by Mark Seaman
Such thoughts and uncertainties bothered me greatly over the next few days as I spent time in hospital growing ever closer to and more in love with my beautiful daughter.
Dad entered the delivery room and for a moment I wondered if he had been drinking alcohol rather than tea as he took his granddaughter into his arms for the first time and mumbled almost incoherently about how proud he was of me and how beautiful Jenny was.
“Oh Mary she’s so, and you, I… I don’t know what to say.” I watched as tears of pride and joy fill his eyes. Mum raised her eyebrows and chided him gently.
“You soppy brush. Just say she’s beautiful, which is obvious for all to see.” Dad grinned at all three of us like the cat that had got the cream.
“Of course she’s beautiful, just look at her mother. She’s got the same good looks and little nose that our Mary had when she was a baby.” I was grateful to Dad for saying that, not because he had compared Jenny to me but more especially because he hadn’t made any reference to her father even though her hair was dark as Gerry’s had been.
“Have you decided on a name yet? I know we’ve been talking about it over the past few weeks, but it clearly isn’t going to be Peter now we know she’s a girl.”
Mum looked straight at Dad. “You know there are times, Jim, admittedly few, that I am grateful that Mary is our adopted daughter, because at least she hasn’t inherited your brain, or lack of it.”
“I was just saying, that’s all.”
“Actually I have decided,” I said, interrupting. They both looked at me intently as I took a breath. “I’d like to call her Jennifer after your mother,” I said looking straight at Mum. “Although I’d like to shorten it to Jenny if that’s alright?”
Mum’s eyes filled with tears again. “Oh, Mary, are you sure?”
I nodded sensing the moment and unable to speak myself.
“Thank you, and yes, of course Jenny’s alright. Dad called Mum Jenny wren all the time as a term of affection between the two of them.”
Up until that moment I hadn’t been really aware of this family nickname as Nan had died when I was only a few months old but it made my choosing Jenny seem even more appropriate.
Dad took her into his arms and held her aloft. “So young Jenny, you’re already having to bear the weight of responsibility in carrying forward the family name on your little shoulders. I just hope they’ll prove broad enough to carry such a heavy load.”
Mum looked at him for a moment and then down at me. “I’m so sorry, Mary, clearly Jenny’s arrival has had some sort of detrimental effect on his already deluded mind. Thank goodness you had a baby girl or goodness knows what names he might have come up with had she been a boy, accepting that he’d already discounted Peter?” The room filled with our shared laughter and I was grateful that these were the first sounds to greet Jenny as she began her life’s journey. I was resolute in my determination to do all I could to ensure the rest of her life would also be filled with the same sense of joy and love as it had begun.
After spending a few days recovering I was allowed to take Jenny home. At first I found myself treating her as if she were a porcelain doll that might break if I dropped her, and it was with that fear at the front of my mind that I let Mum carry Jenny to the car as we left the hospital. I think Dad felt the same way as I did, driving home at about five miles an hour so as not to shake her about too much. Not that Jenny would have cared if he’d have driven at a hundred miles an hour as she slept during the whole journey. Mum teased Dad and I about our concerns for Jenny and was a lot more confident in her approach towards her.
“She won’t break you know. She’s a baby not a crystal chandelier.”
“You’ve obviously forgotten the early days we had with Mary,” Dad replied. “We practically wrapped her in cotton wool for those first few weeks.”
“That’s right, and then we discovered like everyone else that baby’s are pretty resilient and tend to survive when handled normally. Admittedly we had a couple of accidents between us in the early days but she’s still here to tell the story isn’t she?”
“You had accidents with me? I can’t believe I’m allowing my daughter to become part of a family where her grandparents couldn’t even care for their own daughter properly. We’ll probably both be scarred for life.”
Dad glanced at me in his driving mirror and laughed. “Look on the bright side, now we’ve got a second chance to get things right. Anyway, I don’t know why you’re making such a fuss I only dropped you on your head a couple of times.” Mum turned to me and shook her head as the two of us held onto Jenny in a silent but heartfelt bond of love.
I was fortunate to be able to feed Jenny myself as it was something I had wanted to do from the earliest acceptance of my pregnancy. Again, I felt sorry for Mum at these times as this was another experience she would never own for herself. Even so she was wonderfully supportive of me and felt privileged to be included as part of the process whenever I held Jenny to my breast.
“I envy you that closeness, Mary, that extra bond. I’m only sorry I couldn’t do the same for you.”
“I know, Mum, but even though I can do this for Jenny as a physical act, the heart relationship you and I share between us couldn’t be deeper and I know you love me every bit as much as I love her.”
“Thank you for that, sweetheart. And yes I couldn’t love you more, the both of you.”
We used to sit together and watch in amazement at how much this little person appeared to be able to consume. She never seemed to have had enough and often cried after feeding. I thought at first it was just wind, but the health visitor said she thought that I might not be producing enough milk for Jenny and suggested we top up her feeds with the occasional bottle. This certainly appeared to work and Jenny soon settled down, becoming more relaxed in both her efforts at feeding and in the resulting patterns of her sleep afterwards. It also allowed both Mum and Dad the opportunity to feed Jenny as well. Dad especially enjoyed his turn with the bottle and would walk around the room singing Jennifer Juniper, the old Donovan song to Jenny as she lay across his shoulder whilst he and patted her gently on the back in an attempt to bring up her wind.
“Dad, I don’t want my daughter growing up thinking that’s her name, please can you think of something else to sing.”
“It could be worse; I could sing “Daddy wouldn’t buy me a bow wow” like I did to you when you were a baby.”
“Why on earth would you do that to her? Come to think of it, why did you sing it to me?”
Dad smiled. “Don’t you remember? When you were very young we had that lovely old mongrel called Bess. She died soon after your first birthday but you used to make a bee line for her whenever the two of you were in the same room. She was always so gentle with you, but because she was getting on and you liked to grab and pull at anything that came within your reach we kept the two of you apart as much as possible, especially when you used to crawl over to her and yank on her ears. She would look at your mum and I as if pleading for us to intervene on her behalf. You would point at Bess and I would say “doggy” trying to get you to speak. Your mum would laugh and say you’d be better learning to say mummy and daddy.” He paused for a moment as Jenny burped in response to his winding efforts. “Well done, that’s a big girl.” He took her from his shoulder and kissed her lightly on her cheek. “Anyway, that’s why I used to sing it to you. My mum had sung it to me as a youngster so it had stayed with me over the years. I used to make a pretty good job of it I seem to remember, although your mother here didn’t necessarily agree.” He smiled as the memory overtook him and he handed Jenny back to me. “You were such a beautiful baby, just like this little one.” I took his hand and squeezed it.
“Thanks Dad.”
“What for?”
“Just for being you, and for not calling me Bess or suggesting it as a name for Jenny.”
I used to enjoy those times with Mum and Dad during Jenny’s feeds as they talked about the past and their experiences with me as a baby. It was as though the arrival of Jenny into our lives had released them to share these earlier memories and events; ones they had, in the main, kept to themselves over the years. Perhaps it was because they had been unsure whether to speak so openly in the past about those times because I had been adopted? Whatever the reason, I think we all felt the benefit of this new sense of freedom that Jenny had introduced into our lives.
We were also grateful for the extra periods of quiet and rest between feeds once Jenny had settled into the routine of breast and bottle. She certainly let us know when she was awake and ready for her next meal as there was nothing wrong with her lungs or the volume of her screams when she wanted to make us aware of her presence. Dad would smile and say he thought she might like to consider becoming a female town crier when she grew up.
“I can just see her in those bright red robes and a three cornered black hat, ringing her hand bell to make sure she has everyone’s attention. Not that she’ll need a bell with a pair of lungs like that.”
Those initial few weeks seemed to fly by, and after the first couple of months I couldn’t remember, nor imagine, what life had been like before Jenny arrived. All of this made me question yet again how my own mother had apparently been so prepared to let me go at such an early age and miss out on the daily changes and achievements in her baby’s life. It made me angry and upset as I vacillated, in equal measure, between wanting to confront her about what she’d done and resolving never to having any contact with her at all. When I felt like that I was determined not to let her within a hundred miles of my beautiful Jenny, her granddaughter, a granddaughter I would make sure would never be a part of her life.
With that in mind it was interesting when, later on I should begin to make those self same enquiries that I had so vigorously rejected in the past about contacting her, not through my own volition, at least not initially, but through the wishes of Jenny, the very person I had resolved so vehemently to keep her away from.
In those early days though and with Jenny still a baby my thoughts drifted away from Ruth as most of my time was spent focused on caring for this precious gift of life I had been given, a life that had changed my own completely and all for the better, apart from the odd sleepless night! Although even here I felt blessed with Mum and Dad taking on more than their fair share of responsibility for Jenny’s care whenever I was tired or simply needed some help, which I so often did.
“You can’t do it all, Mary, and apart from that your Dad and I love spending time with Jenny, so you’re actually doing us a favour by letting us have her.”
I knew Mum meant what she was saying but was still concerned I was asking too much of them both at times, but they never turned me away or denied any request I made on Jenny’s behalf. I often wondered what I would have done without them, especially as I didn’t have Jenny’s father around to do his bit, not that I would have let Gerry come near her once he made his decision not to be a part of her life. That was one of the things I had remained resolute about. Gerry had said he didn’t want to be involved with Jenny and even encouraged me to have an abortion in the early days of my pregnancy, and so as far as I was concerned he had made that decision for life. I would make sure he wasn’t allowed access to her, either now as a baby or as she grew in the years ahead. I suppose it was this unforgiving line of thinking that also determined how I felt about Ruth at times. After all she was the one who had chosen to let me go so soon after giving birth to me, and so as far as I was concerned in making that decision she had also forfeited the right to see or hear from me ever again.
But if that was true, then why was it, even considering Jenny’s eventual desire to know more about her paternal grandmother that I would now agree to make those first tentative enquiries as to her whereabouts? And by following this course of action I was allowing for the potential of her entering my life again, and more especially I would be letting her know about Jenny’s existence, something I had determined she would never hear about or have any part in.
I had made the decision long before Jenny was born that I would have nothing to do with her and so consequently, in my mind at least, she had forfeited any rights she might have had in gaining access into the life of her granddaughter. So why, if all that were true, was I now considering turning full circle and going back on all I had been so unwavering about in the past?
Sixteen
I closed the study door behind me and headed straight for my room passing Nelly on the stairs. “So what did he want to talk to you about?” she asked excitedly.
In that moment I had to decide whether to tell her the truth or say nothing of what had just taken place between the two of us. I chose the latter, knowing in my heart that Mr Taylor had been right in what he had said about nobody believing me if I chose to accuse him of making an indecent proposal, or worse.
“Nothing,” I blurted out, trying not to look directly at her for fear she would detect my misery and frustration.
“He just wanted to clarify arrangements for when the baby arrives, and that I was happy in what had been agreed with Mrs Taylor about my duties.” I could feel my cheeks flushed with indignation about what had actually happened and prayed Nelly wouldn’t push me further on the matter.
“Are you alright? Your face looks a bit red. Have you been crying?”
“No really I’m fine.” I bit my lip to stop myself giving way and bursting into tears or letting the truth flood out. “Just a bit nervous that’s all. You know what it’s like being on your own with Mr Taylor, he has an air about him that affects your confidence, or at least it does mine.”
“You’re right. I don’t like spending time on my own with him either, not that it happens much anyway. If I didn’t know any better I’d say he can be a bit creepy at times, but that’s probably just me being silly.”
I felt myself wanting to cry out and tell her she was right and for the very reasons I had discovered myself just a few minutes ago. Instead, and with my emotions fit to explode, I forced a smile and carried on up the stairs to my room. “I’ll see you later.”
By the time I got to the attic I felt as if my lungs were about to burst, partly from my having taken the stairs two at a time in an effort to get to my room as quickly as possible, but also because I could feel my heart beating overtime with both the pain and indignation of what had just taken place in Mr Taylor’s study. I leant against the door as it closed behind me and burst into tears. I wept openly, a very real sense of wretchedness coursing through my body as my head raced with irrational thoughts and utter despair. I tried in vain to make sense and reason of the conversation I had just had with my employer but failed on every level. How could a man who, up until half an hour ago, I had both respected and admired so suddenly become the devil incarnate?
I stood with my back against the door for what seemed like an age as if to prevent anyone from entering this new and horrific world I now found myself inhabiting. After a while I moved to lie on my bed, and as I did so my gaze fell upon the picture of my parents and Joseph. I began to cry again as my mind absorbed the terrible truth that the same brutal and bullying hand of injustice we had experienced as a family in Birkenau was about to encompass my life once again. Although I was no longer being forced to exist in that rat infested death camp where torture and murder were a part of the every day fight for survival I still felt no less threatened, with my future safety and well-being now entirely dependent on whether I chose to accept the nightmare terms of my newly appointed tormentor and captor.
How could I allow this to happen, but, equally, how could I not? I certainly didn’t want to lose my job, not just for the money and position of trust I held, important though they were, but more because I had genuine feelings for Mrs Taylor and young Elizabeth. They had both become dear to my heart, and I was truly excited by the thought of
continuing in my care for Elizabeth and in supporting Mrs Taylor when it came time for the birth of her new baby, and in the months ahead that followed. Up until today it hadn’t been simply a sense of duty that had made me feel this way, but more that I was actually becoming part of a real family again. A family that was happy to embrace me in its midst and demonstrate genuine affection towards, perhaps even love. But the events of the past half an hour had shattered all of those hopes and feelings leaving them crushed and broken all around me.
As I lay there on my bed with the sense of hurt and revulsion at what Mr Taylor had suggested burning deeply within my chest I felt my disgust at his proposal turn to anger. I remembered the conscious decision I had made after leaving Birkenau, that never again would I allow anybody to control me or threaten my life, at least not without my fighting back. Now here I was facing the first real test of that resolve. I reasoned that, powerful though he was, Mr Taylor was not an SS guard with a rifle pointed at my head; he was simply a man who had abused his position and authority by threatening me with unfair consequences if I didn’t agree to his demeaning and shameful demands. I looked at the picture of my parents and took strength in the knowledge they would agree with my determination to do and say the right thing. I would simply tell him I wouldn’t go to bed with him, but that I would agree not to say anything to Mrs Taylor either as long as he never mentioned our previous conversation again. I would also inform him that in future I would only agree to talk with him as long as there was at least one other person in the room, preferably Mrs Taylor herself. Having made this decision I felt immediately better both in and about myself. I looked at the small clock on my bedside table noting that Elizabeth and her mother would be home soon and so hurried to wash my face and make myself presentable for their arrival.
