A Pledge of Silence

by Flora J. Solomon

  “And make it official! Frank Bauer, nutcase! Two years of my life. I could have finished school. Be working at a job. Giving Irene and Billy what they deserve. Did you hear the GM plant went on strike? I’d kill for a job, and those assholes are picketing for higher wages.”

  “Then go back to school.”

  “Look at me. Can you see me sitting in a classroom?”

  “You can draw GI benefits. It’s what Irene wants.”

  He bit his lip almost to the point of bleeding. “How’s Irene doing?”

  “She needs you.” Too late, Margie remembered her first weeks at home, too weak in mind and body to be needed. She tried again. “You need her. She’s steady and smart. She’s amazing with Billy. Don’t blow it with her, Frank.”

  She thought she saw him soften a little.

  Out on the street, screeching brakes preceded the sound of metal crumpling. Brother and sister both jumped, and Frank ducked down as far as he could in the seat. People from the diner rushed to the scene of the accident.

  He fumbled for the car door handle. “I gotta get out of here!”

  “Stay! I’ll drive you home!”

  He opened the door and leaped out.

  “Here! Take this!” Margie said, holding out all the cash she could grab from her purse.

  He shoved the money in his pocket and sprinted through the parking lot, away from the growing crowd.

  Engrossed in her thoughts, Margie completely forgot about the groceries until she pulled into the driveway. She knew battle fatigue when she saw it: men who looked fine on the outside but churned with pain and paranoia internally, their behavior unpredictable, tempers quick to flare, and their coarse language hard on the ears.

  She drove the car into the barn and sat alone in the half dark. She almost envied Frank. What would it feel like to spew venomous anger? To writhe with hate? To cry bitter tears? To truly love and feel loved in return? To care deeply and passionately about something or someone? Was she destined to live emotionally flat forever?

  She closed the barn door and locked it. From inside the house, she heard Irene crying and Mama saying, “Things will work out. They always do.”

  “What’s going on?” Margie asked as she shed her outerwear.

  Irene sputtered in anger. “Ford’s government contract expired and they’re cutting personnel. I was laid off. Most of the women were.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Margie said.

  “They gave my job to a man who has a family to support! I’ve been asked to stay on for two weeks and train him! How am I supposed to live? I have Billy to support. Frank is gone heaven only knows where.”

  “He’s here in town. I saw him today in the park. I bought him lunch, and we talked.”

  Irene snapped to attention. “Did he say when he’s coming home?”

  Margie debated how much to tell Irene. Aged in years and spirit, Frank was no longer the kid brother she remembered. She had no idea when he planned to return home, or even if he ever would. So she just said, “Give him time. He’s working through some problems.”

  His job secure, Wade suggested they start looking for a house. On a Sunday afternoon in October, they drove to Ann Arbor to meet with a real estate agent. Arriving in town early, they stopped to visit Gracie and Kenneth.

  After hugs all around, Gracie patted Margie’s extended belly. “You’re not so big. You’re due, what, in about four weeks?”

  “About. I feel as big as an elephant.”

  Gracie had a pot of coffee perking, and she put out a plate of pastries. They caught each other up on the latest news—Kenneth’s job was going well and his mother was pressing them for a grandchild.

  “Tell them what’s going on with you,” Kenneth prodded Gracie.

  She shook her head. “I’d rather not talk about it.”

  “Tell them. They should know.”

  She shot Kenneth a blistering glance. “Seems I’m not considered stable.”

  Margie said, “What? You? You’re joking, right?”

  “I’m afraid not. It seems I am ‘awkward’ and have a ‘funny look.’”

  “That’s awful! It’s absolutely not true! Who says that?”

  “My supervisor at the VA hospital. She has a lot of people whispering about me, and it’s pretty uncomfortable. For the last two months, I’ve been pulling split shifts, and have been relegated to giving bed baths and delivering meal trays, the two things that hurt my shoulder the most. My tour of duty finished up last week. Yesterday I turned in my resignation. I think the little bitch is glad I’m gone.”

  “Oh, Gracie, I’m sorry. Could you have transferred to another department?”

  “Probably, but I’m a little sour on the whole place right now. Maybe I just need a break.” She passed the plate of pastries to Margie. “Here, help me drown my sorrows.”

  They discussed Gracie’s options—she could go back to school for specialized training on the GI Bill, apply for a teaching position in the university’s school of nursing, or maybe start a family and make Kenneth’s mother happy.

  Gracie said she didn’t feel up to tackling any of those options.

  As Margie and Wade got ready to leave, the foursome made a date to get together, soon—before the baby was born—for dinner and a movie.

  The real estate office was a few blocks away. The agent, though friendly and exuberant, wasn’t very helpful. He said that listings in the Ann Arbor area were practically nonexistent. Houses that came on the market sold before agents had time to advertise them. The shabbiness of the few properties available dismayed Margie, and the high asking prices shocked Wade. The drive home was quiet, as both felt the day had turned into a dismal one.

  They looked for a house in Little River, but the situation there was no better. Families lived with relatives in attics, in basements, or in trailers parked in the yard. And those families were growing. Everywhere Margie went—the grocery store, the beauty parlor, the library—she heard women chatting about morning sickness, fatigue, and the cute maternity tops they made to cover their expanding figures.

  Frustrated, Wade and Margie decided their best option would be to stay in the house with Mama, at least until after the baby arrived.

  CHAPTER 24

  Little River, fall 1945

  By the end of October, Margie’s blood pressure soared frighteningly high, with accompanying headaches and bouts of dizziness. Dr. Middleton prescribed medication and bed rest. After several days of confinement, she waddled down the stairs at five o’clock in the morning, placing her swollen feet carefully. Despite the early hour, she found Mama sitting at the kitchen table. “Good morning, Mama. How come you’re sitting here in the dark?”

  Mama startled in surprise. “I didn’t hear you come in, honey. You shouldn’t be out of bed!”

  “I know. I just need to sit up for a while.”

  Mama scooped oatmeal into a bowl, added cream and brown sugar, and handed it to Margie. “When I was pregnant with you, I sat at this same table in the early mornings when I couldn’t sleep.”

  “Did you swell up like this?” Margie held up a puffy foot.

  “No, but you were a big baby and sat high under my ribs, so I was always uncomfortable. I was ready to go through anything to get my body back.”

  “I’ll never do this again.”

  “That’s what we all say. You feel miserable right now, but you’ll forget most of it. You’ll be overcome with new feelings. Nothing compares to mother love.”

  Margie wouldn’t admit it, but she didn’t have any feelings for this baby, though she went through the motions, hoping they might arise. She sewed tiny nightgowns, stitching bunnies and flowers on the bodices and hems with colored threads and ribbons. She fussed over the pastel sweaters, hats, and booties her mother and Irene knitted and played all the silly games at the shower Wade’s sister, Carol, threw. The baby would surely be a boy, her girlfriends had predicted after hanging Margie’s wedding ring on a string over her belly and watching it swing in a
circle.

  “No, it’s a girl,” Carol had said. “She’s carrying high and out front.”

  As the women traded their stories of their own good and bad birthing experiences, Margie’s emotions had reeled from dread to anticipation.

  But at this moment, sitting at the kitchen table and massaging her aching back, the only emotion she felt was fear.

  “Were you afraid, Mama?”

  “Of course. It’s normal. You’re facing an unknown. Dr. Middleton delivered you, and he’s a good doctor. We’ll all be there with you, just outside the door. You’re going to be fine.”

  The words didn’t comfort her. Given the undetermined paternity, her fear reached far beyond the birthing. She tried to eat a spoonful of oatmeal, but it sickened her stomach. Headachy and anxious, she lumbered back to bed.

  Early that afternoon, Dr. Middleton climbed the stairs to Margie’s bedroom. Puffing by the time he got to the top, he mopped sweat from his brow with a kerchief. He pulled a chair over by the bed and settled his hefty frame. “How are you feeling, my dear?”

  “Fat and ugly.”

  “Oh, my, my. Don’t say that. You’re beautiful as ever.” He retrieved a stethoscope from his black bag and listened for fetal sounds, estimated the baby’s size, then checked Margie’s blood pressure. “Not good, not good.” He rubbed his chin while deliberating. “The baby’s small. We might have miscalculated the due date. Still . . . well, I think we’d better induce labor and get you out of this situation. I can schedule it for first thing in the morning. Is Wade around? I’d like to talk to him.”

  “No, he’s at work. Do you expect any problems?”

  “With your blood pressure high and the baby small, we need to be prepared for additional risk. I’ve delivered hundreds of babies, Margie, and I know what to do. Your job is to rest. Don’t eat anything after midnight. I’ll call the hospital. I want you there at seven in the morning.”

  When Dr. Middleton left, she phoned Wade at work. “Guess what? I’m having the baby in the morning.” Both were relieved the pregnancy would soon be over and frightened by the birthing still to face. Margie lay back on her pillow and wondered, Joshua Wade or Barbara Ann?

  Mama helped her wash her hair, and Irene gave her a manicure, buffing Margie’s nails to a shine. Margie asked, “What’s giving birth really like?”

  “I don’t really remember much about it, except it took a long time. I remember being scared, but not the pain. Toward the end, they gave me something that knocked me out. When I woke up, there he was, all six pounds twelve ounces of him.” She put down the buffer. “There, all groomed. You need help shaving your legs?”

  Margie giggled. “Oh, would you?”

  Wade came home from work early, stopping on the way to put gas in the car and air in the tires. He had meticulously attended to those chores these last weeks. After dinner, they packed a suitcase with nightgowns, a robe and slippers, personal items, and a book, then set up the cribbage board to pass the time. Neither could concentrate on the game, and the minutes ticked slowly by. Wade tried to hide his anxiety by whistling.

  “Please stop it,” Margie barked as a sharp pain ripped through her insides. She doubled over.

  Wade jumped up. “What’s wrong?”

  She brushed the cards aside, lay back on her pillow, and assessed her condition. The pain had passed, but her heart still thumped wildly. She felt a shift. “He’s moving around. I think he wants out.”

  “Should I call Dr. Middleton?”

  “No. Not yet. It’s too soon. I have a headache. I’d like to sleep.” She shuffled to the bathroom, aware that something had changed. She thanked her lucky stars all this would be over by tomorrow afternoon.

  Wade tucked her back into bed, then switched out the light and went downstairs to sit with Mama and Irene.

  Margie immediately fell asleep. An hour later, her face began to twitch, and her respirations stopped. Her body went rigid, the muscles alternately contracting and relaxing in rapid sequence, causing her to bite down hard on her tongue. She woke up gasping for air, and yelled, “Wade! Mama!” Sinking into a coma-like state, she dreamed she was swimming in a warm pool.

  From outside the house came the sounds of squealing brakes and a vehicle door slamming. Panting, Frank charged through the front door and into the living room. “Where’s Irene? Is she all right?”

  Ignoring Frank, Wade took the stairs two at a time and turned on the bedroom light. He froze for a second when he saw the pool of blood on the bed, then shouted for help.

  Frank raced up the stairs, Mama and Irene right behind him.

  Struggling to come to, Margie heard Frank’s urgent voice. “For God’s sake, call an ambulance!”

  He took off his coat, pushed up his sleeves, and rolled her onto her side. He ordered Wade to support her back and told Irene to boil water and bring towels, string, and scissors. “Margie,” he said, hovering just inches above her, “I want you to breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth like you’re trying to whistle. Watch me.” He demonstrated the technique. Margie followed his lead as a crushing pain in her head preceded another contraction, this one longer and harder. Something inside her wanted to tear her apart. Seizing again, she went rigid, then slipped into darkness, only to wake up with a towel clenched between her teeth and feeling a mass between her legs. The bedroom was full of strangers. As emergency personnel lifted her onto a gurney for the trip downstairs to the ambulance, her last memory was of Frank carrying a bundle wrapped in a towel, tears streaming down his face.

  She regained consciousness in the hospital with a blood-pressure cuff strapped onto one arm and the other one immobilized on a board. Lines of tubing hooked her to bottles of blood and IV solutions hanging overhead. More tubing brought oxygen into her nose, and a catheter drained urine from her bladder. Her mouth felt dry, her tongue swollen and raw. The room seemed too bright, and the beep of the paging system hurt her ears.

  A soft voice from near her head said, “Margie, I’m Donna, your nurse. You’re in the hospital. You had a little girl.”

  “A girl,” Margie repeated groggily. She drifted back to sleep, feeling the blood-pressure cuff expanding and squeezing her arm.

  By late afternoon, she was well enough to sit up. Her head felt fuzzy, and the vision in one eye blurred. She heard Dr. Middleton out in the hall. He came into the room and pulled the curtain around the bed. “You gave us quite a scare, young lady. Do you know you were having seizures?”

  “I don’t remember much.”

  “We almost lost you. You’re familiar with eclampsia?”

  She had studied it in school—the high blood pressure, swelling, and headaches that could quickly progress to seizures, life-threatening for both mother and fetus. She said, “Is the baby all right?”

  “It’s too soon to tell. She’s small to begin with, and when you seized, her oxygen was restricted. If she survives the next twenty-four hours, we’ll know better. I’ve asked Dr. Crane to take over her care. He specializes in preemies.”

  “Can I see her?”

  “Not yet. She’s in isolation, and I don’t want you out of bed. The medication in your IV controls the seizures, but it makes you sleepy. I’ve ordered a private-duty nurse for you.” He stood. “Wade’s outside. Would you like to see him?”

  She hadn’t even thought of what Wade must be going through. She nodded.

  “All right. Ten minutes. No more.”

  Wade came to Margie’s bedside, looking disheveled, apprehensive, and carrying a teddy bear. He kissed her, told her how beautiful she was and how much he loved her. She assured him she was all right and asked about the baby. He said he hadn’t been able to see her. After a few more minutes, Donna insisted he leave. He gave Margie the teddy bear and promised to be back in the morning.

  Alone, Margie held the teddy bear against her bosom and feared for her tiny daughter struggling to survive. If only her depleted body had been more nurturing. If only her heart had been more loving.
If only she hadn’t denied Barbara Ann’s existence for so many months. She mumbled a prayer, asking forgiveness.

  Every day was touch and go, as Barbara Ann clung to life by a thread. She remained in isolation and on around-the-clock surveillance. Restricted to her bed, Margie could only dream of her daughter.

  During one of his many visits, Wade relayed the details of the night of the birth to her. How Frank had a premonition that he was needed at home, and how he had rushed in the door just as Margie called for help. He said, “Frank took complete charge. He was amazing. I’ll never think of him as a kid again.”

  “You need to tell him that. He needs to hear it. Do you know where he is?”

  “He’s at home with Irene and Billy.”

  After several days, the threat of seizures passed, and Dr. Middleton allowed Margie out of bed. Wade walked with her to the nursery. For the first time, Margie beheld Barbara Ann, a scrawny little being with a bush of silky dark hair.

  Wade said, “She’s certainly distinctive. She looks like my mother.”

  Dark and distinctive—like his mother. Margie hoped Wade was right, but she didn’t feel so sure.

  Her hospital stay dragged on for three more weeks. As her strength returned, she took frequent walks to the nursery to watch Barbara Ann sleep, naked except for the tiniest diaper. Her daughter grew stronger every day. When the nurse positioned the incubator by the window, Margie baby-talked and tapped on the glass, hoping to generate a response from the baby or feel some sort of connection in herself. Neither happened, making her feel inadequate and sad.

  Margie got home in time for Thanksgiving Day, but with Dad gone a year now and Barbara Ann still in the hospital, the family felt incomplete. Frank claimed his dad’s place at the head of the table to say the blessing and carve the turkey. He kept up a steady banter. “What side of the turkey has the most feathers?”

  Irene smirked.

  “Come on, take a guess. Margie, what side of the turkey has the most feathers?”

  “The outside?”

  “Aw. You heard it before.”

  “You’ve been telling that joke since you were six. Can’t you come up with a new one?”