“ARE YOU GOING to tell him?”
“Who?”
“John.”
“No.”
“I think he’d want to know.”
“What would you know about it, Maggie? You are so naive, you don’t even know how naive you are. Anyway, what would I do, write to him at P.O. Box Wherever the Hell You Are?”
Jenny didn’t intend to tell Bea, either. I don’t know what her plan was, but it didn’t include throwing herself on Bea’s mercy. That was my idea.
I was convinced Bea would do anything for Jenny. I told Jenny how it would go.
“She’ll need to sit down. She’ll collapse on the couch. She’ll be kind of shocked at first. Her mouth might hang open and she’ll stare at you like a raccoon in a flashlight beam. She’ll take off her glasses and rub her weepy eye. She might even start to cry and say how disappointed she is in you. Like, oh, Jenny how could you let this happen? And what about your future and how will you finish school. But then she’ll pull herself together. She’ll say something like, ‘What’s done is done. There’s no use crying over spilt milk. The cat’s out of the bag. The roosters have come home to roost. The ship has sailed.’ ”
By this time Jenny was laughing. I think I had already persuaded her.
“Bea’s lonely, Jenny. Who has she got but us? This’ll give her something to do.”
She was about two and a half months along when she told Bea. It was a rainy night in October. Jenny had come home from work, had a hot bath and put on her pyjamas. Bea had made hot chocolate, so it seemed like she was open to mercy.
Jenny came into the bedroom. “Will you tell her with me?”
“Me? Why do you want me there?”
“You’re my sister. You’re all I have.” She teared up so I couldn’t say no, even though I thought it was a bad idea.
Bea had a look of fear in her face when Jenny and I both sat down on the couch. It was rare for me to sit in the living room. Jenny said, “Could we turn the TV off? I have something I need to tell you.”
Bea’s face went pale right away. I don’t know what she was expecting. “All right,” she said, and got up and did it.
Jenny had rehearsed a little speech. She had tried it out on me and I thought it was pretty good. She started, “You’ve been really good to us, Maggie and me. And I hope, well, I hope …”
She was floundering. Bea just gaped at her, a frown creasing her forehead.
Jenny was supposed to say something about hoping we hadn’t been too much trouble and that she’d made a bad mistake and then ask for forgiveness. But it came out differently. “You’re going to be surprised,” she said. “It looks like I’m pregnant.” Her tone seemed almost gleeful.
Bea did look shocked. Her mouth did kind of fall open. “It looks like?” she said. “Are you or not?”
“I am,” said Jenny. She started to cry.
“Oh don’t turn on the water works with me,” Bea said, deadly calm. “If you think that’s going to work with me you’ve got another think coming. Who is it? Is it that John? I knew there was something fishy with him. I had a bad feeling when he took off like that.”
“He doesn’t know anything about it,” Jenny said.
“I will not have this house turned into the talk of the town. Everybody thinking we’re just running wild over here, that I’m keeping a pair of sluts, no men to look after them. I want you out of my house.”
It was my turn for my mouth to fall open. She ran on. “I’ve lived in this town for sixteen years. We’re respectable people. Poor Ted will be turning over in his grave.”
“Shut up!” I shouted. I stood up. I wanted to slap her.
“No, you shut up. This is my house and you’ll do what I say. I can see I’ve been far too lax. I felt sorry for you. And all the while this has been going on behind my back. I must be the laughingstock. I want her out of my house.”
Poor Jenny started to sob and ran to her room.
I shouted, “This is 1974, you cow!”
“Don’t say another word,” Bea said, calm again. “Don’t say another word to me. You go to your room, I don’t want to see either of your faces. Go!” She screamed the last word so hard the house shook.
Except for Jenny’s heartbroken sobs, the house fell quiet. My mouth had gone dry, but I wouldn’t leave our room to get water. I wasn’t scared so much as shaken. I couldn’t believe my instincts had been so wrong.
After a while, I heard Bea on the phone. She would be calling her sister.
I could not think of a single thing to say. Jenny got up, went to her dresser drawer and took out the letters from Mom. As she read through each one, she sobbed even harder.
“I shouldn’t have called her a cow,” I finally said.
“What?”
“I called Bea a cow. I shouldn’t have done that.”
Bea swung the door wide.
“I found a place she can go,” she said to me, as if Jenny wasn’t there. “She can stay there until she has the baby. They’ll arrange the adoption.”
Jenny kept her head down and said nothing.
“Where is it?” I asked.
“It’s in Vancouver. It’s a home for unwed mothers. Run by the nuns. Maybe they’ll knock some sense into her head.”
“What about school?” I said.
“What about it? She should have thought about that before she went running around. Now she’s made her bed.”
“Do I have any choice?” Jenny finally said.
“No,” said Bea and left the room.
Jenny and I stayed awake most of the night. I couldn’t stand to see her so broken, but we had little to say to each other. Outside, the rain fell steadily. Winter coming on. We couldn’t escape to the woods or the tree fort. There was nowhere to go. My mind kept going to Chiwid. She was out there dug in under a tree, trying to stay dry.
Bea bought a ticket for Jenny the next day. The day after that, she would get on the bus to Vancouver. I went to Stedman’s and bought her a travel toothbrush and soap holder and a box of stationery, printed in pink gingham and scented like strawberries.
“I’ll write to you every day,” Jenny said, as she climbed on the bus. I watched her go. I had managed to keep myself from asking her the question that had been hounding me for three days: what’s going to happen to me?