I thumbed through one of the mystery novels Klara had packed and wished I had one of Grandfather’s books instead. I had no taste for murder and intrigue even in good times. I tossed the novel aside and reconciled myself to the truth that I wouldn’t have been able to focus enough to read no matter what I’d brought along. So I cleaned. There wasn’t a surface that wasn’t scrubbed with soap, water, and the hard bristle brush I found. Every item was either polished, dusted, or put away in a cupboard. The only chore I didn’t tackle was getting down on my hands and knees to give the floor a proper cleaning, but I was afraid I’d not be able to lift myself up again until Klara’s return. I had to settle for a makeshift floor mopping with rags attached to the end of the broom handle.
I put my hands on my hips and surveyed the one-room cottage with dismay. There were no more chores I could contrive, and I was alone with my own company. I’d made it bearable since Samuel left by letting work consume me. It was a comfortable habit, and I felt exposed without it.
I crawled into the bed, which had significantly less dust than when I had arrived, and willed myself to sleep, knowing that the sporadic pains would probably start in earnest any day. Possibly even hours. The two weeks I thought I had now seemed beyond unlikely as the baby’s movements had slowed as he ran out of room to stretch. He had to be getting uncomfortable, and I could surely empathize with his plight.
Back in the shop, we’d had a steady stream of expectant mothers as clients. They needed dresses that would allow for their changing bodies, and they often seemed keen on imparting the advice they’d been given.
“Rest as much as you can as your time draws near.”
“Don’t rest too much before the baby is born, or you won’t have energy to deliver the baby.”
“Sleep when the baby sleeps.”
“Use the baby’s naps to catch up on housework and cooking. A baby is no excuse to let things backslide at home!”
It was all contradictory and maddening. I wanted my mother there to reassure me about things. Her advice wouldn’t be much more reliable than that of the women from the shop, but it would be of more comfort coming from her. I wanted Samuel there, pacing and nervous as he could see my behavior change as my body prepared for birth. I wanted the distraction of calming him so I wouldn’t be left to focus on my own discomfort.
But I could have neither. Mama was unreachable. After her initial letter confirming her arrival in New York, I hadn’t received a single note. Hitler’s men were masterful at discerning secrets from the barest scraps of information in correspondence, so we made the pact not to communicate until the war was over, or I was free from Germany. Even if there was an emergency, there was nothing she could do for me, nor I for her.
And Samuel was beyond my reach.
I still cried out for him in the night.
I spoke to him, even though he wasn’t there.
I still wept for him.
Grief is an odd bird. I would be working in the shop, sorting the patterns or organizing the notions, and would find my face wet with tears I wasn’t even aware I’d been shedding. I’d never thought the process was so completely and utterly . . . involuntary. I’d imagined the widows clad in black and sniffling into their hankies had some measure of control over their emotions, but now I knew this largely wasn’t true. My body needed to grieve as much as my soul, and I had no choice but to let it.
I felt my abdomen grow rock hard as one of the pains washed over me. I panted the way some women said was helpful, and it released its grip before too long. It was stronger than any of the others, and my hope of waiting to deliver the baby until I had somewhere else to go seemed the height of folly now.
“Couldn’t you just stay put for another year?” I asked, glancing down at my belly. “And maybe the size you were three months ago?”
The reply was a kick that would have been rather swift if he’d had the room to take a proper swing.
“Okay, I understand. And I’ll get you a soccer ball when you’re old enough. Might as well put those skills to use.”
The baby seemed to settle down and I was able to take fuller breaths until another surge racked me. I didn’t have my watch to check the time, but the last two contractions were certainly closer than any of the previous had been. I felt as helpless to stop this as I did my tears for Samuel, and so I closed my eyes and trusted my body to do what it could to survive. I could do nothing more than try to get out of my own way.
Klara wasn’t due for hours, and I might still have hours yet before the baby would make his entrance into the world, so I held the quilt close to my chest and prayed that I was enough to be mother and father to the innocent baby who deserved so much more from the world than what he was getting.