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February 1941
It couldn’t be. Ellen stared uncomprehendingly at the doctor. What he was saying was not possible.
“Are you all right, Mrs... .Smith,” the elderly doctor asked. “You seemed unnerved by this news. But surely you knew it was a possibility... isn’t that the reason you came to see me today?”
“Y..yes,” Ellen stammered. “I..I knew... b..but... it just... it can’t be!”
“But it is, my dear. You are going to have a baby.”
“But..but, we were so careful!”
“Careful?” The doctor frowned at her. “Are you saying that you and your husband were trying to prevent a pregnancy? Why is that?”
Ellen stared at him, unable to think of an answer. Why would a respectable married woman try not to get pregnant? In other circumstances, Ellen could think of plenty of reasons why a married couple would want to postpone having a baby or to limit the number of children they had. In other circumstances, Ellen would gladly have a heated debate with this antiquated old relic of a doctor about the health risks of women having too many babies too close together, about a woman’s right to choose when... or whether... to have children.
But this was not other circumstances. She was not a respectable married woman. As she struggled to come up with a response, the doctor’s expression softened. He got up from where he was sitting behind his desk and went around to sit in the chair next to Ellen. He patted her hand comfortingly.
“Is it because your name is not really Smith? And you are not really a missus, are you, young lady?”
She stared at Dr. Cantwell, her eyes bright with unshed tears. He was tall and slim. She could imagine him taking his daily constitutional faithfully, regardless of weather or whatever crises arose at home or in his practice. In his late sixties, his hair was still thick, though it had turned to silver. His eyes, behind his round wire framed glasses, were a piercing blue. His white lab coat was starched and free of wrinkles, his gray pant legs showing beneath the coat were ironed to sharp creases. She was sure that under the lab coat his tie was perfectly knotted, with a simple tie clip securing it to his starched white shirt. His suit jacket hung on a hanger on the coat rack in the corner, waiting for him to exchange it for the lab coat before going home at the end of the day. He smiled kindly and patted her hand again.
“Now, Miss... uh... Smith. You are not the first young lady to find herself in this predicament. Is your young man the responsible kind?”
Ellen swallowed and closed her eyes, Abraham’s face appearing in her mind.
“Yes,” she said softly. “He’s very responsible. He quit school when his father died and went to work to help support his family.”
“Well, then, he sounds like a fine man who won’t shirk his responsibilities. You just tell him what has happened and I’m sure he will do the right thing and marry you. The sooner the better, since you are already three months along. Of course, there will be talk when your baby comes early, but it will die down soon enough. You know the old saying,” he added with a chuckle, “the first baby can come at any time. The rest generally take nine months.”
She smiled weakly at the old joke. She was in a fog through the rest of the visit, vaguely hearing Dr. Cantwell’s advice about exercise and a sensible diet. He told her to come back in a month. Finally it was over and she was walking down the street to the bus stop. Ellen had chosen a doctor in Santa Monica, someone who would not know her from the hospital. Riding the bus back to Los Angeles, she let the news soak in.
She was going to have a baby. They had been so careful. It was difficult to get condoms, since they were generally only given out to prevent disease, not for contraception. However, she had been able to get them from the hospital, and they had used them every time they made love. Well, almost every time, she thought with a sinking feeling. That day she had met Abraham’s mother, the day he asked her to marry him, they had not used one. She had not expected to go to his apartment that day and so had not thought to check that there were any in her pocketbook.
How could she have been so stupid, she wondered. She was a medical school graduate, and would soon finish her internship and get her medical license. How could she make such a naïve mistake? She had not even suspected for a long time. She simply thought her busy schedule was exhausting her and keeping her from recovering from the flu. It was not until just a week ago that she had suddenly realized she couldn’t remember the last time she had her menses. She had always been irregular, but as she looked back over her calendar, she could not remember having one at all for two, possibly three months. That was when she sought out Dr. Cantwell.
She got off the bus and began to walk the few blocks to her boarding house. She stopped, unwilling to go home, but not sure where to go. She needed to talk to Abraham. He was not working, she knew. He had wanted to spend the day with her, but she had made excuses. Now, suddenly, she wanted desperately to see him, to talk to him. Abraham would make sense of this; he would know what they should do.
Ellen went back to the bus stop. As she rode to Watts, she hoped she would find Abraham at home, since he was not expecting her. She was so relieved when he answered the door that she burst into tears.
“Ellen,” he exclaimed, pulling her into the room and closing the door. “What’s wrong, baby? What happened? Are you all right?”
“Oh Abraham,” she wailed, clinging to him. “I’ve made such a mess of everything.”
He held her tightly while she sobbed and when it began to lessen, he led her to a chair and urged her to sit down. Kneeling in front of her, he took her hands in his and looked at her tear-stained face anxiously.
“Just tell me what it is, baby,” he said gently.
Ellen took a deep breath and looked him in the eye, holding his gaze.
“I’m pregnant,” she whispered.
He stared at her. With all their romantic talk of being “married like in the Bible,” they had never looked at what kind of future they might have together. Neither had ever thought about the possibility of children. They could hide their relationship from others, but a baby? Ellen stayed quiet, letting him grasp the gravity of their situation in his own timing. Her glance strayed to the table, where the red paper heart she had made for him for Valentine’s Day still sat, suddenly looking childish and foolish to her.
Abraham stood and paced around the room, rubbing his hand through his hair. He stopped abruptly and turned to face her, understanding dawning.
“That day you met Mama... ”
“Yes,” she said, hanging her head. “I’m sorry, Abraham. It’s my fault; I should have been more careful.”
He dropped to the floor in front of her and gently grasped her chin, tilting her head up to look at him.
“It’s not your fault, baby. It’s our fault. We should have been more careful.” He rested his forehead against hers. “We’re in this together, Ellen. Whatever happens, we’re in this together.”
She sighed and closed her eyes, feeling calm for the first time that day.
“I..I know of some doctors who can... take care of... this,” she said.
Abraham sat back on his heels and looked at her.
“You mean... get rid of it?” She nodded wordlessly. “Is that what you want,” he asked.
“I don’t know,” she replied with a sigh. “I just... no... no, that’s not what I want.” She smiled sadly and leaned forward, cupping his face with her hands. “What I want is to marry the man I love, have his baby, and live happily ever after. But that isn’t going to happen, is it?”
He covered her left hand with his right and turned his head to kiss her palm.
“No, it isn’t. But we’ll figure it out.”