Chapter 8

Try as she might, Emilia Mae hadn’t been able to hide her secret.

By the beginning of February, even the blousiest of smocks billowed in front of her as if she were hiding a kettledrum beneath it. She bicycled to the bakery every couple of days and would try to sneak in and retrieve the pies and cakes when her mother wasn’t there. The Neptune Inn became home; Xena and the Reverend Klepper, her surrogate family. She could feel the thing move in her. Her face had gone puffy, and her rear was so big, she had to sit sideways on most chairs. At night, she tossed and turned, unable to settle into a comfortable position. She was constipated. She farted all the time, had to go to the bathroom every twenty minutes, and had searing pains running down the backs of her legs. Her body had gone crazy; nothing about it was hers anymore. As far as she was concerned, the only thing she didn’t have was pus-filled boils up and down her legs. Not yet, anyway.

She was pregnant, no doubt about it. Even worse, counting back from the last time she and John from Albany had been together, this baby would be due in May or June. Motherhood was frightening to Emilia Mae. She’d learned little about how to love a child from her own mother. She worried that she would do to her own child what her mother had done to her: leave a void where love ought to be. No child deserves that, she thought. Emilia Mae figured she didn’t have time to waste. An abortion was what she needed, and she needed it quickly.

She remembered how Father Daley would go all frothy when he talked about abortion. “A grave evil,” he called it. “A sin against God.” Well, tough for Father Daley; she was no longer in his hands.

Nobody she knew had ever had an abortion. She didn’t know how they were done or where they were done. Certainly not in New Rochelle, which didn’t even have its own record store. She couldn’t run the risk of asking anyone in this gossipy town. She’d have to find someone to take her into Manhattan. She thought about talking to Xena but realized how painful that would be for her, given her own lost baby. The only person she felt safe enough to ask was Reverend Klepper. She couldn’t tell him about John, but maybe she could make him believe that she had the devil in her, just as her mother had believed. It would have worked with Father Daley; maybe it would work with him.

The following Sunday, she told Xena she’d meet her at the inn, then waited in the back pew of the church until Reverend Klepper had spoken with all his parishioners before she came up to him and shook his hand.

“Can I talk to you about something?”

“Sure,” he said with a broad smile.

“It’s a personal thing.”

“Whatever you say inside this church stays with me.”

Suddenly the urge to vomit spiraled through her. The double dose of Pepto-Bismol she’d taken that morning clearly wasn’t working. She willed herself not to make a mess of the Reverend. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

He took her by the elbow, led her to one of the pews, and brought her water. They sat silently, the only sound coming from the sudden rain shower that pattered against the window. Finally, the nausea subsided.

“Did you ever have the feeling something inside of you isn’t right?” she asked.

“Often,” he laughed. “Every time we go to my mother-in-law’s and she cooks her scalloped sweet potato casserole, I eat way too much. For days after I feel like there’s a boulder in my stomach and the darn thing won’t move.”

“Not like that,” said Emilia Mae. “I mean something different than food, something that really doesn’t belong in there. My body doesn’t feel like it’s mine anymore.”

Reverend Klepper rubbed his neck and looked down at her stomach. “Have you been with a man? I mean, have you had relations with a man?”

She reddened at the thought of him knowing what had gone on between her and John and decided to play the innocent.

“Just a little.”

“You do understand what happens when a girl and a boy have relations?” He glanced at her belly.

“Sort of.” She stared out the window.

Reverend Klepper continued, trying to find common ground. “When two people love each other very much, they come together in the way the Lord intended them to, and they create a child. You know that, right? Do you love this man with whom you’ve had relations?”

“Oh no, I don’t even know his last name. I’m not sure that’s what this is. It could be something else, you know.”

“No, Emilia Mae. Pregnant women can feel the baby moving around months before it comes out.”

“Maybe there’s something inside me, not a baby, but the devil’s work, something that ought not to be there. We need to come up with a way to get it out.”

“Listen, Emilia Mae. I don’t know what you’re thinking, but I’m certain what you have inside you is the most precious kind of love there is. Trust me, the first time you hold that newborn child in your arms, you will know a love like no other.”

“This isn’t about love,” she insisted. “It’s about something bad that’s not meant to be. I really hope you can help me get rid of it.”

Reverend Klepper’s face turned somber. “Even if I had the power to help you get rid of this child—and I don’t—I wouldn’t. By getting rid of it, you mean having an abortion. That would not only be a sacrilege, but you’d be putting yourself in serious danger. Do you understand that you could die from an abortion?”

“If I am pregnant, I can’t have this baby. I’m too young, plus I have no idea how to raise a child.”

Reverend Klepper shook his head. “Here’s how I can help you. I can help you see your way spiritually through this time. I can help by suggesting that you tell your parents to take you to see Dr. Rogan as soon as possible. That’s what I’m qualified to do.”

Emilia Mae shook her head. “I don’t need Dr. Rogan. I need…” Reverend Klepper interrupted her and raised his voice to sermon level. “Emilia Mae, you need to see Dr. Rogan. You need to talk to your parents. You’re going to have a baby. That baby needs attention, and so do you.”

“I don’t want attention.” She tried to keep her voice calm. “I just don’t want to have this baby.”

“I understand that. Do me one favor, talk to your parents. After that, we’ll talk again.”

Emilia Mae allowed herself the thought of her mother as a grandmother. What if she liked this child? What if she was kind to it the way she was kind to the kids at the bakery? Emilia Mae had to smile at the thought of her mother calling this child “sweetheart.” If her mother loved this child, maybe she’d love her for giving birth to it. The thought hung in the air for a few moments before reality butted in. Her mother would be shamed by having a daughter pregnant out of wedlock, maybe never speak to her again. Then another thought interceded. What if this wasn’t about her mother at all? What if this was a way for Emilia Mae to have a little family of her own? A child who loved her, whom she would love back. The thought came and went, sometimes as a fantasy to indulge, other times as a concept too frightening to contemplate.

  

That night, Aloysius told his wife, Cora, about Emilia Mae. “She’s pregnant and wants an abortion. I’m not sure why, but she latched on to me to help her. I know this is an uncharitable thing to say, but I wish she hadn’t.”

“The young and unfortunate always latch on to you, Ally,” said Cora. “You’re a compassionate man, and you have God’s ear. Why wouldn’t they pick you?”

“This one’s different. She’s stubborn and inflexible. Nothing I say reaches her. All she wants is for me to find her an abortionist. What am I supposed to do with that?”

Cora rolled her startling green eyes skyward in an exaggerated manner.

“Very funny, Cora. God’s not a referral service.”

“Then seriously, what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know. I really don’t know.”

Every Sunday for the next few weeks, Emilia Mae and Reverend Klepper had the same conversation. She’d plead with him to help her find an abortionist in the city, because that was the only path she could see clearly, and he’d tell her she had to tell her parents and see Dr. Rogan.

After a particularly infuriating session, Klepper walked into his house, threw off his coat, and flopped down on the couch. “That girl has really gotten under my skin,” he said to his wife. “If God is testing me, he’s sent me one worthy opponent.”

Cora pulled off his size thirteen shoes—each as large as a planter—and brought him a cup of tea with a shot of rum. “Ally, you got into this business knowing it would be more than bake sales and christenings. Isn’t that your job, to tend to the lost sheep and all that kind of stuff?”

He had to laugh at her unsentimental view of his job. As she was fond of telling him, being a minister’s wife was never what she’d had in mind: “The Lord led you here. I simply tagged along.” Still she did her best, showing up for as many funerals, baptisms, and services as she could tolerate, but never without reminding him that there was still time, he could always go into her family’s flower business.

“This one’s different. She’s hardly a lost sheep. She doesn’t want any tending from me. She just wants me to help her get rid of this child.”

“So, find her one of those homes for unwed mothers.”

“God, no, I could never do that. Those places are filthy and crowded. Besides, she’s so far along now, no one would have her.”

“What about talking to her parents?”

“I can’t do that without her permission, and she doesn’t seem to take them into account any more than she does me.”

The following Sunday Reverend Klepper saw how the fabric of Emilia Mae’s dress stretched tight across her stomach and asked again if she had spoken to her parents.

“I saw my father at the bakery last week,” she said. “He made some comment about how old Sam Bostwick was feeding me well. But I could tell by the way he watched me waddle that he knew it wasn’t the food. When I asked him what he meant by that, he said that he and my mother saw what was happening and did I understand that this was a small town and that they couldn’t afford to have people gossiping? I told him I did, but he shouldn’t worry, you were going to help me get free of it.”

Reverend Klepper stepped forward. “I hope your father doesn’t think I’m going to help you get an abortion.”

“I didn’t say how you’d help, just that you would.” Emilia Mae spoke in a flat tone until she got to this part. Then she raised her voice: “It’s time now, don’t you think? This thing is kicking and pushing me, and if we don’t do something soon it will be too late. What are you waiting for?”

Reverend Klepper sighed, his shoulders fell. He prayed for patience. It came fitfully. He took her hand. It felt warm and fleshy. “I’m going to tell you some very grown-up things so listen carefully. My wife, Cora, and I have been married for twenty-two years. We’ve wanted a child for all that time, but God has never blessed us with one. What you have is a miracle, one that Cora and I still pray for every day. Wanting an abortion is only your way of saying that you’re terrified. That’s understandable. When your time comes, it will be bloody and painful and very scary, I’m sure, but on the other side of it you’ll have a child, your own child. Then you can decide whether or not you want to keep the child or give it up for adoption. Do you understand?”

She stared at him as if she were puzzling something out. “Do you think it’s possible that maybe you and Cora would like this baby? You know, to adopt it?” Emilia Mae’s eyes had sunk into her cheeks in the past month. It took Reverend Klepper a moment to realize she was crying.

“Don’t say things like that unless you’ve given it lots of thought. Adoption is a decision you can’t un-decide. As for me and Cora, it’s a kind thought.” He placed his hand gently on her stomach. “But I think we’ll wait until the Lord blesses us with one of our own.” His smile was faint. “Right now, this child’s life depends on you. You matter more than anything in the world to it. Please take care of yourself.”

“I’m glad I matter to somebody,” she said loudly.

Reverend Klepper lowered his head and rubbed his brow with his thumb and forefinger.

“I’m sorry,” Emilia Mae whispered.

“No need to apologize. We all raise our voices in times of excitement.”

“Not about yelling,” she said. “I’m sorry about you and your wife.”

  

On the morning of June 9, Emilia Mae woke up in a pool of sweat. An unexpected heat wave bore down on New Rochelle with such ferocity that the main roads gave like mud underfoot. Nauseated and dizzy, Emilia Mae felt as if her insides were wringing themselves out. She turned on her side and waited to die. When the pain subsided, she called out for Xena, but Xena didn’t come. She gathered her soaked bedclothes around her and walked in slippered feet to Reverend Klepper’s house, only minutes away from the inn. Cora was awakened by the sound of what she thought to be a cat in heat. Or was it an injured dog? She got out of bed and went to the window. In the first light of morning she saw the young girl lying on the ground, curled up as if she’d been shot.

“Aloysius,” she cried. “It’s Emilia Mae.”

Emilia Mae must have passed out, because she had no memory of what came next. When she woke up, she was in the New Rochelle hospital. She swam in and out of the ether; the bitter taste of it stuck in her throat. Figures moved about like shapes on the other side of a rain-splattered window. Someone was asking, “Emilia Mae, can you hear me?”

Reverend Klepper.

She closed her eyes and tried to re-enter the tranquility of darkness, but it was too late. Pieces of reality were starting to float together.

“It’s over,” he said.

She tried to ask what happened, but had trouble moving her lips.

“It was touch and go there for a while. The baby had its cord wrapped around its neck. You had a cesarean. Thank God for Dr. Rogan.”

Emilia Mae tried to sit up, but the parts of her body required to do so felt as if they were ripping. She lay back down and saw that Xena was sitting at the foot of her bed with a bundle in her arms. Just then, Cora Klepper walked into the room with Earle in tow. “Look who’s here,” said Cora. “It’s Grandpa!”

Earle blinked back tears as he looked at his daughter and the baby. “Your mother sends her love,” he lied. “She’s holding down the fort at the bakery, but she’ll come soon.”

“You have a little girl,” said Xena, placing the baby on Emilia Mae’s chest. “God bless her.”

Reverend Klepper showed Emilia Mae how to hold the baby’s head just so. Cora’s eyes widened as she watched her husband. “How do you know so much about how to hold a baby?” she asked.

“I have done a few baptisms in my life,” he answered, still fussing with the baby.

All these people gathered around her brought Emilia Mae back to her fantasies about the Oz brothers. She wished she still believed in them; they would have loved this.

For the next two days, Emilia Mae lay in her hospital bed getting to know her baby. She had a tiny red face and looked unlike any creature Emilia Mae had ever seen. She was swaddled in a blue and pink blanket and had a pink cap on her head. She was as light as a freshly baked loaf of bread and smelled like one, too. Emilia Mae would stroke her face. Her nose was so small that Emilia Mae wondered how would she be able to breathe out of it. Her lips were red, and her cheeks were as soft as flower petals. Emilia Mae would loosen the swaddle to play with the baby’s fingers and toes. She’d put her finger in the baby’s hand and the baby would squeeze it. Once the baby even looked her straight in the eyes. Emilia Mae thought, She must already recognize me. When she drew the baby to her breast, the baby would put her mouth around Emilia Mae’s nipple and suck. Her body was warm, and Emilia Mae thought she could feel the baby’s heartbeat. Or was it her own? She could do this. She would be a good mother, unlike her own. She promised herself that this child would never feel unwanted.

On the third day, Xena was visiting Emilia Mae when Cora and Reverend Klepper showed up. “We have a surprise guest,” Cora announced, then left the room for a moment.

“Ta-dum!” she announced as she led Geraldine through the door. Geraldine looked nearly as shocked as Emilia Mae. She was still wearing her bakery apron and hadn’t had time to wash the flour from her hands. “Yup, here I am. Not that I had much choice. Cora showed up and said she wouldn’t leave until I came with her. I would have come anyway, I just needed to find the right time.”

“Well, this was the right time then, isn’t that so, Ally?” said Cora.

Aloysius shook his head. “That’s my Cora.”

Geraldine leaned over the baby. “She’s a pretty one, has my family nose.”

Cora laughed. “Oh, she does not have your family nose, she hardly has any nose.”

“Well, she will have my family nose when she grows one.”

Emilia Mae couldn’t believe Cora talking back to her mother that way, but her mother just laughed and made a swatting motion toward Cora.

Cora stroked the baby’s cheek. “She really is a beauty, isn’t she? What will you name her?”

“I’ve been thinking about that. I’d call her Aloysius, but her life is going to be hard enough without that. So, Alice, I’m going to call her Alice.”

Cora looked at Aloysius. “Well, God bless little Alice,” he said, with tears in his eyes.

“Amen,” said Cora, as she stroked Aloysius’s arm.

“Amen,” said Xena.

“Amen,” said Emilia Mae.

Later, Geraldine would tell Earle that she felt as if she’d walked into a revival meeting. “Aloysius was crying and the rest of them were practically hallelujahing all over the place. I won’t have any grandchild of mine raised by holy rollers, I’ll tell you that right now.”

Maybe it was true or maybe it wasn’t, but that was the reason Geraldine gave for telling Sam Bostwick that Emilia Mae would not be returning to the inn, because she and the baby were moving back into the house with her and Earle.