"You're doing a wonderful thing for your son, Mrs. Fields, and I know how hard it is." And then, after the sobs had finally subsided, "Are you currently employed?" The question had come as a shock. Did they doubt her ability to pay his tuition? She had hoarded whatever money she and Jeff had had, and she had been desperately frugal. She hadn't bought so much as a new dress for herself since the few she had bought after the fire, and she was planning to use all of Jeff's insurance money for the school, for as long as it would last. But now of course, with Andrew gone, she could go back to work. She had not worked again since Jeffs death. She had had to recover herself, and then she had found out she was pregnant. She couldn't have worked anyway then, she was too distraught after their deaths. And Collins had given her a generous severance when they accepted her resignation.
"No, I'm not employed, Mrs. Curtis, but my husband left me enough to ..."
"That's not what I meant." The director's smile was filled with compassion. "I was wondering if you would be free to stay up here for a while. Some of our parents do that. For the first months, until the children adjust. And Andrew being so young ..." There were five other children his age, which was part of what had convinced Daphne. "There's a charming little inn in town, run by an Austrian couple, and there are always a few houses to rent. You might give it some thought." She felt as though she'd had a reprieve. And her face lit up like a sunbeam.
"Could I see him every day?" Tears filled her eyes again.
"At first." Mrs. Curtis's voice was gentle. "Eventually it will be better for both of you if you begin to cut the visits down. And you know"--the smile was warm--"he's going to be awfully busy with his friends."
Daphne's voice was forlorn. "Do you think he'll forget me?"
They stopped where they stood and the older woman looked at her. "You're not losing Andrew, Mrs. Fields. You're giving him all that he needs for a successful life in the world again."
A month later she and Andrew made the trip, and she drove as slowly as she could through New England. These were the last hours of their old life and she wanted to drag them out as long as she could. She knew she wasn't ready to leave him. And somehow, the beauty of the countryside made it even harder. The leaves were turning, and the hills were a riot of deep reds and bright yellows, there were cottages and barns, horses in fields, and tiny churches. And suddenly she was reminded of the big beautiful world beyond their apartment that she wanted to share with him. There were cows and lots of sights lining the road he had never seen, and he pointed and made his odd little familiar sounds to ask her questions. But how could she explain to him a world filled with people, and airplanes, and exotic cities like London or San Francisco or Paris? She realized suddenly how deprived he had been and how little she had actually taught him, and the familiar feeling of failure washed over her again as they drove on through the scarlet hills of New England.
All of Andrew's favorite treasures and toys were in the car, his teddy bear and a stuffed elephant he loved, and the picture books they had leafed through together, but which no one could read to him. Daphne found herself thinking of it all as they drove, and suddenly what stood out to her now was all that she hadn't accomplished rather than all that she had, and she found herself wondering what Jeff would have done in her place with his son, if he'd had the chance. Perhaps he would have had more ingenuity, or greater patience, but he could have had no greater love than she had for this child. She loved him with every ounce of her soul, and If she could have given him her own ears with which to hear, she would have.
An hour before they reached the school they stopped for a hamburger at a roadside stand, and her bleak mood brightened a little. Andrew seemed excited by the trip, and he was watching everything around him with delight. She wished, as she watched him, that she could tell him about the school, but there was no way to do that. She couldn't tell him what it was like or what she felt, or why she was leaving him there or how much she loved him. For all of his life she had only been able to meet bis physical needs, or show him fire trucks racing silently by in the street. She had never been able to share her thoughts or feelings with him. She knew that he had to know that she loved him, she was with him every moment after all. But what would he think now when she left him at the school? How could she explain it to him? It only added to her private anguish to know that she couldn't. Mrs. Curtis, the director at the school, had rented a little cottage for her in the town, and Daphne planned to stay until Christmas, so that she could visit Andrew every day. But that would be very different from what they had shared in the past, their every waking moment spent side by side. Their lives would never be the same again, and Daphne knew it. The hardest thing she had ever done in her life was letting go of this child, whom she wanted to hold on to more than life itself, but knew she couldn't.
They arrived at the school shortly after dusk, and Andrew looked around in surprise, as though he didn't understand why they were there. He looked at Daphne with confusion and she nodded and smiled as he glanced worriedly at the other children. But these children were different from the ones he had met in Central Park in New York, and it was as though he instinctively sensed that they were like him. He watched them play, and the signs they made, and again and again they came over to him. It was the first warm welcome he had ever had from children his own age, and as one little girl came over and took his hand and then kissed his cheek, Daphne had to turn away so he wouldn't see the tears pouring down her face. Andrew just stared at the little girl in amazement. It was Mrs. Curtis who helped him join in at last, took his hand and led him around as Daphne watched, feeling as though she had done the right thing and a new world was opening to Andrew. Something extraordinary happened as she watched, he began to reach out to these children so much like him. He smiled and he laughed and for a moment he forgot Daphne. He began to watch the signs that they made with their hands, and laughing once he imitated one of them, and then making a funny little noise, he walked over to the little girl who had approached him before and kissed her. Daphne went over to him later and waved to show that she was going away, but he didn't cry, he didn't even look frightened or unhappy. He was having too good a time with his friends, and she held him for a last moment, with a brave smile on her face, and then she ran away before the tears came again. And he never saw the ravaged look on his mother's face as she drove out of the driveway. "Take care of my baby ..." she whispered to a God she had long since come to fear, and this time she prayed that He would hear her.
Within two weeks Andrew had totally adjusted to his new life at the school, and Daphne felt as though she had lived in the cozy New England town forever. The cabin Mrs. Curtis had helped her find was warm in the autumn wind, it had a perfect little country kitchen with a brick fireplace for baking bread, a tiny living room filled with a well-worn couch and deep easy chairs, there was a fireplace here too, and shining copper pots filled with plants, and in the bedroom a four-poster bed with a bright quilt. It was here that Daphne spent most of her time, reading books and writing in a journal. She had started keeping a journal when she was pregnant with Andrew, it was filled with notes about what her life was like, what she thought and felt, little essays about what life meant to her. She always thought that one day, when he was older, she would share her writings with Andrew. And in the meantime, it gave her a place to empty her soul, on long, lonely nights, like the ones in New Hampshire. The days there were bright and sunny, and she took long walks down wooded paths and beside streams, thinking of Andrew, and looking at the snowcapped mountains. This was a whole different world from New York. There were barns with horses, cows in the pastures, hills and meadows where she could walk without seeing a soul, and often did. She only wished she could share it with Andrew. For years now, he had been her only companion. And every few days she went to the school to see him. For her it was still an enormous adjustment. For four years her life had centered around him, and now suddenly he was gone, and there were times when the emptiness almost overwhelmed her. She
found herself thinking more and more of Jeff, and of Aimee. She would have been eight years old by then, and at times when Daphne saw a little girl the same age, she turned away, her eyes filled with tears, her arms aching to hold her. But it wasn't as though she had lost Andrew the same way, she kept reminding herself. He was alive and happy and busy, and she was doing the right thing for him and she knew it. But time after time she would go to the school, and sit on a bench outside with Mrs. Curtis, watching him play and learning to sign now. She was also learning the hand signs in order to communicate with him better.
"I know how difficult this is for you, Mrs. Fields. It's easier for the children to adjust, than for then-parents. For the little ones it's a kind of release. Here they are finally free of a world that didn't accept them."
"But will it ever accept him?"
"Yes." There was absolute certainty in the director's voice. "It will. He'll always be different. But with the right tools there will be almost nothing he can't tackle in time." She smiled gently at Daphne in the breeze. "One day he'il thank you." But what about me? She suddenly wanted to ask ... what happens to me now? What do I do without him? It was as though the older woman had read her thoughts. "Have you thought about what you'll do when you go back to New York?" For a woman alone, like Daphne, Andrew's absence would create an enormous void, and she already knew that Daphne hadn't worked since she was pregnant almost five years before. At least most of the parents had each other, other children, jobs, activities to fill their lives in the absence of these special children. But it was obvious that Daphne didn't. "Will you go back to work now?"
"I don't know ..." Daphne's voice trailed off as she stared out at the hills. How empty it would all be without him. She almost hurt more now than she had when she first left him. The reality of it was finally sinking in. Her life would never be the same again ... never. ... "I don't know." She pulled her eyes back from the hills and looked at Mrs. Curtis. "It's been so long. I doubt if they'd even want me." She smiled and the passage of time showed in her eyes. The years had taught her lessons filled with pain.
"Have you thought of sharing with others what you've learned with Andrew?"
"How?" Daphne looked surprised. The thought had never occurred to her.
"There aren't enough good books on this subject. You mentioned that you were a journalism major in college, and you worked at Collins. Why not write a book or a series of articles? Think of how something like that would have helped you when you first found out about Andrew." Daphne remembered the terrible feelings of being alone, of no one in the world seeming to share her problem.
"It's a thought." She nodded slowly, and watched Andrew hug a little girl, and then chase a big red ball across the playground.
"Maybe you're just the one to do it."
But the only thing she seemed to write now was her journal, night after night. She had nothing but time on her hands now, and she was no longer exhausted at night, as she had been for years since she had Andrew. He was just like any other small child, constantly busy, but he needed even more attention than most, to be sure that he didn't run into danger from something he couldn't hear, and there was always his frustration to deal with, at not being able to communicate with others.
When she closed her journal that night, she lay in the dark and thought again of Mrs. Curtis's suggestion. It was a good idea, and yet, she didn't want to write about Andrew. Somehow it seemed a violation of him as a person, and she didn't feel ready to share her own fears and pain. It was all too fresh, just as Jeff's and Aimee's deaths had been for so long. She had never written about that either. And yet she knew that it was all bottled up inside, waiting to come out, along with feelings that she hadn't faced in years. Those of being still young, and a woman. For four years now, her only close contact had been with her son. There had been no men in her life, and few friends. She didn't have time for them. She didn't want pity. And going out with another man would have seemed a betrayal of Jeffrey, and all that they had shared. Instead, she had submerged all of her feelings, locked all of those doors, and gone on year after year taking care of Andrew. And now there was no excuse left. He would live at the school, and she would be alone in their apartment. It made her never want to go back to New York. She wanted to hide in the cabin in New Hampshire forever.
In the mornings she went for long walks, and once in a while she stopped at the little Austrian Inn for breakfast. The couple who ran it were well matched--both rotund and kind, and the wife always asked about her son. She knew why Daphne was there from Mrs. Curtis. As in every small country town, people knew who belonged and who did not, why they were there, when they had arrived, and when they were leaving. People like Daphne weren't so rare here, there were other parents who came to town to visit their children. Most stayed at the inn, and a few did what Daphne was doing, usually in the summer. They rented cottages and small houses, brought their other children with them, and generally made it a festive occasion. But Mrs. Obermeier sensed that Daphne was different. There was something much quieter, much more withdrawn, about this tiny, delicate, almost childlike woman. It was only when you looked into her eyes that you realized she was wise well beyond her twenty-eight years, and that life had not always been kind to her.
"Why do you think she's alone like that?" Mrs. Obermeier asked her husband one day as she put sweet rolls in a basket and slid a tray of cookies into the oven. The cakes and pies she prepared made everyone's mouth water.
"She's probably divorced. You know, children like that can destroy a marriage. Maybe she paid too much attention to the boy and her husband couldn't take it."
"She seems so alone."
Her husband smiled. His wife always worried about everybody. "She probably just misses the boy. I think Mrs. Curtis said he was very young, and he's her only child. You looked like that too when Gretchen went to college."
"That wasn't the same." Hilda Obermeier looked at him, knowing that there was something he wasn't seeing. "Have you looked into her eyes?"
"Yes," he admitted with a grin and a flush of his full jowls, "they're very pretty." He patted his wife's behind then and went outside to bring in some more firewood. They had a house full of guests at the inn that weekend. In the dead of winter there were always those who went cross-country skiing. And in the fall, people came from Boston and New York to see the changing of the leaves. But the brilliant orange and magenta leaves were almost gone now. It was November.
On Thanksgiving Day, Daphne went to the school and shared turkey dinner with Andrew and the other children. They played games afterward, and she was stunned when he grew angry at her and signed to her, "You don't know anything, Mom." The rage in his eyes cut her to the quick, and she felt a separation from him she had never felt before. She suddenly resented the school for taking him from her. He wasn't hers anymore, he was theirs, and she hated them for it. But instead she found herself taking it out on Andrew, and signing angrily at him. Mrs. Curtis saw the exchange and spoke to her about it later, explaining that what they were both feeling was normal. Things were changing very quickly now for Andrew, and consequently for Daphne. She couldn't sign as quickly as he, she made mistakes and felt clumsy and stupid. But Mrs. Curtis assured her that in time they would have a better relationship than the one they'd had before and it would all be worth it.
And at dinnertime she and Andrew had made friends again, and they had gone to the table hand in hand, and when he signed the prayer at the start of the meal, she was so proud she thought she would burst, and afterward he grinned at her. After dinner he played with his friends again, but as he wore down he came to sit on her lap and cuddle, as he had in years past, and she smiled happily as he fell asleep in her arms. He purred softly in his sleep, and she held him, wishing she could turn the clock back. She carried him to his room, changed his clothes, and slipped him gently into bed as one of the counselors watched. And then, with a last look at the sleeping blond child, she walked softly out of the room and went back downstairs to the other
parents. But she didn't want to be with them tonight. Once Andrew was in bed, she was anxious to get back to her cabin. She had grown used to her solitude and her own thoughts, and the comfort of spilling her soul into her journal.
She drove home by a familiar back road and gave a startled gasp as she heard something snap and the car suddenly sank forward and stopped. She had broken an axle. She was shaken but not hurt, and instantly realized how lucky she had been that it hadn't happened sometime when she was on the highway. But this was a mixed blessing too. She was alone on a deserted road and about seven miles from her cabin. The only light was that of the moon and she could see her way clearly, but it was bitter cold and it would be a long walk home in the sharp wind. She pulled her collar tightly around her, wishing that she had worn a hat and gloves and more sensible shoes, but she had worn high heels and a skirt for Thanksgiving dinner. Her eyes watered in the cold, and her cheeks tingled and her hands grew rapidly numb, even in her pockets, but she buried her chin in her coat, and with no other choice she kept walking.
It was almost an hour later when she saw headlights coming toward her on the road, and she was suddenly engulfed in panic. Even in this sleepy town something unpleasant could happen. She was a woman alone on a dark country road and if something happened to her, there would be no one to hear her screams, or come to help her. Like a frightened rabbit, she suddenly stopped in the road as she watched the headlights come toward her. And then, instinctively, she ran behind a tree, her heart pounding so loudly she could hear it as she hid there. She wondered if the driver had seen her flight. He had still been a good distance away when she ran from the road. And as the vehicle approached she saw that it was a truck. For a moment it looked as though it would drive past her, and then it ground to a sudden halt as she held her breath, terrified, waiting.
Once in a Lifetime (1982) Page 6
