House of Rougeaux(67)
Maxis came and took the child away. She would journey with him, a bottle of milk and an eyedropper, to Montreal and then return alone. Eleanor lay sunken in the bed, bruised and torn. When her milk came in, her breasts swelled and hardened, and then a fever came upon her so strong she dreamed someone was throwing pot after pot of boiling water over her. For days she lay delirious, demons and angels clashing above her, scattering over the ceiling and singing strange versions of songs she thought she knew. Only Isabelle Delaney interrupted the cacophony, feeding her broth with a spoon, and taking away sheets that were soaked with sweat.
At last the fever broke. Eleanor woke in the dark and lay awake some time, until she heard the great clock in the hall strike five and she knew it was near morning. She got unsteadily to her feet and made her way to the bureau where she found there was still some water in the pitcher, which she drank greedily, and then lay down to sleep again. When she woke next it was daylight and she heard Mrs. Delaney in the kitchen. A little while later, Mrs. Delaney pushed open the door and caught Eleanor’s expression.
“Oh,” she gasped, “thank Heavens, you are looking better. I was just about to call a doctor.”
“I’ll live, I guess.” Eleanor tried a smile.
Mrs. Delaney leaned over her and put a cool hand on her forehead.
“Think you can eat something?”
Eleanor felt a lurch in her stomach. It was coming back to life.
“Porridge sounds good,” she said, but then began to cry. Mrs. Delaney sat on the edge of the bed.
“Don’t cry now,” she said. “Things will turn out alright.” She didn’t seem sure.
Eleanor wished with all her might it was her own mother sitting there instead of Isabelle Delaney, but she couldn’t say so. The older woman stood again.
“Porridge,” she said. “You need your strength.”
* * *
Another week passed and in body Eleanor was much recovered, the elasticity of youth being on her side. Mrs. Delaney took her to the Dominion Bank to exchange Mr. Hathaway’s banknotes for American money, and sewed her a special wallet to keep it all safe. They took in Eleanor’s two dresses, returning them to close to their previous width, and even Maxis helped with that. She was surprisingly handy with a needle.
“I do thank you both,” Eleanor said to them, the night before her leaving, “for all your help, and all your kindness.”
They were seated at the kitchen table with their after-supper tea.
“Oh,” said Mrs. Delaney, a blush rising in her cheeks, “we shall miss you. Won’t we, Maxis?”
Maxis fixed her stare on Eleanor. It wasn’t so unnerving now.
“And so shall Da’s piano,” she said. The trace of a smile spread across her face and she emitted a low hiccuping sound. Maxis was laughing.
“I will send it a card next Christmas,” said Eleanor, and she and Mrs. Delaney burst into giggles, as Maxis hiccupped louder.
* * *
Eleanor returned to New York a wiser woman, with a new sense of determination and purpose. She knew she would see Gerard Batiste at the Conservatory but felt her business with him was finished. For her mistakes she could blame no one but herself. If there were any repairs to be made now it was with Alma. The Vance was full, but Eleanor got a room at another boarding house on the same block. She left a message for Alma at the concierge desk and the two of them met the next evening at a café.
It was dusk and a late winter snowfall glowed around the streetlights. Alma sat across from Eleanor, stirring her cup of coffee with milk and cinnamon that was a specialty of the café. She wouldn’t meet Eleanor’s eye for the longest time.
“I’m sorry I left without saying goodbye. Without telling you why.”
Alma heaved a sigh and looked out the window before speaking.
“Why didn’t you?” Her delicate eyebrows knit together, the hurt was plain to see.
“I just couldn’t,” Eleanor said.
“You couldn’t tell me?”
“No.”
“You were in trouble.”
“Did you know all along?”
“I thought maybe.”
The girls were quiet a while, then Alma spoke again.
“Nora, where’s the baby?”
“In Montreal, with my brother’s family.”
“Mercy,” Alma breathed.
Eleanor was grateful to see that by the time their coffee was finished her friend had forgiven her and their intimacy was renewed. More than half a year had passed and they had much catching up to do. When they left the café they strolled arm in arm, not caring that snow piled up on their shoulders.
There were no more secrets between the two, as their years as students continued and saw them grow steadily toward womanhood. Sam Higgins remained a close friend, and Eleanor found mentors in a number of the faculty, and even in Jeannette Thurber herself, who invited Eleanor to tea in her drawing room many times.
Ever interested in “polishing her diamonds,” Jeannette Thurber frequently made these invitations to the Conservatory’s most promising students, particularly the young ladies. She had taken an early interest in Eleanor. They always began and ended their talks discussing music, but visited other subjects of life as much as Eleanor allowed. Mrs. Thurber observed the younger woman grow quiet when asked about her family in Montreal. She guessed the reticence could have something to do with Eleanor’s delayed entry into her studies, but never pressed her for details. Instead, Mrs. Thurber offered encouragements and suggestions on Eleanor’s playing. She spoke philosophically about finding hidden doors and seeing whether or not they could be coaxed open. Eleanor drank in the advice, along with her tea, gathering Mrs. Thurber’s words like jewels scattered on the ground, even if their meaning sometimes eluded her.