by Jane Rule
When Bonnie called to see how she was, Milly didn’t tell her either that she’d been left stranded. What could Bonnie do, two thousand miles away, but worry? And Milly wasn’t entirely sure that Bonnie would take her side of the quarrel. So recently having enjoyed her daughter’s good opinion, Milly wasn’t as ready to sacrifice it as she had once been.
Bonnie would probably tell her that a lot of girls were choosing to have babies on their own these days. It was a fact which could hardly go unobserved even on this little island where there were already several mothers married to nothing but welfare. Milly wasn’t being unkind when she saw abortion as the only solution—she wasn’t one to think the young should have to pay for every mistake. A bit late now, though, wasn’t it? So Red should be persuaded to give the baby up for adoption. What kind of life did she think she could provide for a child all alone? That she was a bastard herself was a ridiculous argument!
Hen obviously hadn’t the mind to confront Red with such a decision, and Red wouldn’t talk with Milly. Could Miss James perhaps persuade her? Miss James was having too serious a flirtation with pneumonia to deal with anything else. But if Red did have the baby and go on welfare, where would they all be?
There were other young women willing to clean house, but they weren’t willing to see themselves in that role. Red took her job seriously and had no social pretensions about being above the work she did. Even having an illegitimate baby was conforming to type, but Red obviously wasn’t literate enough to know that a servant so compromised was sent away, whether the child was the master’s or the footman’s. If Milly didn’t exactly want Red to slink away in the night, she certainly shouldn’t be allowed simply to brazen it out. Only in a minister’s house could a young mother and bastard child be taken in, out of Christian charity, of course, but also because such household labor was all a minister could usually afford.
In the all too loosely structured social world of the island, it was important to set and maintain standards. If it weren’t for herself and the Henriettas of this world, there would be no Reds.
Servants who knew their place were such a dying breed they could hardly be found now outside books. In town, professionals had taken over. Milly knew one bridge club which scheduled its meetings according to who had to be out of her house while the cleaners were there. At large parties you often recognized more of the waiters and waitresses than you did the guests because nearly everyone now used the same firm, and those young people were trained to be able to tell you not only the names of the other guests but the name of your host, if it was one of those parties you’d gone to just because your husband thought it was important to be seen there. For small dinners you began to depend on places like the Lazy Gourmet, a shop that would fill up your own casseroles and baking dishes which didn’t have to arrive at the house until fifteen minutes before the guests did.
Henrietta was old enough never to have lived that way. Milly had learned the skills of managing professionals only imperfectly. They could sometimes make her feel that the hostess herself was some kind of incompetent volunteer in an otherwise dependable performance. They would take correction from no one but Forbes, who paid the bill.
However modestly it had happened, Milly was glad to have the domestic reins back in her own hands where she had no sneaking suspicion that people had been hired to show her up in her own house. Red never did that. Every bit of her confidence came from Henrietta’s teaching, and it came from doing the job well, not from knowing better than her betters. How am I going to manage without her?
Red knocked at the back door.
“Well!” Milly exclaimed. “Think of the devil!”
“I haven’t come to apologize, Mrs. Forbes,” Red said directly. “I’ve come to put away the vacuum cleaner and take down the living room curtains for the cleaner. I can put them in the trunk of your car. You’ll be driving by Friday.”
Milly stood meekly aside and let Red get on with her chores. In her invalid state, the house had seemed a kind of cocoon, and Milly hadn’t minded the lack of light. Bonnie had been glad of any means to keep the old house warm. But now, as Red took down the drapes, the warm spring sun flooded into the house rich in recent memories of past summers when the family was together and Milly was willing slave to them all. She didn’t have help except as the children and Forbes could be coaxed into tasks unthinkable to ask of them in town.
“If I didn’t have this great old barn of a house, I wouldn’t need you,” Milly said to Red’s back.
“You love this place,” Red said. “You wouldn’t trade it even for Mrs. Hawkins’.”
“For the water in Hen’s well?”
“Not even for that,” Red said, carrying the winter-dusty curtains out of the room.
Did she? Did she actually love this house? She would have thought she’d crabbed its charm right out of it in the cold and drafty winters, but, as the sun streamed in on the ample and amply used furniture, Milly knew Red was right. She had always loved not only the island but this house, for all her years of denying it. The house was generously shabby the way she imagined a country parsonage might be, and perhaps she could learn to live there like a parson’s widow rather than the castoff wife of a man who could keep her a lot better than he was willing to.
The next time Red entered the house, she was suddenly right for the place though Milly doubted that she’d ever assume the appropriate shame at her condition. Well, Milly would have to strain to reach the piety of a parson’s widow herself. Given the choice, she would rather be clean than moral. Red hadn’t, after all, asked her to apologize either.
Red drove Karen’s car onto the ferry as if she’d done it all her life, and Karen was not surprised. They’d practiced tight maneuvering for lack of high-speed roads and traffic. Karen had decided they wouldn’t go right into Victoria today. Instead they’d braid with the big road, ride a couple of exits, duck down into a suburb, try that traffic, and then go up onto the highway again. They would take time out for lunch and a bit of shopping, but their job for the day was driving. Since Red had passed her written test, she’d become impatient to try for her license.
“If we don’t go pretty soon,” Red said, “this baby’s going to be driving the car.”
Red still didn’t look pregnant. In the warming weather she wore loose-fitting dresses as she always had. But she always looked now as if she’d just had a swim or a game of tennis or made love. And there was a washed clarity about her eyes. She wasn’t even now pretty, but a young woman so distinctly alive might have caught a painter’s eye.
Rather than sit in the coffee shop or one of the lounges, they walked the decks, the wind in their faces, the sun warm on their skin. Gulls alongside cruised at the speed of the ship or rested on the railings.
“They’re flying most of the way,” Karen said, “and we’re walking.”
“Are you tired?” Red asked. “We could sit down. It’s just that I’m supposed to walk, and we’ll be sitting most of the day.”
“No,” Karen said. “I like it better out of doors in this weather.”
“I went back to Mrs. Forbes,” Red said, not looking at Karen.
Karen stopped, and Red went on for a few steps before she realized she’d lost her companion. She turned around and gave Karen a tentative smile.
“Why did you do that?” Karen demanded.
Red shrugged.
“You don’t need her money. I’m sure there are lots of other people you could work for.”
“I’m used to it there,” Red said, and, when Karen still looked disapproving, she added, “When I tried to think about telling Mrs. Hawkins, I couldn’t.”
“Hen doesn’t have to be your conscience,” Karen protested.
“She said to me once that Mrs. Forbes had been humiliated, and it took a long time to get over that.”
“You don’t get over it by humiliating other people!” Karen objected. “How long has it been since her husband had the good sense to leave her on the island?”
“Three or four years, I guess,” Red said. “She has been a bit better lately since her operation and her daughter. And I told her I wouldn’t apologize.”
“You wouldn’t? What about her?”
“That would be the day!” Red said laughing.
Red’s company had become increasingly easy for Karen. She never felt she had to make conversation, nor did she have to censor what she thought even when Red might not agree. The only restriction Karen felt on the friendship was that they never simply met, without the excuse of driving lessons or dog-training sessions. Karen would have liked to ask Red over for supper, but, because Red knew she was gay, she might misinterpret the invitation. Red never suggested that Karen visit at her cabin. Karen doubted that she was ashamed of her place. Maybe she didn’t want an invitation misunderstood either, or maybe it was more basic than that. Maybe the idea just didn’t occur to her.
“Are you going to get a phone?” Karen asked.
“I’ve thought about it,” Red said. “I’ve thought about how often people might phone me. Mrs. Forbes is always on the phone, and she doesn’t have enough people to call.”
“I suppose so,” Karen said, seeing the point, “but it would be nice to get hold of you without sending out the army. And what about when the baby comes?”
“People have had kids miles from anywhere,” Red said.
“Yeah,” Karen said. “But they had to have a bunch in order for a few to survive.”
“I don’t think I want to have more than one,” Red said. “This one wasn’t all that easy to come by.”
“Why did you pick Dickie?” Karen asked though Red had never spoken of him as the baby’s father.
“I didn’t think he’d care,” Red said. “He wouldn’t have, either. It’s just that I got pregnant before he got bored.”
“Did he know?”
“No,” Red said. “I never wanted him to think it was any of his business.”
Karen would have liked to ask other questions, but she was already afraid that Red felt pushed. Though Red’s was an odd way to choose a father for her child, Karen did understand how Red had figured it out. Karen wondered if being a single parent would prove easier or more difficult now that Dickie was dead. If Dickie hadn’t wanted to claim the child—and that was certainly likely—Sadie wouldn’t have either. But, bereft of her only child, she might think differently about her claim to kinship.
As Karen had anticipated, Red was not intimidated by the speed of the big road. She liked it. Other cars didn’t distract her until she turned off the highway and drove around neighborhoods and commercial sections where traffic was less single-minded and pedestrians had the right-of-way. Red cursed at dogs and children so without reservation that it would have been hard to know she owned one and was expecting the other. She was sweating by the time Karen suggested they stop for lunch.
“It isn’t driving that’s the problem,” Red said as they waited for their order. “It’s trying to mind-read everything on legs or wheels.”
“You’re doing really well.” Karen meant it, though her own nerves were also worn.
“Well,” Red said, “I learned a long time ago everything’s harder than it looks, even dusting, until you know how.”
Red insisted on picking up the check. Karen made a polite protest. She liked Red’s sense of responsibility and wondered if Hen had taught her that, too, or if it was something innate.
When they got back into the car, Karen noticed that Red’s hands clutched the steering wheel even before she’d turned on the ignition.
“Ease up a bit,” Karen said. “Or let me drive a bit?”
“No,” Red said, letting go of the wheel and flexing her fingers several times. “I’m okay now.”
Karen let her head for the big road and drive nearly into Victoria and back, the speed and ease gradually giving her back her confidence and pleasure.
“Maybe I should be a long-distance trucker,” Red said. “It wouldn’t be such a bad life for a kid.”
“Most kids get carsick.”
“How do you know things like that?” Red demanded.
“I went away to camp. Because I was an only child, my parents thought I needed extra practice getting along with kids my own age.”
“Did you get along with them?”
“Well enough, I guess,” Karen said. “But I never liked kids much. They were always being sick or mean.”
“Not just kids,” Red said. “People.”
“Let’s go back to Sidney now,” Karen suggested. “I need to find a birthday present for my mother.”
“Is it your mother or your father …” Red began a question she was obviously reluctant to finish.
“My father,” Karen said. “You can tell by my last name, Tasuki.”
“I can’t,” Red confessed. “I never know how Mrs. Forbes figures out who’s Jewish or Hungarian or whatever by their last names. I don’t have a last name. My mother called herself Smith. She said maybe I should be Heinz for fifty-seven varieties. She told people I was a little bit of everything bad: kike, wop, nigger, squaw.”
“My father tells me I’m one hundred and fifty percent Canadian.”
“Do they live in Vancouver?”
“No, my dad’s in the East. My mother doesn’t seem to live anywhere for very long.”
They had taken the Sidney turn, and Karen was quiet now to let Red concentrate. When they got to the town center, Karen didn’t insist that Red park on the street.
Red gratefully pulled into a parking lot. “I’ve had about enough of that for one day,” she admitted.
“Do you want to wait in the car?”
“Maybe I will.”
Karen was glad to be alone for a chore that baffled and would have embarrassed her had Red been with her. She had no idea of her mother’s tastes. When she tried to think of colors her mother wore, Karen had no distinct memory. It would be easier to pick out something for Hen or Miss James or even the silly Milly Forbes. The few times she’d gone shopping with her mother, they’d looked for things for Karen which always hung in Karen’s closet unworn. The presents her mother sent to her were tokens—bits of junk jewelry from around the world to go with a Christmas or birthday check drawn on an American bank account. Peggy had occasionally rummaged in Karen’s drawer and found something that amused her; otherwise the gifts languished unused. Karen didn’t wear jewelry. She supposed her gifts to her mother suffered a similar fate, knowledge which made her search the more futile. She went back to the car with a handbag, hoping her mother would like it only because Karen didn’t.
Red was sound asleep. She looked even younger than her eighteen years, her soft mouth slightly parted, fine dark hair fallen over one eye. Karen wanted to reach out and brush the hair back off her face. It occurred to her for the first time that she would like to kiss that mouth. Stupid.
“Wake up,” Karen said firmly, “and move over. I’m driving home.”
“The doctor says there’s nothing the matter with you,” Red said to Henrietta, who looked up at her from her bed.
“It isn’t Thursday, is it?” Henrietta asked.
“People get up every day of the week,” Red said, “even on a day when nobody is supposed to be cleaning the house.”
“I was going to get up … later,” Henrietta lied. “You mustn’t bully me.”
“A month is long enough,” Red said.
A month? Had it really been a month? This limbo felt both like yesterday and the whole of her life. The difficulty wasn’t that her bones ached so much; it was their weight she couldn’t bear to haul around from room to room. Red and Karen had kept telling her she was losing weight but they didn’t understand that her teeth were too heavy, her tongue was too large for her mouth, and she had to think to make herself swallow.
“Here’s tea and juice,” Red said. “Have that, and then I’ll help you dress.”
“I’ll be just fine,” Henrietta tried to assure her as she struggled to sit upright. “Y
ou just go along.”
“Mrs. Hawkins,” Red said, “I’m going to come here every morning and get you out of bed until you’re back in the habit.”
Henrietta hadn’t the strength to protest that it was nobody’s business whether she stayed in bed or not. She sat and sulked over her tray until Red came back into the room.
“Drink it,” Red ordered, handing her the juice.
Henrietta accepted the glass reluctantly and took a small sip while Red watched her.
“It’s fresh,” Henrietta said, surprised by the sweetness and texture.
“The juice in the fridge is a week old. No wonder you don’t want to drink it. How long is it since you went to the store?”
“Milly brought me some things the other day,” Henrietta said.
“Ten days ago, and you told her not to call or come back till you called her. You haven’t.”
“She tires me, Red.”
The mere thought of Milly made the juice glass in Henrietta’s hand too heavy to hold.
“You could shop for yourself.”
“You and Karen are always bringing me things. I don’t seem to need all that much.”
“When you get up, we’ll go for a drive.”
“I’m just not up to driving.”
“I’ll do the driving,” Red said.
“You don’t know how to drive,” Henrietta said, relieved to remember the limit of Red’s power.
“Yes, I do. Karen taught me, and I have my license.”
“When did all this happen?” Henrietta asked, hating the little flash of fear that could invade her lethargy now and then.
