“Will you be alright?” He asked.
“Yes. Thank you, sir.”
“I’ll let Giselle sleep for now and explain things in the morning. Good night.”
“Good night.”
He closed her door and went to his own room. Feeling uneasy he went through his usual preparations for bed for the second time that night. But he felt no method or comfort in the familiar little activities. He brushed his teeth, washed his face and hands, dressed in fresh pajamas. Despite the rain the September night was still warm and he opted again not to wear his shirt to bed. He lay atop the covers, Giselle asleep on her side. He looked over at her and moved a strand of hair from her cheek where he imagined it would tickle her in her dreams. He wondered how long she had been asleep. He turned on his side, facing her and brought her hand to his lips. He kissed each finger, running his lips over each knuckle until she flexed her hand in annoyance.
“Blaz? What are you doing home?” She asked sleepily, her eyes still closed.
“We have a guest, someone who needed help.”
“Mmm, tell me in the morning. I’ve got to rest.”
He gave her a compliant kiss on the forehead before turning onto his back and listening to the rain. After a while the rain began to mix with other nighttime sounds into a strange rhythm he found himself anticipating as he listened. There was the patter tat tat on the window, the slither of water down the gutter, and something else. He wondered at first if it might be an open window somewhere on the lower floor where the rain would have a different, unfiltered sound. But he realized it was closer and got up, putting his ear to the door. He heard it louder, but it was still unclear. So he looked over at his sleeping wife and opened the door as silently as he could to listen for the noise in the hallway.
He heard the crying and recognized it for the same kind of cry Giselle made after losing a baby. She would sob openly in front of her female relatives and for a few initial moments when she would tell Blaz the terrible news. But then when they would be alone together in bed she would turn her back to him and continue to weep as quietly as she could. It was this constrained, self denying cry that he heard. He crept down the hall and found Theatrice with her back to him. She was standing at her window, the tall clean glass glittered with the veins of water as the rain poured down outside. There was very little light, only a hint of glowing blue from the gaslight across the street. But Blaz could see her clearly enough, her frame silhouetted inside her wide white shift and her hair twisting in thick curls down her back. He hadn’t knocked and she hadn’t invited him, yet both seemed to accept that they were in her room together without asking the other. He wanted to help her, protect her from what was wounding her. But he didn’t know how he could help and he didn’t dare ask. He felt a fool for not comforting her before when they were in his room at the camp. He’d been so worried about what Claus told him. But Giselle would not want him to neglect anyone in pain, he promised himself. So this time he went to where Theatrice stood and enveloped her in his long arms, pulling her back against his chest and holding her wrists in front of her, her hands limp on his.
The movement was swift, but not aggressive. And she responded by leaning her head back against his shoulder and crying very quiet heavy tears. They stood that way, neither saying a word as they stared out into the rainy night. She cried for ages and Blaz felt his legs growing weak and his arms heavy as they held her to him. But finally he could feel her heartbeat slow until he could no longer feel it against his chest and he lessened the tension of his hold. She lifted her head, leaving a few strands trailing his jaw where he would shave soon. She pulled at her hair as if she were about to put it up, but let it slip through her palms and then went to her bed. She did not look at Blaz as she lifted her blankets and settled under them. She stared past him out the window, her face dull and bluish in the faint light. He watched her do all this, exhaustion wilting his set shoulders. And when he believed she would cry no more he left her.
There was no sound from the hall. As he looked into it everything stiffened, as if captured in a photograph. The flowers on the end table froze, shadows ceased and even the dust particles in the fading moonlight seemed suspended in midair.
The only movement came from his pajamas rustling against his hip. He breathed out, a weighty sigh he must have been holding in. He imagined the ghost of his breath wafting down the still hall, brushing past the wallpaper and light fixtures. He could practically see it until it stopped right outside the nursery door and then vanished.
His footsteps were muted, bare feet on the wood floor padding tremulously towards the nursery door, guiding him as his mind struggled to catch up. Why he went in he didn’t know. He just went. Once inside he pushed the mounted button and the room lit up, the sconces freshly washed and the light brilliant as it hit green and gold. Blaz stepped onto the carpet and savored the warmth of the room.
CHAPTER 12
September 1944
Cora
A guest had taken up residence in their home. One morning Cora woke and found a woman in the kitchen with her mother. They were sitting at the breakfast table, awkwardly silent as they swirled their spoons in their coffee. Giselle explained that the woman had come from the camp where Cora’s father worked. Even covered with bruises she was very beautiful but something about her eagerness was off putting. Cora was not the sort of child to ask a lot of questions. Whatever had hurt this stranger was not her business. She clearly did not share Cora’s restraint as she greeted Cora too warmly for a first introduction and patted her head as if she were a toddler.
“Remember your manners, Cora. Say hello to Theatrice,” her mother told her. “She’s going to stay with us for a while and help take care of me and the baby.”
Cora obediently shook Theatrice’s hand and told her ‘hello.’ She didn’t want to stay in the kitchen with them, though. She took a roll and a glass of milk to the dining room and ate by herself.
Cora continued to avoid Theatrice whenever possible. The longer the new nurse stayed the more Cora thought how oddly she behaved. One day, Cora was coming up the stairs and saw Theatrice dusting the long table in the hall. She picked up the framed photographs and knick knacks, dusted under each and then replaced them. But when she lifted a portrait of Cora’s father in his uniform, she stopped dusting and held the picture. There was something in her smile that made Cora uneasy. She hopped noisily up the last few steps to make her presence known and took satisfaction in making Theatrice jump at the intrusion. Not wanting to walk past her to get to her room, Cora ducked into the nursery pretending she had meant to go there all along. She kept her eyes on Theatrice as she entered the room and closed the door.
It was a round room, the nursery, like the turret of a castle. Round and gloriously decorated in dark green and gold. When it had been Cora’s nursery room there was the same faded burgundy that had been there when they had moved in. But now the wallpaper was handpicked, a forest shade with raised golden fleur de lis. Cora rubbed her hand along the wall and felt the slender bumps. The floor had been cold hardwood, beautiful but grim. Now, for the son they were expecting, a thick plush carpet had been brought in. Like the elaborate furniture, the carpet had arrived suddenly and when her mother would comment on the expense her father would wave his hand and tell her not to worry.
But it was very lovely furniture. The crib was dark, like chocolate and smooth to the touch. It was carved with waves and a ship, dreamlike and masculine. There was a rocking chair, too. It was the same kind of wood as the crib but was pure without elaboration. Other items were brought in including a rocking horse, a bookcase and even a locomotive train set. None of these things were of any use to an infant and the thought sank its teeth into Cora.
This had been her nursery room. It had encased her dreams and stories and treasures. But her things were gone now, packed away or tossed out. Everything looked different. There was a window seat where Cora’s dolls had sat overlooking the town and she would seat them in rows, the
shorter dolls in front and the larger in back so they could all see. She would stand behind them and teach them about the world. See, babies? See the dogs? And look, babies, see the truck?
She had only taken them down once and that had been when her bear, Felix, was sick. She had moved the dolls to her room so they wouldn’t catch his fever and she had made up a little bed complete with hot water bottle and tea for poor Felix. She would prop him up during the day so that he could see out the window and she would bring him books and drawings she had done to cheer him up. Every night she would take his temperature with a pencil and either fuss over him if he were still ill or rejoice if he were getting better. When he was "out of the woods" she put him in her bed to sleep so that she could monitor his recovery and the dolls retook their place on the window seat.
And there they stayed until the day her mother announced that she was far enough along in her pregnancy to start preparations. The dolls were removed and the seat was covered with richly clothed pillows of varying sizes and fabrics. What good did it do pillows to sit there? Cora thought. Pillows can’t see out the window.
Of course, Cora was grown up enough to know that her dolls were no more human than the pillows, but she had believed it firmly enough once and, outgrow them as she might, it was one of those silly things that she never quite let go of. It was the same as when she was packing the toys and didn’t face them down, but up as if they needed to breathe or might be offended to be packed in facedown. There were a lot of things that embarrassed Cora about her own childishness. She may not have talked to her dolls or tended to sick teddy bears anymore but she still preferred to have a light on at night. She still liked fairy tales and believed that boys were romantic and if they liked a girl they would tell her so with determined passion like in her books. She also still longed for the father’s love she would likely never have and clinging to that strange fantasy made her feel more like a child than all the other things combined.
There was a knock on the open door. Cora turned and when she saw that it was Theatrice, Cora gave her a hard look.
"Your mother tells me it looks quite different from before. Does it?" Theatrice asked cheerfully. Cora ignored her. "Do you know, when I was a little girl, my mother loved my sister very much. She got all kinds of attention, all sorts of clothes and toys. It seemed a bit much at times. Do you ever feel that way?" Cora raised her eyebrows and began rearranging the pillows.
"Cora, it’s alright if you’re not very excited to have a new baby in the family. It’s perfectly natural to feel that way. You can tell me. It’ll be our secret, I promise." Cora stopped fluffing and finally turned to Theatrice.
"Why are you here?" She asked.
"Because your mother needs me." Cora had meant why had Theatrice come in the nursery but now that the real question was out there, Cora ventured on with questions her mother would never entertain.
"Doesn’t she need a nurse?" It was rude and she knew she was being abrupt, but she didn’t care.
"I am a nurse, sort of." Theatrice was smiling that horrible placating smile that grownups always wore when they were trying to convince a child of a lie. Cora knew it from the way her mother smiled when she’d tell Cora that eating vegetables would make her smart or when her spinster teacher would tell the class that being a teacher was wonderful and they were the only family she needed.
"But why does it have to be you? Why did my father pick you?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean why you? What’s so special about you that of all the nurses my father has to bring you? Do you even know anything about having a baby?"
Theatrice chuckled.
"Of course I do. I’m a woman, aren’t I?"
"So am I, but I don’t know anything about babies," Cora challenged.
"No, dear, you are a girl. You’re a very bright girl, but still a girl. What your father needs is a woman."
There was silence.
"You mean my mother. What my mother needs is a woman."
The nursery became suddenly silent.
"That’s what I meant." Theatrice looked away nervously.
"I think you should know that my father loves my mother. He would never pay any attention to you." Cora didn’t like Theatrice, but she hadn’t imagined Theatrice meant any real harm until now. She clearly liked Cora’s father more than was appropriate but the way she said that he needed her made Cora wonder if the feeling wasn’t mutual. Would her father really betray her mother like that? It was unthinkable. And yet there had been recent revelations about the man Cora idolized. She had to admit that she really had no idea what her father was capable of. Theatrice still hadn’t answered. She swallowed, a thick disgusting sound that was much louder than it should have been. For a moment Cora thought she had her beat but then Theatrice plastered that same smile on her face.
"Oh, darling, is that what you’re worried about? Cora, I assure you, you’re father loves your mummy very much and he only brought me here to take care of her, and of you." She patted Cora on the head and trotted out of the room, suddenly delighted for some reason.
What a stupid woman, Cora thought.
She kicked the crib angrily. The blanket that had been folded and arranged neatly on the rail slithered to the carpet. No one had made her a blanket like this. She had been wrapped in blankets, of course, but none like this. Hers had been simple, basic, with a little lace trim at best. But his was the most beautiful blanket she had ever seen. It was deep green, like the rest of the room. And it was silk. Soft, warm to the touch, imported silk stitched over goose down. And it was thick and heavy, just holding it made her wish it was big enough to wrap herself in. She had gathered the material in her hands and brought it to her cheek. Her eyes closed at the rush of smoothness on her skin. She sighed a heavy, delirious breath. It smelled like her mother.
At first, the envy was for the blanket. But as she imagined her future brother robed in this wonderful thing, she began to understand what grownups meant when they used the word hate. She hated that he would have this creation she wanted so badly. She hated that her mother had gone to such trouble to make it for him. She hated the image she had of her mother rocking him wrapped in it. She hated imagining her father playing on the floor with him while he vomited on its perfect, shiny fabric. She hated his pinkness, his jolly grin, his useless laugh that would inevitably leave every grownup in stitches. She hated that he had her room and all the furniture and expensive toys and all before he was even born. She’d been their daughter for nine years, but apparently that meant nothing.
That’s when the accident began. She had pinched the fabric with her fingers so hard that she felt a tear as an untrimmed fingernail ripped a very tiny hole in the delicate silk. She had been stunned, gaping at the hole, afraid of Theatrice coming back and catching her fondling the blanket. But then, as she stared, the hole seemed to widen all on its own. It stretched and ran, like a quick little earthquake running down a green mountain. She was tearing it, completely separated from her own two hands as they ripped the blanket wide open, the down feathers pluming and falling to the immaculate carpet.
For a moment she was terrified. What had she done? She had never destroyed anything before. A warm satisfaction began to spread as Cora thought how she might not be the one blamed for the blanket. After all, if she could see Theatrice for what she was, surely her mother could also. What was more likely? That the child who had never done anything like it would turn out to be guilty or the envious stranger who they knew so little about? Cora smiled serenely as she left the room, the massacred silk and feathers lying in the middle of the nursery floor.
CHAPTER 13
October 1944
Blaz
Giselle had told her husband that when she went into labor it would be with the calm assurance of a woman at work. She would be fulfilling her responsibility, she said, the role for which she was destined. The afternoon that it happened, she was as brave as any husband could hope his wife to be. She felt the first vibrations
as they read in the parlor, but insisted to Blaz that such movements might be prevalent for the next several days. It wasn’t until she stood up to stretch her swollen belly that she stopped suddenly, frightening Blaz, a mighty shudder shaking her limbs as the first real contraction took her and the bag inside her burst.
She tried to grip the back of her chair for support. Her palm strained against the carved oak as her fingers stretched and yanked. Blaz sat, perplexed as to what to do until his laboring wife asked if he would be good enough to fetch something to protect the carpet.
Blaz rushed up the stairs for a towel but in his confusion, opened the door to their daughter’s room instead. Cora was on the floor, surrounded by her porcelain tea set. The dolls and stuffed toys that had been packed away were set in a circle around her. He was about to reprimand her for getting them out (wasn’t she too old for this sort of thing?) but this was an emergency. He looked around and realized the rug Cora was playing on was as good a thing as any to take back downstairs. He gripped the edge and yanked it hard, sending the dolls and cups across the floor, the thin porcelain shattering on the hard wood. He could hear Cora start sniveling as he rolled it under his arm and had to fight not to slap her for being so selfish. He was so angry he couldn’t even look at her before he raced back down to his wife. He laid the rug on the spot where Giselle’s fluids had spilled and tried to stamp it down to soak up what he could.
Blaz could hear the sounds of pain clawing at Giselle’s throat as he focused his attention on cleaning the mess but when the groans became stifled screams he left the rug and helped her climb the stairs. Between contractions he tried to guide her up as many steps as she could manage before the next wave came. Finally, when only a few steps remained and she grabbed her belly, a fierce, uncivilized grunt escaped her. Blaz wrapped his free arm behind her and carried her to the bedroom. As he laid her on the bed and withdrew his arm he saw his sleeve covered in blood.
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