The House of Eve (69)
“Dr. Avery has assured me that no one from his staff will breathe a word of your unfortunate stay in the hospital. That gives us ample space to forge ahead with the plan.”
“Plan?” She balled her toes in her slippers.
Rose pushed the papers across the table toward Eleanor. She took up the sheets and read. It was an outline of social appearances for Eleanor to make.
“If the baby is going to be born in January, I don’t think you should show up for any engagements after October first.”
Eleanor swallowed hard. It hadn’t even been a full forty-eight hours since they made the adoption decision, and Rose was already taking command.
“It’s a good thing I’m handy with a sewing machine.” Rose reached into the bag and pulled out a nude pillow pad with thin straps. A padding to tie around Eleanor’s waist.
“I also brought you the Lane Bryant catalogue. It’s about the only one where you can get maternity clothes that will conceal your condition and keep you looking smart. I’ve flagged a few styles that will adjust easily for you.” She held up the pamphlet with red tab marks. Rose didn’t wait for her response and continued outlining her plan.
Eleanor would appear at a charity lunch in two weeks at the YMCA but would leave shortly after arriving with the excuse of feeling nauseous. Her final appearance would be at the dinner celebrating the six-month anniversary of Dr. Charles Drew’s untimely death.
“It’ll be a fundraiser to keep his research in blood transfusion alive,” Rose explained.
There, Eleanor would appear long enough for people to see her flowering, but not long enough for meaningful conversation. These two events would give Rose enough ammunition to spread around that Eleanor was having a hard time with the pregnancy and needed to go on bed rest.
“William will make a few dinners without you, and keep the story going. I think it might be wise for you to go up to Ohio and spend a few months with your mother. Out of sight, out of mind. And then come back in time for the delivery.”
“I’m not leaving my home,” Eleanor said, with more bite than she intended. Or my husband.
Rose closed the catalogue. “Well, once folks get busy with the holidays they’ll be minding their own affairs. You will have to miss going to New York for Theodore’s engagement party over Thanksgiving. We can’t risk it.”
Theodore was marrying the daughter of a prominent New York attorney. Her mother was a well-known dancer who taught at Katherine Dunham’s K.D. School of Arts and Research in New York City. Rose’s face always flushed a pretty pink when she spoke of the union.
“I’ve got to run.” She pushed herself to stand. “Lunch at the Whitelaw Hotel to discuss the ABCs fundraiser for underprivileged sharecropping girls in the rural South. In the meantime, start thinking of your color palette for the baby’s room. I’m going to send a carpenter over next week to convert one of the guest rooms into a proper nursery. It’ll be our treat,” she said with a wink.
Rose removed a container of shrimp étouffée and left it on the counter. “It’s William’s favorite, I hope you like it, too.”
“Thank you.” Eleanor forced what she hoped resembled a smile.
When Rose’s car pulled away from the curb, Eleanor felt steam rising in her throat. How could he? In the time they had been married she had never called William at the hospital, but she marched right over to the phone now.
“Elly, everything all right?” he said by way of greeting.
“You told your mother?”
“Told her what?”
“Really, William? Don’t play simple with me. We agreed to keep this a secret.”
“Oh, baby. She’s going to help us through this.”
“You should have asked me first.”
“Please calm down. I didn’t know it would bother you so much.”
“Really, what part of ‘secret’ did you miss?”
He was quiet on the other end. “Can we discuss this when I get home?”
Eleanor slammed the phone down so hard that it fell to the floor. Rage coursed through her as she started yanking her rollers from her hair and then ran her fingernails over her scalp. She wasn’t sure that Rose could be trusted. She had wanted them to annul their marriage, for goodness’ sakes. Who else would Rose tell? Greta’s mother? If William told her this, had he told her about the first miscarriage in Ohio, too?
Eleanor was too hot to call her mother or work on her Ancient Civilization coursework like she had planned. What she craved was fresh air and sunshine on her skin, but she was already worried about running into people. The baby fat was melting from her face and belly like lard in a hot pan. The risk wasn’t worth it. Instead, she moved to the other side of the den and opened a box of records that Mrs. Porter had sent over the week before. Music had a way of soothing Eleanor’s soul, and she sat cross-legged on the floor playing them one after the other, making notations of origin and instruments until her anger had receded a bit.
Once she slipped into the zone, the afternoon passed by swiftly. It wasn’t until she gazed up at the clock that she realized it was almost dinnertime. A few minutes later, she heard the back door creak open. William was early and carried a box from her favorite bakery on T Street.
“Waving a white flag.” He held the box in front of him, with a smile that Eleanor usually found irresistible, but not today.