Breeding Like Rabbits Page 12

  “Hop up on the table, and I’ll measure you. I’ll order it and call you when it comes in.”

  I can’t believe how light my body felt when I hopped onto that table, but the lightness of my mind was far greater. I felt like a weight had just rolled off my shoulders.

  Britt linked arms with her mother as they left Dr. Karsten’s office and walked to the car. She stopped. “Mother, what about Andy? I’ll have to tell him.”

  “He loves you. He’ll want what’s best for you—for all of you, and that’s a healthy, loving wife and mother, not a frazzled, too skinny nervous wreck.”

  “Mother!”

  Britt helped her mother do the cooking and baking. She’ll never forget the day that her mother lined up the freshly baked bread on the kitchen counter to cool, after buttering the tops to keep the crusts soft. The counter was also just the right height for changing a diaper, and it was convenient—no having to run upstairs to their room. On this day, she changed Daniel’s wet diaper on the corner to the left of the bread. As soon as she took the diaper off, air must have activated something, for a stream of urine arched high in the air and came down onto the bread loaves. Britt gasped—what to do? Urine, she’d read, is sterile, and what could be more pure than her little baby’s pee? And it really wasn’t that much. Nobody will get hurt or sick. Thank goodness for the butter on top—it won’t sink in. She diapered Daniel, picked him up, and went to the drawer beside the sink. She took out a sponge and ran hot water over it. She squeezed out the excess water and wiped off the top of each loaf. This is a case of “silence is golden.” She kept the secret, and so did Daniel.

  Ironing clothes is perhaps the least liked job of most housewives—if it were not, in Britt’s opinion, it should be. A Minnesota summer with no air-conditioning is brutal. Minnesota is known for its frigid winters, but the state also has high-humidity, hundred-degree days in summer—miserable. Britt endured the misery every hot, humid Tuesday when she ironed at least fifteen collared shirts. Her father and two brothers did not wear T-shirts; they wore cotton shirts with collars. In her father’s case, the shirts all had long sleeves too. She developed a system by which she could iron a collared shirt in less than two minutes by the end of the summer.

  Summer is a very busy time on the farm, and this was a big farm, with big men, her father and two hired hands, working it—all were close to or over six feet tall. Every time they came in to eat, Sara cried and ran to her mother. Britt spent a goodly amount of time down on her knees that summer, comforting Sara.

  Grandpa Carl, Britt’s father, loved little babies. Though he had a lot of work to do on the farm, after it was done and he’d eaten, he’d hold Daniel. He’d smile and talk and cluck at him. What a picture they make. They’ve bonded. I wish Andy and Daniel could have had more time together before Andy’s ship left. It’s as important for fathers to bond with their children as it is for mothers.

  Britt acknowledged she owed her mother a lot for all the help she gave her the summer Andy was cruising the Mediterranean. She and her two children lived on the farm for six months. She had only one complaint about that time—Grandma Ingrid would feed Daniel more than he needed or wanted. She felt that she should fatten up this little preemie. In her day, a roly-poly baby was a sign of good health. Roly-poly Daniel would grow to be a husky child, wearing husky clothing. He would not like that, but he would have the will power to do something about it—he played hockey and was good at it—defenseman on the starting lineup when he was in high school. The husky child became a hunk of a man.

  Andy’s ship docked in Newport at the end of November. It took him two days to make it to northern Minnesota. Sara ran to him and hugged his legs. “Daddy, Daddy.” Britt threw her arms around his neck and gave him a long kiss. Daniel wanted nothing to do with this stranger. He screamed as his dad lifted him up.

  It was time for the Andy Hughes family to head back to Newport. This time Britt’s life was too busy, too full, to spend time saying goodbye to any of her childhood haunts and farm memories, but she did find time to visit the grave of her childhood friend—Spot, black and white and whiskered no longer, but she knew her dog’s spirit was somewhere.

  After she’d hugged and kissed her parents and thanked them for letting her come home with two babies, they hit the road.

  CHAPTER

  13

  Packed into the old gray Ford, the Hughes family of four started the long trip back to the navy base in Newport, Rhode Island.

  “Mama, Mama.” Sara’s little hands had surprising strength as they tugged on the collar of Britt’s jacket. “Up, up, Mama!”

  “Not now, Sara. Mama’s feeding Daniel. Sit down and cuddle in your blankie.” Sara called her beloved, ragged blanket with the satin binding her “blankie.” Sara, put off by her mother, started to cry—or rather, to whine.

  Britt finished feeding Daniel, whose closed eyes and deep breathing told her he was asleep. She got a good grip on him as she struggled to turn herself around in the front passenger seat and then onto her knees. In this position, she could reach over and lay Daniel down on the backseat. They were fortunate that he hadn’t yet learned how to roll over. She covered him and then held her hands out to Sara. “Up you go!” Britt clutched Sara under the arms and lifted her until her folded legs cleared the back of the front seat. Britt then turned and settled herself down on the front passenger seat with Sara on her lap. “Wow, that’s quite a workout.” Through it all, Sara had kept a tight hold on her blankie, and she settled down right away with her two favorite things—her mom’s lap and her blankie. In five minutes, she was asleep.

  “Andy, eighteen hundred miles of this—I don’t know if I can stand it. I know one thing: if we make it, you better not mess with me. The size of my biceps will be huge.”

  “You can make it, Britt. Just take it one mile at a time.”

  Britt arched her eyebrows. Easy for him to say. All he has to do is keep his hands on the steering wheel and watch the road. I have to take care of two kids in relays—both of them wanting my full attention all the time. I feel like a juggler. She leaned her head back and took a catnap.

  And so it went—mile after tiresome mile. They stopped for gas at a small town a few miles out of Chicago—twenty-eight cents a gallon, a lot on their limited budget. They needed to find a motel, get some sleep, stretch their legs, and unkink their backs. They found a motel with reasonable rates and checked into a room with a double bed. Sara was in heaven because she got to sleep between Mama and Daddy in the double bed. Of course, she had to bring her blankie with her.

  For Daniel’s bed, Britt took the two chairs in the room, laid them down, backs facing in and touching. She then tipped one to the right and the other to the left and moved each chair’s back close in to the other chair’s seat, creating a legless crib with one seat forming the headboard and the other seat the footboard. It was just enough space for little Daniel. She then folded a quilt into a makeshift mattress. She fed Daniel, rocked him by sitting on the bed and swaying her body back and forth, and laid him down on the quilt. He drifted off to sleep. Does he remember when he slept in a drawer when I took him home from the hospital? Probably not.

  Refreshed, they started out early the next morning after stopping at a grocery to buy milk, bread, peanut butter, bananas, and graham crackers—their version of take-out. Britt couldn’t help it; she splurged and bought a package of Oreo cookies for thirty-nine cents.

  Andy saw her try to smuggle the package of Oreos into the car. “What’s that? It doesn’t look like a necessity to me.”

  “It is for me—a girl needs her chocolate, don’t cha know?”

  “What did you get me?”

  She smiled. “Peace and quiet while Sara and I are munching on our cookies. Even Daniel can work his gums on an Oreo. You can have one too, if you’re good.”

  Andy was right. They made it. They drove through the gated entrance of the enli
sted men’s trailer park. This was their new home—if they could find it amongst the endless rows of green trailers, like gigantic green fruit beetles. They were all alike on the inside too.

  Britt opened the front door to see a wood-paneled interior, the front of the beetle, and almost bumped her left hip on a round, cast-iron heater. To her right, a couch stretched the length of a row of windows. The couch, though it could be converted into a double bed, qualified the area to be called the living room.

  A small window was opposite the door, and below it stood a table with two cushioned benches. The trio was capable of transforming into yet another bed by lowering the table to rest on the outer edge of each bench. The cushions from the benches were set on top to form the mattress—an ingenious transformation of table to extra sleeping space. The apartment-sized stove, refrigerator, and sink completed the kitchen.

  She left the front of the beetle and progressed into its midsection, which was divided straight down the middle by a narrow hall, and saw two bunk beds to the right, and to the left, a closet and a small bathroom. The narrow hall ended at the beginning of the beetle’s back section, which held a not very masterful master bedroom. But it was their bedroom, and Britt was happy just to be sleeping beside Andy again after sleeping alone for the last six months.

  About a week later, Britt woke up to the sound of loud crying. Daniel wanted a bottle, and he wanted it now. It was well past midnight, but babies don’t care about the time. Britt crept out of bed, hoping Daniel’s cries would not awaken Andy or Sara, sleeping in the bunk bed right above Daniel. She blinked her eyes to get them focused for the twenty or so steps to the kitchen part of their cramped trailer. Then Britt heard Andy’s voice: “Oh, no, you don’t! He has to learn to sleep through the night.”

  Darn! He woke Andy. “But he’ll wake Sara up. I’ll just give him a little orange juice.” She stumbled to the fridge, got out the orange juice, poured some into a plastic baby bottle, and screwed on the nipple cap. Turning, Britt jumped. Andy had followed her.

  “Give me that bottle. Hand it over right now.” Andy’s right hand reached out and grabbed. Now they both had a tight grip on the bottle.

  “No!”

  Daniel’s cries had turned into screams, and Sara was starting to fuss. Rage boiled up inside Britt, and she squeezed the bottle as hard as she could. The cap loosened, spraying orange juice up and out into their angry faces and onto the top of the hot heater. The juice sizzled, burned, and stank. By now both kids were screaming. Andy and Britt glared at each other, still angry but shocked and speechless at what had happened.

  They’d just had their first real fight.

  Britt stuck a pacifier in Daniel’s mouth, hoping it’d do the trick. They went back to bed. The trailer was quiet.

  Britt lay awake for a while, just thinking. In two months, we’ll celebrate our third anniversary. It’s not easy learning to live with another person, especially if that person is in the military and is frequently absent. I spent the six months he was at sea learning how to take care of two little ones by myself. Just when I’d figured out how to do that, he comes home and stirs things up. He was telling me how to take care of my kids! At last she too slept.

  The next morning, Britt scraped burnt orange juice off the top of the heater and realized she had been wrong. They weren’t just “her kids”—they were his too. We should be ashamed of fighting in front of our children. We have made a family, and we have to act like parents and show a united front to our children. If we have disagreements, and we will, we’ll still fight but only when we are alone—no kids allowed.

  Andy stumbled in from the bedroom, dark circles under his eyes. He looked at Britt and said, “What are you doing? Oh … we really went at it, didn’t we? Here, I’ll help you.”

  “Okay. Andy, I kind of got out of control last night. Taking care of Sara and Daniel when you were gone—you were gone a long time—I guess I started thinking of them as ‘my kids,’ but I know they’re yours too. I’m sorry I forgot that.” She leaned over the cast-iron heater they were scrubbing and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

  “I shouldn’t have tried to force the bottle out of your hands.”

  “We’re both beginners when it comes to raising kids. We need to talk about how to do it. We’ll learn.” She walked to the refrigerator and pulled out a carton of eggs and put the small skillet on the kitchen stove, saying, “How do you want your eggs?”

  “Sunny side up, as usual, and two pieces of toast.”

  “Coming right up.” She jumped as Andy kissed the back of her neck.

  For the first time, Andy and Britt had friends as a couple, and their new friends, Amy and Chuck, lived right across the alley. Like Andy and Britt, they were Midwesterners, and they also played Pinochle, one of Andy’s favorite card games. Britt knew how to play, but she wasn’t born with Andy’s “card sense” (Andy said he’d started playing penny-ante poker when he was four). Britt’s family thought card playing, with the exception of Old Maid, was a sin. Playing cards for Britt was just a means to an end—the chance to visit and talk with friends.

  Christmas was just around the corner, and Britt wanted to start establishing some traditions. She’d mix those of Andy’s family with those of her family. She’d not only mix them; she’d turn them upside down. Instead of Midnight Mass, Andy’s family’s tradition, they’d go Christmas morning. Instead of a Christmas Eve reading of the birth of Jesus and then opening gifts, her family’s tradition, they’d do that after morning mass and breakfast. They would have a small tree, both families’ tradition.

  Food was a big part of Britt’s family’s Christmas. Her mother had always baked Spritz cookies and decorated them with red and green sprinkles. Britt, not having a Spritz cookies press, settled for sugar cookies sprinkled with colored sugar. She didn’t even try to find lutefisk—Andy couldn’t stand the smell—but she did find some lefse, the traditional soft Norwegian flatbread made out of flour and milk or cream, cooked on a griddle. Britt sprinkled the rounds of lefse with sugar and cinnamon and rolled them up; Andy liked lefse prepared this way.

  Britt leafed through her Betty Crocker Picture Cookbook, looking for holiday recipes. They all look so good. She glanced up as Andy came in.

  “Hi, hon, I’m looking for Christmas recipes. Did your family have any special Christmas foods that you loved?”

  “Well, we always had a roasted goose. And I remember the sweet Christmas bread with fruit in it that my mother used to make.”

  “My mother made bread like that too. She called it Stollen. I think I can take one of these sweetbread recipes and just add candied mixed fruit, raisins, and nuts. That should do it. I’m glad I took bread making one year as a 4-H project, but I better make a list. We won’t have a goose. That’s too much. We’ll make do with a small chicken.”

  On Christmas Eve, nine-month-old Daniel would not eat. Britt felt his forehead—he was burning up. When she took his temperature, it was 103 degrees. Christmas Eve was spent at the Newport Naval Hospital where poor little Daniel was subjected to a spinal tap—the doctor feared he might have spinal meningitis. Fortunately, he did not, but he did have pneumonia. He was put in an oxygen tent and kept in the hospital for two days. The last thing Britt and Andy heard as they left their little boy to take Sara home and put her to bed was Daniel’s heartbreaking cries and screams.

  It was not at all the Christmas Britt had planned, the one she hoped they’d remember, but it turned out to be memorable in its own way.

  CHAPTER

  14

  Britt dressed Sara in her yellow, nylon snowsuit with an attached hood. Their gated trailer community had very little traffic this time of the day, and it was so beautiful outside—sun shining, birds singing. Spring was definitely on the way. Britt could see no harm in letting Sara go out for some fresh air while Daniel napped. Britt wouldn’t mind getting some fresh air herself. Together they stepped out. Sara wante
d to look for “her” black kitty, a stray that hung around. Sara was attracted to all animals. No kitty in sight today. They walked around the perimeter of their small yard, a yard that Andy and she planned to partially enclose as a play space for Sara and Daniel.

  Daniel! I better go and check on him. He may be awake and wondering where we are. Britt glanced at Sara—she was fine, sitting on the ground and studying a small rock she held between her hands. Britt entered the trailer and looked at Daniel. He’s fine, still asleep, but he’s kicked his blanket off. I don’t want him to get cold and get a cold or, God forbid, pneumonia. She quickly covered him up and hurried outside. Is that a truck I hear?

  It was a truck, a back-loader garbage truck, and it was backing up and over Sara! Britt screamed and ran toward the cab of the truck, waving her arms wildly, yelling “Stop!”

  One of the two men who had been picking up the garbage cans heard her. He motioned for the truck to stop, and the driver slammed on the brakes—the truck stopped … thank God. In less than a minute, Britt’s world had turned upside down.

  Sara lay close to the back of a rear tire, the right side of her body snug up against the curb. Britt dashed to the neighboring trailer. “Amy, Amy, you’ve got to watch Daniel for me. He’s sleeping in the trailer. I have to take Sara to the hospital right now.”

  Britt hurried to the car and jerked open the passenger side door. She ran to Sara, who lay there, not crying, not moving. Britt slid her hands under Sara and lifted her little eighteen-pound body onto the car’s front seat. Sara just looked at her.

  Leaving the gated, enlisted men’s trailer park, Britt drove, conscious of the need for speed but also of the need to be careful. She didn’t want Sara to feel the slightest bump. A traffic cop on a motorcycle stopped her car before the turn toward the hospital. The president’s motorcade was crawling across the road in front of them. Britt’s heart squeezed, and her insides churned—was she going to be sick? But the police must be obeyed—if she disobeyed and was arrested … her mind couldn’t go there. She braked to a stop.