The House of Eve (75)

Mother Margaret turned and roared at the lot of us who stood watching. “Go find a place to pray, now!”

But I felt rooted in place as the other girls scrambled off. Clara gave a bloodcurdling cry, and then was hurled into the shaming room. When the door slammed and locked in place, Clara banged and shouted like her life depended on it.

“When we meet again, you better be ready to sign those papers,” Mother Margaret snarled and then caught sight of me. “Care to join her, Ruby?”

I backed down the hall and turned into the classroom on shaky legs. When I asked Loretta, she said that no one knew for sure what was on the other side of that door. But from the bone-chilling sounds of Clara’s cries, I knew I never wanted to find out for myself.



* * *



Bleating sirens woke me up before the sun rose, and commotion could be heard downstairs. Loretta walked over to the window and opened the curtains to reveal flashing lights.

I told the other girls I’d try to figure out what was going on—I had experience creeping around from when I lived with Inez, as she didn’t like me moving around after ten o’clock. Said it was bad for her nerves. I tiptoed down to the second floor, where the porcelain girls slept. Two were peeking out the door. When I made it to the first-floor landing, I saw two men dressed in white jackets on opposite ends of an orange stretcher.

“She’s breathing but out cold,” said the burly man to the other.

My heart stopped. Clara. I could see her freckled face and stringy brown hair. I covered my mouth to push back the vomit that had choked up in my throat, then hurried back up, not as quietly as I came.

“What happened?” the girls on the second floor whispered.

“It’s Clara,” I murmured back, then ran the rest of the way to the attic. Bubbles closed the door behind me. When I sank into my cot, I felt like Georgia Mae; the words wouldn’t come out.

“Snap out of it.” Bubbles shook my shoulders. “Tell us.”

“She was being wheeled out on a stretcher. They said she was breathing, but she looked dead to me.”

Georgia Mae moved on one side of me, and then Loretta sat on the other until we were a tight circle.

I didn’t know how much time had passed before the morning bell rang and we filed downstairs. We all picked at our breakfast in silence, knowing that this was yet another secret we’d be forced to keep. The last twenty-four hours had made two things abundantly clear: we young ladies had come to the Gingerbread House to turn over our babies whether we wanted to or not, and Mother Margaret and her heartless crew would stop at nothing to ensure that we surrendered them. The ghosts of Clara’s cries echoed against my ear. I wanted Shimmy to swoop down and bust me out of here. How come he got to go on living his life footloose and I was stuck in here dealing with our consequences? Resentment pooled in the pit of my stomach, and I put down my fork, unable to eat another bite.





CHAPTER THIRTY SOMETHING AMISS



Eleanor




Eleanor had turned off the television and was heading up for bed when her telephone rang. She looked at the clock, sighed and picked up the receiver.

“Hello.”

“Do you have a mother?”

“Mama.”

“Don’t ‘Mama’ me. When was the last time you called home? It’s been a month of Sundays at best.” She tsked her teeth.

Eleanor sank into the settee, blameworthy as charged. “I’m sorry. Things have been happening so quickly I can barely keep up.” I lost the baby, I’m in the middle of an adoption while trying to figure out how to fake a pregnancy.

“Ain’t no excuse. You at least need to check in. Even if it’s only for two minutes so that I know you alive in that big city. Anything could happen to you.”

“Oh, Ma. I’m fine and well.”

“How’s my grandbaby? She must be just a-dancing in your belly by now,” her mother sang, and Eleanor could picture her round cheeks and those deep creases that marked her forehead when she smiled.

“I just can’t wait to hold my first grandbaby in my arms.” The line crackled with the static that was common during their long-distance calls. “I bet she comes out…”—staticky static—“… ooking just like you.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Oh, all the babies in our family look like us. We got strong genes and my people are known to have hair thick as rope. Your daddy’s genes are what softened your hair out a bit,” she chortled over a break of static. “You know he’s hoping for a boy. But I know it’s a girl. I done seen her in my dreams, with a little button nose.”

Eleanor pulled the knitted throw over her lap, swallowing hard. Was the baby she lost the same baby her mother had dreamed about? She shuddered.

Thank goodness, her mother hadn’t required much more than an “uh-ha” and a “you don’t say” to keep her going. The line continued to crackle with bits of static, but Lorraine blabbered on. About the items she had purchased for the baby at the five-and-dime, and how she had all the people in church praying each Sunday and Wednesday for Eleanor to have a safe delivery.

“Now, I know you had two false starts, Sugar, but don’t let that spook you. The third time is most definitely the charm. You hear me?”