Go Set a Watchman (To Kill a Mockingbird #2)(38)

Jean Louise nudged Ada Belle, who made room for her on the bench.

“What’s wrong with her?”

“She’s pregnant, and you know who did it? Her daddy.”

Jean Louise said, “What’s pregnant?”

A groan went up from the circle of girls. “Gonna have a baby, stupid,” said one.

Jean Louise assimilated the definition and said, “But what’s her daddy got to do with it?”

Ada Belle sighed, “Her daddy’s the daddy.”

Jean Louise laughed. “Come on, Ada Belle—”

“That’s a fact, Jean Louise. Betcha the only reason Francine ain’t is she ain’t started yet.”

“Started what?”

“Started ministratin’,” said Ada Belle impatiently. “I bet he did it with both of ’em.”

“Did what?” Jean Louise was now totally confused.

The girls shrieked. Ada Belle said, “You don’t know one thing, Jean Louise Finch. First of all you—then if you do it after that, after you start, that is, you’ll have a solid baby.”

“Do what, Ada Belle?”

Ada Belle glanced up at the circle and winked. “Well, first of all it takes a boy. Then he hugs you tight and breathes real hard and then he French-kisses you. That’s when he kisses you and opens his mouth and sticks his tongue in your mouth—”

A ringing noise in her ears obliterated Ada Belle’s narrative. She felt the blood leave her face. Her palms grew sweaty and she tried to swallow. She would not leave. If she left they would know it. She stood up, trying to smile, but her lips were trembling. She clamped her mouth shut and clenched her teeth.

“—an’ that’s all there is to it. What’s the matter, Jean Louise? You’re white as a hain’t. Ain’t scared’ja, have I?” Ada Belle smirked.

“No,” said Jean Louise. “I just don’t feel so hot. Think I’ll go inside.”

She prayed they would not see her knees shaking as she walked across the schoolyard. Inside the girls’ bathroom she leaned over a washbasin and vomited.

There was no mistaking it, Albert had stuck out his tongue at her. She was pregnant.

JEAN LOUISE’S GLEANINGS of adult morals and mores to date were few, but enough: it was possible to have a baby without being married, she knew that. Until today she neither knew nor cared how, because the subject was uninteresting, but if someone had a baby without being married, her family was plunged into deep disgrace. She had heard Alexandra go on at length about Disgraces to Families: disgrace involved being sent to Mobile and shut up in a Home away from decent people. One’s family was never able to hold up their heads again. Something had happened once, down the street toward Montgomery, and the ladies at the other end of the street whispered and clucked about it for weeks.

She hated herself, she hated everybody. She had done nobody any harm. She was overwhelmed by the unfairness of it: she had meant no harm.

She crept away from the school building, walked around the corner to the house, sneaked to the back yard, climbed the chinaberry tree, and sat there until dinnertime.

Dinner was long and silent. She was barely conscious of Jem and Atticus at the table. After dinner she returned to the tree and sat there until twilight, when she heard Atticus call her.

“Come down from there,” he said. She was too miserable to react to the ice in his voice.

“Miss Blunt called and said you left school at recess and didn’t come back. Where were you?”

“Up the tree.”

“Are you sick? You know if you’re sick you’re to go straight to Cal.”

“No sir.”

“Then if you aren’t sick what favorable construction can you put upon your behavior? Any excuse for it?”

“No sir.”

“Well, let me tell you something. If this happens again it will be Hail Columbia.”

“Yes sir.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him, to shift her burden to him, but she was silent.

“You sure you’re feeling all right?”

“Yes sir.”

“Then come on in the house.”

At the supper table, she wanted to throw her plate fully loaded at Jem, a superior fifteen in adult communication with their father. From time to time Jem would cast scornful glances at her. I’ll get you back, don’t you worry, she promised him. But I can’t now.