•••
Wilson came home for the Christmas break, but I could easily tell I was no longer of any interest at all to him. He took several phone calls and made several of his own. All to the new love interest, Barbara. He was polite to me, but that was all. I was just the maid and nothing else.
Two days before Christmas, Celine declared the family would spend the holidays in San Francisco at a posh hotel. She said I could join them if I wanted, but it was clear in her tone that the invitation was merely a polite gesture, as I was only temporarily a member of the household. I was more than content to decline. Celine gave me three days off and pearl earrings wrapped in silver paper.
Before the Calverts left for San Francisco, Celine came into the kitchen and handed me one of her Christmas cards that had come in the mail earlier that week.
“You’re probably going to want this.”
I could see from the postmark that it was from Vienna.
“Helen has instructions inside for you on what to do with that plant,” Celine said.
I tucked the letter in my apron pocket. When the Calverts were gone and the lunch dishes put away, I went into my room, took out the envelope, and withdrew a Christmas card picturing a snowy chalet, evergreens, and foreign words—German ones that meant nothing to me—embellished with silver glitter. Inside the card was a tissue-thin letter.
Merry Christmas, Truman and all!
I hope you all have a very happy Christmas. I know you are worried for me, but I promise I am all right. Things are different here in Vienna than they used to be; what you are probably hearing about lifeunder the rule of the Reich is sadly true. But I’m not afraid, and I know that I’m supposed to be here with this family. The Maiers did not ask me to stay; I offered.
I’m right where I want to be.
Much love to you all, Helen
P.S. to Rosie: I hope you are enjoying the little bit of paradise I had sent to you. I’ve always loved an amaryllis at Christmastime. It blooms in winter because it believes it is spring. After the first of the year, pull the bulb from the dirt. Keep it cool and dry, like in the barn or barrel room. Next year, if you repot it in November, it will bloom for you again at the holidays. Just like it is blooming now. An amaryllis is always waiting to delight and surprise you, even when your world seems cold and dark.
I ran my fingers over the words above her postscript to me.I’m right where I want to be.As I whispered those words aloud, bursts of peach and lime green bloomed in my thoughts, and it was as if I could see that future day, hidden from me now like an amaryllis bulb in a dark place: that day when this life would be behind me and my new one would be starting, and I would say those words for myself and mean them.
When the holiday season was over and the scarlet petals had withered and fallen, I unearthed the amaryllis bulb, brushed off the dirt, and wrapped it in cheesecloth I’d taken from the kitchen. I put the little package and Helen’s instructions in an empty baking soda tin and shoved it into the darkest part of my closet. Andthen I penned a thank-you note that felt more like a confession as I wrote it.
Dear Miss Calvert,
Thank you very much for the amaryllis. It was so kind of you. I have never seen a more beautiful flower or heard a more beautiful name. I am keeping your note on how to take care of it. I hope to do my best by it. I promise I will try.
Yours sincerely,
Rosanne Maras
I posted the letter on a bike ride to the library.
Every day thereafter when I dressed, I’d see the little tin in the back of the closet, and I would be reminded that things wouldn’t always be the way they were now.
•••
It wasn’t until the third week of January that it occurred to me that I hadn’t had my monthly bleeding in November or December. My heart immediately began to pound as I counted back the days to be sure. No cycle at Christmastime. No cycle before Thanksgiving. And now none in January. As the full understanding of what this meant flooded my thoughts, I sank to my knees in my room. My mother had told me what happened to a woman’s body when a child was coming. The cycles stopped. They stopped like they had for me now. I spent the next quarter hour on the floor next to my bed, rocking back and forth on my knees, begging God for my bleeding to come.Let it come, let it come, let it come.
Days passed and the prayer went unanswered—my cycle did not return—and I began to plead to heaven with a new request. Iwanted God to take the child from me. I wanted him to take it away. Celine had had a miscarriage. Momma had had two in between me and Tommy. It happened. Women miscarried all the time. I prayed for mercy and forgiveness for wanting the child gone. It was a terrible thing to wish for. I hated myself for wanting it gone.
But my cycle of blood did not come. And still I begged every day to be delivered of it.
By the first week in February, I could no longer zip up my uniform. I let out the side seams and sewed them up by hand. A week later when I was bathing, there was no mistaking the rounded swelling, like a little melon, across my abdomen. I touched it and felt not a sloshing bag of waters as I’d expected but a protective wall, like layers of leather, meant to keep something safe and secure. How could I have ever hoped I would miscarry? There was a life growing inside me.
I stroked the slight mound, astonished to realize the little thing nestled inside my body that I had wanted gone was actually precious and amazing. And mine. I was suddenly glad that my cruel prayer to be rid of the baby had not been granted. But I also knew in that same instant I could not hide what was happening to my body.
It seemed I had three options. I could tell Truman and ask for his help, but the truth was, I didn’t want to tell him. I didn’t want him knowing his child was growing inside me. It was my child, only mine. And what would he be able to do? What would hewantto do? Send me away to some secret place of his choosing, not mine?
Or I could tell Mrs. Grissom, but I sensed only heartache awaited me if I did that. She’d likely confront the Calverts to question them on how I got into this predicament. I didn’t want Celine to ever find out what had happened that autumn night she was away. Plus, the county surely wouldn’t let me keep the baby.
Or I could sneak away before anyone noticed I was with child and start a new life for myself and my baby far away from here—and without having to tell anyone.
