She did not answer.
“O.K.,” I continued. “Suppose I told you I love you.” I hesitated. She had always left me with an ache “I do, you know.” I hurried on, unaware of the surprise on her face and the smile. “Would you wait for me until I finish med school?”
“Greg. We may be carrying this too far, don’t you think?” This time she hesitated. “Greg. I would wait.” She moved closer to me. Pressed her breast against my arm. I put my arms about her, drew her nearer, ran my fingers through her hair, along her neck and went to her breasts again. She was so relaxed, more than she had ever been before with me. When I went lower on her body, she grabbed my hand. “Cut it out.” She sounded angry, and I said “I do love you. I wish . . . .” “No. I know what you’re going to say or ask. I won’t do it, Greg.”
_______________
I was perspiring again. I thought of changing my pajamas. How I wished I could get back to the laboratory, to the work that had given me my standing, my place.
And then Pamela came in. “Dad, are you all right?” She could see the perspiration on my forehead, looked at my pillow. “Do you want a clean pillow case?” She didn’t wait for an answer but left for the bathroom and returned with a wet face cloth, put it to my head and held it there. “Oh. You hold it. I have to get the pillow case.” She ran from the room, as though she were about to cry and wanted to hide her face from me.
~
Deirdre was lying in the bed, holding Pamela who had been born a short time before. The baby was an accident, just a night of sex, we thought. When Deirdre knew she was pregnant, she asked me if there was someone who could give her an abortion.
“What the hell are you asking me? Are you nuts? So you’re having another baby. I want it. And if you ever ask me something like that again, so help me God, I’ll throw you out.”
Abortions were forbidden then. I believed in them, thought of the women who died because they couldn’t have them or who went to the back alleys. But I would never have given up everything for that, illegal, disgraced and banned from the profession. Deirdre scoffed. “You brave man, war hero. You’d throw me out. Bull shit you will. You have more prestige in this community because of me. I made you what you are. Bull shit, Gregory. Piss off.”
I watched her in the bed, thinking perhaps now she would love the child, would be happy she had it. I sat there watching her.
She grimaced. She hurt and still bled. Another pad was becoming wet. She wanted to scream at the indignity she had to suffer for this. She seemed to force her fingers back from squeezing the baby’s tiny arm.
When I entered, I knew she forced that smile when she lied, “Look at her. Isn’t she adorable? Another girl. You don’t stand a chance, Gregory.”
I smiled. “I don’t care.” She wrinkled her nose. “Look at her. What have you got there?”
“You’re terrible. She’s beautiful,” as she wrapped two fingers about Pamela’s tiny hand. I believe she may have meant it. But then she immediately said, “Gregory” – she never called me Greg – “I’m bleeding some. Get the nurse. I need more pads,” and grimaced.
~
I wasn’t listening any longer or looking at her face that once mesmerized me so. Rather, lying against the clean pillowcase, I saw Kaitlin standing near me, “Daddy, I love you,” as she put her arms around my neck.
“Dad, you’re smiling. Do you feel better? Is there something funny?” Pamela interrupted.
“I was thinking of something.”
“What?”
“Your sister, Kaitlin.”
“What was so funny?”
“It wasn’t funny, just a thought.” I looked at Pamela and the quizzical expression. “Oh, Pamela, maybe when you’re a mother. . . . No. I was thinking of one time when she . . . .” I tried to hide my tears.
I thought of Pamela delaying grad school to be with me, and the sadness hit me. How I still missed Kaitlin as I did Melinda, Melinda the doctor, alive. The rent within my heart overwhelmed me as I thought of my beautiful, young daughter forever the same as on that day but lost, yet still there for the remainder of my life.
I had gained so much, lost so much, so much of love.
~
Brigit. Whatever possessed me?
I see her clearly now, that first time she stood before me – after the hospital – when our arms were about each other, kissing, tongues heatedly seeking one another. She drew back then, gently moving away from me, standing, reaching for her blouse, slowly, ever so slowly, it seemed, her straight slender fingers moving to the buttons, loosening each, the blouse flaring open. I reached for her. “No.” She smiled. “Wait,” her voice so soft. In a swift movement she unclasped her bra.
_______________
Chapter II
Brigit
Brigit Donavan, born in the Southwest, raised, like Gregory’s mother in the Catholic Church, took her religion very seriously from the time she went to parochial school where nuns taught her the meaning of life, what it was to be a woman in the eyes of God. She was a reflective student - that may have caused her problems. Though she took her studies seriously, she wasn’t so sure she was just meant to grow up and be a wife and have lots of children for God and the Church. The older she became, the more she thought of what was beyond her teachings. She would joke, play tricks, in fact, and occasionally, she would get into fights with other girls. Those fights could be nasty, pulling one another’s hair, even scratching or punching. Well, one time she pulled a schoolmate’s hair, then scratched her arm. Horrified, not only by the nuns who came running to them but by the blood leaking at the wound, Brigit pulled away from one of the nuns. “Leave me alone, Sister. I have to fix her,” as Brigit wrenched away. Through her tears, Brigit, horrified and frightened by her nastiness toward the nun, begged the nun to let her fix the girl’s arm. “I can do it; I know how,” she told herself. She may not have known it then, but it was the beginning of what she had been destined to do – to heal.
The nun, Sister Antonia, pulled Brigit away and sternly told her to apologize to the girl while forcing Brigit toward the schoolhouse. “You’re a disgrace, Brigit.” “I didn’t mean it, Sister, not the blood,” but she laughed at me when I said I could cure people and would some day.
Sister Antonia took Brigit to her office, “You were wrong, Brigit. We don’t teach you to fight. You’re here to learn and to help. You must learn also to take the teachings of the Lord seriously.”
“All I wanted to do was to stop her bleeding, to fix her, even if she is always a pain in the neck and trying to get me into trouble.”
“You think you know about those things? You’re too young. That’s God’s work. That’s what good women do. I always thought you would be a good nun because you’re intelligent and gentle. But where is that gentleness? You have fooled me. And, you remember,” she emphasized, “this is the Lord’s school and His words and work you’re learning besides your other studies.”
The Lord. Who was the Lord that Brigit admired and was told she must love so? But there was an emptiness in her when she thought about the Lord. It was more than that, if only she could fill that void. There’s something telling me who I am and what to do, and it isn’t the Church. It’s strange. I think it has something to do with being Irish. Oh well, I’ll find out someday. She barely heard Sister Antonia and the stern admonition as these thoughts troubled her.
Then when she was older, she tried to find out more of who she was, what she wanted. She found a medical book with some of the other girls. A man lies on top of a woman. How can a woman allow that? It must crush her to death. And he does something to you to have a baby. “I don’t like that.” The girls looked at her. “Well, some of them may be so good looking, you may want to kiss him.” “Well, maybe” “Maybe that’s when he lies on top of you.”
Brigit suddenly blurted, “The nuns told us we weren’t to let boys do things to us.”
Brigit discovered one time what the nuns meant. She was by herself and felt strang
e below. She was thinking of a boy kissing her. She felt like jelly in her stomach, as she described it to a friend much later. She put her hand to her pubic area. It felt good when she rubbed it. She rubbed more, feeling wetness in the opening between her legs. Soon she couldn’t stop. The more she rubbed, the better it felt. Suddenly she felt a shock, a wave of heat rushing through her body and to her head, her back arching, her thighs pressing against her finger, and she cried out as she let her fingers slide between the wet and widened opening between her legs. The nuns had told them it was a sin to do this, but how could such a feeling be a sin? Sin would exasperate her when she was older, but she loved and admired her growing female body and the changes occurring.
With time, and as she continued her studies, she found herself more interested in helping with cures. When her friends hurt themselves, she would hurry to help them and try to heal what wounds they suffered. One time in a particularly bad sand storm, one of the girls went outside the building. The wind was so strong, it wrapped her in the dust of the playground and the desert surrounding them. Sand clung to the girl’s hair and got in her eyes. She hurried back to the building, crying. Brigit heard and was there before the nuns and the other girls. She placed her arms around the crying girl. “The sand. It’s in my eyes.” “Keep crying,” Brigit told her. “It will wash out the sand.” “But it’s still there.” Brigit hurried to her bed and ran back with a cotton swab. “Here, Alicia, let me see.” Brigit gently raised Alicia’s head. By then the nuns were there. One started to move Brigit away. “Leave her alone,” Sister Antonia told her, watching in fascination Brigit’s gentleness and her knowledge of what to do. The girl quieted. She gratefully placed her head against Brigit’s arm.
Soon everyone was calling her Doctor or Nurse Brigit. She was already reading stories about scientific discoveries, about Florence Nightingale, or Dr. Elizabeth Blackwell, the first female physician in the United States. Her past nemesis, Sister Antonia, encouraged her to become a nurse. A friendship had developed between the two as Sister Antonia helped Brigit find more reading and began to look up information to give Brigit about schools. It was then in 1940, a senior in high school, that Brigit decided to travel to the northeast to study. She not only wanted to travel, but she wanted especially a hospital in the northeast, because she believed they were the best.
When she finished high school, the family was happy expecting her to come home to the cotton and alfalfa farm, a huge tract of land. Her parents never thought of college for their second daughter. Her mother took care of the house with her daughters, if they weren’t at school. One had already decided she was going to be a nun. That thrilled the parents. She had already been accepted at the convent from which Brigit had just graduated.
Brigit was sitting on her bed looking at school catalogues she had hidden from her parents. The thought of being deceptive annoyed her. Yet, the more she thought about nursing, that defiant and independent part of her personality almost yearned, despite some fear, for the coming confrontation. She moved about her bed nervously. The catalogues lay spread across her bedspread. Aggravated, she shoved them aside so she could lie down. She clenched her fists. I’m going to do it, and no one’s going to stop me. She knew her father would be angry. That’s his problem. She felt the skin on her face tighten. You can’t be afraid to confront him. Remember how it was when you were at school and even Sister Antonia finally gave into you.
Undoubtedly, some thought of her as spoiled, always seeming to want her way. What any number of people or acquaintances didn’t recognize was that she had a given insight for knowing what was right.
She rose from the bed and went to the kitchen, found her mother scrubbing at some pots, mumbling to herself. Her mother heard Brigit. “This is wonderful woman’s work, dear. I guess your time may not ever come if you are going to be a nurse.”
“That’s what I want to talk to you about. I’m going to apply in the northeast.”
“Northeast? You mean up in New York or something?” Her mother had turned then, surprised. “There are plenty of good hospitals here. Are you out of your mind?”
“The big and the best hospitals are there. I want to go to Boston.” Brigit blushed, “I already applied. I know I didn’t ask, but I’ve been in my room looking at all those catalogues. I know I’m right. That’s what was meant for me, not only to be a nurse but also to be where I’m needed. I just feel that.”
“You feel it? Or is this just another one of your, ‘I’ve made up my mind?’ Who do you think is paying? You talk to your father. Well, you have to anyhow. He makes the money decisions.” In fact, Brigit’s mother had more influence about money and other things than she wanted to admit right now. A woman just knows those things, the men being so damned stubbornly sure of themselves. For a moment there was a slight smile on her face. Brigit and she looked so much alike. Brigit saw the change on her face. “You’re smiling.” “Not because of you right now.” “What?” “Your father – men. And by the way, if you do get your way, and I’m not saying I’m going to help, you stay away from those fast easterner men. I mean it. You’re old enough. In fact, that’s one of the reasons I don’t want you to go there.” “Oh you sound like a nun. I never told you, mom, one of the girls got pregnant. How she ever sneaked out of the convent and made such a shame of herself. Anyhow, you’re way off.” “Am I? Have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately, that face, your hair and eyes, and that chest.” “Motherrrrr. I know what I’ve got.” Her mother laughed. “I should say you do. The men around this ranch and the way they look at you. I know what they’re thinking. They look at your other three sisters almost the same way. But at least one of you will be a nun. Imagine, Brigit, four daughters, one to be a nun and one a nurse. But, I DON’T like you thinking of the east. And don’t think you’re just going to get your way.”
“Mother, I was meant to be a nurse. I know that, have known it for years, just something in my heart and mind. It’s so strange.”
Again her mother smiled. “We’ll discuss it tonight. But you wait ‘til after supper.” Her mother looked at her. “I know. You were always trying to cure or fix something on the animals before the vet got here. Once, when you were little, you even tried to fix a cotton ball that you said was sick looking. As I recall, it was drooping – something like you right now, because you’re waiting for me to side with your father. Hmmm. For all I know, he may agree with you. Uh,uh. Not him. It’s one of the things I love about him. He’s got a mind that works fast and firm.”
During supper, no one said much except that her father talked about what happened around the ranch, farm, whatever they decided to call it at any particular time. But living in the Southwest, it was a ranch. Brigit, who usually had a good appetite, picked at her food, ate slowly.
“Why are you so quiet tonight, Brigit? All of you? What’s going on? I never saw such a bunch of females keeping so quiet. Usually I can’t even get in a word,” a lie on his part. All he had to do was raise his voice. He was a tall man, husky, handsome, with blue eyes, a face always shaven to please his wife, even the girls, who would sometimes rub their hands against his face to feel his morning beard. There was much love in the Donovan family. But when he was angry, the girls would get out of the way and leave it to their mother to calm him down. Sometimes they would hear her yelling back at him, “You stop hollerin’ at me. I won’t stand for it. Keep it up and I’ll just leave the house. I mean it. I’ll take the girls and you can get your own damn meals.” Suddenly there would be quiet while they were both apologizing to one another. It made Mrs. Donovan nervous when he lost his temper but not enough to cow her. She had a temper of her own, rarely shown.
“O.K.” Luke Donovan began, as he put down his fork, not even waiting for coffee or desert. “What’s goin’ on around here. Like I said before. It’s just too quiet.”
The girls appeared scared. Maureen Donovan looked at Brigit.
“It’s me, dad,” she spoke up, her voice slightly trembling. She was never
afraid of her father, always stood up to him, something he admired about her.
“Well . . . .”
“I’ve made up my mind where I want to study nursing.”
“El Paso? I hear they’ve got a couple of good programs there, especially the Catholic hospital, Hotel Santé.”
“No, dad.”
“Where then? What could be better than a good Catholic hospital? I’m payin’ the bills don’t forget.”
She was reticent, something that surprised him.
“What’s better? You’d be close to home and . . . .”
“No, dad,” she interrupted, regaining her natural firmness, yet still hiding her apprehension of his reaction. “I’ve applied to school at three of the hospitals in Boston. I hope I get into Boston City General.”
“BOSTON.” Brigit’s sisters cowered. “What in the good Lord’s name do you think you’re doing? And without asking. I’m payin’ the bills around here, Brigit. I don’t give a damn how smart you are.”
“Before you get goin’ crazy,” Maureen interrupted.
“Crazy? Our family’s been here for generations, and she tells me she’s goin’ to Boston with those,” he started to swear, hesitated, “with those GD Yankees. Girl, you’re goin’ to school somewhere you know the area, not among all those free-thinking rats.”
“I’m not, dad, even if I have to pay my own way.” Brigit’s voice rose with the last words. Suddenly she was no longer afraid. But before she could say more, Maureen interrupted.
“I’m not going to have my supper ruined by all this yellin’. Stop right now, both of you. Either discuss this quietly, reasonably, or . . . .”
“Or what?” Luke interrupted.
Our Seas of Fear and Love Page 3
