The Two-Family House: A Novel

by Lynda Cohen Loigman

  One thing about that night Judith would never forget was the snow. Before that night, she had always thought of snow as beautiful and cheerful, like something you’d see in a Currier and Ives print. Before that night, the very thought of snow had her humming the tune to “Walking in a Winter Wonderland.” She would get excited about it, the snowball fights with her cousins and the snow angels they’d make. Snow meant hot chocolate with marshmallows and days off from school.

  But the night of the blizzard was the most frightening of Judith’s young life. Her mother, usually so docile and kind, turned into someone she did not recognize. Her gregarious aunt became quiet and nervous. The storm, and the isolation it caused, changed them. The snow kept them apart from her father and uncle. It blocked the hospital’s ambulance routes, detained the doctors and turned two routine labors into a fearful ordeal. Judith would never see snow again without remembering that night.

  Judith blamed the weather for the corruption of her recollections. Its presence was so all-encompassing that it trivialized every other thing about that night, even the birth of the babies. When Judith tried to recall specific details, she felt like she was looking at a distant scene through the glass of a snow globe. Their house and all the people in it were tucked safely inside. But she couldn’t see anything clearly because the flakes were in constant motion, covering the house and refusing to settle to the bottom. No matter what angle she approached from, she could never get an unobstructed view.

  The last clear moment of the night was when her mother announced the midwife’s arrival. Judith and Aunt Helen were in the living room sitting on the couch. They had just finished getting things ready—putting out clean towels, sheets and diapers—when her mother came rushing into the room. Before that, Rose had stayed in the bedroom, hiding from everyone and staring out the window.

  The sight of the single female figure outside in the snow jolted her mother out of her dormant state. “The midwife is here! It has to be her! She’s coming down the street—look!” Through the window they were just able to make out the figure of a woman fighting her way through the storm toward their house. For every three steps the woman moved forward, she was pushed back two steps by the wind. When they opened the door a few minutes later, a gust of snow practically blew the midwife into the living room so that she seemed, for a moment, almost to be floating. Snow continued to hover around her until the warmth of the room evaporated it. Aunt Helen hugged the midwife and kissed her, while her mother took the midwife’s hand to shake. Judith stood shyly to the side, then headed to the kitchen after her mother asked her to heat some water for tea. The midwife must have introduced herself then.

  The midwife was a small, sturdy woman in a navy blue dress with a kind but authoritative air about her. She was neither young nor old and immediately took charge in a way that Judith found comforting. When Judith returned from the kitchen with the tea, the midwife was in the middle of a question: “Which one of you am I here for, then?” Judith set the boiling cup down on the side table. She was the first to respond. “Both of them.”

  The midwife thought Judith was making a joke. But her mother and aunt confirmed it, nodding sheepishly and explaining the situation. The midwife downed her tea in one gulp.

  There was a brief discussion then that Judith didn’t follow concerning the timing of contractions, the breaking of water, the number of pregnancies and various other details. The midwife wanted to examine both of the expectant mothers and expressed her desire to set up separate birthing rooms for each of them. “But I want to be with Helen,” her mother insisted. “I don’t want to be separated from her.” It was decided that both women would start off in Rose’s room, Rose in her bed and Helen in the rollaway cot. If necessary, they would be separated later.

  Judith watched the midwife prepare. Everything she needed was stowed inside her valise. Judith had never seen such a bag before. Fresh blankets and rubber pads materialized from it, as did large bottles of various antiseptic solutions. When the midwife pulled out a lollipop and handed it to her, Judith didn’t recognize it because she thought it must have been some sort of medical instrument. The midwife told her what it was and laughed. She took out her gloves and asked Judith to leave the room because she was going to examine the patients.

  Judith could still remember the taste of that lollipop. She couldn’t describe the flavor, but it was something between grapefruit and peach. It was the most delicious candy she had ever tasted. She wanted to find out the name of it so she could ask her mother to buy some for her sisters, but she couldn’t find the wrapper after she removed it. She looked all over the floor, even under the couch, but she couldn’t find it.

  After the lollipop, the rest of the evening was a blur. Judith lay down on the living room couch with her book. The midwife must have been in the bedroom with her mother and aunt, and at some point Judith dozed off. Several hours later she woke up. The lights were out but someone had lit candles in the dark living room. The lollipop stick was still in her hand and her book was lying on the floor. What is that noise? Crying? Are the babies born already?

  Judith ran into the bedroom and found her mother propped up in bed holding two tightly swaddled bundles. The midwife was doing something to Aunt Helen that Judith couldn’t watch, so she turned away and closed her eyes. “She has to get the whole placenta out or there could be an infection,” her mother whispered. “Your cousin was born first but then I had to start pushing. It happened very fast. The midwife delivered Helen but the placenta tore. I couldn’t wait anymore so she delivered me and went back to Helen. She’ll be fine. Just a few stitches and she’ll be all done.” The midwife made a satisfied grunting sound when she was finished. Judith sniffed a strong ammonia-like smell, and the midwife told her she could open her eyes. When she did open them, the midwife was almost finished tidying everything up. “I’m going to warm up some water,” she announced. “I’ll be right back and we’ll clean up those beautiful babies.”

  The remainder of that night was even murkier. Judith took one of the babies from her mother and rocked it in her arms. “Oh my gosh, I completely forgot!” Judith said. “Which is which? I mean, which one is my cousin and which is my…?” Her aunt and mother looked at each other for what seemed like a very long time. Her mother answered first. “You’re holding your cousin Natalie.” Then her mother gestured toward the baby she was holding and spoke very softly. “This is your brother, Theodore.”

  At some point, Judith had left the apartment to tell Harry and the other children the news. The snow stopped, the sky lightened and people began to stir in the streets.

  The midwife must have returned from the kitchen after Judith had gone upstairs. She must have cleaned the babies then, written down their names on the certificates and said her goodbyes. She must have. But Judith couldn’t remember that part. She could only remember the part that came before. She searched her memory over and over, just as she’d searched the living room floor for the lollipop wrapper. But just like the wrapper, the midwife was gone.

  Part Two

  Chapter 17

  MORT

  After the initial excitement of having a son passed, Mort was ambivalent. He decided that all babies were really the same, and that the only thing separating newborn boys from newborn girls was future potential.

  The bris had been the highlight. After all the family occasions he had been forced to suffer through, it was finally his turn to be celebrated and honored. When he presented his son to the mohel (fulfilling “one of the sacred covenants of our people,” as he explained over and over to his daughters), Mort knew he was doing something important. It didn’t matter that he turned green as soon as the mohel started. Wasn’t it natural to feel queasy during such a significant occasion? He was sure it was. He was able to ignore his brother’s loud comments—“You all right there, Morty? Wanna go outside and get some air?”—and focus on the real significance of the day. He had a son to carry on his family’s name and traditions. So what if his sole
heir was just a recently traumatized six-pound infant? One day Teddy would be much, much more than that. All Teddy needed was time.

  At six months old, Teddy was a good deal smaller than Natalie. Mort viewed his lean physique as a positive and Natalie’s rolls of arm and leg pudge as repugnant. “What are they feeding her?” he asked Rose. “Bottles of schmaltz?” Rose glared at him when he said such things, but he didn’t care. After Teddy’s birth, Mort had eased up on his point system and no longer worried about counting every callous remark that escaped from his lips. He still believed his point method had merit—wasn’t Teddy proof that it worked? But he was not above making jokes at the expense of his brother’s family, especially because he believed he had finally earned the right to do so.

  Joking aside, Mort was grateful to Helen. He knew she was responsible for getting Rose through the blizzard and the birth of their son safely, and he hated to think what might have happened if she hadn’t been there. Though he would never admit it, Mort secretly admired Helen for being so capable.

  By the time he had reached six months of age, Teddy had become slightly more interesting to Mort. Mort enjoyed pushing him in his carriage to the park and sitting under the trees on the benches facing the baseball field. Before Teddy was born, Mort had visited the park only rarely with the girls.

  The baseball field was in the very center of the park, past the duck pond and to the left of the gazebo. Mort hadn’t bothered to attend any of his nephews’ games there, but he did love baseball. It was the only sport, in his opinion, that paid due respect to the importance of averages and statistics. He decided to start educating Teddy early by bringing him to watch the local kids play. Who knew what Teddy might absorb? Mort was sure that the baby was paying attention.

  “See that kid over there?” Mort would say. “The tall one with the freckles? Watch how he throws the ball. See how he does it? Nice and easy. That’s the way to do it.” Sometimes Mort’s comments were negative. “See that one up at base? He’s holding the bat all wrong. You need to turn your body and bend your knees.” And sometimes Mort would whisper his thoughts, just to make sure that none of the other parents at the field would hear. “You’ll be a better hitter than that kid by the time you’re four,” he would say.

  Halfway through his first year of life, Teddy was old enough to be interesting, but still young enough to be completely under Mort’s control. Mort liked it that way—he couldn’t imagine ever loosening his grip on this child. Teddy’s future was too important to be left to chance. He would be brilliant, athletic and, one day, the president of Box Brothers. Oh, it would be fine if Abe’s boys worked there too; there were all kinds of jobs for all kinds of abilities—machine operators, truck drivers, shipping clerks, etc. But Teddy would be the one in charge. Teddy would be the brains of the operation. Mort had no doubt about that.

  Chapter 18

  ABE

  When Joe and George were babies, one of them had always been awake. That’s how it was with twins. Abe was used to staying up nights for feedings, used to walking in circles around the house with one of the boys in his arms, trying to rock someone to sleep. Half of those nights he was so exhausted that he wasn’t even sure which one of them he was holding.

  But Natalie was different. The first night he was home with her, Abe got up around three in the morning. It was habit that woke him, not crying. Helen was asleep, and it took a few moments for him to register the silence. His first reaction was panic. Why was it so quiet? He pushed off the blankets and wandered over to Helen’s side of the bed, where the bassinet was supposed to be. The room was so dark that he only realized it was there when he stubbed his toe on it. He stopped himself from crying out and waited a few moments for the pain to subside. In the meantime, his eyes adjusted to the darkness and he was able to make out Natalie, asleep and peaceful on her side. He leaned down and put his ear up against her mouth. She was breathing, thank God. But how could she sleep for this long?

  Abe got back in bed, but he was restless. He lay awake, listening for the sounds of Natalie’s breathing. An hour later, he pulled the bassinet over to his side of the bed so he could hear better. He hoped the movement might wake the baby, but it didn’t. At four-thirty, Abe picked her up. He held her up in the air with his hands under her arms and her face directly across from his so he could look at her. Natalie squirmed for a few moments in his arms and opened one eye to stare at him. Abe felt like she was trying to tell him something. Let a girl get a little shut-eye, will ya? He put her back down and finally fell asleep. When she whimpered at six-thirty in the morning, Helen jumped out of bed and carried her into the kitchen.

  Abe wandered out of the bedroom a few minutes later. “Why did you move the bassinet?” Helen asked him.

  “She was so quiet! I couldn’t even tell if she was breathing. I got nervous.”

  Helen widened her eyes at him. “This is our fifth baby, Abe. Our fifth. And you’re nervous now?

  He shrugged. “The boys cried all the time. They never slept. I was too tired to be nervous. This one sleeps through the night when she’s two days old.”

  “Since when is sleeping through the night a crime?”

  “It’s not. But the boys always let us know if they needed something. They were hungry, they cried. Tired, they cried. Needed a change, they cried. How are we going to know what this one wants if she never cries?”

  Helen burst out laughing.

  “What? What’s so funny?”

  “You just summed up the difference between men and women, sweetheart. Men kvetch, and women suffer in silence!”

  “I’m going to take a shower,” Abe said, pretending to be disgusted.

  “Bye. Daddy!” Helen lifted up one of Natalie’s tiny hands for a wave.

  Steam filled up the bathroom, and Abe started thinking. Natalie was only two days old, but she was already making him question the things he thought he knew, even the way he thought about himself. He had been the father of boys. Easy. Sports question? He had it covered. Need someone to play ball? He was always game. War, politics, business, whatever. He could handle whatever the boys threw at him. Guy has a question about a girl? About sex, even? Abe hadn’t gotten that far yet with his boys, but he was sure he’d be able to figure out what to say when the time came around.

  But Natalie? What was she going to ask him about? He couldn’t predict. How was he going to be any help to her? He was pretty sure Mort hadn’t been much help so far to his girls. Maybe that’s why he always seemed so disinterested. Maybe he ignored them because he didn’t know how to talk to them.

  Well, Abe wasn’t going to do that. His daughter would have every advantage his boys had. He would make sure of it.

  Chapter 19

  HELEN

  (September 1948)

  From the moment he woke up that morning, Joe hadn’t stopped complaining. The others weren’t happy about the first day of school either, but at least they’d stopped grumbling about it long enough to eat breakfast.

  “Are you done?” Helen finally had asked Joe, in a tone that made it clear she wasn’t asking. Joe was about to respond, but kept his mouth shut when she began to line their lunch boxes up on the kitchen counter. Helen knew he was smart enough to realize that a nasty response would mean no cookies with his lunch. Missing breakfast was one thing, but no dessert was another, so Helen wasn’t surprised when he’d decided to cut his losses and apologize. “Sorry, Mom,” he managed.

  After Helen handed the boys their lunches she gave them all a final once-over. The last gasp of rebellion came when Sam tried to convince Helen that his stomach cramps might be appendicitis. Her response was to push all of them out the door and to lock it from the inside as quickly as possible. A few minutes later, she heard Natalie babbling in her crib.

  With the boys gone and only Natalie at home, everything was easy. Helen was almost ashamed to admit how much she enjoyed taking care of her. With the first baby, Helen had always been afraid she was doing something wrong. When Sam came
along it was easier, but Harry had been so jealous that Helen had to sleep with one eye open just to make sure Harry didn’t push his brother out the window. And with the twins—well, there were two of them. But with Natalie, Helen could finally relax. The sheer joy Helen felt just from watching her dribble breakfast mush down her chin was sometimes so intense that it brought her to tears.

  After she got Natalie dressed, Helen carried her downstairs, pulled the carriage out from its spot in the hallway and knocked on Rose’s door. Maybe Rose and Teddy would come with them to the park.

  Helen was worried about Rose. She should have been walking on air after Teddy was born. She finally had a son, and Mort was satisfied at last. Helen assumed everything would be perfect. But she was beginning to realize just how shortsighted she had been.

  From the start, Helen recognized the signs. She had seen other women act like this after having babies. Rose was withdrawn and she stayed in bed most of the time. The other women Helen knew who had experienced this kind of thing always got over it after a month or so, but with Rose, it seemed to be getting worse. Teddy had been a difficult infant at first, and Rose wasn’t used to colicky babies. Helen tried to help—she would stay over a few nights a week downstairs and bring Natalie with her. She spent hours burping Teddy and massaging his tiny body the way she used to when Sam had colic.