The Mother-in-Law(27)

“She went into labor last night,” Laurel, her roommate, told us, her voice hushed.

Everyone gathered in close. We knew that people went to have their babies, but we were starved of logistics. It was rare to get any actual details.

“It was pretty tough. She waited as long as she could before she called Matron. She didn’t want to go to the hospital.”

That had been a surprise. Mary had been one of the braver girls. She’d been saying for weeks she couldn’t wait to get her baby out, that when it was all over, she was going to buy a pair of hip-hugging flares and a bottle of whisky.

“Why didn’t she want to go?” someone asked, the question on everyone’s lips.

Sixteen pairs of eyes gawped at Laurel.

“Because you go into the hospital with a baby,” she said, “and you leave without one.”

Later, when Matron came to announce lights out, we were all animated.

“Did Mary have her baby, Matron?” Laurel asked.

Matron looked guarded. No one used the word “baby” with Matron. Even Dr. Humbert had managed to avoid using it, at least in front of us.

“She did,” Matron said eventually.

We all waited. I noticed Pamela, by the bookshelves, standing so still I doubted she was breathing.

“What did she have? A boy or a girl?”

“The baby was healthy,” Matron said, and that was the last time I heard her say that word at Orchard House.

After news of Mary’s birth, the impersonations stopped. It was as though for a time we’d forgotten what we were doing there, but then, just like that, we remembered. During the day, Pamela barely spoke at all. But at night, when we lay in bed, she sometimes said a few words. Something vulnerable happened to you at night at Orchard House. You took off your clothes, you took off your armor.

“I think I’m having a girl,” she whispered one night, as we lay in our twin beds. “What about you?”

In the darkness I could just about make out the outline of her body, under a mound of blankets. It was cold in the room and her breath was a cloud in the air.

“It doesn’t matter,” I say. “It won’t be my baby.”

“But what would you call it?” she insisted. “If you were keeping it?”

I shook my head. “I wouldn’t have the faintest idea, Pamela.”

“I’d call my girl Jane. Jane Pamela. It’s pretty, don’t you think?”

Outside, a car drove past and a streak of light crossed her bed, illuminating her face. It was light, hopeful. Utterly unlike Pamela. A lump filled my throat.

“Diana?” Pamela said after a moment.

“Mmm?”

“My friends call me Pammy.”

I inhaled sharply, swallowed hard. All at once I felt pinned by the weight of what was coming.

“Diana? Did you hear me?”

“Yes,” I said, coughing to clear my throat. “I heard you, Pammy.”

As our due dates drew closer, Pammy shared a few little details about her life. She told me the father of her baby was a man named Christopher, a doctor. Christopher had a wife, Pammy said, but she didn’t love him, only his money. Christopher paid for Pammy to come to Orchard House because he didn’t want her to have to lift a finger while she was with child, that’s how much he loved her—at least that’s what Pammy said. I had my doubts about Pammy’s version of events, but I was happy to listen. It was better than when she started talking about the baby.

“I wonder if Jane will look like me or Christopher.”

“I bet Jane will be smart, like Christopher.”

“Oh look, Jane is kicking me. She’s a feisty one!”

Sometimes, when Pammy talked about Jane, I wanted to scream. Pammy wouldn’t be allowed to name her baby. She wouldn’t even be allowed to hold her. That was hard to think about. As the days moved on, my urge to hold my baby was nearly overwhelming. At night, when I felt it kick and move, I wrapped my arms around my belly. I assumed it would be my only chance to hold it.

I do have a name,” I tell Pammy, one night. “For a boy, that is. Oliver.”

“Oliver,” Pammy says approvingly. “What a lovely, posh name. Lovely and posh, like you.”

Despite my hurt, despite myself . . . in the darkness, I laugh out loud.

One evening, I realized I hadn’t seen Pammy all day.

“Matron?” I said when she came to tell us it was ten minutes until lights out. “I haven’t seen Pammy today. Has she gone to have her baby?”

Matron pursed her lips. “Pamela has been moved.”

“Moved where? It’s too early for her to have her baby.”

“That’s none of your concern.” Matron clapped her hands together twice. “All right girls, time for bed, don’t dillydally.”

“Matron,” I said, louder now. “Where has Pammy been moved?”

Matron’s turned to look at me, pinning me in her beady gaze. “Are you going to start causing trouble, Diana? That’s disappointing. I thought you were one of the more sensible girls.”

I felt Laurel tug my hand. I abandoned the conversation with Matron and followed her into the corridor.

“Has Pammy been saying anything about wanting to keep her baby?” Laurel said.