Chapter 13

On the bed were all the objects Lillian would need: the button napkin, the string for Cat’s Cradle, the box of the newest notions, and a small pile of turkey feathers she was able to get from the butcher. She shook the button napkin and the clacking brought Marie running from the kitchen. Once Marie sat down in front of Lillian on the bed, she took a big breath and started, ever so gently, to brush Marie’s hair.

Marie sprang off the bed but Lillian was ready for her. “Beautiful dreamer, wake unto me…” she sang as she grabbed Marie’s hand and brought her back to the bed. Soon they were both singing: “Starlight and dewdrops are waiting for thee…” Helen had sung this song to them at night, and although Lillian had tried to find a song that didn’t remind her of Helen, she could never find one as calming for Marie. Neither sister had a very good voice, but Lillian would have listened to cats in heat if it meant she could brush out Marie’s hair without a fight. Plus it was the only time she got to hear Marie’s voice; while speaking was a thing of the past, singing had never abandoned her sister. Lillian placed Marie’s hand on the pile of feathers, and Marie brought one to her face and gently brushed it against her cheeks as they sang on. Lillian picked up the hairbrush and started on the ends of Marie’s hair, and soon Marie stopped noticing.

By the time they reached the second verse—back in the Helen days, the girls agreed this verse was their favorite because of the mermaids—Lillian was able to drop out of the singing and focus on the difficult task at hand. How long had it been since she had brushed Marie’s hair? She couldn’t remember. And she wouldn’t be doing it now if they weren’t going to their aunt and uncle’s for Sunday supper. Earlier in the week, Michael had extended the invitation from his parents. At first Lillian had declined.

“I don’t know,” she said, “I haven’t even talked with them after moving here. Marie was like a tornado while we were there. When she put all those fork holes in your granny’s linen tablecloth, I thought your mother was going to cry.”

“So shall we wait longer and make it even more awkward?” asked Michael. “All has been forgiven. And I never liked that tablecloth anyway.”

“What about if they want to talk about…you know?”

“They know the basics of why you left, and believe me, they won’t want to bring any of that up. Or anything about your mother. Aunt Helen is not discussed in our house. With my family there is nothing a little denial can’t take care of.” Michael’s smile was more of a grimace. “Anyway, I think they didn’t invite you before this because they were just getting used to how things had changed. Now it’s enough in the past that they can totally ignore it and pretend it was always this way!”

“I don’t know, Michael.”

“Well, I thought you might resist, so when my mother stated her intentions to make her bread pudding—”

Lillian made a face; she and Michael agreed Fiona’s bread pudding was like lead.

“—I convinced her to spring for her gooseberry tart.”

“Oh, that’s her best one. I’ll have to leave room for dessert, although you know there is no way to say no to her when it comes to food.”

“Too full?” Michael had long ago mastered imitating his mother to make Lillian laugh. “Surely not! Just a wee bit more roast on yer plate now. Yer as thin as a twig in the kindling bin!”

“It’s really Marie that’s the twig. She doesn’t love what I put on the table but she really lights into your mother’s meals.”

“And when we do the dishes, I’ve got bags on washing.” He placed his hands on her shoulders. “So may I report back two yeses for supper?”

She pretended to think about it. “Fine. But I’ve got washing.”

By the time they got to Martin and Fiona’s apartment, Lillian had long since realized that she had misjudged the distance. It was a balmy fall afternoon and Lillian decided to save the cab fare and have the two of them walk it. Marie had started out a bit nervous when they first set out, clinging to Lillian’s arm as she acclimated to the sounds and smells of outdoors, but once they turned east onto 42nd Street and began walking the long blocks between the avenues, Marie began to enjoy herself. By the time they passed Grand Central Terminal, however — a shame Marie can’t see such a beautiful building, thought Lillian—Marie slowed down and Lillian had to pull her along. Without warning, Marie plunked herself down on the sidewalk and started tugging at her boots. An ember of panic started to catch and glow inside Lillian. She had known for a while that Marie’s boots were too small but had forgotten to take her out for new ones, something she easily could have done yesterday had she remembered. And now she would have to persuade Marie to walk the remaining distance. A glance at the street signs told Lillian they were only four short blocks north of her aunt and uncle’s apartment, but that was probably too long to walk in just stockings.

Lillian had double-tied Marie’s boot laces, and consequently Marie grew more and more frustrated that she could not remove her boots, now kicking her heels against the sidewalk. A few passers-by raised eyebrows at the scene but most just flowed around her, giving her a wide berth. Lillian, however, could see the situation was about to escalate, and her glowing ember of panic flared. Helen had been an expert at distracting and maneuvering Marie in times like these, and the pragmatic side of Lillian put aside her feelings about her mother and thought hard about what Helen would do.

“Gooseberry tart!” she whispered enthusiastically as she bent down next to Marie. “Aunt Fiona has a gooseberry tart sitting on her kitchen table, and she wants to give you a piece right now!” Aunt Fiona would not be pleased to have Marie spoiling her supper but Lillian would explain. Surely Marie could have just a little piece.

Lillian tried not to look too closely at what was on the back of Marie’s dress when she rose from the sidewalk, but at least the rest of the trip was without incident.

“You look exhausted,” commented Michael as they sat down with Martin in the parlor, minus Fiona and Michael's sister Kate who were in the kitchen finishing supper preparations and doling out a sliver of tart for Marie.

“It was a longer walk than I thought, and Marie was ready for it to be done about four blocks too early.”

“Walking!” exclaimed Martin. “It’s almost two bleddy miles! Why the devil didn’t ya take a hansom?”

“It was such beautiful weather. And Marie doesn’t get out all that often.” Not to mention Lillian was trying to economize, all the more important with a looming purchase of new boots.

“Well, you’ll be taking one back on your uncle, especially in the dark. Hell’s Kitchen is no place for the likes of you to be wandering around at night.”

“Thank you, Uncle. Although we are right on the edge of that neighborhood, it’s really not so bad.” When she and Marie had first moved in, Mrs. Sweeney across the hall had told her never to go west of 9th Avenue, and so far she’d heeded that advice and had no problems.

Kate walked into the parlor and plunked herself down on the floor. “It’s not at all dangerous?” she asked.

“I heard that Negros live cheek to jowl with whites over there.” Martin took a sip of his beer while Lillian tried to decide how to answer. Michael had often told Lillian that Martin disparaged Negros at every opportunity, something to do with elevating the status of the Irish by positioning them on the white side of the gulf between white and black. This had only served to make Michael take the opposite stance, inspiring many conversations with Lillian in recent years convincing her on the equality of all men. But now she didn’t want to get into a discussion that would put Michael’s teeth on edge and potentially ruin the evening.

“My block is mostly Irish and German.” That was true at least of Lillian’s building. She didn’t know who lived in the other buildings, although she’d seen Negros as she walked home from the El at night, coming out of a groggery that seemed to have an exclusively Negro clientele.

“Well then,” said Martin just as Fiona came in from the kitchen. “Supper’s on!” she called out, drying her hands on her apron.

Most of the conversation during the meal was dominated by Fiona’s questions about Lillian’s job. “What are the other nurses like?”

“Very… professional,” said Lillian. She thought about Janey. “One took me under her wing to show me the ropes, but I’ve learned the basics by now.”

“And the cancer. Are ya being careful?”

“Aunt Fiona, it’s not contagious.”

“Still, it couldn’t hurt to be a wee bit careful,” she commented as she heaped a few more boiled potatoes on Lillian’s plate. “Any winsome lads there?”

“Well, the patients are all women.”

“Just as well. Sure an’ you don’t want to fall in with a lad that’s got the cancer!”

“Good thing that can’t happen then.” Lillian smiled. Aunt Fiona was relentless in her pursuit to marry off anyone over the age of 16.

“The doctors, then. Any that have caught your eye?”

Lillian exchanged a glance at Michael and then looked back at Fiona. “I think they’re all married.”

Michael raised his eyebrows. “Even your Dr. Bauer?”

“Ooh,” said Fiona. “Who’s this?” She rubbed her hands together.

“He’s the house surgeon,” said Lillian as she kicked Michael’s foot under the table.

“He’s taken a shine to our Lillian,” said Michael as he poured water from the pitcher to his glass. “Isn’t that right, Lilypad?”

“House surgeon!” marveled Fiona. “That sounds grand!”

“Is he handsome?” asked Kate, wiggling her eyebrows.

Lillian laughed. “He is as plain as muslin. You would forget him the moment you passed him on the street.” Unless he looked at you with those eyes like chipped ice. “But he’s quite a talented surgeon, and it’s an honor that he wants to speak to me about anything.”

“I knew you would be better than that silly old Annabelle who couldn’t keep her dinner down after seeing a few little bandages,” said Kate. “You always were the tough one that way. But is it really awful? The smells? The blood? Do you see a lot of dead bodies?”

“All right, that’s enough!” yelled Martin. “I’ll not have all this revolting manner of things talked about at my table!” Fiona crossed herself.

After a pause, Lillian said, “A lot of it is very workaday. Bandages. Bed linens.”

“Dead bodies,” Kate added under her breath, just loud enough for her father to hear and pound the table. “What the bleddy hell did I just say?” Lillian had to look away from Kate and Michael grinning into their napkins so she would not burst out laughing.

Kate volunteered to help with the dishes in exchange for the more repulsive details of Lillian’s job. “What about the surgeries? Is it very bloody?” she asked as she jammed a cloth inside a glass to dry it.

“I haven’t assisted in one, but I’ve walked by the theater afterward and once there was a lake of blood on the floor. Something must have gone wrong.”

“Did it smell?”

“Like copper and warm milk,” she whispered loudly, and Kate squealed in disgust and delight.

“You are certainly making this up,” said Michael as he gathered dirty silverware.

“Not a bit.” Perhaps the lake had been more like a large puddle, and she hadn’t smelled anything from the hallway walking by that day, but she’d changed enough bloody linens to know what it was like.

“What about dead people?” asked Kate.

“One of my jobs is to ferry them around. Well, to the crematorium.”

Kate’s eyes widened like saucers. “What? Do they have to burn you if you die of cancer?”

“No! It’s just those who have no one to claim them.”

“How can you do it? Aren’t you scared?”

Lillian thought about this as she watched the water fill the plugged sink. “I was a little nervous the first time. But really, if you think about it, the body is just a machine. A broken machine, by the time they come to the hospital. There are people inside the machines, but when they pass, they just leave this shell behind. It’s not them anymore. They’re just leaving their broken machine behind.” She hadn’t really thought this through until this moment, and it came out in such a somber way that it cast a pall over the kitchen.

Michael broke the silence by clearing his throat dramatically. “This conversation has become entirely too maudlin. Kate, go relieve our poor mother from that endless game of patty cake with Marie.”

Michael handed Lillian the big platter to dry as Kate trotted off to the parlor. “They’re happy to see you,” he said.

“You were right, it’s like nothing happened.”

“You know Aunt Helen never quite fit in. Not just because her people were French. She didn’t exactly make an effort with this family.”

Lillian nodded; she and Michael had discussed this before. “Wouldn’t give her daughters good Irish names. Insisted we speak the King’s English.” According to Helen, her own parents were never able to overcome their French accents here in America, and this held them back in all sorts of ways; Helen vowed that her children would speak well and forbid them to use slang. Michael bought into his aunt’s reasoning and elevated his own language in recent years.Lillian suspected it was to annoy Martin.

Michael continued the litany. “Moved you across town after your father died. To a less Irish neighborhood she couldn’t afford. Putting on airs. And then—”

“Yes, well, no need to go over any more of that.” Lillian took a breath. “But I take your point. They didn’t mind removing her from the family portrait. It’s just nice to know that they didn’t feel like they had to remove Marie and me too.”

Lillian carried a stack of plates from the counter and submerged them in the soapy water. She felt the familiar anger about her mother sneaking into her brain and quickly changed the subject. “You know, I had my first meeting with Dr. Bauer on Thursday, and he’s not the deviant you suspected. We discussed the reasons for a surgery he performed that day. It was very professional. I could never learn these things from a nurse.”

“I have no doubt he knows many things that would interest you.” Michael thought for a moment. “What do you mean, reasons for surgery? Isn’t it always to remove cancer? Why else would you have surgery in a cancer hospital?”

“Well, this was a far-gone case. There was no hope, she only had days to live.” She was pleased at how professional that sounded, hoping Michael noticed how much she knew about what was going on with the patients.

“So why did they operate on her?” Michael frowned.

“Evidently there were important things that could be learned from seeing…er, what was going on. Inside.” This sounded much less convincing than when she was talking with Dr. Bauer.

“But wouldn’t recovering from surgery be pretty awful for someone who was about to die?”

“She didn’t survive the surgery.” Lillian handed Michael a wet plate but he didn’t reach for it.

“What are you saying? They killed her because they thought they might learn something?”

“No! Well…. No. It wasn’t like that. They didn’t mean to… they didn’t mean for her to die.” That was true, right? The walls in the kitchen felt as if they were just slightly closing in on her. “She was in pain. She was about to die anyway. She had something that could help people in the future with her kind of cancer.” Lillian was still holding the wet plate that Michael wouldn’t take, now dripping on the floor.

“Lillian.” Michael leaned against the counter and stared at her. “Did this really happen? What did her family think?”

Lillian hadn’t thought about the woman’s family, though she did know from the chart that she had next of kin. “I don’t think they knew.” She slid the clean plate back into the dirty water and saw it quickly swallowed.

“So they had no chance to say their goodbyes? And the woman agreed to this?”

Lillian was now quite sorry she had brought this up with Michael. Dr. Bauer had been so compelling as to why this surgery was justified, but here in her aunt’s kitchen it all seemed different. Instead of convincing Michael to think favorably of Dr. Bauer, it seemed she had done the opposite.

“We can’t know all of Dr. Bauer’s reasoning,” she stated, but she could not look at Michael as she said it. She looked down into the sink, the dishes under a thin film of suds, the washrag floating limply in the corner.

Michael gently pulled her over to the kitchen table and they both sat down. “You did nothing wrong. Maybe your fancy doctor did something wrong and maybe he didn’t. But this sounds dodgy to me, and what worries me is that it seemed pretty easy for him to convince you not to think about the dodgy parts.”

“Michael, he is house surgeon and I roll bandages.”

“That’s exactly what I am talking about! Stop saying that! Who cares what he does and you do? You have a mind that can think, and you don’t have to turn it off because you roll bandages.”

Just then, Fiona walked into the kitchen with Marie. “This one is getting a wee bit restless. I’ve got your fare.” She folded coins into Lillian’s hand.

Outside, Lillian and Michael walked to Third Avenue to find a cab, Marie between them swinging their hands back and forth. “Michael, please don’t be angry.”

“I’m not, Lilypad. I’m worried. Just promise me that you won’t let your guard down.”

“What am I guarding against?”

He turned to her. “Anything. Everything.”