Ten North Frederick (29 page)

Charlotte was too clever to let Edith suspect her of the truth, which was that she regarded the younger woman as an incubator. Charlotte was as far from being a Roman Catholic as a Christian woman could be, but she devoutly subscribed to the belief that in a choice between letting the mother or the infant survive the accouchement, the mother must die, the child must live. The pregnancy affected Charlotte's attitude toward Joe in gradual and subtle ways that she did not herself immediately observe, but since Joe seemed not to notice the changes, Charlotte, when she became aware of them, was not frightened of their possible effect on his love for her. If she had been caused to believe that there was a danger of diminished love for her, she would have rejected the baby and restored her son to first concern. But Joe too was behaving as though the child were the first ever to be conceived, and his attentiveness to his wife was a mixture of courtliness and platonic love that all but denied the vigor essential to the creation of Edith's condition. He came home for every noonday meal, and in the evenings he would read to her (and to Charlotte) until nine o'clock, and then he would stay one step behind her as they mounted the stairs. A second bed was placed in their room and he occupied it during the entire time of Edith's known pregnancy because neither Joe nor Edith thought to ask the doctor's advice in the matter. What they both quickly forgot was that neither of them had ordered the second bed; it had appeared in their room without specific comment by Charlotte, and had been accepted by them as evidence of practical delicacy on her part.

Someone in the household was always remembering that a baby was on the way, and the someone was not always Edith. Halfway toward her time the luxurious ease that Charlotte arranged for the young wife became monotonous; Edith was not tempted to forsake the comforts or to complain, for each little attention was welcome for the momentary pleasure it gave, but Edith was a strong young woman who was being overprotected from the simplest routines of living as well as from rainy weather, the slightest exertion, rich foods, tobacco smoke, ordinary household noises, and even the comparatively small number of Gibbsville women who were her friends. Charlotte encouraged Edith to have visitors in pairs, never singly, on the theory that a single visitor would talk and talk without restraint, while a party of three was somewhat less inclined to the intimacy of a party of two and its long-winded long-lasting visit. Such visits, Charlotte said, were all right when they were not exhausting, although she never had asked Edith to define the limit of her exhaustion. A visit that lasted more than fifteen minutes was likely to be terminated by Charlotte's entrance with the candid remark that “we” must rest. The visitors would put down Edith's mild protests to conventional politeness—and go. As a consequence Edith saw little of anyone who was not a member of the Chapin family or its servants. The servants were among those who never let Edith forget that she was with child,
Chapin
child. In point of fact Edith was physically stronger than any of the female servants, but they had been sternly commanded not to allow Edith to lift anything or to ascend the stairs without being followed, a safeguard against a backward fall. Under this regimen Edith took on weight to such a degree that her figure could fairly be described as voluptuous. Watching her come in from the bathroom one evening Joe smiled and said: “Sweetheart, you are a lot of woman.”

“I don't know that that's a very pleasing remark,” she said.

“I meant it to be,” said Joe.

“It doesn't make any difference how you meant it. I don't want to be fat. I hate being fat.”

“I didn't say you were fat, dearest.”

“You didn't have to say it. I know I am. What else have I got to do but notice how fat I'm getting?”

“Dearest, I only meant that—your figure is very desirable.”

She got into her bed and he went over to tuck her in.

“Lie down,” she said.

“Do you think I ought to? I don't think I'd better,” he said. For a while they limited themselves to gentle caresses, stroking of the hands, kissing of the cheek, but it could not last that way. He got out of the bed but she held his wrist tightly.

“You can't stop now,” she said.

“But we mustn't,” he said.

“You fool, you can't leave me this way.”

She had never been so unrestrained, or so noisy in her demands. When they finished she lay there with her eyes closed and a grin of pleasure on her mouth.

“Edith, darling, I'm ashamed of myself,” he said.

She said nothing, appearing not to have heard him.

“I promise never to do that again,” he said.

She opened her eyes and smiled. “Stay here,” she said.

“I can't. You know what's liable to happen.”

“What?”

“It may affect the baby. I might hurt you. Maybe I have.”

“Nothing's going to happen. I'm all right, and so is the baby.”

“I'll have to talk to the doctor about it.”

“You'll do no such thing. Other women make love while they're pregnant.”

“Because their husbands are inconsiderate.”

“Oh, what if they are? Do you think the miners and people like that don't have intercourse when the wife is pregnant? And they have hundreds of babies.”

“But we're not miners and people like that. I'm supposed to be a gentleman. I'm ashamed of myself, and if anything happens it's my fault.”

“Well, nobody will know it's your fault.”

“I'll know,” he said.

“But nobody else will, so stop worrying about it.”

“I'll never stop till the baby is born and you're all right,” he said.

“Oh, don't talk like that. We're not so different from other people, and I've been wanting this for months. And I'll go on wanting it. Good heavens, nobody ever lets me forget that part of myself. Your mother, the servants, you. I think about myself all the time, and you. Everybody's trying to make me think pretty and holy things—it's quite the opposite, I assure you.”

“It's a very difficult time.”

“You don't know the first thing about it, so stop saying things you've heard other people say.”

“Good night, dearest,” he said. He kissed her forehead.

“Good night,” she said. She heard him getting into bed and rustling the bedclothes, finding a comfortable sleeping position. She had no clock to tell her accurately, but she was sure he was sound asleep in less than
360
seconds. She heard the courthouse clock strike for hours.

It was so for many nights and days until the child was born. She was regulated not by the Gregorian calendar but by one of her own devising based on lunar months and confusing even to herself. The clock meant no more: there was a grandfather's clock on the second-floor landing, a grandmother's clock in the sitting room, a banjo clock in Edith's bedroom, a cuckoo clock in the kitchen, all kept wound and all signaling the time on the hour and the half-hour; but Edith never knew what time it was, and cared not at all. She was drowsy a great deal of the time, at least partly because she had been broken of the habit of doing things. When her time, the infant's time, was nearing, the months preceding seemed to have flown by, and every hour, then every minute, began to count.

The first twinges of pain began in the early evening, but Dr. English had been in to see Edith in the afternoon, and told her no more than she already knew. In an attempt to lighten her mood he said: “I think we can say with positive assurance that you're going to have a baby.”

“When?”

“Well, if you were one of my patients, a woman who lives out near the steel mill, I could tell you almost to the minute, and how long it would take. She's had nine and another on the way. She doesn't really need me. But with a first baby I don't like to make very positive predictions. You know. I want to be your doctor with all your babies,
so
I don't like to make a guess and be wrong on the first one.”

“
All
my babies?”

“Yes. You may not think so now, Edith, but you and I are going to see a lot of each other, professionally. You're going to
want
them. Oh, they can be all sorts of trouble, I know. Julian's too high-spirited, for instance, but he's not a
bad
boy and if we had our way we'd provide him with brothers and sisters, but we can't always have what we want in this life. Now I'll leave you in the capable hands of Miss McIlhenny and I probably will drop in first thing in the morning.”

He was more nearly correct than he knew. He was sound asleep when he received the telephone call, and he was dressed, if unshaven, by the time Harry arrived at his house with the Chapin Pierce Arrow.

“Doctoring must be hard work, sir. Three o'clock in the morning and I wager it happens often.”

“It happens very often, Harry.”

“Marian put the coffee on for you.”

“Good.”

There was no one asleep at
10
North Frederick, and for the first time in thirty years someone other than Charlotte Chapin was in command. She had no more true confidence in William English than she had in any other doctor or any other man, but doctors are accustomed to giving orders and are in the habit of being obeyed, two related facts which produce in them an air of authority even when they are not authoritarian men. The manner, even when it is only acquired, inspires respect and confidence, and with William English it was not only acquired but inborn.

“Now if you don't mind, I'd like everybody to stay downstairs except Miss McIlhenny and Marian,” said he, on the second-floor landing.

“Marian?” said Charlotte.

“Yes, Marian. We're not going to have time for Edith's mother to see her first, but that's just as well. Now, if you don't mind, will everybody clear out? Downstairs, please?”

He had some coffee and a cigar in Ben Chapin's bedroom and from time to time he would look in on Edith. Then Marian came in and said, “Nurse McIlhenny—”

“Well, sooner than I expected. Thank you, Marian. I'd like you to remain in the hall where we can call you if we need you.” He had another look at Edith, who was beginning to show perspiration on the forehead. Now for the first of many times Nurse McIlhenny said, “Bear down,” and the birth had begun. After two hours they put the aluminum mask on her face and dropped chloroform on the gauze. With the outrageous final pain she fainted into deep sleep.

“Tell Marian to tell them they have a daughter,” said Dr. English. “Granddaughter, I
should
say.”

Marian tiptoed down the stairs to the sitting room. The father and the grandfather were fully dressed; the grandmother was clad in flannel nightgown and a quilted dressing gown, bed socks and mules. Marian looked quickly at each person, and then from old habit she reported to Charlotte: “A baby girl, ma'am. A beautiful baby girl.”

“Have you
seen
her?” said Charlotte.

“No, ma'am.”

“How is my wife?” said Joe Chapin.

“Sleeping peacefully, Mr. Joe, sleeping peacefully.”

“Really asleep, not—something else,” said Joe.

“Really asleep, sir.”

“What does the baby weigh?” said Ben Chapin.

“I wasn't told, sir,” said Marian.

“Exactly what
were
you told, Marian? Without any of your own embellishments, please,” said Charlotte.

“I was told to tell you that Mrs. Joseph Chapin had a fine baby girl—”

“Who said that? Who said fine?” said Charlotte.

“Miss McIlhenny, Nurse McIlhenny,” said Marian.

“You have not spoken to Dr. English,” said Charlotte.

“No, ma'am, but he was in the room when Nurse McIlhenny came out in the hall.”

“And you were told to tell us—?” said Charlotte.

“That it was a beautiful, I mean
fine
baby girl, and Mrs. Chapin was sleeping peacefully, sir. Sleeping peacefully, Mr. Joe.”

“Thank you, Marian,” said Joe.

“That's not all,” said Charlotte. “Marian, you march upstairs and find out when we can see the baby—and Mrs. Chapin.”

“Billy English will let us know, I'm sure,” said Ben.

“And again it may slip his mind,” said Charlotte. “Do as I say, Marian.”

“Very good, ma'am,” said Marian, marching.

“Congratulations, son,” said Ben, shaking Joe's hand. “Now you belong to the great brotherhood of fathers. Welcome.”

“My boy,” said Charlotte, kissing Joe, who bent down for the salute. “I'm sure everything's all right and you have nothing to worry about, although I should think William English might at least have told us himself.”

“Shall we all have a glass of champagne?” said Ben.

“No, we shall not,” said Charlotte. “Five o'clock in the morning is no time to drink champagne.”

“It's no time to have a baby, either,” said Ben. “But you didn't have anything to say about that, and you're not going to have anything to say about the champagne.”

“Let's not, Father,” said Joe. “Let's wait.”

“I have no misgivings about the baby or about Edith. If there'd been any complications Billy English would have sent for you, not us,
you
. He didn't send for you, he sent Marian to tell all of us. I'm going to have a glass of champagne and toast my granddaughter, and I'm going to smash the glass in the fireplace. God damn it, I won't be around for her wedding, but I'm here now.” He went out to the butler's pantry where there was a case of champagne in a bin.

“Oh, hello, Harry,” said Ben, surprised. Harry was sitting at the kitchen table. “It's a baby girl. Is that tea, or whiskey you have in that cup?”

“I have to own up, it's whiskey, sir.”

“Well, chop some ice. We're going to have a bottle of champagne, Mrs. Chapin and Mr. Joe and I. Three of Mrs. Chapin's best glasses and a bowl of ice. Bring them to the sitting room and I'll open the bottle.”