Breeding Like Rabbits Page 14

  Britt hadn’t been to a doctor, but she knew she was pregnant—a fact she wasn’t about to share with her mother; she didn’t want to spoil her visit with her parents by starting a birth control or a religious discussion. They’d be leaving for Minneapolis soon, and she wanted their goodbyes to be as kissy and huggy as the hellos.

  Using the GI Bill, Andy would attend Lee’s Barber College early the next year. In the meantime, he’d try to find work. As a veteran of the Korean War, he would not receive unemployment compensation until after a waiting period ended, determined by the amount and disbursement date of his mustering out pay. Then he would be able to receive both state and federal benefits. But a family man like Andy needed money now, which meant as soon as they reached St. Paul and found a place to live, he would have to start looking for a job. He also planned to put them on the list for low-income housing while he attended school. With all this in mind, they packed up the old gray Ford for yet another trip—this one a bit over three hundred and fifty miles. They reinstalled the playpen for Sara and Daniel’s comfort.

  Saying goodbye was still hard, even though this time they weren’t going to be as far away. The warm kisses and hugs left Britt’s mother in tears. Britt was almost afraid she wouldn’t hand over little Daniel. Are those tears real? Is she really sad? Or does she think she’s supposed to cry at goodbyes? But she cries for the least little things, even when she’s happy. Dad—my father, the stoic—has always hated that.

  They stopped in town to say goodbye to Andy’s folks. Andy’s mother served coffee and cookies (Britt nibbled on a cookie and asked for water). She hugged and kissed Britt and Andy goodbye, telling her son that she was happy that the navy didn’t own him anymore. Josette then got down on her knees to give Sara a monster hug. Britt handed Daniel over to her, and he got a loving goodbye from his Grandma Hughes.

  Andy’s father said little and barely noticed his first two grandchildren. He did hug Andy before they left and told him, “Don’t ever let your wife work.” When Andy told her later what his father had said, she didn’t know what to say to Andy. Why, if his mother hadn’t worked, they’d have starved!

  They found a second-floor apartment they could afford, above a family with two children just a little older than Sara and Daniel. The oldest, a girl, swore like a muleskinner. Sara was impressed and began to follow suit. Britt didn’t know what to do, so she ignored it. That must have been the right thing, because when Sara got no attention for her blue language, it just died out.

  Though they now had an apartment, which had not been easy to find, the next step was to find a job. Andy would find that jobs were even harder to find—the country was going through a rollback. But before Andy even tried to find a job, he applied for the GI Bill so he would have money for education. He also signed up for low-income housing. It would take him at least nine months (1500 hours) to earn an apprentice license from Lee’s Barber College. Upon earning his apprentice license, the college would help him find employment.

  Andy was eager to start, but he’d have to wait until he started to receive the monthly sum of $110, plus $175 a month for family expenses. A veteran was supposed to pay his school tuition and buy school supplies with the $110 and then provide for his family on the $175. In the meantime, he needed to work to support the family.

  He couldn’t find a job at first. When he did find one, it was with a furnace company that sent him around supposedly checking furnaces to see if they were ready for winter. If they were fine, he was supposed to tell the homeowner that such and such was needed. He quit the job that was really a customer rip-off.

  Britt took one look at his face when he got home and knew something was wrong. She followed him into the bedroom. Andy lay on the bed facedown—not moving, not talking.

  “What’s wrong? Was it a bad day?”

  Andy turned to lie on his side and faced her. She’d never seen him so down—he looked on the verge of tears, and his face seemed to sag. When he spoke, his voice was low. “I quit. I just couldn’t do it.”

  “Do what?”

  “Tell lies to old people, to poor people. Tell them their furnace needed repair when it didn’t. They could be my grandparents or my relatives. I know we need the money, but it wasn’t right.”

  “You’ll find another job, Andy. Times are tough, but you’re a married man—the kind of worker most people want. When a boss finds out how dependable and hardworking you are, he won’t want to ever let you go.” Britt cradled his head in her lap, stroking his forward and pushing back a black, wavy hank of hair.

  After a good night’s sleep and oatmeal with raisins and some salted peanuts thrown in while it cooked, Andy hit the streets again. Britt knew that it would crush him if he couldn’t find a job good enough to support his family. She knew he’d be a good worker, and with Christmas coming, she was sure he’d find something that paid enough for them to live on until he started school and received the GI Bill.

  That night when he came home, he didn’t drag himself into the bedroom and collapse with depression. Instead, when Britt opened the door, he swept her into his arms and gave her a mushy kiss. “I’m working for Montgomery Ward! And we can get a discount on kids’ clothes and Christmas presents.”

  “That’s wonderful, Andy. How much is the pay?”

  “One hundred dollars a week. I’m working in the stock room. They’re getting a lot of merchandise in now for the Christmas rush.”

  “Oh, Andy, I’m so glad—we can live on that.” She put her arms around him. “I’m so proud of you.”

  It looked to be a merry Christmas after all. Though no relatives would be there with them at Christmas, the four of them together with no six-month cruises in the future for Andy was enough to make for a joyful, thankful holiday. Andy picked up a nice little tree and some decorations. Britt made Christmas cookies with help from Sara and Daniel. They wanted to be a lot of help, but it ended in a pushing and shoving contest to see who could get the closest to Mom and who could put colored sugar on the most cookies. Britt washed the red and green colors from their hands and faces and read them a story. Daniel went to sleep before the story was done. Sara, though sleepy, resisted sleep, so Britt set the kitchen timer for twenty minutes—the time when she could get up. Britt went into the kitchen and completed the cookie baking. She looked in on Sara. Yes, sound asleep. Nap time for me too—pregnancy really tires a body out.

  Christmas day was cold but beautiful. The trees covered with frost looked like flocked Christmas trees. The sun shone on them and set them to sparkling, outdoing any decorated Christmas tree—breathtaking. The Hughes family members were on their way to Christmas morning Mass. Entering the church to the sound of Christmas carols brought back memories to Britt. She remembered the Christmases in the little rural Lutheran church, one in particular. She had to sing “Away in the Manger” in front of the church at a Christmas Eve service when she was only five years old. She shook with fear, but she did it. Her parents glowed with pride. Their pride was almost worth her fear. She’d worn her light blue Christmas sweater. After that frightening performance, she never wore light blue again if she could help it.

  As soon as they reached home, Andy made breakfast, French toast and bacon, while Britt unwrapped the bundled children and got them washed up for the table. Andy was a good cook, and for that Britt was grateful. Her father never cooked, washed a dish, changed a diaper, or even disciplined. He was a farmer—he did farm things. He had a wife for everything else. Britt was glad that Andy was not like that.

  Daniel ate almost nothing. He rubbed his eyes and whined. His forehead felt hot. Britt put him to bed and started to read him a story. He moved, and she looked over at his body. His limbs jerked, and his eyes rolled back, and she could see only the whites of his eyes. What is the matter with him? I’ve never seen anything like this before.

  “Andy, come quick! Something’s the matter with Daniel.”

  Andy
looked, ran to the phone, and called the police. “You’ve got to come. My little boy is sick and acting funny. I don’t know what to do.” The policeman, an older man with a kind face, came at once and told the frightened parents to put their boy in a tub of cold water and keep him there to lower his temperature—that’s what he did whenever his children ran a high fever. Britt did that as fast as she could. While she laved the body of her little boy with cold water, Andy talked to the policeman.

  “Thank you, Officer, for helping us. We’d never seen a kid act like that.”

  “Why did you call the police? People don’t usually call us when a child is sick.”

  “I just got out of the navy, and we’re new in Minneapolis. I didn’t know who else to call.” The policeman shook Andy’s hand as he left and wished him a merry Christmas.

  And it was a merry Christmas in spite of their scare, because after Daniel’s fever broke, he slept. When he woke up, he had a runny nose, but that was all. They were merry—the parents were slap-happy with relief, and Sara got a Betsy Wetsy doll that made her merry. Daniel, when he woke up, was just happy to cuddle his new teddy bear as Britt held him tight.

  Daniel’s illness proved to be a harbinger of things to come, at least for Britt. She came down with the flu in February. Andy had not yet received his education and living expenses money, nor had they heard from low-income housing. He was working full-time at Montgomery Ward. They were getting by and even saving some. When Britt got sick, Andy didn’t know what to do. She tried to shrug it off, to ignore her headache and her chills and fever. She thought she had toughed it out. She was feeling so good that she washed clothes and even hung some outside to dry. Big mistake.

  Britt could barely get out of bed the next day. By now she was five months pregnant and usually ate a big breakfast, but that morning she couldn’t even eat dry toast. She managed to fix bowls of dry cereal for Sara, almost three years old, and Daniel, almost two, but that was all. She shuffled to the couch, making it there by holding onto the kitchen door jamb, then the back of the plush chair, and finally the arm of the couch, and then she collapsed onto the couch itself. Britt may have slept, she didn’t know, but she did know that she had to go to the bathroom. She slid off the couch to the floor and crawled fifteen feet to the bathroom. She almost passed out as she hauled herself onto the toilet seat, but she did her job and crawled back to the blessed couch.

  It must have been about noon when she noticed that Sara and Daniel were in the living room. Sara had a bowl and a full carton of eggs.

  “Mama, I’m making lunch for you. Scrambled eggs. I know you like them.” She cracked an egg and emptied its contents into the bowl. A large piece of eggshell followed.

  Daniel leaned over the open egg carton and picked one up. He stared at it and then at the floor. The floor in the living room was made up of alternating tiles of white and black. Daniel had made his decision. He had been watching as Sara had cracked open her egg, so now he cracked open his and dumped its contents in the middle of a twelve-inch by twelve-inch black tile. He grabbed another egg and chose another black tile, and so on, until Sara grabbed his hand to stop him. “No! No!” Daniel screamed and tried to pull away. They fell on the eggs.

  Britt saw all this, but she didn’t care—she couldn’t move. If she moved, she felt dizzy, and her head throbbed. She could see that no one was hurt, and nothing else concerned her. She let them fight and roll in the slippery, gooey eggs.

  Andy came home. The house was a mess. Britt watched him make a beeline for the telephone. In a fever-induced haze, she heard him place a long-distance call to her parents. “Ingrid, we’ve got to have help. Britt is really sick. I can’t stay home—I have to work. Can you come right away?” He paused for an answer and then hung up the phone and approached the couch where Britt lay, being careful not to slip on the broken eggs.

  “Is my mother coming?”

  “No. She has to care for your twin brothers. Hannah is coming. She graduated from college this month and has just started looking for a job, but so far nothing.”

  Andy helped Britt into the bedroom and got her settled. Though she was in the bedroom now, she could hear him get the mop and scrub bucket and fill the bucket with water. He was going to clean up the broken-egg mess from the tile floor in the living room—bless him. She dozed off.

  Hannah took the night train to the Twin Cities so that she’d arrive before Andy left in the morning. He had to be there to let her in and give her instructions about how to care for Britt and the children.

  A knock on the door—Andy rushed and opened it for Hannah. “Come in, come in!” He held out his arms and engulfed her in a bear hug.

  “Wow! That’s quite a greeting, brother-in-law. Britt must be really sick. What do I need to know?”

  “Most important, make sure she drinks lots of fluids so she doesn’t become dehydrated. She’s in bed now, and she should stay there—you’ll have to help her to the bathroom though. She gets weak and dizzy.”

  “What about the kids?” Hannah surveyed toys strewn all over, but at least the space in front of the couch was clear and clean.

  “Sara’s potty trained. She’ll eat anything or nothing—it depends on her mood. It’s no big deal. Daniel goes pee in the little twelve-ounce empty juice can sitting on the back of the toilet. He likes to see it fill up, but you will have to help him because he still wears a diaper. He refuses to do the big job in the potty, so he’s stuck with a diaper. Food for them? Whatever you eat. Both kids, if you’re lucky, will nap after the noon lunch. Read one of their little books to them—oh, and lie between them so they won’t fight. Daniel will probably go to sleep. Sara does most of the time, but if she doesn’t, let her get up, and she can color. She knows where the crayons and the color book are. I’ll be home at five thirty. Now I have to go. Bye and thank you!” And he was gone.

  Hannah sat down but only for a few seconds. Sara and Daniel were going at it. Sara was building a tower with blocks, and Daniel was knocking it down almost as fast as his sister was putting it up. Sara threw a block at him. “Stop it right now, you kids! Somebody’s going to get hurt. Come with me into the kitchen, and we’ll make peanut butter sandwiches. I haven’t even had my breakfast.” She took each one by the hand. They didn’t know her yet, so they put up no resistance.

  And so it went for seven long days. Britt started to feel better. She sat up and even managed to keep soup down. Hannah opened the door to check on her, and Britt beckoned for her to come in. She patted the edge of the bed, where she wanted Hannah to sit. “Hannah, I can never thank you enough for coming here to help us. You saved my life.” She smiled at Hannah and squeezed her hand.

  “Britt, I don’t see how you manage. I can pick up the toys and turn around, and they’re all over the floor again. They spill something at every meal. Sometimes I think Sara and Daniel don’t like each other—always teasing, or whining, or crying. We weren’t like that. We were friends—still are. I always tried to copy what you did but not anymore! Not after seeing how things are here—I don’t think I’ll even marry, let alone have children. They’re so competitive.”

  “They’ll grow out of most of that behavior. We’ve probably moved them around too much, and they’re so close in age. That’s not good.”

  “As a friend and your sister, Britt, how could you let yourself get pregnant again? Are you nuts?” Hannah shook her head, lips pressed together.

  “Oh, Hannah, I’ve tried so hard to follow the church-sanctioned rhythm method, but it doesn’t work for me. I’m beginning to think that it is a church plot to keep its members producing little Catholics in order to have more members than the Protestants. It’s cynical, I know, but that’s what I’m starting to believe.” Britt hid her face in her hands; she didn’t want Hannah to see her tears or the despair deep in her eyes.

  “Don’t cry, Britt. I’d like to hug you, but I don’t want to catch your flu—I have to go
looking for a job as soon as I leave here. I’ll pray for you—a Protestant prayer. I do love you, even if I sometimes think you do foolish things.” She smiled and patted Britt on the back.

  Britt was well on her way to health again when Hannah left. She was thankful that her family, Andy, Sara, Daniel, and Hannah, did not catch her flu.

  CHAPTER

  17

  Hannah went home after her stint as nanny while Britt had the flu. She told their mother that Britt was pregnant. At first Britt was angry at her sister, but that didn’t last long. It was a secret that could never be kept for long anyway—her middle was getting pretty big. She’d be a mother again in June. Easter Sunday was on April 6 this year, and it was already the middle of March. She’d better get herself down to confession so that she could go to Holy Communion with Andy on Easter Sunday.

  Britt crept into the quiet, solemn church on a Saturday afternoon. All she could hear were the restless squeaks of impatient people sitting in pews and cracks of knees bending as people got up and then knelt again. She waited until it was her turn, and then Britt entered and knelt in the dimly lit confessional. It was a claustrophobic place the size of a public phone booth, paneled in dark brown walnut—gloomy as could be.

  “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been over a month since my last confession, and I accuse myself of being impatient with my children. I’ve yelled at them. I’ve also resented the way my husband can leave the house but I always have to stay home. Father, I am expecting my third child in June, the third baby in a little over three years. I’ve been sick with the flu, too sick to take care of my children. May we use condoms to prevent my getting pregnant for at least a year after this baby? I need to get my strength back. Is there some kind of dispensation for that?”