The Gift (8 page)

“Why won't you tell us who he is? Is it a teacher? A kid? A married man? A priest? One of your brother's friends? Who is it?”

“It doesn't matter. He's not going to marry me,” she said calmly, surprised at her own strength in the eye of the hurricane that was her father.

“Why not?” he raged on.

“Because he doesn't love me, and I don't love him. It's as simple as that.”

“It doesn't sound simple to me,” her father said, sounding even angrier, while her mother cried and wrung her hands. Maribeth felt terrible as she looked at her. She hated hurting her mother. “It sounds like you were sleeping with some guy, and didn't even love him. That's about as rotten as you get. Even your aunts loved the men they slept with. They married them. They had decent lives, and legitimate children. And what are you going to do with this baby?”

“I don't know, Dad. I thought I'd put it up for adoption, unless …”

“Unless what? You think you're going to keep it here, and disgrace yourself and us? Over my dead body, and your mother's.” Her mother looked imploringly at her, begging her to undo this disaster, but there was no way for her to do that.

“I don't want to keep the baby, Dad,” she said sadly, as tears came to her eyes at last. “I'm sixteen, I can't give it anything, and I want a life too. I don't want to give up my life because I can't do anything for it. We both have a right to more than that.”

“How noble of you,” he said, furious with her beyond words. “It would have been nice if you could have been a little more noble before you took your pants off. Look at your brother, he plays around with lots of girls. He's never gotten anyone pregnant. Look at you, sixteen and your damn life is down the toilet.”

“It doesn't have to be that way, Dad. I can go to school with the nuns while I stay with them, and then go back to school in December, after I have the baby. I could go back after Christmas vacation. We could say I've been sick.”

“Really? And just who do you think would believe that? You think people won't talk? Everyone will know. You'll be a disgrace, and so will we. You'll be a disgrace to this whole family.”

“Then what do you want me to do, Dad?” she asked miserably, tears streaming down her face now. This was even harder than she'd thought it would be, and there were no easy solutions. “What do you want me to do? Die? I can't undo what I did. I don't know what to do. There's no way to make this better.” She was sobbing, but he looked unmoved. He looked icy.

“You'll just have to have the baby and put it up for adoption.”

“Do you want me to stay with the nuns?” she asked, hoping he would tell her she could stay at home. Living at the convent away from her family terrified her. But if he told her to leave, she had nowhere else to go.

“You can't stay here,” her father said firmly, “and you can't keep the baby. Go to the Sisters of Charity, give up the baby, and then come home.” And then he dealt the final blow to her soul. “I don't want to see you until then. And I don't want you seeing your mother or your sister.” For a moment she thought his words would kill her. “What you've done is an insult to us, and to yourself. You've hurt your dignity, and ours. You've broken our trust. You've disgraced us, Maribeth, and yourself. Don't ever forget that.”

“Why is what I did so terrible? I never lied to you. I never hurt you. I never betrayed you. I was very stupid. Once. And look what's happening to me for it. Isn't this enough? I can't get out of it. I'm going to have to live with it. I'm going to have to give up my baby. Isn't that enough for you? Just how much do I have to be punished?” She was sobbing and heartbroken, but he was relentless.

“That's between you and God. I'm not punishing you. He is.”

“You're my father. You're sending me away from here. You're telling me that you won't see me again until I give away the baby …you're forbidding me to see my sister and my mother.” And she knew her mother would never disobey him. She knew how weak her mother was, how unable to make her own decisions, how swayed she was by him. They were all closing the door on her, and Paul already had. She was totally alone now.

“Your mother is free to do whatever she pleases,” he said unconvincingly.

“The only one she pleases is you,” Maribeth said defiantly, making him angrier still, “and you know that.”

“I only know that you've disgraced us all. Don't expect to yell at me, and do whatever you want, dishonor all of us, and bring your bastard here. Don't expect anything from me, Maribeth, until you pay for your sins, and clean up your own mess. If you won't marry this boy, and he won't marry you, then there's nothing I can do for you.” He turned then and walked out of the room and came back five minutes later. She hadn't even had the strength to go back to her own room yet. He had made two calls, one to their doctor and the other to the convent. Eight hundred dollars would pay for room and board and her expenses for six months, as well as her delivery by the nuns. They assured Mr. Robertson that his daughter would be in good hands, her delivery would be handled right in their infirmary, by a doctor and a midwife. And the baby would be given to a loving family, and his own daughter would be returned to him a week after the baby's birth, providing there were no complications.

He had already agreed to send her to them, and the money was in crisp bills in a white envelope, which he handed to her with a stony look on his face. Her mother had already retreated in tears to her own bedroom.

“You've upset your mother terribly,” he said in a voice filled with accusation, denying any part he may have played in the upset. “I don't want you to say anything to Noelle. You're going away. That's all she needs to know. You'll be back in six months. I'll take you to the convent myself tomorrow morning. Pack your bags, Maribeth.” The tone of his voice told her he meant business, and she felt her blood run cold. For all her problems with him, this was home, this was her family, these were her parents, and now she was being banished from all of them. She would have no one to help her through this. She wondered suddenly if she should have made a bigger fuss with Paul, if maybe then he would have helped her … or maybe even married her instead of Debbie. But it was too late now. Her father was telling her to leave. He wanted her out by the next morning.

“What'll I tell Noelle?” Maribeth could hardly squeeze the words out. She was breathless with the grief of leaving her little sister.

“Tell her you're going away to school. Tell her anything but the truth. She's too young to know about this.” Maribeth nodded, numb finally, too grief-stricken even to answer.

Maribeth went back to their bedroom then, and avoided Noelle's eyes as she got down her only bag. She only packed a few things, some shirts, some pants, a few dresses that would fit for a while. She hoped the nuns would give her something to wear. In a little while nothing would fit her.

“What are you doing?” Noelle asked, looking panicked. She had tried to listen to their arguing, but she couldn't make out what they were saying. But Maribeth looked as though someone had died as she turned, trembling, to face her baby sister.

“I'm going away for a while,” Maribeth said sadly, wanting to tell her a convincing lie, but it was all too much, too hard, too sudden. She couldn't bear the thought of saying goodbye, and she could hardly withstand the battering of Noelle's questions. In the end, she told her that she was going away somewhere, to a special school, because her grades hadn't been as good as usual, but Noelle only clung to her and cried, terrified to lose her only sister.

“Please don't go …don't let him send you away …whatever you did, it can't be that terrible … whatever it is, Maribeth, I forgive you … I love you …don't go …” Maribeth was the only one Noelle could talk to. Her mother was too weak, her father too stubborn to ever listen, her brother too self-centered and too foolish. She only had Maribeth to listen to her problems, and now she would have no one at all. Poor little Noelle looked miserable as the two sisters cried through the night, and slept in one narrow bed, clinging to each other. And the morning came too soon: At nine o'clock, her father put her bag into his truck, and she stood staring at her mother, wanting her to be strong enough to tell him he couldn't do this. But her mother would never challenge him, and Maribeth knew it. She held her close for a long moment, wishing that she could stay, that she hadn't been so foolish, or so unlucky.

“I love you, Mom,” she said in a strangled voice as her mother hugged her tight.

“I'll come to see you, Maribeth, I promise.”

Maribeth could only nod, unable to speak through her tears, as she held Noelle, who was crying openly, and begging her not to leave them.

“Shhh …stop …” Maribeth said, trying to be brave, as she cried too. “I won't be gone long. I'll be home by Christmas.”

“I love you, Maribeth,” Noelle shouted as they drove away. Ryan had come out by then too. But he had said nothing. He only waved, as his father drove her the short distance across town to their destination.

The convent looked ominous to Maribeth as they drove up to it, and he stood next to her on the steps as she held her small suitcase.

“Take care of yourself, Maribeth.” She didn't want to thank him for what he'd done. It could have been gentler, he could have tried to understand. He could have tried to remember what it was like to be young, or to make a mistake of such monumental proportions, but he was capable of none of it. He could not grow beyond what he was, and what he was had powerful limitations.

“I'll write to you, Dad' she said, but he said nothing to her as they stood there for a long moment, and then he nodded.

“Let your mother know how you are. She'll worry.” She wanted to ask him if he would worry too, but she no longer dared ask him any questions.

“I love you,” she said softly as he hurried down the steps, but he never turned to look at her. He only lifted one hand as he drove away, and never looked back, and Maribeth rang the bell at the convent.

The wait seemed so long that she wanted to run down the steps and back home, but there was no home to run back to now. She knew they wouldn't take her back until after
it
was all over. And then, at last, a young nun came, and let her in. Maribeth told her who she was, and with a nod, the young nun took her bag, led her in, and closed the heavy iron door resoundingly behind her.

Chapter Three

The convent of the Sisters of Charity was a cavernous, dark, gloomy place, and Maribeth discovered very quickly that there were two other girls there for exactly the same reason. Both were from neighboring towns, and she was relieved to realize that she didn't know them. Both were almost ready to
give
birth, and in fact one of them, a nervous girl of seventeen, had her baby on Maribeth's second day there. She had a little girl, and the baby was quickly spirited away to waiting adoptive parents. The girl never even saw her baby. And to Maribeth, the entire process seemed barbaric, as if their secret was dirty and had to be hidden.

The other girl was fifteen, and she was expecting her baby to be born at any moment. The two girls ate their meals with the nuns, went to the chapel with them for prayers and vespers, and were only allowed to speak at certain times and hours. And Maribeth was shocked to discover on her third night that the other girl's baby had been fathered by her uncle. She was a desperately unhappy girl, and she was terrified of what lay ahead of her in childbirth.

On Maribeth's fifth night in the convent, she could hear the other girl's screams. They went on for two days as the nuns scurried everywhere, and at last she was taken to a hospital and delivered by cesarean section. Maribeth was told, when she inquired, that the girl would not come back again, but the baby had been born safely, and she learned only by coincidence that it was a little boy. It was even lonelier for her once both of the other girls were gone, and Maribeth was alone with the sisters. She hoped that other sinners would arrive soon, or she would have no one to talk to.

She read the local newspaper whenever she could, and two weeks after she'd arrived she saw the notice of Paul and Debbie's wedding. It made her feel even lonelier, just seeing that, knowing they were on their honeymoon, and she was here in prison, paying her dues for one night in the front seat of his Chevy. It seemed desperately unfair that she should bear the brunt alone, and the more she thought of it, the more she knew that she couldn't stay at the convent.

She had nowhere to go, and no one to be with. But she couldn't bear the oppressive sanctity of the convent. The nuns had been pleasant to her, and she had already paid them a hundred dollars. She had seven hundred dollars left, and almost six months to be wherever she went. She had no idea where to go, but she knew she couldn't stay locked up with them, waiting for other prisoners like her to arrive, for the months to pass, for her baby to be born, and then taken away from her, before she could go home to her parents. Being there was too high a price to pay. She wanted to go somewhere, live like a real person, get a job, have friends. She needed fresh air, and voices, and noise, and people. Here, all she felt was constant oppression, and the overwhelming sense that she was an unredeemable sinner. And even if she was, she needed a little sunshine and joy in her life while she waited for the baby. She didn't know why this had happened to her, but perhaps there was a lesson to learn, a blessing to be shared, a moment in time that need not be wasted. It didn't have to be as terrible as the nuns made it, and she told the Mother Superior the following afternoon that she would be leaving. She said she was going to visit her aunt and hoped that she believed her. But even if she didn't, Maribeth knew that nothing could stop her now, she was leaving.

She walked out of the convent at dawn the next day, with her money, and her small bag, and an overwhelming feeling of freedom. She couldn't go home, but the world was her own, to discover, to explore. She had never felt as free or as strong. She had already been through enormous pain when she left home, and now it was only a matter of finding a place to stay until the baby was born. She knew it would be easier if she left town, so she walked to the bus station and bought an open-ended ticket to Chicago. She had to go through Omaha, but Chicago was the farthest point she could imagine, and she could refund the rest of the ticket anywhere along the way. All she wanted to do was leave, and find a place for herself for the next six months until she had her baby. She waited at the bus station until the first bus to Chicago began to board. And as she watched her hometown slip away, when it left, she felt no regrets. All she felt suddenly was excitement about the future. The past held little for her, just like her hometown. She had no friends there. There was no one she would miss except her mother and her sister. She had written them each a postcard from the bus station, before she left, promising to give them an address as soon as she had one.