The House of Eve (76)
Lorraine’s voice was filled with such hope, it further confirmed that Eleanor was right in keeping the secret. She was doing her mother a favor.
“From your lips to God’s ears, Mama. I know you got a pipeline to the man upstairs, and it’s strong as steel.”
“You better believe it.”
They said their goodbyes, and Eleanor folded the throw across the back of the chair and carried herself upstairs. It was late, after ten o’clock. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d gone to bed with William.
He’d been working odd hours and sometimes napped at the hospital so that he could complete his residency on a fast track. His goal was to finish up as close to the baby being born as possible. Or at least that’s what he told her.
Stop it, she chided herself as she fluffed her pillows and climbed into bed. Eleanor hated the voice of doubt that had started creeping from the corners of her mind, haunting her ever since William had taken on more work. How could she doubt him? He had married her despite her defects, forgiven her when he found out that she had been dishonest, and worked long hours to become a doctor so that he could make a comfortable life for them. As much as she enjoyed archiving, it wouldn’t provide a quarter of what William would for their family. But still, she wondered, how much work was there to be done to keep him away for so long? She knew her isolation was partly to blame for her paranoia. She missed her life on Howard’s campus. She was lonely, but deep down she knew that she deserved this bit of penance. Infertility came with a price.
* * *
Rose had arranged to drop by in the morning with a carpenter for the work in the nursery. “This is Bernie,” Rose said as a way of greeting her.
He was a tall man wearing blue overalls and a white long-sleeved T-shirt cuffed at his elbows. His skin was dark, like Swiss chocolate.
“How do you do.” Eleanor rested her hand on her padded belly. She had gotten into the habit of wearing the pads each morning when she got dressed, as a way to bond with the idea of the coming baby.
“Morning, ma’am,” he said, but didn’t make eye contact. Bernie carried a silver toolbox in one hand, and had a heavy belt hanging from his waist.
“Let’s head on up,” Rose said and prompted Eleanor to show them the way to the bedroom.
As Rose walked about pointing out all the upgrades, Eleanor bristled at the financial details that she tossed back and forth with Bernie. It was hard to wrap her head around the amount of money Rose was willing to spend on aesthetics alone. Her own mother had told her that when she was born, they didn’t have money for a crib, so they had used a dresser drawer.
Rose handed Bernie a deposit check. “Well, I’m off.”
Eleanor thanked her and pressed her lips together in what she hoped resembled a smile.
“Nothing’s too good for my grandchild,” she said and then made her way out the door, leaving her signature scent of Chanel No. 5 in her wake.
* * *
Eleanor stood staring at the kitchen cabinets, listening to the commotion coming from the nursery. She was not used to having someone else in the house with her. Besides that one visit from Nadine and Rose’s occasional drop-bys, Eleanor spent her days alone. Should she go up and offer Bernie something to drink? His footsteps echoed overhead as he moved back and forth, and then she heard drilling. After several moments, she decided to leave him be. Mrs. Porter had sent over a book of poems by Phillis Wheatley, and a handwritten foreword signed by John Hancock that Eleanor had been looking forward to sinking into. The book was even earlier than the collection of Wheatley’s that William had gifted her when they were courting. It had been so long since he had requested a bedtime story from her, and she missed that easy time between them. She made herself comfortable in the den and was halfway through the book when she heard Bernie’s footsteps on the stairs. She stood, touched her pads and met him in the kitchen.
“All done for today. Be back in the morning.”
“Sounds good. Thank you.”
Eleanor watched him walk out the back door with his toolbox. His shoulders were erect, and he held his head high. She recognized it as the Negro man’s pride. Her own father carried himself the same way. She had assumed that he had a car outside, but as she watched from the window, she saw he was marching down her street. She wondered where he might live, and what type of life was awaiting his return.
After his first day, Bernie reported to work every morning at eight a.m. sharp, and that forced Eleanor out of bed and through her morning ritual without giving her the time to feel sorry for herself. Bernie preparing the nursery for their upcoming baby reminded Eleanor to focus on the blessing of it all.
On the third day Bernie worked upstairs, Eleanor was taking a home test in the den when she heard him singing. She put down her pencil and listened. The tune was so unlike anything she’d heard, but somehow it seemed familiar. Then it dawned on her: it was music that she had come across in her archiving. Before she thought it through, her feet carried her upstairs.
“Sorry to interrupt.” She stood in the doorway. Bernie was up on a ladder, removing the light fixture from the ceiling. “Are you singing Big Drum music?”
Bernie looked down at her, surprised. A waxy sheen of sweat covered his face. “How’d you know a thing like that?”
“I’m an archivist at the library at Howard University. I’ve been helping my boss secure music, books and artifacts from across the African diaspora.” She beamed proudly. She wasn’t just some privileged housewife.