by Vanished
They brought the baby back to her after that, and she held him close to her while he slept, and when he woke, she unbuttoned her nightgown and nursed him. It all came back so easily, as though nothing had happened since, no grief, no loss, no tragedy …nothing …the eternity of motherhood was hers, and she was lost in love at the hands of this tiny baby.
Malcolm watched in fascination as she nursed, and he held the baby afterward, watching his son in adoring silence. And later that morning, Malcolm went home, and slept peacefully in his own bedroom, knowing that his life was full, complete, and almost perfect. And despite any doubts he may have had in the past two years, he was glad now that he had married Marielle. The child had made it all worth it.
The heavy oak door swung open somberly, as Marielle stepped into the house on silent feet. She was still serious, from having seen Charles after so many years. It had been a shock, but it had also touched her.
“Good afternoon, Madam.” The butler took her coat from her, as one of the maids stood by to help her. And Marielle sighed as she saw them. It had been a difficult afternoon, a difficult day. She could still feel the chill of the church in her bones as she took off her gloves and laid them beside her black suede handbag.
“Good afternoon, Haverford.” She spoke to the old butler. “Is Mr. Patterson at home?”
“I don't believe so.”
She nodded, and walked up the stairs, torn as to whether she should go to her own room, or the third floor. Often, when she wanted to visit him, she de-tided not to. At first, much to her own surprise, she had had mixed reactions to Malcolm's child. She had a passion and a love for him she had never expected …more even than the first time …more than she'd been capable of at eighteen …more than she had known she could ever love another human being. And yet at the same time, outwardly she held back from him, and often the love she felt for him was a well-kept secret. It was too dangerous to allow herself to fall that much in love with him. She knew that, this time, if something happened, it would kill her. So she forced herself to stay away from him, or even appear to be a little indifferent. But there were times when she couldn't feign the pose, times when she had to be with him, times when she crept upstairs at night on bare feet, and just looked at him while he was sleeping. He was more beautiful than any child she had ever seen, warmer, rounder, sweeter, lovelier, more perfect … he was the reward for all her pain, the gift from God for all she'd lost. He was everything she lived for.
Of course Malcolm adored him as well, particularly his bright mind and easy ways. He had none of her tension or fears or anxieties about Teddy's safety. He was just an easy, happy child who brought joy to all who knew him.
He had made Malcolm greedy for more for a time, and for the first year after Teddy's birth, Malcolm had hoped to get Marielle pregnant. But once again, their efforts had been in vain, and now with Teddy, Malcolm was less anxious to pursue it. His efforts were abandoned before success was gained, and now he and Marielle kept to their own rooms discreetly. She didn't seem to mind and both of them were content with the lives they led. At thirty, Marielle had a child she adored, a husband who treated her well, it was more than most women had these days, and Malcolm had the heir he had longed for. It was enough for both of them.
And Marielle seemed calmer now in some ways, except on the subject of Teddy's safety. There she was leonine in her defenses. The Lindbergh kidnapper had been put to death more than two years before, but she still acted as though there was a potential kidnapper on every corner.
Malcolm was grateful to her, she took excellent care of his child, she was a fine mother, a good wife, and she had given him the perfect, beautiful, bright, blond baby of his dreams. It was all he had ever wanted.
As Marielle walked slowly up the stairs, she debated whether or not to go on, she wasn't really in the mood to endure the nurse, and she didn't want to disturb Teddy with Miss Griffin. But suddenly, she heard him. There was a chortle of laughter far away down an upstairs hall, and as she heard it, she smiled. She had already seen him that morning, and sometimes she tried to ration herself. She had to, or he would become an all-consuming passion. It was a game she constantly played with herself, never al-lowing herself quite enough, never being with him as often as she wanted, because she knew that if she did, she would go mad if anything ever happened. But in truth, the child was already woven into the very fiber of her soul in such a way that she couldn't have torn herself from him. But if she rationed her time with him, she could allow herself to think that she had kept some distance and freedom. Unfortunately, as a result, he spent the rest of the time in the constant care of the indomitable Miss Griffin. Malcolm had insisted she stay with them, and after four years Marielle still disliked her. And Miss Griffin still treated her like a somewhat deficient being. Her migraines, her nerves, her fear of kidnappers, her barely concealed, and obviously unhealthy, passion for the child, alternating with periods of restraint, Miss Griffin felt it was all symptomatic of a truly unworthy person, a view she was not embarrassed to share with any and all who would listen whenever she visited the kitchen. It was Malcolm whom the governess adored, Malcolm she respected, and secretly dreamed of. He was her senior by a mere four years, and had fate been kinder to her, it was Miss Griffin who would have stood in Marielle's shoes, not that pathetic, nervous weakling, as she sometimes called her. She still talked about the Lindbergh child, about how traumatic it had been, and where she'd been when she heard the news. Of course it had been an unpleasant business, but it had happened six years before, and after all, the Lindberghs had had two sons since then.
Marielle stood for a long moment in the hall, listening to the child, smiling to herself, and then, as though pulled by unseen forces, she walked slowly up the marble stairs to the third floor, her elegant suede shoes resounding down the long hallway as she walked toward him. The door of the nursery was closed, and as she reached it, she could hear him giggle. She should have knocked, she knew, Miss Griffin would be shocked by it, but she preferred the element of surprise, and slowly she pressed down the brass handle of the door and it swung slowly open. As it did, a small child turned, with golden curls and huge blue eyes, and his face exploded into smiles when he saw her.
“Mommy!” He flew across the room and into her arms, as her own face melted into a smile and she held him. She picked him up and held him close to her as he nuzzled her neck and breathed deep of her perfume. “You smell so good.” He always noticed things like that, the way she smelled and looked, and she loved it when he thought she looked really pretty. The rest of the women around him were so plain, except Brigitte, Daddy's secretary, who sometimes came to visit him and brought him German storybooks and German candies. She said everything was better in Germany, but Miss Griffin said that wasn't true. Miss Griffin said everything was really better in England.
“How are you today, my handsome prince?” She kissed his cheek and set him down again, as the governess looked at her with disapproval.
“We're very well thank you, Mrs. Patterson. We were about to have tea before you interrupted.” Marielle never thought that he should drink any of it, but Miss Griffin felt it was a sacred ritual, and Malcolm had long since given their afternoon tea parties his official stamp of approval. As usual, Marielle was overruled, she thought milk and cookies would have been healthier, and in truth Teddy preferred them.
“Good afternoon, Nanny.” Marielle smiled uncertainly at her, she was never quite sure of how she would be received, and it made her feel awkward to be around her. But explaining that to Malcolm had been impossible over the years, and sometimes it seemed as though Miss Griffin would stay forever. And at four, it was too soon to say that Teddy didn't need her.
The nurserymaid served tea to the three of them. She was an unpleasant Irish girl Marielle had never liked, but the housekeeper had hired her, and Miss Griffin adored her. She and the driver were also fast friends, and her name was Edith. She had dyed red hair and familiar ways, but she did Teddy's and Miss Griffin's l
aundry to perfection. And she always kept an interested eye on Marielle's wardrobe.
“And what did you do today?” Marielle asked Teddy conspiratorially over their tea. He looked very serious as he answered.
“I played with Alexander Wilson. He has a train,”he said with enormous importance, and went on to explain to her how it worked, how there were little bridges set up and villages and stations, and how he wished he'd gotten one for his birthday. His birthday had been two weeks before. December was a strange month for her, so much to rejoice over, so much to mourn.
“Maybe Santa Claus will bring you a train.” In fact, she knew that Malcolm had already bought one, and there had been men working in the basement for weeks, to set up a special train room, with mountains and hills and lakes and exactly the kind of villages he had just described seeing at the Wilsons'.
“I hope so.” He looked pensive, and then he smiled up at her again, moving imperceptibly closer. He loved being close to her, smelling her perfume, feeling the silk of her hair, and letting her kiss him the way she had when she first saw him. She was the most exciting person he knew, and he loved her more than anything …even trains …”Did you do something nice today?” He always asked, as though he really cared, just as he asked Malcolm and Brigitte how things were at the office. It made Malcolm smile. And he always said Brigitte was very beautiful, almost as beautiful as his mommy, which pleased the girl from Berlin. She thought him an adorable child, and Marielle had allowed her to take him to the zoo on several occasions, and once she had taken him to the Empire State Building, which he said was the most exciting thing he'd ever done. When he came home that day he'd been so emphatic, he even told Brigitte he loved her.
“I went to church today,” Marielle said quietly, as Miss Griffin watched her. Teddy looked surprised, usually, he went with her, but today he hadn't.
“Is today Sunday?”
“No,” she smiled, wondering if she would ever tell him. Perhaps when he was a man, she suspected even now that one day he would be the kind of person you could talk to. “But I went anyway.”
“Was it nice?” She nodded. It had been “nice” …and sad …and she had seen Charles, after all these years. She hadn't had the courage to tell him about Teddy. It seemed unfair. He was fighting wars in Spain, risking his life, perhaps hoping to die, as she had. But now she had this wonderful child, this ray of hope and sunshine to fill her days and life. On this particular day of the year, she couldn't bring herself to tell Charles that she'd had another baby. All she had told him was about Malcolm. And she knew she wouldn't call him again. She couldn't … it wasn't right … he was part of another lifetime.
“I went to Saint Patrick's Cathedral. You know, the big, big church. We went there last year, at Easter.”
He nodded, like a small, wise man. “I remember. Can we go again?” He liked watching the ice skaters across the street, at Rockefeller Center.
She stayed with him for a long time, talking to him, holding him, and reading him a story, until Miss Griffin said it was time for his bath, and Teddy turned imploringly to look at his mother.
“Can't you stay? Please …” She wanted to, more than anything, but she knew that disrupting Miss Griffin's routine was a breach of conduct the nurse would not easily forgive her.
“I can give him his bath,” she said hesitantly, knowing full well what was going to be the reaction. Miss Griffin hated interference.
“There's no need, thank you, Mrs. Patterson.” She stood up crisply. “Kiss your mother good night, please, Theodore, and tell her you'll see her in the morning.” It was a hint of sorts. And Marielle understood it.
“But I don't want to see her in the morning. I want to see her now …” And I want to see you now too, she wanted to tell him … I want to give you your bath, and make dinner for you, and put you in my bed and hold you till you fall asleep, and kiss your little eyes and cheeks and nose while you're sleeping. But they wouldn't let her do things like that. She had to visit the nursery, and have tea with him, and say good night to him hours before bedtime.
“We'll go to the park tomorrow, sweetheart. Maybe to the boat pond.”
“There's a birthday party at the Oldenfields' tomorrow afternoon, Mrs. Patterson.” Marielle was clearly interfering with their more important social engagements.
“Then I'll take him in the morning.” She looked at Miss Griffin defiantly, but to no avail, the older woman always won, and she had Malcolm's support and knew it. Marielle always felt so powerless here, so out of control, as though she didn't exist and had never existed. “We'll go tomorrow morning.” She looked at Teddy reassuringly but there were tears running down his little round cheeks anyway. Tomorrow was too far away, for both of them, and he knew it.
“Can't you stay?” She shook her head sadly in answer, and held him close to her for a moment. And then she stood up, trying to look lighthearted, as he was led away, crying, to his bathroom. As she left, Marielle closed the door softly behind her. She always felt so cruel leaving him, he was being brought up by strangers, not even friends, and Marielle herself didn't dare defy them. She had been brought into this house to have this child, and once she had, she no longer seemed to serve any purpose whatsoever. It was hard to live with that, hard to feel useless and unwelcome. And yet her life with Malcolm was something she was grateful for, and she had the child …but that was all she had, and why he was so infinitely, desperately precious to her.
She went to her own dressing room then, thinking of him, and changed into a long, pink satin dressing gown, and looked at herself long and hard in the mirror. In some ways, the years had been kind to her. Her figure had stayed the same, despite two children, but her face seemed older now, more sharply etched, more defined and wiser. The eyes were what gave her away, they said she had lived several lifetimes. And as she sat there, she found herself thinking of Charles again, only a few blocks away, and for an insane moment, she wanted to call him, but she knew she couldn't. There was nothing left to say to him except recriminations and apologies and regrets. There were no answers to their questions and now they both knew there never would be.
Malcolm came home shortly after that, and told her he had a business dinner scheduled for that evening. It had come up unexpectedly, and he apologized, as he kissed the top of her head and disappeared hastily to his own bedroom. She ordered a tray in her room that night, and tried to read the same page of the same book over and over, but she found she couldn't make sense of it, no matter how hard she tried. Her mind was elsewhere.
All through the evening, memories of Charles kept intruding on her …Charles in Paris when he was so brave, so wild, so young … in Venice … in Rome on their honeymoon … of Charles laughing …teasing her …swimming in a lake …running through a field …and then the last time …in Switzerland …and now, today…. She laid her head down, and cried finally, unable to bear the memories a moment longer. And finally, late that night, as the house lay still, she tiptoed silently upstairs and looked at the sleeping child. She knelt on the floor next to his bed and kissed the velvet of his forehead, and then tiptoed back downstairs to the room where she slept alone. She was aching to call Charles, but she owed Malcolm too much. He had done too much for her. She could not call Charles, no matter what … no matter what she still felt, or what he had said …she knew her days with Charles Delauney were over forever.
The next morning, Marielle made one of her rare appearances in the dining room for breakfast. Usually, she had her breakfast in her room on a tray, but this morning she had woken early. She found Malcolm downstairs, finishing his coffee and eggs, and reading the morning paper. In Italy, Mussolini had just demanded that France hand over Corsica and Tunisia.
“Good morning, my dear.' He was always courteous, always kind, always seemed pleased to see her, like a charming houseguest he hadn't expected to encounter quite so early. “Did you sleep well?”
“Not very,” she said honestly, which was rare. Usually it was easier to just say what
was expected …fine …thank you …excellent …marvelous …but her night had been filled with nightmares.
“One of your headaches again?” He put down the paper to look her over, but she seemed well. In fact, she looked better than she had in a while, he decided.
“No, just a long night. I probably drank too much coffee after dinner.”
“You should drink wine, or champagne.” He smiled. “That'll put you to sleep.”
She smiled in answer. “Are you home tonight?”
“I think so. We'll spend a quiet evening by the fire.” Everything was always such a frenzy right before Christmas, the week before they had been out five evenings in a row, at least this week was quiet. “What are you doing today?”
“I thought I'd take Teddy to the park this morning.” She led such a small life, he felt. She seldom went out, never had lunch with friends. He had introduced her to everyone, yet even after all these years, she kept to herself. She was a very quiet young woman. And when he pressed her about it from time to time, she always said she didn't have time, but the truth was she didn't have the courage. And only she knew what terrible sins she thought she was hiding.
“I want to take him to Snow White too. Do you think he's too young?” Marielle asked him. It had just opened earlier that year, and it was an enormous hit.
Malcolm shook his head as he set down his paper. “Not at all. I think hell love it. That reminds me. I want to check on the progress of the train room. They're working down there like elves.” It was only twelve days until Christmas.
“Will it be ready in time?” She knew it would, with Malcolm in charge of the project. He tolerated no broken deadlines.
