The Seventh Mother

by Sherri Wood Emmons

  I opened the envelope and found several smaller envelopes inside, each holding a letter. The one on top was addressed to Mrs. Hailey Bohner on Pippin Road in Cincinnati—my mother! The return address listed Mrs. Imogene Wright on North Layman Street in Indianapolis, Indiana. I pulled the letter from the envelope and stared at the date: February 2, 2006. My hands shook so hard I had to lay the letter down on the floor and bend over to read it.

  Dear Hailey,

  I was so glad to get your letter, I about cried when it came. I know you said never to write back to you, but honey I am scared for you and I need to know if you are OK.

  I know things were bad between us before, but I am your mother and I always will be. Nothing will ever change that.

  Hailey if you are scared then please come home. Bring the baby and just come home. Use this money and get on a bus and come back home. If you don’t want to live with me you can live with Mary Anne and Bill. They have plenty of room and they would love to have you and Jenny stay with them.

  Please at least write back to me and let me know you are OK.

  I love you,

  Mom

  I read the letter twice. Then I read it again. My hands shook, my stomach knotted so that I thought I might throw up. A letter to my mother from her mother. My mother had a mother, a mother named Imogene Wright. I had a grandmother.

  Why was my mother afraid? And why didn’t she want her own mother to write to her?

  I put the letter back into the envelope and pulled out another, this one addressed from Mrs. Hailey Bohner to Mrs. Imogene Wright. It was dated February 7, 2006.

  Dear Mom,

  I am fine. I am sorry I worried you. Brannon and I had an argument, that’s all. We are OK now. Sometimes he just gets so mad and his eyes get this look, and I think maybe he’ll hurt me. But he would never do that. I know that now.

  Thank you for the money. I hope it is OK if I keep it. We are kind of tight right now. Jenny is growing up so fast, and she always needs new clothes.

  Please don’t write to me again. Brannon would be mad at me if you did.

  The letter ended there. There was no signature, even; it just ended. I stared at the paper. My mother wrote that letter. But why was it here in the box? Why hadn’t she ever mailed it? Or even signed it?

  I looked back into the box and saw another box, even smaller, like the ones Daddy got from the bank with his checks in them. Setting the letters aside, I pulled the check box out and opened it. Inside, right on top, Jackie’s face smiled at me from a small plastic rectangle. It was her driver’s license. Beneath it were more licenses—Trish’s and Ami’s and Cara’s. There were two more, women I didn’t know, or at least didn’t remember. Why did Daddy have Jackie’s driver’s license? Surely she would have taken that with her when she left.

  I held the licenses in my hand, staring at them, willing my mind to come up with an explanation.

  “Jenny!”

  I shoved the licenses into my pocket as I spun to see Emma’s head in the doorway to the attic.

  “What in heaven’s name are you doing up here?”

  I closed the check box quickly and shoved it back into the box with the lockets and letters.

  “I just . . . I wanted . . .” I stammered, but no words would come. I had no idea what I could even begin to say.

  “Put that stuff back right now!” She emerged through the door and frowned at me. “Quick,” she said. “I don’t want your dad to know you were up here again.”

  I stuffed things back into the box and taped it. Then I put the box into the larger box and began putting Daddy’s clothes back inside. Finally, I taped the big box shut and turned to face Emma. Her face was pale, her eyes wide.

  “How could you do this?” she asked. “You know how mad your dad would be if he found out!”

  I picked up the knife and tape, still saying nothing.

  “Get yourself downstairs, right now!”

  She followed me down the ladder, then pushed it back up into the trap door.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

  She looked at me for a long minute, and I waited for her to start yelling. Instead, she took the knife and tape from me and sighed.

  “Go change your clothes and take a shower,” she said. “You’re a mess.”

  She was right. I was covered in dust. Before I undressed, I took the driver’s licenses from my pocket and shoved them into my underwear drawer. Then I showered and washed my hair.

  When I padded back to my room, my dirty clothes were gone and I heard the washing machine start in the basement.

  I dressed and toweled my hair, then sat down on the futon. My hands were still shaking; my stomach was in knots. I had so many things I wanted to know, and no one to ask. No one except Daddy, of course. But I couldn’t do that. That much I knew.

  “Hey.”

  Emma stood in the doorway. She’d changed her clothes, too.

  “I’m sorry,” I said again. “I just . . . I just wanted to see what was up there.”

  “I know,” she said. “I know you’re curious. I get that, I really do. But you promised your dad, and I promised your dad. And you have to promise me now that you will not go up there again.”

  I sat not looking at her for a long time. I wanted to promise her, to make her happy. But what about the letters and the lockets and the driver’s licenses? What if there was more stuff up there about my mother?

  “Jenny?”

  At last, I raised my eyes to meet hers.

  “I promise,” I whispered.

  “Okay, then.” She nodded and held her hand out to me. “Come on and help me get dinner started.”

  “Did you get the stuff for Mrs. Rigby?” I asked, following her into the kitchen.

  “Yes,” she said. “And I saw Jasper, poor thing. He’s in a cast up to his hip, and he’ll be out of school for a while.”

  I never thought of Jasper as poor anything, but I did feel bad about his leg.

  “I’ll tell you what.” Emma turned to me and tilted her head. “Both of us did something today we probably shouldn’t have done. And neither of us wants your dad to know. So for this one time, we’ll keep our secrets, okay?”

  I nodded and smiled at her.

  “But just this one time,” she said firmly. “No more sneaking, no more lies. Okay?”

  I nodded again.

  She smiled at me and pulled me into a hug.

  “I know you’re curious,” she repeated. “But your dad just wants what’s best for you . . . what’s best for both of us. He loves us, that’s all.”

  I nodded. I hoped against hope that she was right.

  40

  Emma

  I sat in the waiting room at the doctor’s office, trying to concentrate on the parenting magazine in my lap. But my mind kept returning to the day before. To Jenny, digging through Brannon’s boxes in the attic. What was so fascinating up there that she would risk Brannon’s anger? I felt vaguely guilty, not telling Brannon about it. But how could I, when I was keeping something from him, too?

  Shirley had become a real friend in the last couple months. We’d had coffee several times and once I’d gone to her house for lunch. With Damon gone, Shirley was coming into her own, becoming the person she had always wanted to be. And she’d been so helpful to me, teaching me to arrange flowers and helping me find the best bargains on maternity clothes and baby things. She’d even given me a big box of baby clothes that had been her kids’. Most of them looked brand-new.

  I hoped Jasper’s injury wouldn’t interfere with her job. She loved working at the flower shop almost as much as I had loved working at the diner. God, I missed Resa! I even missed Harlan bellowing, “Order’s up!”

  “Mrs. Bohner?” A nurse with a clipboard stood smiling at me. “The doctor will see you now.”

  I followed her to the exam room, undressed, put on the hospital gown, and sat on the table, waiting and wishing that Brannon were there with me. He’d been taking on extra hours since I lef
t my job at the diner, and I didn’t want him to miss work. He knew I had a doctor’s appointment, of course. It had been on the calendar for a month. But I hadn’t told him it was a special appointment. I wanted to surprise him.

  “How are you feeling, Emma?” Dr. McLaren smiled and extended his hand.

  “I’m good,” I said, shaking his hand.

  “Is the morning sickness subsiding?”

  “Yeah, it’s a lot better.”

  “Good,” he said, writing on the chart. “Are you ready for your ultrasound?”

  I nodded and smiled.

  “Okay, then,” he said. “Let’s have a look at that baby.”

  I lay back on the table and a nurse pulled aside my gown and smeared a cold goo on my belly. Then the doctor placed the sensor on my stomach and a sound filled the room, a whoosh, whoosh, whoosh—the sound of my baby’s heart.

  “There’s your baby.” Dr. McLaren pointed toward a monitor and I stared in wonder.

  “Here’s the head, and those are the hands and feet.”

  “Oh my God,” I breathed. I’d never seen anything so beautiful.

  “And . . . do you want to know the baby’s sex?”

  “Yes!”

  “Well, it looks like you’re having a girl. Congratulations.”

  A girl . . . a baby girl who was half me and half Brannon, a little sister for Jenny.

  Tears stung my eyes. I couldn’t speak because of the huge lump in my throat. My daughter was beautiful and tiny and perfect.

  “Is she okay?” I finally croaked.

  “Everything looks good,” he said, smiling at me. “She looks right on track in terms of size. I think you’ll have a healthy little girl.”

  After he’d turned off the machine and left the room, I cleaned the goo off my belly and sat, just letting tears drip down my cheeks for a minute. Then I got dressed, scheduled my next appointment, and drove toward home. Outside, the sky seemed bluer than I’d ever seen it. The returning robins sounded sweeter. The breeze felt warmer and fresher. I felt happier than I’d ever been. I stopped at Walmart and bought a pair of tiny pink booties with white ribbons. Then, on impulse, I picked up a new nightgown, long and sheer and pink, with a dangerously low-scooped neckline.

  I couldn’t wait to tell Brannon.

  When I got home I called Angel.

  “Can you pick Jenny up after school?”

  “Sure,” she said. “Are you feeling okay?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “I’m fine. In fact, I’m great. I just . . . I would really appreciate it if she could have dinner at your house tonight. I need some time just with Brannon.”

  “That’s fine,” she said. “What time should I bring her home?”

  “I’ll come get her,” I said. “Is nine okay?”

  “That’s fine,” Angel repeated. “You have a nice evening with Brannon.”

  “Thanks, Angel. I will.”

  When Brannon walked through the front door that night, he stopped and looked around in surprise. I’d set up a small table in the center of the living room, with a tablecloth and candles and two place settings. A bottle of white zinfandel stood by one plate, already uncorked, alongside a single wineglass. Soft music played from the radio. I smiled at him from across the room.

  “Welcome home, handsome.”

  He grinned and shook his head.

  “Where’s Jenny?”

  “She’s having dinner with the Johnsons tonight.”

  “What’s all this?”

  “I just felt like having a nice dinner with my husband,” I said. “Is that okay?”

  “Sure!” He walked toward me and stopped, looking me up and down.

  “What are you wearing?”

  “I got it at the store today. Do you like it?”

  “Uh, yeah, I guess so. Aren’t you cold?”

  He kissed me briefly. When I leaned into him, he pulled away slightly.

  “I’m fine,” I said, smiling up at him.

  “Dinner is almost ready. Why don’t you take a shower and shave?”

  He smiled at me uncertainly and headed for the shower.

  I stood a minute, steeling my nerves. Tonight, I wanted to celebrate with my husband. I wanted to feel close to him, to be close to him. And by God, that’s what I was going to do.

  In the kitchen, I pulled the roasted chicken from the oven and moved it to a platter. Then I arranged the potatoes and carrots around it and garnished it with a sprig of parsley. I put the rolls in a basket and carried them to the living room. There wasn’t room on the little table for everything, so I set up a TV tray next to the table and put the rolls and the platter of chicken on it. Finally, I took the pats of butter I’d been chilling in the fridge and arranged them on a small plate.

  I stood back to admire the effect. It was pretty. Romantic. Definitely not a typical Tuesday night dinner.

  I went back into the kitchen and pulled the cheesecake from the freezer. I wished I’d had time to make one myself, but store-bought would be okay. I had a few strawberries and some chocolate syrup to drizzle on top.

  I checked my reflection in the mirror and thought briefly about putting on some lipstick. But I couldn’t remember the last time I’d worn lipstick, and I wasn’t sure where the one stick I had might be. So I dragged the brush through my hair and patted my cheeks. Then I sucked in my belly and looked again. If I stood just so, you could hardly even tell I was pregnant.

  “What are you doing?” Brannon was watching me from the hallway, smiling.

  “I’m trying to look like something other than a fat, pregnant lady.”

  “You’re not fat,” he said, shaking his head and laughing. “But you are pregnant. You are pregnant and beautiful and wonderful.”

  I walked into his arms and he held me as we swayed slightly to the music, a song I didn’t know.

  “That looks really good,” he said, eyeing the food. “I’m starving.”

  “Well, let’s eat then.”

  I carved the chicken and put some on each plate, along with potatoes and carrots. Then I handed him a roll and the butter.

  “What’s the special occasion?” he asked as he dug into the chicken.

  “Just a good day,” I said, smiling.

  “Did you see the doctor?”

  “I did.”

  “And everything is good?”

  “Everything is perfect.”

  He raised his eyebrows at me and forked a potato.

  “Okay,” he said, grinning at me. “I give. What’s up?”

  I smiled and reached under the table to pull out the tiny booties. I set them on the table beside his plate.

  “We’re having a girl!”

  He stared at the booties, and for just an instant I saw what looked like disappointment cross his face.

  “Brannon?”

  He looked up at me and smiled.

  “A girl? That’s great, babe! That’s just . . . great.”

  “You don’t sound very sure of yourself.” I felt a lump growing in my throat.

  “No, seriously, Emma. That’s great.”

  “Did you want a boy?”

  He sat a moment and took my hand. “It might have been nice to have another guy in the house,” he said. “But a daughter is great. Really.”

  I sighed just a little. I’d hoped he would be as excited as I was.

  “So . . .” he said softly. “You had an ultrasound today?”

  I nodded.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I wanted to surprise you.”

  He looked at me in silence.

  “I didn’t think you’d want to miss work,” I added.

  Still he said nothing, just took another bite of chicken and began chewing.

  “Brannon? Are you mad?”

  “Not mad,” he said quietly. “Disappointed, I guess.”

  “I’m sorry. I guess I should have had you come with me.”

  “It’s okay.”

  Clearly, it wasn’t okay. He was unhapp
y. But there didn’t seem to be anything I could do about it.

  “Anyway, we’re having a girl. I brought home a picture of the ultrasound.”

  I handed him the picture and he stared at it. Then he smiled at it.

  “She’s a beauty, isn’t she?”

  “I think so,” I said, relieved. “And I think Jenny is going to be so excited to have a little sister.”

  He nodded and took another bite.

  “The chicken is good,” he said.

  We ate without talking for a while. I felt hot and uncomfortable. The music that had been so beautiful before was simply annoying now.

  “So,” I said finally, unable to bear the silence. “How was your day?”

  “Okay,” he said. “Just a day.”

  He finished his chicken, buttered another roll, and ate, never even looking up at me.

  “Brannon, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “It’s all good, babe.”

  He rose and picked up his plate.

  “Are you finished?” he asked, reaching for my plate.

  He carried the dishes into the kitchen and I followed him.

  “We’ve got dessert,” I said, pointing to the cheesecake thawing on the counter. “I’ve got strawberries and chocolate to go on top.”

  He turned and tilted his head, smiling.

  “That’s Jenny’s favorite,” he said. “I should go get her and she can have some with us.”

  “Oh.” I couldn’t think of any reason to object, or at least any reason he might listen to. “Okay.”

  He scooped his car keys from the counter and walked to the back door, then turned.

  “You should probably change clothes before we get back.”

  I nodded and he was gone. After he left, I lay on our bed and cried until my stomach ached, not sure what had gone wrong, what I had done to upset him. And then, lying on my back, I felt a tiny flutter, almost like a small moth was flying around in my stomach. I put my hand on my belly and lay very still. Another flutter. The baby was moving. Our tiny daughter was moving inside of me.

  “Don’t worry, baby,” I crooned. “Mama’s here. Mama will take care of you always.”