Florence Adler Swims Forever: A Novel

by Rachel Beanland

“You can read them with your feet on the ground.”

  That was not true. And moreover, Gussie did not like it when Anna told her what to do. She thought about reminding Anna that she was not her mother but she had a feeling that Anna would march her home if she did. Instead she let out a loud sigh, loud enough, she hoped, to let Anna know she was annoyed, before slowly lowering her feet to the floor.

  The signs provided visitors with the babies’ names and birth dates, along with some numbers and symbols that Gussie didn’t bother trying to interpret. She loved reading the baby’s names, some of which were so silly that they had to have been made up. Who named a child, even one who was likely to die, Marigold? Perhaps Marigold’s family had been too nervous to name her themselves? Or was it possible that Marigold wasn’t the baby’s real name and that her actual name was Mary or Margaret?

  “Hyram was in that one, over there,” Gussie said, pointing to an incubator in the corner. “I think.”

  “I didn’t know Hyram was here. I wouldn’t have—”

  “Let me come?”

  Anna looked uncomfortable. “You visited him here?”

  Gussie nodded, cautious about giving too much away.

  “With your parents?”

  Gussie didn’t say a word. She just trailed over to the corner unit where a baby no bigger than a squash lay sleeping, bundled in white blankets. Sometimes Anna was quite daft. Of course, Gussie’s parents wouldn’t have brought her here. It had been Florence who had asked if she wanted to go, Florence who had understood how frustrating it was to be told she had a baby brother she could not see.

  He had been so tiny, smaller than many of the other incubator babies. His head had looked large, in proportion to the rest of him, and his body was covered in downy white hair that Florence had promised would disappear as he grew. His arms and legs were long and thin, nothing like the chubby appendages Gussie saw on the babies in the Easter Parade. Mostly, she was surprised by how red he was.

  “He looks like a boiled shrimp,” she had told her aunt, who twisted her mouth into a small frown.

  On that visit, Florence had encouraged her to slip beneath the railing to get a better look at her baby brother. She’d stood close to the incubator, her fingers on the glass.

  “He can hear you,” Florence said. “Tell him anything you want him to know.”

  Gussie thought for a minute. What did she want Hyram to know?

  While she stood there, trying to think of something to say, a pair of tourists walked up beside Florence. It was easy to see they were from out of town. People from offshore always carried more bags than necessary and had a habit of wearing their beach shoes into the shops.

  “This one can’t have a prayer of making it,” the man remarked to his wife.

  Gussie turned around to get a better look at him, taking in his bulging shirt buttons and the camera that hung around his neck. What did it mean to have a prayer?

  “Hey, mister,” said Florence, tapping the man on the arm. “This little girl is his sister, and your comments aren’t very helpful—or kind.”

  The man just blinked at Florence, too surprised to speak, while his wife apologized profusely and ushered him quickly toward the door. Once it swung shut behind them, Florence urged Gussie to continue.

  She bit her bottom lip, thinking hard, before she finally said, “Hi, Hyram, it’s Gussie—your sister. It’s nice to meet you.”

  Had Florence known Hyram would die when she took Gussie to see him? Was that, perhaps, why she’d taken her? Gussie couldn’t be sure.

  Anna touched Gussie’s shoulder, and Gussie reminded herself that the baby in the incubator in front of her was not Hyram. He was some other baby—the placard said his name was George. It was possible that George had his own big sister, who anxiously wondered if she’d ever meet him.

  Anna began to play with Gussie’s hair, and Gussie pulled away from her instinctively. Anna was not allowed to pretend to be Florence. Not now and not ever.

  “Let’s go, Gus,” said Anna. “I’m afraid this might not have been a good idea.”

  Florence had been so good at knowing what Gussie needed, even when the thing she needed was as big and scary as visiting her baby brother at Couney’s. But Anna wasn’t like that. She was afraid of everything and everyone. Of course, she’d be afraid of this place and what Esther would think if she discovered they had come.

  * * *

  Gussie’s father rarely left the plant during the day, which is why, as she and Anna walked back to the apartment, it was such a surprise to see him sitting in the window of Kornblau’s, eating a corned beef sandwich as if it were a Saturday afternoon.

  Gussie tapped on the glass and waved, then did a little dance and rushed toward the restaurant’s entrance. Anna called for her to wait but Gussie ignored her. She hadn’t seen her father in days.

  The entrance of Kornblau’s was crowded with parties waiting for tables. Gussie had to weave through a sea of people, offering apologies as she ducked under elbows to get to her father’s table, which was positioned in the far corner of the dining room, near the window.

  Gussie loved surprises. When she had tapped on the glass, her father had looked so surprised to see her. His eyebrows had moved up on his face, and he’d put his sandwich down before motioning her inside. Had he motioned her inside? It didn’t matter. Either way, he was very, very surprised.

  “Father!” she said, when she’d finally arrived in front of his table. She went to give him a hug but he was seated at a booth, and it was tricky to maneuver around the table, which was bolted to the floor. She banged her hip bone on the lip of the table, and the pain made her squeeze her eyes shut.

  “Hey, Gus-Gus,” he said into her hair. “What are you doing here?”

  She opened her eyes and realized he was sitting across from a man she didn’t know.

  “Vic, this is my daughter, Gussie. Gussie, this is Mr. Barnes.”

  “Nice to meet you, Gussie.”

  Gussie didn’t know what to say. She just nodded her head and looked around for Anna, who was slowly making her way through the crowded restaurant. It would be better when she arrived and could help fill the strange silence.

  “Isaac,” Anna said, when she finally caught up with Gussie.

  “Anna, this is Vic Barnes. Anna is a friend of the family’s.”

  Anna extended her hand and Mr. Barnes took it. “Pleased to meet you.” Then she turned back to Isaac. “We’re sorry to have interrupted.”

  Gussie inched closer to her father, sure that Anna was going to suggest they leave. She could smell his shaving cream and the tonic he put in his hair. His visits to the apartment had grown less and less frequent, and she knew it might be several more days before she saw him again.

  “You’re not interrupting,” said Mr. Barnes, who hadn’t yet managed to let go of Anna’s hand. Mr. Barnes reminded Gussie of a badger, or maybe an otter. He had a long neck and a skinny face, with a mustache that obscured his lips entirely. Gussie didn’t like the way he leered at Anna and was relieved when Anna pulled her hand free and used it to smooth her skirt.

  “Gussie, we should be getting back,” Anna said in a singsong voice that was much cheerier than the one she normally used.

  “Isaac, you mentioned the land in Florida but you failed to mention this lovely asset.”

  What was Mr. Barnes talking about? Gussie hated it when adults spoke in code. Gussie’s father cleared his throat, and Anna, quick as a sand crab, grabbed Gussie by the hand and yanked her out of the booth and to her feet.

  “Owww—”

  Before Gussie had time to issue any more exclamations, Anna said, “We’ll let you get back to your conversation. Gussie just wanted to say hello. Nice to meet you, Mr. Barnes. Isaac, give my regards to Fannie.”

  “When are you coming over?” Gussie thought to shout at her father as Anna began dragging her back the way they had come.

  Gussie didn’t know why but by the time Anna had pulled her all the way ou
t of the restaurant and onto Pacific Avenue, she was crying. It wasn’t nice of Anna to force her to leave so abruptly. And it wasn’t like her father not to give her a big hug hello. Ever since Florence had died, no—ever since her mother had gone into the hospital, no—ever since Anna had come to stay with her grandparents, everyone had been acting so strangely.

  “I want my mother,” she whispered as tears welled in her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. Anna offered her a handkerchief and waited patiently for her to make use of it. The handkerchief had pale pink flowers at the corners and a scalloped edge, and in one corner, it was initialed AE. Gussie wondered if Anna’s mother had made it for her, and then asked as much. Anna nodded her head, yes.

  “May I keep it?” Gussie asked, peering up at Anna, who looked far less sure of herself, considering the request, than she’d looked just a few minutes earlier, storming out of Kornblau’s. Gussie didn’t know why she wanted the handkerchief so much. She just knew that if her own mother had stitched her anything half as pretty, Gussie would have carried it around in her pocket like a kiss.

  Esther

  Esther had grown to hate the mornings, particularly those first few moments of consciousness, when she did not yet recall that her younger daughter was gone. For several seconds upon waking, her eyes remained shut tight, the images from her dreams still etched upon the back of her eyelids. When she opened them, she found the familiar artifacts of her bedroom—the white iron bedframe, the cherry dresser, the rocking chair by the window—all unchanged. Sometimes, for Esther to recall that Florence was dead, she had to first remember that tucked away in a dresser drawer were the trinkets Fannie and Florence had made for her in school—everything held together with paste—or that Joseph had purchased the rocking chair so that she could nurse her babies. The remembering was the worst part of her day, and she wondered how many days would have to pass before she felt Florence’s death in her bones, the way she knew her own name or the contours of her husband’s face, and could no longer be surprised by it.

  It was always a little later—after she’d pushed the sheets off her sticky skin but before her bare feet touched the floor—that Esther remembered she was keeping the truth from Fannie. She lay in bed, listening to the quiet whir of the oscillating fan on her dresser and making mental lists of (1) people who knew Florence was dead and (2) people who were at risk of finding out.

  On the first list there was herself and Joseph, Isaac, Gussie, Anna, Stuart, the lifeguards and bystanders who’d been on the beach that day, Abe Roth and his staff, Rabbi Levy, the members of the Chevra Kadisha, Samuel Brody, Superintendent McLoughlin, Dr. Rosenthal, and the nurses whom he’d pulled into his confidence. Esther didn’t like how many people were on the list but she took some comfort in knowing that, with the exception of the lifeguards and bystanders on the beach, she could identify most of them by name.

  It was the second list that caused her the most anxiety. Esther was certain Joseph hadn’t told anyone, but she couldn’t be sure about anyone else. How many people had Samuel had to talk to in order to keep Florence’s name out of the paper? Who had been sitting around the dinner tables of the women of the Chevra Kadisha when they had returned home to cold suppers? It was possible that Isaac had told acquaintances and even perfect strangers about Florence’s death. She pictured him doing it not out of sorrow but out of spite. And then there was Gussie, whom she had kept very tight tabs on but who was impossible to truly control.

  Whether Esther liked it or not, she was going to have to allow Gussie to visit Fannie in the hospital. There was no more getting around it. Gussie asked for her mother daily, and Fannie for Gussie. Esther had lied to Fannie about Gussie’s whereabouts on so many different visits that she’d begun making notes for herself on a small slip of paper she kept tucked in the interior pocket of her handbag. She found that if she reviewed the notes before her visits, it was easier to keep her story straight. After her visits—usually in the lobby of the hospital—she retrieved the slip of paper and a pen from her handbag and made any necessary additions.

  Initially, Esther had said Gussie had caught a summer cold and that she didn’t want Fannie, or any of the babies on the ward, to catch it. When Isaac had taken Gussie to see his father, she’d extended that trip, with Isaac’s blessing, by several days. She felt guilty telling Fannie that Gussie was busy playing with friends from school, considering that Esther had actually forbidden such activity on account of the risk it posed, but she had used the excuse anyway—on several occasions now. And the other day, she had felt particularly desperate and explained Gussie’s absence by saying that she’d recently enrolled in baton-twirling lessons. The ease with which such an outrageous lie slipped off Esther’s tongue frightened her. When this was all behind her, Esther wondered if she’d even remember what was real.

  The problem, which Esther could have foreseen if she’d considered the situation more carefully, was that she now had to prepare Gussie to answer questions on a wide range of topics instead of just one. Fannie might ask Gussie about Florence, but she might also ask about her health, her recent trip to Alliance, her friends, or—heaven forbid—her newfound talent for twirling.

  Through the bedroom door, Esther could hear the scraping sound of a chair being dragged across the kitchen floor. She pictured Gussie, still in her nightgown, reaching for the plates Esther kept in the drainboard above the sink. A moment later, she heard the lid of the bread bin bang open. Gussie was such a capable girl, always had been. Esther listened for the sound of the Hoosier drawer opening, the clang of silverware. Could Gussie be coached? What choice did Esther have other than to believe that she could?

  Esther swung her feet to the floor and reached for her dressing gown. Maybe she’d make oatmeal for the two of them, and Anna, if she was up. Gussie liked hers garnished with a big pat of butter and plenty of brown sugar but Esther could do better than that. She’d slice the fat, ripe peaches she had bought at Wagenheim’s two days ago. This morning called for something extra sweet.

  * * *

  Gussie skipped up the steps of the hospital’s Ohio Avenue entrance and would have skidded across the lobby’s floor, on her way to the stairs, had Esther not grabbed her by the collar of her sundress and pointed at a chair.

  “Sit,” Esther said.

  “Nana, I know.”

  “None of that. Sit.”

  Gussie rolled her eyes, a habit that was new and also completely infuriating.

  “Let’s go over everything one more time.”

  “Give mother a kiss, tell her I’ve missed her. Don’t say anything else.”

  “You may, of course, speak to your mother. But if she asks you about Florence—”

  “Don’t tell her she’s dead.”

  Esther stared at her granddaughter. Children could be so mean. She remembered thinking so when she was raising her own girls. They were often too honest, the words they chose too blunt. Their worlds were big and bold and colorful but they were not yet able to distinguish that colors had values, that words had nuance. They described the people around them as old or young, ugly or beautiful, fat or thin, never recognizing that there were kinder, gentler, more forgiving words that lay in between. Sometimes, when Gussie talked about Florence’s death, so matter-of-factly, Esther couldn’t help but feel like she’d been cut open, left exposed.

  “Right, don’t tell her she’s—gone. If she asks, we’ll say she’s very busy getting ready for her trip to France. She’s swimming a lot. Busy shopping.”

  “We can say she swam to New York!”

  “No, certainly not. Don’t make up anything.”

  “But it’s all made up.”

  “Don’t be smart,” warned Esther, already second-guessing her decision to bring Gussie along. “It’s best if you don’t say anything about Florence. If your mother asks about her, just let me answer.”

  Was she really going to let Gussie into that hospital room? Fannie’s due date was still more than a month away. If the baby was born now,
there could be no guarantees. Not that there ever were with these matters.

  “And remember,” said Esther, wagging a finger at Gussie, “if I tell you to go wait in the hallway, you go with no—”

  “Mrs. Adler?”

  Esther whipped her head around to find Fannie’s doctor standing no more than five feet behind her.

  “Dr. Rosenthal,” she said, standing up straight. The man was too attractive to be single but she hadn’t heard the first thing about a wife. It was a wonder any of the nurses on the maternity ward got anything done.

  “I thought that was you.”

  It was almost ten o’clock in the morning. By now, he must have completed his rounds. “How’s Fannie today?”

  “May I speak to you privately?”

  Esther’s breath caught in her chest. She nodded, held out a hand to indicate that Gussie should stay where she was, and followed the doctor toward the far corner of the lobby, out of her granddaughter’s earshot. “Is everything all right?”

  “Fannie’s blood pressure is a little higher than we’d like it to be.”

  “Higher than normal?”

  “Not so much that we’re panicking. It’s quite common for it to creep up in the late stages of pregnancy. But we’re watching it carefully.”

  “And if it doesn’t change?”

  “It could be an indicator of more serious problems.”

  “Meaning?”

  “The baby would need to come out,” he said, quietly.

  Esther studied the floor tiles, trying to make sense of what he’d just said.

  “I wondered—she still hasn’t been told about her sister, correct?”

  “Correct.”

  “I didn’t think so, and I obviously wasn’t going to ask her. But I did wonder if the two things might be related.”

  Esther needed to sit down. She looked around for a chair but they were all out of arm’s reach. Was Dr. Rosenthal suggesting that Fannie might have learned of her sister’s death but kept the news to herself? In all of Esther’s plotting, she had never considered that possibility. She had always imagined that, if Fannie inadvertently learned of Florence’s drowning, the first phone call she’d place would be to her mother. That Esther would get the chance to explain.