Category Archives: Americana

Porcelain (Part 13)

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The child started screaming immediately.

“Olivia!” The mother had stopped in shock as she spoke, however sensing no immediate reaction from her daughter she quickly stepped over and grabbed the hand which held the needle.

“What are you doing?”

There was still no reply and her daughter’s face was blank, her eyes far away.  The young girl was still screaming, its kicking legs sending tiny splatters of blood from the puncture wound onto the bedding.  The old woman reached down, wrapping the child in her blanket before picking her up.

“Olivia, what were you doing to her?”  She shook her daughter’s shoulder as she spoke and finally elicited a response.

“She doesn’t cry mother, she hardly ever cries.  Is she even alive in there?”  Saying this, she reached for Claudia’s head, however the old woman pulled the girl out of Olivia’s reach.

“You need to go to bed.  Just go.  I will take care of her.”  As Olivia continued to try to touch her daughter, seemingly deaf to her mother’s command, the old woman stalked out of the room with Claudia in her arms.

Shaking as she closed her own bedroom door behind her, Olivia’s mother settled into her rocking chair with her granddaughter.   Although she had understood for several months that there was something wrong with her daughter, she had never believed for a second that it would turn into anything that would threaten Claudia.  Now she understood that it was far more serious, however had no immediate answer about how to remedy the situation.   She kept the girl through the night, and in the morning, with the child sleeping well, walked into the kitchen and found Olivia sitting at the table.

Several minutes of silence passed and then the older woman sat down next to her.  Reaching out, she placed her hand over her daughter’s and then spoke.

“What happened yesterday Olivia?”

“I’m not completely sure, but I was just overcome by this emotion, this belief, that something was wrong with Claudia.  It seemed so clear at the time, so, well, it just seemed like there really must be something wrong with her or she would cry more often.  It’s natural for small children to cry and fuss mother and mine hardly ever does, not after she was born and not since.  It frightening, worse than if she cried all the time.  What’s wrong with her?”

“I don’t think anything is wrong dear, she’s just a happy child, one with few complaints.  One of those does come along every once in awhile you know.”

“And when has that ever turned out well in the end?”

Her mother did not have a positive answer for that question, knowing that silent children often grew into odd or sickly young adults, if they even managed to live that long.  She did however feel differently about Claudia.

“She is a strong girl Olivia and she is going to be fine.  Look how well she has managed to handle her,”

“She’s not fine mother,” Olivia interjected, “and I just wanted to hear her cry.”

Silence returned to the room as the old woman drew her hand back from her daughter’s, troubled thoughts running through her head.  Finally Olivia rose.

“I need to go check on her.”  As she walked away, the old woman’s heart fluttered with trepidation, although it was soon put to rest as Olivia came back holding Claudia gently.   Sitting down again, the girl’s head held closely against her chest, she sighed before speaking.

“I’ve felt so strange mother, so strange inside for so long.  I wonder sometimes if I’m going mad.”

“Hmm, yes, I’ve noticed that you have not been right exactly, not for awhile now.  You’ve been acting quite differently.  Do you feel sick at all?”

“I don’t know.  I feel tired, very tired sometimes, like I just can’t move and don’t even want to.  So I just sit in my room.  Other times I have all this energy but cannot contain it, as though it just wants to jump out of me.  And when I sleep I wake up sometimes, hot and drenched in sweat, because of my dreams I guess.  Those are so often about fire and burning, these big furnaces of heat.  And graveyards. Strange, don’t you think?”
The reference back to those fevered cries from immediately after the delivery startled Olivia’s mother.  Perhaps there was some deeper connection between the events of that night and her daughter’s current condition.  Olivia continued on, her voice dropping to a whisper.

“And sometimes, well sometimes I just don’t feel like I love my Claudia.  It’s such an empty feeling, like a big hole opens up underneath my heart.  It doesn’t last long, and I soon find myself just as full of love as always, but it’s so real when it happens.”  Her voice trailed off completely as she stared out the window, gently rocking her daughter in her lap.

The old woman knew that she needed to contact Dr. Martin as quickly as possible.  During the days in which she waited for a reply after writing him, in which she described in detail what she knew of her daughter’s symptoms, the old woman kept a close eye on Olivia’s interactions with Claudia.  Although there were no exact repeat occurrences of the needle incident, there were enough troubling moments to cause her level of concern to increase substantially.  Worn down by the time the letter did arrive, both from the care she continued to provide for her grand-daughter, and the additional time spent monitoring Olivia, she opened it expectantly.  The doctor suggested a very specific remedy.  Sepia.

Porcelain (Part 12)

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As the defect was exposed there was a passage of time in which Olivia’s face raced through a series of emotions.  They flickered past quickly; shock, pain, blame, fear, sadness, and then finally something which in later years her mother would debate was either denial or resiliency.  There were tears on Olivia’s cheeks at the end of these tense moments, however no sobbing or anguished cries.  She simply continued to check all of the other areas of her newborn infant and then closed the blanket back up around her.  Cradling the baby in her arms, Olivia drifted off into what appeared to be a light sleep and her mother rose to finally go to the kitchen, although she chose to make tea instead of coffee.

In the days following the birth, the house was surprisingly quiet for one in which a newborn was present, the child seemingly having few of the complaints about which babies typically cry.  Olivia adapted well to her role as a new mother and handled most of the duties of caring for her child without her mother’s assistance.   She of course needed bits of advice along the way, however almost always chose to act on that guidance herself, instead of turning the baby over to her mother for care or demonstration.  During this time the infant remained unnamed, with Olivia calling her ‘little one’ and her mother choosing ‘my tortoise’ due to the child’s tendency to wiggle around until its head was hidden by the blanket.  The lack of a name went on longer than was typical and Olivia’s mother felt the delay was linked to her daughter’s hidden fears about the child’s physical handicap.  She may not speak of it, however the old woman felt that her daughter worried about it constantly.  The young girl was healthy and happy enough though, with a further check by the doctor revealing no immediate issues associated with the missing arm.  Olivia never mentioned the absence of that limb at all, returning a, “my daughter is just perfect to me,” each time her mother tried to start a discussion about ways they might assist the child with the impairment in the future.  By the time the child was six weeks old, Olivia’s mother knew she had to force the issue.

“It’s time, you know that,” she said quietly as her daughter sat in the kitchen after breakfast.

“Time? Time for what?”

“To name that baby girl.  It’s past time really.”

Silence followed, with Olivia staring out the window as her mother gathered up the few dishes.  Finally she responded.

“I know.  I just, well, I can’t decide on a name.”

“Hmm.  I thought maybe you were waiting for,”

“Waiting for what mother?”  Olivia’s face mirrored the challenging tone of her question.  Her mother wiped her hands before replying.

“Never mind then.  You cannot decide on a name?”

“I actually like Claudia. I guess, if it’s time to decide then I like that.”

Her mother frowned and replied, “Kind of a heavy name, don’t you think?”

“Not at all.  It fits her I think.  Claudia Mary Good.”

The old woman, who had an understanding of the meaning of biblical names, thought that this one presented a rather mixed message.

“Maybe Mary for the first name?  And I still think Claudia is, well, maybe there is something better than that?”

“I don’t think so mother.”

“I thought you said you couldn’t decide?  What other names have you considered?”

“Well, I have decided, just right now.  Claudia Mary.”  Olivia said this firmly, raising her chin up slightly as she looked at her mother, who just shook her head slowly and sighed.

Very little of any note happened over the next two years as Claudia grew up, staying strong and healthy as she developed.  There were some awkward, and in a few cases ugly moments, in and around town with people definitely not afraid to mention what they thought of a unwed mother raising a child they usually described as deformed.  The staunchly religious were the worst, never failing to point out both that children with only left arms were certainly kin to the devil himself, and how the child’s first name was not doing her any favors.  Olivia’s mother had eventually pointed out to her that the name Claudia was associated with concepts of lameness and crippling, however Olivia preferred to see the association with the line of Roman emperors.  Her mother kept her own counsel and decided to not mention how that family had finally ended up.

It was just past the young girl’s second birthday when Olivia’s mother began to notice some disturbing trends in her daughter’s behavior.  She began to spend long periods of time in bed, alternating between sleeping and muttering in the dark, and would also occasionally shout out random words when walking around in town.   As time went on, Olivia became incapacitated more and more of the time, sitting for hours in a chair with a blank expression on her face or wandering aimlessly in the small back yard.  During these times, Olivia’s mother did what she could to care for Claudia, however she was getting well along in her years and the efforts often left her completely exhausted.  She had realized that something really needed to change just as she walked in on Olivia sticking a needle into her daughter’s foot.

…to be continued

Porcelain (Part 11)

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The young girl had worked herself up into a really frenzy by the time Olivia’s mother picked her up, although it was all soon better following  some milk that was administered via a wet rag and a change of clothing.  As she rocked the infant back to sleep she closed her eyes and sighed deeply knowing that Olivia’s awakening, whenever it came, would bring another difficult moment.

sunlight courtesy photoforum.com

sunlight courtesy photoforum.com

The old woman slept fitfully in the chair for several hours, occasionally reaching over and placing her hand on the infant girl’s chest to sooth her or feel her breathing.  She also went twice to check on her daughter who remained peacefully asleep, the temperature of her forehead easing and the flush of her skin fading away.  Fully awake after the last check on Olivia, she sat in the chair wanting coffee but weary enough to keep putting off going to make it.  The sun slowly crept up, its light streaming in the kitchen window and slowly moving down the hallway toward the bedroom.  She watched its progress and when it had crossed the threshold of her room she rose and went to check on Olivia again.  Finding her still resting, she began to straighten up some of the remaining mess from the delivery and the events of the night before.   Several minutes later her daughter whispered a faint greeting.

“Good morning Olivia.  How are you feeling?”

Smacking her lips together and rubbing her throat, Olivia replied, “sore, very sore and so thirsty.  Is there water in the pitcher?”

Pouring a cup in response, the mother checked her daughter’s forehead as she drank.

“So much better.”

“Better than what?  And where is my baby?”

“You don’t remember?”

“I, well,” and then she paused, her face falling and a wail escaping her mouth.  “My baby, what happened?  Please tell me!”

“Shh, your daughter is well, she is well.  You don’t remember last night though?”

“Bring her to me mother.  I want to see her.  Where is she?”  With that, Olivia started to get out of bed, however her mother placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Don’t stir from bed.  You had a difficult night even if you don’t remember it.  I will bring you the child.”

Olivia complied, although the eagerness in her face certainly meant she would not do so for long.  Realizing that there was no way to put off the revelation any longer, the old woman walked toward her room, thoughts running through her head.  Was there a way to lessen the pain from what Olivia was about to discover?  How would her daughter deal with what might be seen as a failure of a mother’s womb?  Should she tell her first or let her discover it for herself, as it certainly would not take long for that to happen?  Reaching the cradle she picked the infant up and spent several minutes putting it in fresh clothing and diaper, then wrapping her up in the blanket.  Finished, and with Olivia calling for her from the other room, asking what was taking so long, she took one more moment to hold the young girl close to her chest.

“You are a beautiful girl, you always will be,” she whispered softly and then wiped a tear from her cheek before heading toward Olivia’s room.   Her daughter’s eyes lit up when she entered and she stretched out her arms, her fingers waving the baby toward her.  Handing the infant over, the old woman settled into the chair.

Several minutes passed as Olivia nuzzled her newborn close to her face, and then spoke baby-talk as she brushed the infant’s cheeks with her right hand.  She turned toward her mother as she began to remove the blanket.

“Was the labor difficult mother?  I do have to admit that I do not remember much if it.  The doctor was here, I know that, and I hurt so badly when I felt I had to push.”

Olivia’s mother paused before replying, reflecting on the experience that her daughter had been part of but for which she possessed no recollection.  She would not say it aloud, however she did in fact believe that this did diminish the motherhood experience.  If this trend caught on, this need to remove yourself from life’s trials and pains with drugs, then she had some serious doubts about how the future might look for civilization.  For now though that was mostly water under the bridge and she responded to Olivia.

“It was no so bad daughter.  You were in some pain as you remember, however not much more than…,” and she paused, decided to skip the point and then continued, “ well, it wasn’t too terrible.  But then the doctor gave you that gas and, well you were pretty much gone after that.  The baby came after awhile and I cleaned her up.”

“You should have let the doctor do that mother, the doctor is supposed to check the baby once it’s born.”

“Olivia, I don’t know what you may have read or been told, but that man was most certainly not going to clean up a newborn baby.  He handed her to me the instant she was out and the cord cut and didn’t seem much concerned after that, not until I had her fixed up anyway.  He checked her breathing and, well a few other things and then he made sure you were well before trying to give me a lecture on caring for you.”

“You did listen to him?”

“I took care of you all last night Olivia, and it wasn’t good let me tell you, yet here you are, well and fit.  That’s enough said I believe.”

Her daughter ignored the comment about the struggles through the night.

“The doctor said she was well, yes?  All her parts, fingers and toes?  Healthy?”

Sighing deeply her mother responded.  “Well, she’s healthy certainly.  And she has all the fingers she can have.”

A blank look from Olivia was followed by her frantically tearing the blanket off the baby girl, who she soon discovered had no right arm.

…to be continued

Porcelain (Part 10)

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belladonna courtesy biolibde

belladonna courtesy biolibde

The jar that she withdrew had been prepared several months ago, which she knew mean that it was now very potent, well past the minimum dose practices that homeopathy advocated.  Dr. Martin had told her to always have a belladonna solution prepared and ready, but to not let it sit for more than two months.  He regularly sent her new herbs with which to prepare tinctures and she was usually faithful about making new ones, allowing them to mature for several weeks and then discarding the older solutions.  During the last few months of Olivia’s pregnancy however she had skipped several of these rotations, believing that it may be necessary to have very strong medicines available as her daughter came to term.  She had seen some very rough births over her many years and was determined to have remedies that could aid her daughter regardless of Olivia’s personal beliefs about the matter.

She remembered the day that she had prepared this particular tincture, a stormy morning about three months ago.  During its preparation she had told Olivia the story of the last time she actually needed to use a belladonna solution.   It had been several years ago, the final time she had seen her brother Michael alive and shortly before she left Maine to follow Olivia to Hiawatha.  He had arrived at her house complaining of a headache and several days later this had worsened enough to confine him to the only bed in the house.  She had given this up to her brother after finding him writhing in pain on the floor of her sitting room. Up until that point he had been staying at the Price Hotel and visiting with his sister during the evenings, an arrangement that allowed him to prospect for business with the local Indian’s during the day.   Michael fashioned himself an Indian trader although he had little to show for it after years of chasing various tribes around the eastern seaboard.  Concerned about his increasing pain, and knowing that he frowned upon the medicine they had grown up with, Olivia’s mother had slipped the tincture into a cup of tea.  Relief had followed, although Michael voiced his suspicion before he left about how his cure had been affected.  She had hugged him goodbye and told him not to worry so much as he likely had just gotten over it by resting.  Olivia listened intently to the story, although she interrupted several times to lament the time her mother was wasting preparing remedies with little proven benefit.  Her mother had a lifetime of proof, some of it validated by cures affected on her daughter,  although that seemed to matter little to Olivia.  As she worked they alternated, the mother telling her story and the daughter lecturing on medical advances.

She had prepared the solution so many times that she hardly looked down as she worked.  Taking a belladonna plant from the rough cloth bag she kept them in, she placed the entire dried stalk into the mortar, several of its neatly tapered leaves and faded purple flowers peeking above the rim.  As she reached in and crushed it with her hand she could feel the brittle black berries as they broke off their stems.  Reaching for the pestle, she ground the plant for several seconds, just enough to ensure it was broken up sufficiently to release all of its medicinal qualities.  Once that was done, she placed the crushed pieces into a small jar and then filled it with grain alcohol, placing a small bolt of cheesecloth over the top before sealing it tightly with the lid.  After that it was placed into that far corner of the cupboard where it rested and gained potency until it was needed.

That time was certainly now, as Olivia’s cries continued and she could hear the bed banging on the floor as her daughter thrashed around.  Unsealing the jar, she quickly tied a string around the cheesecloth to keep it attached to the opening, then decanted several tablespoons of the liquid into a tea cup.  She was under no illusions that Olivia would drink a secret solution as her brother had, and the tincture was too strong for that in any event.  Carrying a teaspoon and the cup, Olivia’s mother returned to the bedroom where she found her daughter standing at the foot of the bed, naked now but wrapped in a sweat-soaked sheet and wailing.  No discernible words were being spoken, just anguished cries of pain.  Setting down the spoon and cup, she slowly went over and guided her back, where she slipped a fresh nightgown over Olivia’s head and then helped her sit down on the bed.  She waited a few minutes for her daughter to quiet down and then she recovered the cup and carefully scooped out a spoonful of the medicine.  As she turned back, the wailing started again, fear flashing in Olivia’s reddened eyes and she shouted a refusal to cooperate.  Her mother took advantage of her opened mouth, spilled the medicine under her tongue and then dropped the spoon so she could hold her daughter’s mouth closed with both hands.  A struggle followed, one that was won by the mother when Olivia reluctantly choked down the solution of belladonna.  Five minutes later she was much quieter and had stopped moaning, easing back onto her soaked pillow, which her mother quickly replaced.  Just as Olivia was falling back asleep another dose was tipped under her tongue, and then her mother was finally able to attend to the infant.

…to be continued

Porcelain (Part 9)

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It was just past three a.m. when she went in for her hourly check on her daughter.  Up to this point Olivia had been sleeping comfortably, her breathing shallow and unlabored.  As she slowly eased the door of the bedroom open, Olivia’s mother could see that this was no longer the case.  Her daughter was flinching in her sleep and sweating profusely, the pillow underneath her head already visibly stained and wet.  A check with her hand on Olivia’s forehead confirmed that she had a fever.

Despite her concern, Olivia’s mother sat down in the rocking chair next to the bed and thought for a few seconds about exactly what to do.  She certainly had her own instincts about how to care for a person with a fever, however she also knew that her daughter thought much of that knowledge was longer valid.  Perhaps there was some value in all of the new medical information in which Olivia believed.  Her thoughts were interrupted by the faint cry of the infant from the other room, after which she noticed that Olivia had begun to toss and turn in her bed although she still seemed to be asleep.  She also was starting to mutter words, unintelligible but increasing in volume.  Deciding that there was no time for anything other than what she already knew, Olivia’s mother shook her daughter’s shoulder in an attempt to wake her up.   She could feel the fever’s heat even through the heavy nightgown Olivia wore and the sweat was staring to soak through the garment.  Unsuccessful in her initial attempts, Olivia’s mother started to slap her daughter’s face, lightly at first and then more sharply, until Olivia’s eyes suddenly snapped open, glistening and colored red, as she cried out in pain.

“Shhh daughter, I’m right here.  You have been tossing and turning in your sleep.”

Olivia buried her face in her hands. “Such an ache in my head.  Help me.”  She moved her hands and pressed them against her temples, continuing to moan and rock gently back and forth.  “Why are my hands so cold?”

Quickly her mother took her right hand and was shocked by how cool it was, a marked contrast to the high heat coming off of Olivia’s skin.  She had seen this several times before and only hoped that the general delirium which often accompanied a fever such as this would not manifest itself in her daughter.  This hope was quickly dashed as Olivia started to shake rather violently and cry out.

“The heat, oh please help me, the heat.  It reaches up and burns me, reaches me from the darkness, dark hands reaching for me.”

Grabbing her daughter’s shoulders in an attempt to get the shaking to stop, the old woman mustered all of her power as she pushed Olivia back down toward the bed.  When her head was finally back on the pillow she cried out again.

“The fires are near, the furnaces are open, thousands of degrees of heat that melt the bones and raise the white towers of light.  Help me, I am so cold, bring me to the fire to warm my bones.”

Olivia’s eyes now fluttered open again, more red than before although they seemed focused and alert.  Placing her hands over several parts of her daughter’s body, the mother realized that all of the body, except for the hands and feet, was extremely hot and starting to turn a pale pink.

Reaching for the water pitcher on the nightstand, she spoke.  “I’m getting you some water Olivia.  It will help cool you down while I get a remedy in the kitchen.”

Olivia screamed.  “No water!  No water!  You must not put the fire out!  It burns me and warms my bones!”  Closing her eyes again, she started to thrash around, repeating the words over and over again, her voice cracking as she screamed.   Realizing that perhaps she had not seen such a serious case of a high fever as this one, her mother left her wailing and thrashing in bed and hurried to the kitchen.  As she passed by her own room, the infant began to cry louder, a faint echo of Olivia’s screams.

Reaching the kitchen, she quickly opened the cupboard nearest to the stove and removed the battered metal tin from the top shelf.   Within this tin were the various components for the kind of medicines preferred by Olivia’s mother, the homeopathic remedies with which she had grown up and which were reinforced by Dr. Martin in his letters.  Placing it down on the table, she lit the lamp on the table before returning to the cupboard.  The cries of her daughter and granddaughter were increasing as they seemed to be locked in a competition to get her attention.  The infant she knew was likely just hungry or wet and would need to wait until she tended to her daughter, for whom she was gravely concerned.  Adjusting the lamp to burn more brightly, she reached back into the darkest corner of the cupboard and withdrew the tightly sealed jar that contained the belladonna tincture.

…to be continued

Porcelain (Part 8)

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The remaining days of her pregnancy passed for Olivia in what she would later recall as a dream-state, a seemingly endless series of similar days, marked by her mother’s repeated insistence that she remain in bed as much as possible.  Dr. Martin was not mentioned by name, however Olivia suspected that some of the advice her mother was giving her had come through him.  Although she rarely went outside during those days, she did still wait on the porch every day for Stan Waterman to hand her the daily mail, and she had seen several letters addressed to her mother in Dr. Martin’s heavy block printing.   She of course did not know their content, and her mother did still seek personal medical advice from the man, however her belief was that he was prescribing her advice from afar.   For that reason Olivia resisted much of what her mother advocated as the best course for her as she came to term, including her insistence that no doctor needed to be present at the delivery.  They spoke about it for the last time just four days before Olivia gave birth.  Her mother had begun by asking Olivia if she knew Mary Coswell, a midwife in the Hiawatha area who had a solid reputation both for delivering babies that lived and for taking good care of their mothers.

“Let’s not argue about this please.  I know you believe that somehow you, me and a midwife, Mary if you will, are going to deliver this child ourselves, however I prefer to have this baby the modern way.”

“Yes I know Olivia, and I don’t want to argue either, it’s just that so many babies have been born the old way, the usual way you know, without any doctors or drugs, and I worry that all of this new medicine is going to cause you harm.”

“I’ve read about it and asked questions, be sure of that.  They say that now you can deliver a child with almost no pain at all.  Well, at least none that you feel or remember.  It’s the chloroform that does it.”

Her mother groaned slightly and briefly covered her eyes with one pale hand.  “That word makes me feel sick Olivia, it doesn’t even sound like a good thing.  It’s scary.”

“But it works.  They have been using it for some time now and it’s safe.”

“You know, missing all that pain might, well some might say that it takes away from the experience, takes away some of your true motherhood.”

“Really mother?  I thought we decided not to argue.  Calling me somehow less of a mother because I plan to skip all of the pain of childbirth is going to get us into an argument for sure.”

“Well I wasn’t saying that exactly.  There is the other consideration you know.”

At this Olivia glanced over and realized that her mother had, at some point in the conversation, picked up her Bible which she now had resting on her knees, one finger tapping the cover.  Olivia looked away.

“Not that.  I will not talk about how much pain we are all supposed to bear because of Eve’s sin.  The doctor is coming mother and I will have the chloroform.”

The tapping on the Bible continued for ten more minutes, after which her mother rose and went into her bedroom, skipping their usual cup of tea before bed.  Olivia smiled slightly to herself before rising to go to her own bedroom.

It was the early morning four days after that conversation when she awoke, knowing that the time had arrived for her child to be born.  She managed to get to the sideboard in the kitchen before the pain of a contraction caused her to yelp and lower herself to her knees.  Several minutes later her mother had managed to pull her up and get her back into bed, after which she went to the neighbors house and asked Fran Dover to send her husband for the doctor.  Olivia heard the whole conversation though the bedroom window, which faced the Dover’s kitchen,  and gave her mother credit for honoring her wishes.

chloroform gas device courtesy loyno.edu

chloroform gas device courtesy loyno.edu

All went well and normally with the delivery, and while the administration of chloroform gas to her daughter via a strange looking medical device made Olivia’s mother very nervous, it did seem to take away most of her daughter’s pain.  It also meant that she was not alert when the baby finally did arrive, which was a blessing as far as her mother was concerned.  It took most of the energy she had to not break down into tears herself, and there was no doubt that Olivia would have been far worse.

The baby was carefully cleaned and checked, then wrapped in a soft blanket and handed to Olivia’s mother, who rose quickly and carried the young girl out of the room.  Placing it down onto her own bed she had the doctor assist her in moving the cradle Olivia had purchased, and once it was in her room she moved the baby to it and then softly sat down in a chair next to the cradle.  She rested one hand on the edge and hummed under her breath, her eyes slowly filling with tears now that she was alone.  She heard the doctor clattering around, picking up his things and speaking aloud to a still unconscious Olivia, giving medical guidance for her recovery.  He had wanted to share it all with Olivia’s mother, however she had brushed him off after he assisted with the cradle, and now he apparently was at least not going to leave any of it unsaid.  After finishing, he stopped again to ask Olivia’s mother is she had any questions, however she quietly replied that she knew how to take care of a woman after she gave birth.  The doctor motioned toward the child however that was retuned only with a cold stare from the old woman so he left, banging the door too loudly on the way out.

The night came and Olivia’s mother remained in the chair, silently crying.

…to be continued

Porcelain (Part 7)

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Olivia’s pregnancy progressed without much incident other than a sharp pain in her left side that was so intense that it kept her in bed for two days.  Her doctor, despite prodding and poking far in excess of what Olivia’s mother deemed appropriate, had been unable to determine if there was anything actually wrong with her, and in the end declared that the child must have a heel or elbow jammed up against her side.  That was nonsense, as Olivia knew exactly where her baby was at the time, however the doctor seemed content to believe it and the pain went away before much more of an argument could be made.  It had led to the one disagreement which occurred between Olivia and her mother during her pregnancy, one that started as soon as the doctor had made his pronouncement, closed up his bag and scuttled off down the street in his usual nervous way.

“You should be using Jeb Martin, he saw me through having you and all the rest of your brothers and sisters.”

“Mother, there is no way that I am going to have Dr. Martin anywhere near me or this baby.  You know he’s a homeopath and his type aren’t recognized anymore.”

“That is such nonsense Olivia and you know better than that too.  He’s taken care of you, well took care of you I guess, all through your years of growing up, and you certainly don’t have anything to complain about in regard to your health.”

“Mother,”

“And he’s taken care of me too, through all of it, still does although just through letters, advice that I ask him for from time to time.  There is nothing wrong with the medicine he practices.”

Olivia looked away for a moment and rolled her eyes in an effort to restrain herself from being too blunt.

“He may or may not know what he is doing mother, and I won’t argue the point about whatever care he has given to you or me.  I guess I truly can’t complain about that.  These days though, all that homeopathic medicine just is not thought of very well, and good folk won’t have it around them.  I’m not going to have some doctor of ill repute pressing his hands on me and deciding what is right for me and this baby.”

“The only people giving doctors like Jeb Martin a reputation of ill repute are folk like yourself Olivia who take the time to believe it and spread the nonsense around.”

Olivia rolled her eyes again, however it was much less effective than before.  “It’s because we have new knowledge mother, not everything that used to be correct and proper still is.”

“Nor is everything that is currently thought of as correct and proper necessarily true either.”

“And it wouldn’t matter anyway as I seriously doubt that Doctor Martin can care for me properly from all these miles away.  Unless you’re suggesting that we haul him out here to do so?”

Olivia, who during most of this argument had been looking out the window toward the street, turned her eyes now to look directly into those of her mother, a look that seemed to convey that if nothing else was true that this last point was certainly well spoken.  Her mother remained silent for long minutes, her gaze locked with that of her daughter.  Finally she coughed slightly and spoke.

“Of course he won’t be coming out here Olivia, however it wouldn’t hurt to ask the man his opinion about this latest trouble you have been having.  Perhaps he has some idea of what it may be.”

“I said I won’t have it mother and I won’t.  Doctor Tyler said I will be fine and I expect that I will be.”

That had been the last word spoken about the matter of homeopathic doctors and although the idea of a second opinion would look good in retrospect it was a matter that was closed at that moment.

The pain had lessened on the second day and was gone by the morning of the third, leaving Olivia in a much better mood.  There had been no other issues and no other arguments and it was the Tuesday which marked just thirty days to her due date when her mother had presented her with the dress.  Although largely a matter of fact, no frills type of a woman, this particular occasion caused Olivia’s mother to spend a few extra moments setting up things to be memorable.  She had awoken Olivia at eight by bringing in a tray containing a light breakfast of fruit and toast along with a steaming cup of tea.  It had caught Olivia by surprise however she had held her tongue, finishing the meal and bringing the tray back out to the kitchen before going into the sitting room to join her mother.  Setting down her cup of tea, she took the seat on the sofa nearest to the old woman and then sat in silence, moments which seemed to be poignant to her mother.  The time had slipped by, Olivia sipping tea and her mother rocking slowly back and forth, humming under her breath and smiling gently.  Finally, when Olivia had drained the cup and placed it down with a sharp, empty click against its saucer, her mother had stood up and taken her hand, guiding her to the old straight back chair that looked out the front window.  After sitting her down and patting her hand, a gentle command to stay where she was, her mother had gone into her bedroom and returned with a small package wrapped in white linen.  Olivia had taken the offered gift and opened it slowly, finally drawing out a simple but well-made white dress.  It was cut full at the bottom and had a slightly drawn in waist along with frills on the shoulders and neck and lace on the cuffs.  A bonnet, which also had frills on the edges, was folded by itself within the package, as was a short note written in her mother’s exact handwriting.  The dress and bonnet and been enough to bring a few tears to Olivia’s eyes, however the note caused her to get up and embrace her mother, who offered an awkward but tight embrace in return.

“It’s simply wonderful mother, it must have taken you, well I know how long you have been working on it, but so much effort and skill must have gone into it.  The work is so fine and it is just beautiful.  My baby will look so perfect in it.”

“Your daughter my dear, your daughter will look perfect in it.  A perfect dress for a perfect daughter.”

“I do hope you are right.  I do want a daughter.”

Her mother had replied simply by patting her hand and then stroking the hair back from her face.

Porcelain (Part 6)

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looking west on shawnee from seventh courtesy of hiawathapics.com

looking west on shawnee from seventh courtesy of hiawathapics.com

Six weeks later Olivia knew and stepped out of the kitchen door on a Saturday morning, again with a cup of dark coffee, and told her mother.  She had thought this was going to be the worst of it and was shocked by her mother’s calm response.

“Funny how some things work out daughter.  A moment in time is all it takes.”

Olivia had no reply for that and just sipped quietly at her coffee.  Her mother looked over after several minutes and saw that she was also crying, tears that she refused to wipe away running down her cheeks.  Standing up, her mother walked over and offered Olivia her hand.

“Come with me.  I want to show you something.”

Her mother led her into the house and then into her bedroom where she pointed to a long, flat chest under the bed.  Olivia let go of the hand to kneel down and then pull the chest out, having to tug hard at it several times to get it to move.  It was well made of oak with brass fittings and the top of it was carved with her mother’s name.  Olivia had seen this chest before however had never been allowed to open it.  Following a wave of her mother’s hand she finally did so, catching the sharp smell of moth balls mixed with old wood as the heavy top was lifted up.  The things inside were as you might imagine them; stuffy and old, faded and musty, care-worn and well-tended.  Each item struck a chord of curiosity in Olivia, and she felt a strong urge to ask questions.  Why is this black dress with the lace collar in here?   Who is the soldier in this picture?  Why are you keeping a broken bell?  She wanted to ask, however a quick look at her mother made it clear that this was not going to be a journey of universal discovery.  Most of what was in the chest would remain in the old woman’s mind and heart.

“Take out that red box and underneath you will find a cloth sack with a purple string.  That is what I want to show you.”  Her mother had taken a seat on the rocking chair which sat next to her bed.

Olivia did as her mother asked, handing up the cloth bag and then sitting on the floor at her mother’s feet, a memory of childhood story time fleeting past her eyes.

“I kept this not just because you wore it as a baby, but because it was made by your great-great grandmother.  She had originally made it for my mother right after she was married to your Grandpa Silas, however it ended up not being used.  So, when I was about to give birth to you, she gave it to me.  Once you grew a little bit and this fit you, well you wore it often my dear.”  Saying this, her mother struggled briefly with the string that closed the top before opening the bag and pulling out a white dress.   It was of a style not used anymore, having too many gathers and a drape that was no longer the fashion.  It was elegant and durable although its faded color and occasional faint spot told of both its age and its hard use.  Olivia reached up and touched the dress, feeling its worn, smooth fabric ripple across her fingertips.

“Why was it never used?”

Her mother did not immediately answer and Olivia continued to play with the edges of the dress.  There were some tattered seams and a small tear in the front hem, a re-stitch of one sleeve and missing button on the back.  Olivia tried to place her younger self in this dress, however she had no pictures of herself back then and found it difficult to imagine.  Realizing that her mother had not answered she looked up to see a pained, far-away look in the woman’s eyes.  The touch of Olivia’s hand to her arm brought her eyes back down and she reached out to run her hand along Olivia’s check.

“That child did not make it out of it’s birth bed my dear.  It only lived one day and after that, despite all the other children she had, my mother just could never look at that dress again.  That girl, my older sister, should have been her eldest and the start of her family with your Grandpa.  It took them five years after that before they had me.  I have to tell you daughter, that day she gave me the dress, well it was quite a moment let me tell you.  The topic of this dress had been a forbidden subject for years, something my father wouldn’t even discuss when a family member would bring it up.  Forbidden all those years and then one day my mother just walked into our living room  and handed it to me.  Your Aunt Martha was there and almost gagged on an apple she was eating.  I guess my mother had finally gotten over it, or having me starting my family with your father had made it possible to pass it along with well-wishes.  I dare to say that she still worried a bit during the first few days you were alive, but when you proved to be so very healthy she relaxed and seemed happier than she had in years.”  Her mother paused and rubbed her hand over the front of the dress.  “It’s a mixed memory I guess, sadness and happiness.  Its, well, bittersweet I guess.”

“Mom, I’m sorry, really I shouldn’t have asked.  I know that you don’t talk much about your past and I should have left it alone.”

“It really is okay Olivia.  I brought it up I guess by showing you that dress.  Cracked open the story book so to speak,” and she offered her daughter a wan smile that did little to reassure Olivia.

“Let’s just drop it Mom.  Thank you for showing me this dress.  Is it something I could have to give to my baby?”

“No dear, I don’t think so.”  It sounded final however Olivia looked up and realized her mother had recovered and was truly smiling now.  “I think I would like to make you a new one for that child.”

… to be continued

Porcelain (Part 5)

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commercial hotel courtresy hiawathapics.com

commercial hotel courtresy hiawathapics.com

She did not know that the next morning when she forced herself out of her bed, knowing that staying in it any longer would just cause her mother to come and check on her, worrying away as she always had about Olivia’s health.  She had arrived home after dark, having walked herself back from the hotel after her and Tom had said their goodbyes.  In some way of course she had hoped that he would escort her back to the front door on Shawnee and and say a proper good night, however she sensed quickly that this was not going to happen.  Bidding him a pleasant evening she had taken her leave and walked slowly back, feeling a twisted mixture of exhilaration and loss welling up in her chest.  For whatever the brief encounter had meant to her, or to him, she already knew that it was to be the last.  Maybe the most final statement on that was the simple fact that she had walked herself home.  Once there, and quietly in the door and to bed, Olivia had lain awake for most of the remainder of the night, her mind unwilling to give her an opportunity to rest until five a.m..  Soon after that the sun was up and, having forgotten to close her drapes, she was awoken by the glare and her mind swung promptly back into high gear.  And now she needed to get up and somehow put the best face on the day that she could.

Arriving in the kitchen and knowing her mother would already be sitting out on the porch, Olivia lingered for several extra minutes around the stove, giving the boiling coffee time to set in dark and bitter.  As she emerged through the screen door her mother clicked her tongue several times before she spoke.

“You look dreadful.”

“You didn’t even look at me.”

“I didn’t need to.  Home late and up all night, it wasn’t a hard guess to make.”  With a turn of her head her mother continued, “and I can see now that I was correct.”

“It was you that told me to go for a walk.”

“Yes, yes I did.”  Finally offering a smile, her mother raised her own coffee mug in a half salute which made Olivia blush.  After that  the matter seemed to be closed as they switched into a discussion about the local ladies club and then later about where Olivia planned on finding another job.  After several more cups of coffee her mother announced herself ready for a nap and Olivia dressed and walked back into town.

Along the way she managed to put a few of the many things running through her head into order.  She was not going to go chasing Tom Drummond around, nor would she allow herself anymore thoughts about the two of them.  She had wanted to go over and check his house or ask at the bank where he could be found.  She had thought about doing just that for hours the night before, however she always came back to the feeling of finality which had passed between them on their final good-bye at the hotel.  Regardless of hopes and wishes, nothing could be done about that and she was now ready to accept that he was gone.  Or if not gone yet, then he soon would be and Olivia would not allow herself to be seen as any kind of desperate old maid.

hiawatha first national bank courtesy hiawathapics.com

hiawatha first national bank courtesy hiawathapics.com

As it turned out she was completely right about him being gone, and she never saw or heard from him again.   In fact, no one in Hiawatha ever did including the bank where he worked and left two hundred and forty seven dollars on deposit, all of which was never claimed.  On the few nights in the future when Olivia allowed herself to be particularity bitter she imagined that he had not even bothered to stay until the morning following their encounter.  Perhaps she literally was the last thing he needed to attend to on his way out of town.

… to be continued

Porcelain (Part 4)

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Olivia considered that for several moments, a mixture of frustration and admiration swirling around inside her head.  It was nice to have men of honor around, however this particular bit of moral righteousness was interfering with her own happiness.  It had been a long time, many years of her poking around the edges of Tom’s life, he lingering around the edges of hers, all those years and nothing had been said by him.  Until now. Maybe there was something in that.

“This woman, you still love her then?”

Tom winced a bit when she spoke, clearly uncomfortable with the question.  He stayed silent, turning his head to her instead and shaking it in a brief but definite way.

“So, what’s the trouble then?  It surely cannot be impossible to get a divorce from her?  A bit unseemly for sure, but possible.”

“This is a very complicated thing Olivia, very complicated.  The woman, my wife I mean, she and I both come from rather prominent families in Rockland, ones that own much of the ship building business in that area.  Our marriage was arranged by our fathers, carefully planned you might say to keep our families connected and all the power consolidated.  It’s a plan that’s been followed for generations now.”

“Don’t you folks worry about all of that intermingling of your families?”

Tom looked at Olivia with amusement in his eyes.  “Are you trying to say we are inbreeds?”

Olivia flushed deeply and sputtered, “No, no, please, I,”

With a short laugh Tom cut her off, patting her hand and saying, “It’s okay, I was just having a little fun with you there.  And to answer the question, yes it is something we worry about.  We do know that issues can come from such arrangements and we try to avoid it.”

Olivia had taken her arm away from Tom’s to cover her cheeks, which were still bright red, holding them there as she spoke. “Don’t play with me like that, I really felt terrible.  And just how do you manage to avoid all of the problems?”

“Let’s stop here for a minute.”  As he spoke Tom sat down on a small bench that had been placed under one of the maple trees, reaching out for Olivia’s hand, an invitation to sit next to him.  As she arranged her dress after sitting he continued.

“Your question is one that has actually been part of our families conversations for years.  I am not sure we really have avoided all of the problems but we do try.  I should explain that there really are three families here, mine, the Lermond’s and then the Thomas clan.  They all go way back to the beginning in Rockland and they all own shipyards along with some other businesses such as foundries, sail lofts and lumber mills.  At whatever point it was, years ago, the men of these families decided that they wanted to consolidate all of the power among themselves and keep everyone else out.”

Olivia held up her hand.  “I find it hard to believe that any such men as these appear to be would share power so easily.  Men usually want it all for themselves.”

“Ah, a wise observation.  This whole agreement came about after all of the usual unpleasantness.  I guess no one could win and enough damage had been done. Since then though it has all gone remarkably well.”

“That’s unexpected.”

“I agree, but it’s true.  So, once they decided upon this arrangement they soon after understood that keeping the families basically marrying into each other could have some unwanted side-effects.  And that led to the shipyard Bible.”

“A Bible?  What…,” and then Olivia paused, putting her hand up again as Tom began to offer another comment.  He breathed deeply and then sat back as Olivia’s mind worked.

“The families, yours and the others, they keep the records there don’t they?  Who married who, and who’s children are related to whom?  Just like anyone’s family Bible, but one that is for all three?

Tom smiled, amused and impressed.  “You are a smart woman Olivia.  Yes, the shipyard Bible tracks every relationship within our families and it is kept by the eldest woman among the three.  When I left that was my great-grandmother Rebecca, and as far as I know it is still her.”

“And she decides who marries who?”

“Oh no, as I said, my father arranged my marriage.  Once such a thing is proposed, well that’s when the talking starts.  The Bible gets hauled out and then it’s an on-going conversation, some might call it an argument, until all of the potential conflicts are worked out.  It’s not a science, at least not where I am from.  We’ve had first cousins marry and third cousins end up getting denied.  I think half the benefit to it all is that sometimes the arguments go on so long that proposed marriages just fall apart.”

“That really makes no sense.  The whole thing I mean, it makes no sense.”

“Yes, I know, I really do.”

“And so you ended up married to this woman…”

“Eleanor, Eleanor Lermond.”

“You married her and now?”

“Yes, that’s the other part.  Once your married in our family, in our families that is, you stay married.”

“Until death?”

“After really.  You only get married once.”  He said this with a firm but sad finality, looking over at Olivia who met his eyes.  She understood now that her ultimate dream of someday having a life with him was not going to happen.  It was still interesting to her that Tom had taken this opportunity, not only to accept her mother’s invitation but to reveal that he did feel something for her.  What was it that had made him declare himself finally.  She kept working through that in her head while she talked.

“So, you weren’t happy then?”

“Dreadfully unhappy.  Eleanor is not a very, well not a very fun person.  Very straight-laced and uptight.”

“And so you left, ran away from your problem?”  Tom was silent for a moment after that and Olivia feared she had gone to far.  Maybe he was just going to get up and walk away?  Instead he sighed and replied.

“I guess that’s about what it was.  It’s happened before, to other unhappy husbands caught up in this arrangement.  Nobody seems to care if you go away, you just have to stay married.  Eleanor is likely much happier with me gone anyway, she can tend to all her domestic duties which she always takes so very seriously.”

Although he said this last sentence scornfully, there was also a trace of nostalgia in his voice.  Olivia figured that maybe he missed her after all, and then she knew.

“So, you’re going away then?  Back there?”

Tom, who had been leaning back into the bench, sat up immediately, a look of astonishment on his face.  “How could you have known that?”

Olivia did not care to explain it, her mind racing ahead.  “But you are going?”

Tom looked down at his feet and then up to meet her eyes.  “Yes.”

A panic had overtaken Olivia, one that brought a rush of what she would later call madness to her actions, and she reached out abruptly and grabbed Tom’s hand, pulling him over to her.  Thirty minutes later, and with no argument from Tom, they were discreetly in a hotel room.  Although their encounter was brief, and they parted ways immediately after, it did leave one consideration.  Olivia of course was pregnant.

… to be continued