Roxanna Slade Part 26

literally r.e.t.a.r.ded, but maybe the early fever had slowed his mind and left it slightly stunned and retiring.

In any case at sixteen, Harley hadn't developed a child's normal speed. All the same he'd never been less than the soul of courtesy to me, and through the years he'd helped Palmer with numerous ch.o.r.es around the place. You just couldn't ask Harley to move heavy weights-- his heart had also been weakened by the fever.

That alone had roused sympathy in Dinah. From the time she could sit up and take solid food, she'd shown a bias toward any pet or person with less than the regulation set of skills. Even as a young child, five or six, she'd get up numerous times in the night--when all other children were dead to the world--and check on a cat that had fallen from a height; or she'd stroke our decrepit dog that was dying blind and in pain.

I knew all that and I'd seen that, once Palmer entered his final weeks, Harley was taking up most of Dinah's slack. He already had his driver's license, and they went to Henderson two nights a week at least-- movies mostly or so they reported. And after school they'd study at Harley's house or ours--depending on what state Palmer was in, calm or disturbed. I had so much to think about that frankly it never crossed my mind to see how these two children had bodies equipped for adult life regardless of their innocent minds.

Yet when they came to the kitchen that June--a week after their school shut for summer and a little more than three months after Palmer's funeral--the instant I saw their serious faces, I knew the story they'd come to tell. Harley asked me if I would please sit down. I took my chair at the kitchen table. They sat to right and left of me, and they both met my eyes. I'll give it to them--they were fearless as bear hounds, though they looked as lost as the last two orphans alive on Earth.

Harley had set both hands palm down on the table. He looked to Dinah smiling and said "You want me to start?"

Dinah thought about that, then finally said "Let me just say two big things first."

Before she could go a syllable farther, I felt all oxygen fleeing the room. In another few

seconds I at least would be suffocating. But I tried to show my care and patience.

Dinah spoke to her own hands mainly, not me or Harley. She said "Mother, I'm pretty sure I'm pregnant. I want you to know that Harley loves me. And if a baby is truly coming, we plan to get married."

It slipped out of me automatically. "Dinah, thirteen-year-olds can't be married in North Carolina or anywhere else in the civilized world without their parents' permission which I can't give."

They looked at each other. This hadn't crossed their minds.

That pause and that bald sign of their innocence flushed down through me as a hot taste of anger. And somehow anger helped me catch a quick breath.

Dinah knew me so well, she could see I was on the verge of an outburst. She touched my arm and said "Wait please."

That did it. This child that I'd been forced to neglect in my torment and had then skimped on while her father died--how could I ever redeem myself in her present life that was now so blotched? But before I could think or speak another word, I'd run entirely out of breath. You'd have thought I was in a tank at the bottom of the deepest ocean, all air expired. I actually felt I'd die in an instant, and the only thing I could think to do was face Dinah Slade and let her see I didn't die mad.

Harley had already got to his feet and taken a brown paper bag from the trash. He came back to me, opened the bag and said "Breathe into this, Mrs. Slade. This'll help."

I'd never heard of any such idea, but somebody dying is p.r.o.ne to experiment. I took the bag and to my amazement was breathing amply after four or five tries.

Harley said "I learned that at football practice." When he saw the blood return to my face, he said "Tell us what you think would be right. We're over our heads."

I could feel that the anger had leaked away. I could also feel a great wave of sadness heading toward me. It came straight onward and in its wake I understood two things I'm not sure are true but have never forgot. First I thought that what had caused this sadness in me was my own loss of a child

thirty years ago. And second I knew that Fate was punis.h.i.+ng me justly for that long moment in Dinah's childhood when I took the scissors and headed her way in our quiet house with n.o.body near to halt me or s.h.i.+eld her. Of course I couldn't discuss such matters with Harley and Dinah, not that night anyhow. So I tried to start with the first entirely practical thing that came to mind. I said to Harley "Well, for a start, have you begged Dinah's pardon?"

Dinah stalled him with a hand. "He's tried. I won't let him. If I'm old enough to start a baby, I'm old enough to take charge of it." Her voice was rising like a child drum major in a silly parade.

That oncoming tall wave broke over me then, but no tears came--thank G.o.d--just an odd relief to watch these children in terrible trouble behave so calmly. What anyone younger than the three of us that night might need to know is this--the last thing a white girl from decent surroundings could do in 1953 was have a b.a.s.t.a.r.d child and keep it. Oh I'd heard of rich girls being sent off to private clinics in northern Virginia for what would be called a weak chest or a nervous breakdown. They'd stay however long it took to have the baby and give it away and then come home looking healthy as weeds.

To be sure I'd also heard of abortions being done for money by women on poor back streets-- women with no more training or equipment than I myself had. I'd even heard that their main method involved the use of either a straightened-out wire coat hanger or a slippery elm stick, greased and pointed. Also of course there were reputed to be occasional legal doctors with sufficient sympathy and fear for the health of the unlucky girl.

That last possibility seemed the best hope. So blind as I still felt, Harley drove us the next afternoon to our family doctor. When Dinah and I went in together to Dr. Balfour's office, I told him flat out the nature of our worries. But I didn't say one word to suggest what I hoped he might do to solve our problem.

For the first time in Dinah's life, the doctor politely asked me to wait outside while he examined her. I tried to object. But he just said "Mrs. Slade, my nurse will be here to a.s.sist me and your daughter. I'll call you when we're

ready."

So what could I do then but go back out and sit by Harley who was gnawing the knuckles of his huge left hand till they were near b.l.o.o.d.y before I could stop him?

In maybe half an hour, the nurse came out and called me in and asked Harley to join us. I wasn't convinced that Harley's presence was appropriate at this moment, but he'd already stood up, so we went in together.

Dinah's eyes were swollen from crying which was no real surprise.

The doctor sat us down. The nurse left the room. And the moment he started to talk, I knew he wouldn't solve the problem, not the clean quick way I'd hoped. But he sat at his desk and thought a long moment before he started. Then at once he confirmed Dinah's pregnancy and said there was no way he could stop it. He acknowledged that people often sought help from unlicensed women and men. He even mentioned Raleigh, Norfolk and Richmond as places where he'd heard of such events. Right to this moment I can see his young face when he said "Death lies in that direction far too often." Then he stopped and watched his immaculate shoes for a while.

Harley finally asked him "Sir, do you know for sure if the law forbids a fourteen-year-old girl to get married?" He was cheating by three months on Dinah's real age.

The doctor waited long enough to have searched every law book ever written before he said "I can't help you there either. I'd only say that both of you seem to me far too young to try this on your own."

I'll give her credit--Dinah braved her way through the only other question we could ask in this room. "Are you saying I should keep this child?" When I was thirteen I couldn't have said that sentence aloud for a guarantee of Heaven.

Dr. Balfour spoke with the dead-shot honesty of people in those freer times. Doctors today would be terrified you'd sue them at the mere whiff of honesty. "I'm saying that you should thank your stars your fine dad's gone on to his deserved rest. That's as far as I'll go." Then he turned to me. "You'll need to ask your pastor for any further guidance. I'll be here every day and at my home every night if any one of you needs the services I can give you." Then he got to his feet. He was done with us now.

When I was the last to leave his office, he lowered his voice and said "Mrs. Slade, all three of you have got my real sympathy but you understand?"

I managed a smile and told him "No sir, I doubt I do." But I also thanked him for his honesty.

Of course I understood his reasons. But as we drove away from the curb, I suddenly knew that my heart and mind were in danger again. I know it sounds selfish to anybody who's never known long melancholy, but I sat by Harley on the broad front seat with Dinah behind me and thought of nothing but where I'd wash up from this latest downpour. I was so absorbed that I didn't see where Harley was headed till he'd stopped us in front of the Methodist parsonage.

There stood the minister's wife in the yard already walking toward us in a summer print dress that looked like something made from fertilizer sacks. She was Lucy Myrick, her husband was Chambers Myrick, and they'd only been at our church six months. I scarcely knew them, though Chambers had paid two visits to Palmer in the final days.

Harley opened the door and was standing outside before I could stop him.

Dinah said "Mother, please get out. Harley's planned this."

In another two minutes we were in the pastor's study, and Chambers had closed the door. With the exception of a single framed picture of Jesus looking fresh from the nearest beauty parlor, it might have been yet another doctor's office--a doctor that read books and wrote on long lined yellow pads in a child's blue script (next Sunday's sermon was already underway). By the time we were seated, it seemed that Pastor Myrick had already guessed the problem. He may have got more such visits than I knew. Before any one of us could speak, he said "Let's start here now with a little prayer."

It wasn't so little. He went on awhile thanking G.o.d for everything down to dust mites, but he finally said "Please guide us out of this corner your humble servants are in."

At that point Harley had got out of his chair and knelt beside it with both his hands propped under his chin like a praying infant.

I'd put a hand on Dinah's knee to keep her seated.

But she'd closed her eyes so I'd followed suit. When we heard the Amen we all looked up.

There were tears all down the pastor's smooth face. He rubbed them away and said "I'm a tender heart, I can tell you truly. This may not be the job for me."

I'd never heard that much truth from any one minister, and I smiled his way. I've always wondered why more of them don't quit while they can.

He said right off "That's the ticket! We're brave and honest anyhow--all of us, aren't we?"

By then we felt about as brave as shot chipmunks, and none of us spoke.

So Chambers said "You want the Lord's will from me, right?"

This was still before preachers had become TV comedians and beggars, so I was both shocked and amused by this lurch into such a flip tone. I said "I think we all know that--we're, generally speaking, decent people. We all own Bibles. Dinah's glows in the dark. We're here because Harley wants to speak with you."

Harley was scarcely back in his chair, but he took right over. "See, Dinah and I are wondering what to do with a baby."

The pastor finally said "Your baby?" Harley said "n.o.body else's, no sir."

And Dinah said the one clear word "Mine." I've never known why but that syllable alone set my mind free of fear for myself, and I knew we'd come through this somehow in fairly good shape. We'd wind up human beings still. So I said "Harley, is that your only question? If so let me tell you we're having this child."

I won't deny that the sound of it stunned me--it plainly stunned everybody in the room--yet when I looked to Dinah next, she was smiling a little. And Harley had clasped his big hands together and was shaking them right and left of his face like a champion boxer. But his face, however flushed and sure, was as blank as an infant's just before a wail. And Dinah looked about nine years old. Still something deep in me said they were right.

So after I'd talked in private with Leela and called up August in Rockingham, I knew what seemed like the one path open. My sister and

son had surprised me--I don't know why--with their gentle patience (and this again was a situation by no means common in the world we knew). Odder still was the fact that Leela and August independently had the same suggestion. I should get the doctor to give Dinah a medical excuse to withdraw from school for as long as it took and then move her up to Miss Olivia's by the river till the baby could come and arrangements be made for what happened next.

None of us were ready to think our way ahead to parting with the child by legal adoption. For a couple of days, I kept the suggestion to myself. By then I'd realized I couldn't send Dinah to Leela and Clarence; I couldn't put Wilton through such ordeal. But I've mentioned that Miss Olivia and I had done a lot better with one another in recent years.

She was ninety years old now and finally troubled by her joints and her eyes. Colored Mally Shearin, though, worked for the old lady still and had long since proved her near perfection as companion and help. The kindness Mally showed me eleven years before when I'd gone up there at the start of my torment was a clear memory still. And any question of who might have been Mally's actual mother or father had ceased to concern me.

Leela and Wilton drove me up to the old Slade place, and they had a picnic down by the river while I slowly broke my news to Miss Olivia and asked for her advice. At first I thought that she and I should sit in the parlor and keep things secret as long as we could. But again Mally Shearin greeted me so kindly that I realized she'd have to be a big part of any solution that involved the Slade house.

So I just sat at the ancient kitchen table and asked Miss Olivia to sit for a minute while I told her something. She did, with Mally still working behind us. Odd and evil as it sounds today, I have to add that, however much I'd need Mally's help, it just didn't cross a white mind back then to ask a dark woman, however young, to sit down with us and partic.i.p.ate. Still Mally was present and Miss Olivia and I proceeded as if she were invisible or had no ears and tongue to tattle.

I told every fact with nothing concealed, and then I said what was merely the truth. "I'm at the very near end of my rope. Help me please."

By then Miss Olivia's old eyes were so hooded she looked like some kind of antique serpent that had long ago known human language but was slower and slower in receiving it now. When I'd finished my story, she shut her heavy lids entirely for maybe ten seconds.

The silence was long enough for Mally to turn from the sink and check on us both.

Then Miss Olivia looked out again, though not quite at me. She said "Pardon that silence. I felt compelled to pray for a.s.sistance."

Till then I'd never heard her refer to the Lord or to prayer even at funerals, so I figured she was either moving onto new ground or I'd startled her worse than anybody before. Considering what she'd borne and done, that didn't seem likely. So I said "I know just how you feel."

She let that enter her brain, then shook her head fiercely. "n.o.body's ever known how I feel. That's a superst.i.tion, that we understand each other. We're all as separate as peas in a pod."

Behind her Mally smiled toward me.

But I had to acknowledge Miss Olivia's point. At bottom it was true.

That freed her up to ask some questions. "How decent is the boy?"

"A modest set of parents--the father is a splendid car mechanic, the mother fades to nothing in the suns.h.i.+ne but gets her work done, all the children are polite."

Miss Olivia nodded. "You have no intention of seeing them married?"

"That's illegal still without my permission, mine and his parents'. But no, they're babies."

Miss Olivia's eyes had stayed as open as they could. She was pus.h.i.+ng on fast now past all nonsense as if it were thick ice and she were a steel prow. "You don't want to pay some Negro woman two hundred dollars in Norfolk, Virginia to end this tomorrow?"

I couldn't imagine where she'd got details on where and how much an abortion might cost, but I said "No ma'm. None of us wants that."

Miss Olivia waited till I thought she'd lapsed into some state unconcerned with me. Then slowly she roused and looked round to Mally. She said "Mally, I've got to take her in--don't

I?".

Mally said "Ma'm?"

"I've got to bring this grandchild up here to hide in the country and help her have this child and then place it."

Mally was no longer smiling at me. So far as these two tough women were concerned, I'd ceased to signify in this big choice. Mally said to Miss Olivia "It'll be hard on us--harder you than me--but there's nothing else to do."

It was that simple then. And I of all people should have known that no human business could solve itself without a few swipes from the unforeseen. But I'd been in such a high state of alarm since the children first told me that, for one long moment, I leaned way forward and laid the side of my face on the table where Larkin and Palmer, Major and his all-but-superhuman wife had shared a few thousand bountiful breakfasts. I felt rescued one more lucky time.

Miss Olivia even laid her frail right hand on the crown of my head and said "Ease up. You've always taken things too hard. The world doesn't end."

But when I sat up and faced her, she no longer looked as strong as she had.

For an instant she loosened hold on herself and let me see how every day of nine decades had gouged and scored her but left her still breathing and ready to serve whoever could claim to be her family. Why on Earth had the two of us--both sensible women--spent so many watts of power over so many years taunting each other like rival geese just because we shared one ample young man (a son, a husband) who was long gone now?

Compared to some of the losses she'd taken with scarcely a pause, I told myself this was minor business for Olivia Slade. Surely she'd longed to shut down her life so far as calls from her kin were concerned. Still I told myself I'd make it up to her in weeks to come with anything a younger woman might have to give her. I was still fifty-two for a few months longer--what could I give?