat. Two blonde teenaged girls, both with heavy bellies that seemed far too big for their tiny frames, sat at the prep table peeling carrots and white potatoes. The one holding the carrots glanced over and then quickly darted her eyes away, but the stringy-haired girl with freckles knifing the potato gave me the tiniest smile.
As I followed Mother Margaret deeper into the house, I heard crying. It was loud and insistent and made me increasingly uncomfortable. Mother Margaret’s thick dress swished at her feet, and she seemed unbothered by the noise.
“This is the dining room, where you will take your meals three times a day.”
Two long tables sat parallel to each other, and then off a bit to the left was a round table that held place settings for four. She then pointed out a classroom to the right, “for your weekly classes on etiquette, sewing, charm and Bible study.”
We passed a small lounge with two sofas, where I would meet my social worker once a week. The floor creaked beneath her feet, and with each step the temperature dropped. I could feel a sudden coldness all the way down in my toes. We had reached the end of the hall, and Mother Margaret stopped and turned to me with a look on her face I couldn’t read.
“This is the shaming room. It’s where the bad girls go.” She looked at me pointedly, freezing me in place with her gaze. “I trust you will not need to know what is behind that door.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I whispered.
“Yes, Your Excellency.” Her eyes bored into me, waiting. After what felt like an interminable silence, I realized that I was meant to repeat the title. I did as expected.
Satisfied, Mother Margaret turned back and then climbed up two flights of stairs, stopping in front of an arched doorway with a dark wooden door. She turned toward me again, with her hands folded in front of her stomach, posture as erect as a statue.
“The girls go by first names only. No personal business is shared. The mission here is simple. To save your soul.”
I had had to go to the bathroom ever since I arrived, but my fear had made me forget. Now, though, a drop of urine leaked out, and I pressed my thighs together to stop any more from flowing. Since carrying the egg, I’d never had an issue with holding my bladder—until now.
Without knocking, Mother Margaret shoved open the door. Once I stepped inside, I saw four twin-sized cots with two short chests of drawers against the blue-painted walls. Three of the beds were occupied by teens in various hues of brown and stages of pregnancy. When the girls saw Mother Margaret, they pushed themselves to a stand.