Suddenly they heard the door to the hall open, and there in his pyjamas stood Ralphie, wide-eyed. Ethel saw the surprise and delight in his eyes and the big grin on Jim’s face, seeing him there. All she could think was that this was supposed to have happened in the morning, when the tree was all done and the presents underneath it. Here it was, half-past eleven at night and the tree half-done and the star not even on it. Now he was awake and might have a hard time getting back to sleep, and Christmas morning was all spoiled.
“Look what you done now. I told you you’d wake up Ralphie if you didn’t stop carrying on!” she snapped. “Ralphie! You shouldn’t be out of your bed this hour of night!”
Ralphie stood still, as if he didn’t hear her at all, staring at the tree as if he couldn’t imagine how it had grown there so fast. Ethel was just getting ready to raise her voice and order him back to bed when Harold crossed the floor in two steps and scooped up Ralphie – just in time, before she told him he had to go to bed – and carried him across the room and put him in Jim’s arms. “Look, b’y, it’s our very own Christmas tree,” Harold said.
“Saint Nicholas brought it,” Jim added, happy again with his little boy snuggled in his arms.
“Christmas now,” Ralphie said. He darted a glance at his mother to see if it was safe to smile, and Ethel smiled at him. How could she not have seen that this was right, that he was supposed to come out and find them and the tree all like this at almost midnight? She hadn’t seen that, but Harold had, of course. Just like he’d known they needed the tree.
Twenty-four hours later the three of them were in the kitchen, the two men sitting down to the table while Ethel finished up the last of the dishes. Rose and her young man Tony had gone off not long after dinner, but Jean and Robert and their crowd had stayed for supper and so there was a huge pile of dishes. It had been a grand day though; they were all tired out now but Harold seemed to understand Ethel’s need to make it all live again, to bring out the bright moments of the day like pieces of the best silver, polished and catching the light.
“Ralphie was some pleased with his stocking, wasn’t he? Thought he’d died and gone to heaven when he got those chocolate bars.”
“Yes, and when he saw the toy soldiers?” Ethel said. “Sure him and David were playing with them the whole afternoon.”
“I had toy soldiers like that when I was a boy,” Jim put in. “Remember them, Harold?”
“Yes, b’y, but you and Bert played with them so much, by the time I got them there was only half of them left, and those mostly had legs or arms cracked off. I used to line ‘em off and pretend the battle was over and they were all in the field hospital with their limbs blown off.”
Jim laughed so hard Ethel thought he’d bust a gut. “All you needed was a little Florence Nightingale,” he said, wiping tears from his eyes. “Shoulda fixed one of them up with a little headpiece for you.” All three of them laughed, and Jim sighed. “It’s hard lines for the youngest, always getting the leftovers of everything,” he said. “Ralphie’s lucky, just like I was. First one gets all the new clothes and all the new toys.”
Harold shook his head. “Not many toys when we were growing up, though. Ralphie’ll do better.”
“Oh, he’ll have the best we can buy for him,” Jim agreed. “I was some pleased when I found those soldiers in the shop for him, wasn’t I, Ethel?”
“Sure, Ethel’s laughing at us, Jim b’y,” Harold said. “Pleased as punch we got the little fellow one present for Christmas, and she was a regular Saint Nick, buying every other present for everyone, and all the candy and oranges, and knitting the mitts and the socks and all, and that sweater for me too. It’s a lovely sweater, Ethel. I don’t know where you finds the time.”
“Oh, I do a bit now and then, whenever I gets the chance,” Ethel said. She had taken such pleasure in knitting that sweater for Harold, the very blue of his eyes, hiding it from him and knitting whenever he was out of the apartment. For Jim she had bought a new winter coat because she knew he liked bought clothes better than homemade.
“Nice to have Rose here today,” Harold went on. “All the family together… all of us that’s here, I mean.” There was a brief silence, which each of them filled with their own thoughts: the family back home, and Bert of course – the empty spaces where people should have been.
Ethel was too tired for any foolishness when they went to bed that night and she guessed, rightly, that Jim would be too. She was often too tired now but tried to hide it because she wanted it as badly as he did, though for a different reason. It was high time to have another baby: she had always thought they’d have one by the time Ralphie was three, at the very latest, but time was running out for that. Month after month she’d wait and hope, but her period showed up every time, as regular as turning the calendar over.
Ethel was beginning to worry. She never said a word to Jim about it of course, but he’d been so good with Ralphie when he was a baby, she knew he’d like another one. Sometimes he said things like, “When we have another one, Ralphie can go out on the daybed and we’ll put the crib in our room,” or “By the time our kids are growin’ up, we’ll have this place fixed up a bit,” so she knew he was thinking of having more than just Ralphie. But why hadn’t it happened yet?
She’d tried talking to Jean. But Jean only said she was lucky not to get pregnant every time her husband looked at her; she should count her blessings since most women had the opposite problem. “And what’s there to worry about anyway?” Jean said. “Sure, it’s not like you’d worry you can’t have children, you’ve had one already. So you know everything’s working all right. ’Tis only a matter of time till the next one comes along, right?”
Ethel hadn’t been able to get any further than that with Jean. Of course when a couple couldn’t have a baby everyone talked about the woman being barren or whatever you liked to call it, but Ethel knew quite well there could be a problem with the man too. Not that you’d think it about a man as handsome and strong as her Jim, who was manly in every way. She couldn’t say any of this to Jean because as far as Jean and everyone else in the world knew, Ethel and Jim had already had a baby together, so what was there to worry about? But if years and years went by and they never had another one, surely Jim would start to get suspicious.
As far as she knew he had never suspected anything. It was hard to believe he hadn’t done some counting up the months and weeks and wondering about her and Bert…but no. He was as proud of Ralphie as any father could be of his son. It was like he knew for a certainty that neither Ethel nor Bert would have been the kind to do anything before getting married. Ethel imagined he must have blamed the whole business between her and him, the week of Bert’s funeral, on himself. Jim thought of himself as that type of man, but Ethel couldn’t be that type of girl, and so of course, in his mind, Ralphie had to have been his baby. But would he always think that, if Ethel never got pregnant again?
It got so bad that every month, the few days before her period was due, Ethel would be in a tizzy. She knew the day, sometimes even right down to the hour, because she was so regular. She’d get worried and irritable and achy, just like always, and hope that it was because of being pregnant, but then she’d be afraid it was going to come anyway, which would make her even more worried and irritable. What with one thing and another that was the worst week out of every month – the waiting and hoping, and then the letdown when it started after all.
One night when she said her nightly prayers she added, “And please, God, help me and Jim have a baby soon.” She added that petition for several months. It didn’t seem to make any difference, but then if you were thinking about women in Bible times, like Sarah or Hannah, it might take years for God to take any notice. She began adding, “I’ll do whatever you want, God, if you let me and Jim have a baby.” Not long after Christmas, when her January period had come and gone and left her more discouraged than ever, she took a more daring step. “Dear Father in Heaven,” she prayed, “I know I�
��ve asked you to forgive my terrible sin, but I know it will never truly be in the past until Jim and me has a baby of our own. Please show me what I can do to make it up to you so you’ll bless me with a child.”
She tried to be better, kinder to Jim and more patient with Ralphie. She threw herself into the church, even volunteering to take charge of the spring tea and sale of work, which was nothing but a headache. Maybe, she thought, God would see she was serious. She worked for weeks on that sale, and when it was all over she stayed late that night to clean up, her back aching and her feet sore.
Jim and Harold came by the church to pick her up, and the two of them helped Reverend Darling haul a cartload of tables from the church back to the school they’d borrowed them from. Ethel sent a message to ask Jean to keep Ralphie overnight; she could see there was a night’s work ahead of them. One by one the other helpers dropped off as their jobs were done, till finally it was only the three of them, Jim, Harold and Ethel, left working alongside the minister and Mrs. Darling. Ethel dropped into a chair, unable to move another step. “You must be dead on your feet, Ethel girl,” Harold said.
“I am,” Ethel said. “But it’s all in a good cause.” They said goodnight to the minister and his wife and stepped out into the street.
Jim looked at his watch. “It’s nearly ten o’clock now. I’m starved. Haven’t had a bite to eat since lunch at work.”
“Lunch? I forgot lunch,” Ethel said. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and she wasn’t sure there was anything in the house to make for a late supper when they got home.
“Let’s stop somewheres and get a bite to eat, then,” Harold said. “I got some money. Let me treat the two of you to a hot dog or something.”
“Oh, Harold, we couldn’t do that,” Ethel began, then ran out of steam, as she really couldn’t think of any reason not to, except that there was something shocking about going out and eating in a restaurant at ten o’clock at night.
They did it, though. And the very strangeness of the activity, and their tiredness, gave the adventure a kind of giddy edge, so that all three of them were laughing and carrying on, Ethel as bad as the boys, over their late-night chop suey in a Chinese restaurant that was the first place they passed. Ethel had always refused to try chop suey before and now wondered why: it was so good, and she had missed out on all these years she could have been eating it. She felt lightheaded as she tripped down the steps of the restaurant and back out into the street. In fact she was so light-headed that she tripped quite literally, and Jim grabbed one arm while Harold grabbed the other, and neither one let go so that they all walked arm-in-arm down the sidewalk, laughing at Ethel’s stories about the church ladies who were so fussy about every little detail of their tea and sale.
It’s wonderful…it’s as good as having two husbands, Ethel thought. She knew that was a shocking thought and also a silly one, because two husbands would be twice the work, but it would also be more variety, someone else to talk to. Having Harold here was like going back to the time when Bert was alive, when she and Bert and Jim would do things together. Only then, Jim had always had some girl or other. She wouldn’t want that now, of course. It would be just terrible if Jim ever – only there she’d be, alone with Harold – no, that would be quite wrong. Worse than what she did with Jim after Bert died. Why was she even thinking such things? She was overtired, and maybe running a fever.
“Well, Ethel, my love, it looks like you’ll have your couch free at last,” Harold said as they reached the apartment building. “I got my marching orders here in this letter.” He pulled an envelope out of his jacket pocket.
“What?”
“Two weeks ago I wrote to Frances and put the question to her. Told her I knew she’d rather I took her out under a tree in Bannerman Park someplace and went down on one knee, but I said I was writing it in Prospect Park, down on one knee, and that would have to be good enough.”
“Go on, you never said that foolishness, did you?” Jim said.
“Yes, I did, and what’s more, it’s the truth. I really did sit in the park to write it. Well, I wasn’t down on one knee but I’m sure she knew that part was just a joke. And just today I got her letter and she said yes. I’m going home the end of the month, we’re getting married back home and then she’s coming back with me on the next boat.” His face shone so bright Ethel couldn’t help but smile at him. Of course – Frances. Frances Stokes, her own and Annie’s best girlfriend back home. Harold talked about her all the time, didn’t he? Only Ethel never really paid attention to it, she realized now; she had never given any thought to Harold getting married, moving out of their apartment, setting up housekeeping on his own with Frances. It was wonderful news, of course. But how empty the apartment would be without him.
Ethel was dog-tired but she couldn’t sleep at all that night. She lay beside Jim, listening to his breathing and Ralphie’s, thinking of Harold all alone out there on his couch. Of course he’d been missing Frances, lonely for her, wanting a girl and a life of his own all this time. It was just – she couldn’t shake that memory of all three of them walking down the street, arms linked. Things couldn’t stay that way forever, of course. It would be nice to have Frances around, a friend from home. They would be sisters-in-law. It was the most natural thing in the world, so why was Ethel thinking that she couldn’t face getting up in the morning and going on for another day?
She got up in the morning – of course she did. She told Harold again how wonderful it all was and she wrote a letter of congratulations to Frances. She started crocheting a set of doilies for them for a wedding gift, and suggested Jim should ask around about apartments on their street that might be vacant. For the few days Harold was still with them she tried to wring all the pleasure she could out of his company, his talk and laughter, but it was like he was already gone. She hated the distance between them, the way all his thoughts now were on Frances and his future. Perhaps they always had been, and she had never seen it.
The night before he left he hugged her, in that casual brotherly way he often did. “Ethel, you’re a saint, that’s the God’s truth, to put up with me on your couch for nearly a year. You’re a saint, and you’re a lovely woman, and I hope my brother Jim knows what a lucky fellow he is. You hear that, Jim?” There was a note in his voice at the end that was almost serious and Ethel clung to it, hoping Harold was trying to tell her something but not knowing what. And then he was gone.
He was gone, and they were into June. The day on the calendar when Ethel’s period was supposed to come went by, and another day and another, and finally she realized that she’d been feeling tired and logy from more than just the sale and Harold’s going. She waited two more weeks before she told Jean, and explained about her symptoms, and Jean said, yes, you couldn’t miss that. Finally she told Jim the news, and he was thrilled, like she knew he’d be.
The night she told him, Ethel finally knew it was real and she could stop praying for a baby. She should pray a prayer of thanks instead, that she was going to have another child, her husband’s child. Even if it hadn’t always been Jim she was thinking of, it was Jim in the bed with her and that was what counted. Everything would be all right now.
ANNIE
ST. JOHN’S, MAY 1929
THE LIGHT IN THE Stokes’ front room was rosy, filtered through filmy pink curtains and reflected back from a dusty rose carpet. It was a warm afternoon for May and the pink light made the air seem warmer, almost heavy. Frances wore a soft pink dress and carried pink silk roses, so it wasn’t sensible to feel, as Annie did, that there was a cloying rose-smell in the air. Annie felt herself sway a little as Major Barrett led Frances and Harold through the vows. She gripped her own bouquet a little more tightly and tried to pay attention.
Frances looked as neat and pretty as she always did. Her dark hair and dark brown eyes were set off sharply against the pale dress. Her small hands, gripping the bouquet, looked like the curled pink-and-white of seashells. She was a tiny little thing, barely
five feet and not an ounce over ninety pounds. That was good though, since Harold wasn’t a very big man. On the far side of Harold, his friend David Janes stood as best man. Annie was the bridesmaid; Frances had no sisters and she and Annie had been friends ever since they were little girls.
Frances’ father, looking quite unlike himself in a suit, sat stern and upright on his chair. He had wanted Frances married in the Church of England, but Frances had put her little foot down and insisted on a Salvation Army officer. Annie remembered herself and Frances and Ethel coming home from Salvation Meeting on Sunday nights when they were all young girls, arms around each other’s waists. Nobody ever said a word against Frances going to the Army with them but sometimes people thought differently when it came time to marry out of your faith – though it wasn’t as if she were marrying a Catholic.
Mrs. Stokes, mother of the bride, sat on the small settee next to the mother of the groom, the two of them squashed together like two soft old pillows, beaming like angels but no doubt making up catty remarks to say to one another afterwards. They had been best friends for years and were never without an unkind word to say about someone in the neighbourhood.
Annie’s own father sat a little stooped, leaning forward in his chair: his back bothered him these days. His eyes were fixed on Harold almost hungrily, and Annie could read his thoughts. One boy dead, another gone for good – and now Harold, too, would be back off to New York almost as soon as the wedding supper was eaten. The Evans name would be carried on among strangers in a strange land.
By the Rivers of Brooklyn Page 7
