Breeding Like Rabbits Read online

  They didn’t think anything could ever eclipse that beautiful mansion, unless it was Easton’s Beach, their destination the next weekend. It was within walking distance, but they wanted to wear their swimming suits and bring some things—blanket, sunscreen, towels, and dry clothes—so they drove. Parking was free. Soft white sand, a cool breeze off the ocean, and lobster rolls for lunch, purchased at the snack bar, made this mini-honeymoon just as wonderful, though very different, from the Breakers of last weekend.

  Britt and Andy loved the beach so much they decided to visit another: Fort Adams Beach. Here they were able to watch sailboats pass. Most enjoyable was a walk along the rocky coastline. If they’d had the time and money, they would have signed up for scuba diving. Maybe someday.

  On several weekends they went to the Enlisted Men’s Club, or “EM.” Often there’d be special entertainment. Britt, who loved to dance, would never forget dancing to the music of Guy Lombardo—live! On another unforgettable night, Connie Francis sang “Who’s Sorry Now?” and when she was done, the place exploded with applause and whistles that just went on and on. Andy’s favorite, Joni James, sang “Your Cheating Heart,” and that too was another unforgettable performance—some of the sailors had tears in their eyes, and as it was for Connie Francis, the applause was deafening.

  Victor Borge, the Clown Prince of Denmark, gave a unique and memorable performance—a classic pianist and a comedian, what a combination! When he played Debussy’s “Clair de Lune,” Britt knew that she’d love that music forever. He later explained his punctuation invention, using different noises to enhance oral words, “Phonetic pronunciation.” Then he read a story illustrating what he meant: hilarious. As a pianist, he was superb; as a comedian, intelligent and oh so funny.

  The Annual Jazz Festival began in 1954, and Britt and Andy were there. So many greats performed: Billie Holiday, Pee Wee Russell, the Dizzy Gillespie Quintet, Gene Krupa Trio, and Ella Fitzgerald. More performed, but these were Brit and Andy’s favorites.

  Thinking over and discussing all they’d seen and experienced on the weekends while Andy went to school, they concluded that they couldn’t choose Newport’s most outstanding offering, as they were incomparable because of their variety. They had no trouble deciding that they’d had the best mini-honeymoon possible.

  In September, Andy sailed away as the apprentice cook on a Navy destroyer. He’d be gone for six months.

  CHAPTER

  8

  Britt dragged herself to work the day after Andy left. She didn’t know how she could stand living in this place without him. Thank goodness she had a job to go to, something to do rather than pining for Andy, and she was making friends. Most of the girls in the steno pool were navy wives, just like her. Jan, a lively redhead with a big smile, lived only a block from where Britt lived. Jan was pregnant and just starting to show. Carmela lived in Jamestown, a town of just over two thousand people on the island of Conanicut, yet still a part of Rhode Island. She took the ferry in to work in the morning and then took it back home when the work day ended. This cut out any after-work socializing with Carmela, but they took their lunch breaks together. Krista, another friend, lived on the third floor of the building in which Jan lived.

  A couple of months after Andy’s departure, Britt was coping just fine, but she wasn’t feeling all that well. The mornings, in particular, were a problem. She loved coffee, but now it seemed she couldn’t even stand the smell of it! Dry toast was about all she could keep down for breakfast. That wasn’t like her. She’d been brought up to believe that breakfast was the most important meal of the day, and here she was just eating a piece of toast. Maybe that’s why sometimes she even felt woozy.

  About the same time that she was having these strange physical feelings, a weird thing happened, one that caused some emotional unease. Britt washed her clothes at the Laundromat at the end of the block and across the street and then took them home and hung them on her landlady’s clothesline—she had permission to do this. One day, she hung her clothes out on the line before going to work, only to come home from work and find that all of her underwear was missing from the clothesline! Her landlady wouldn’t have done it—none of Britt’s underthings would fit her. And just her underwear? Weird.

  Britt couldn’t do anything about her underwear, except notify the police, which she did, hoping they’d keep an eye out for any suspicious characters in the area. She, however, could do something about her strange physical feelings. She made an appointment with a doctor at the Navy Hospital. He did the usual blood pressure, temperature, pelvic exam, and then said, “You are about two months pregnant.”

  Britt was ecstatic. “Really? Are you sure?” If I’m pregnant, I’m not alone, and I’ll never be alone again. I’m growing a baby, a friend, a family!

  “I’m sure. You’ll have to watch your weight now. If you gain more than two pounds a month, we’ll put you in the hospital until you lose the extra weight.”

  But Britt couldn’t stop smiling. She and Andy would no longer be a couple; they’d be a family.

  When Britt told her landlady the good news, it went over like a lead balloon.

  “I’ll not have a crying baby in this house.” She clamped her jaws together, and her lips formed a thin line—the look in her eyes would have curdled milk.

  “It’ll be a good baby. I just know it will.”

  Her landlady was like a stone. Not only did she say that Britt would have to move if she had the baby; she also gave Britt advice on how she might get rid of it. “Fill the tub with water as hot as you can take. Soak in that water until you’re all wrinkled. That may cause a miscarriage.”

  Britt paled, and her mouth opened, though no words came out at first. Then, “I’d never do that. I want this baby more than anything.” She could feel her stomach roiling with rage. She didn’t want to say anything she’d later regret, so she turned and ran to her room, slammed the door, threw herself across the bed, and sobbed.

  At work the next day, she poured out her troubles to Jan—her confrontation with her landlady, and then she threw in the weirdness about her missing underwear. After a big hug, Jan said, “You’re in luck! A second-floor apartment just became available where I live. You’d be happier with your own place, your own kitchen, your own bathroom, and you can hang your clothes on the second-floor balcony in the back.”

  Britt didn’t need any more convincing. Right after work, she went to see Jan’s landlord, a Mr. Veroni who ran the first-floor delicatessen in Jan’s building. He was happy to rent again so soon. Then she told her landlady that she was moving. She wanted to be among friends while Andy was gone. Andy! What would he say? She’d have to tell him as soon as she got settled.

  Jan and Krista helped Britt move her things to the second floor of Veroni’s Delicatessen. The shotgun apartment had a bathroom to the left of the front door, and the other rooms followed in a straight line: kitchen, bedroom, and living room. The bathroom’s miniscule window on the far wall let in just enough light during the day to highlight the claw-footed tub. In the far left corner was an ancient gas water heater. It was used to heat water for bathing. A strange-looking thing, it had to be lit about thirty minutes before you wanted to bathe. If she left the burner on too long, would the water heater blow up? The thought scared her. Britt set her little kitchen timer for exactly thirty minutes each time she heated bath water. The toilet sat to the left of this contraption. There was no sink.

  In the kitchen, a large sink with drain board was fastened securely on the left wall. Next to it was an apartment-sized gas stove. To the back wall of the kitchen and in the left-hand corner was a standard sized window. A seven-foot-long counter, made of boards covered with linoleum, took up most of the back wall. It had board shelves beneath it, but nothing covered the shelves, and there were no top cupboards. The right-hand wall, to the left of the door to the bedroom, was occupied by a large, white, round-shouldered refrigerator. A r
ed Formica-topped table with three chairs stood in the space between the front door and the bedroom door.

  Only two pieces of furniture occupied the bedroom: a bed and a three-foot by four-and-a-half-foot dark brown dresser. The last room, the living room, held an old hide-a-bed. But on the wall facing the street, a glorious bay window let in the light. Britt would stand there and watch people coming and going on the street below. This room held the only closet in the entire apartment, a three-foot by four-foot built-in tucked into the left hand corner of the back wall. All rooms had an overhead light fixture, consisting of a naked bulb with a pull-down string hanging from it. The apartment, however, was clean and newly painted—white—and all the floors had fairly new linoleum on them.

  Britt would have to do something about getting cupboards for dishes, but that would have to wait. Now she had to sit down and write to Andy.

  Dear Andy,

  I have some great news: we’re going to be a family of three! No, I didn’t get a dog. I’m pregnant. How I wish you were here. I miss you so much, but I have part of you growing within me; I am not alone.

  And that reminds me of what else I have to tell you. When I told our landlady about the baby, she was not happy. She doesn’t want any kids around, and if we had one, we’d have to move. Then she proceeded to give me advice on how I might cause myself to miscarry. I hated her at that moment. I could not bear to stay there, so I moved.

  Jan, my first friend here, told me that a second-floor apartment was available in her building on her same floor. It has three rooms, and we have our own bathroom and our own kitchen—no more sharing. It’s on Spring Street; remember the street that crosses ours at the bottom of the hill? It’s less than a block away. The apartment is above Veroni’s Delicatessen where we bought those Rueben sandwiches. Jan and Krista, who live on the third floor, helped me move. Jan and Krista are both navy wives, and Jan is pregnant too.

  This place needs some fixing up, but that will give me something to do until you get home. And just think, Andy, you’re going to be a daddy!

  All my love,

  Britt

  Dear Britt,

  I can understand why you moved, but I sure wish you’d consulted me first. Couldn’t you have waited until I got home? I’ll be home before the baby comes. You shouldn’t be carrying things when you’re pregnant. You have to be careful. I can’t even picture you living anywhere now!

  Three rooms—how much does that place cost? We’re not rich you know. An enlisted man doesn’t make much money, and now we have a baby coming!

  Be sure you eat enough; remember you are eating for two. Do you like the name “Anthony”? I miss you too, very much. I’m still seasick. This ship bobs around like a cork. I can’t wait to stand on solid ground and to have my arms around you, though you should have told me you wanted to move.

  Eat your vegetables and stay safe.

  All my love,

  Andy

  From what he wrote, Britt didn’t know if he was hurt or angry because she moved on her own—both probably. But she had to think of her own feelings, especially at this time, and she was looking forward to making this place a real home.

  Mr. Veroni let Britt have two orange crates. She wetted down the labels on the ends until she was able to peel or scrape them off. She then painted the crates white and stood them vertically, side by side, on the long counter against the far wall—cupboards for her dishes. Britt did not like the look of the bottom shelves without any doors, so she bought some dark green fabric and rings for café curtains—only twenty-five cents a yard. She also bought a used Featherweight Singer sewing machine to sew and hem the curtains. She then screwed some cup hooks into the underside of the counter and hung up the curtains: much better.

  The living room needed some color. Britt went to a craft store and bought two paint-by-number kits: one, when finished, would show a Mexican man with a sombrero and a serape made of blue, magenta, and orange wool yarns; the other was of a Mexican woman, wearing an aqua and lilac shawl and making a vase on a pottery wheel. Britt’s mother had made her a zigzag, or ripple, afghan of magenta, aqua, white, and lilac yarns, and she’d packed it in the trunk that Britt now had in Newport. When the pictures were finished and framed, Britt hung them above the sofa bed and then casually arranged the afghan to cover the left two-thirds of the sofa. Lovely. One more thing: her throw pillows covered with the sewn-together granny squares she’d crocheted on the train, she tossed into the other end. Wow! Now she had all the color she craved. No one could stay depressed in this room.

  With the apartment looking more homey, it was time to get out her little sewing machine and stitch up some maternity clothes to wear to work. Pattern books showed easily made maternity smocks. The skirts were straight with either a short slit up from the hem about seven inches in back, or a pleat of that length. In order to keep the skirt from riding up as your belly grew bigger, the waist line in front was cut down in a half circle, almost to the pubic area, and then up again to the waist. The diameter of this semicircle was about ten inches. Sewn at the center point at the bottom of the circle was a one-inch-wide strap with a loop at the top. The strap had to be long enough to reach the waist, where two ties were waiting. One tie was inserted into the loop, and then both ties were tied together at the waist. When a breeze blew, you didn’t try to hold down your skirt; you reached for your smock and held it down so that the world would not see your bare belly. Her favorite outfit was a smock top, black cotton fabric with blue flowers complete with green stems and leaves. She put in some extra color by attaching a red bow at the bottom of the V-neck. She paired the smock with a black skirt. Dressy and cute. She also sewed a blue and white striped robe of cotton seersucker. She wanted something attractive yet concealing to wear when Andy returned. Sitting at her machine, she blessed her high school home economics teacher for being such an excellent sewing instructor.

  Britt spent Christmas alone. She called her parents on Christmas Eve. She didn’t talk to her father, he didn’t like to talk on the phone, but she talked to her mother and had to hang up when she broke down crying. That was the only real bad time she had while Andy was gone. For the most part, she kept busy, and as her mother used to say, “Busy hands are happy hands.” Work was going well, and she was putting some money away. Evenings she’d play Canasta with Jan and Krista, who were also alone and waiting for husbands to return. She and Krista had an ongoing cockroach battle. Living above a delicatessen just invited cockroaches. When Mr. Veroni sprayed, they went up to Britt’s apartment. When Britt sprayed, they went to Krista’s place on third floor, and when she sprayed, down they came … it was a never-ending battle. Britt hated them. One night she felt something crawling in her pajamas. She jumped up, pulled off her bottoms, and saw a cockroach! She screamed as she slapped at it. It dropped and sped across the floor. Britt shuddered yet marveled: How could something shaped like that run so fast!

  Britt welcomed in the new year on a happier note than that experienced at Christmas. Jan, Krista, and she were invited by Carmela to a New Year’s Day lunch at her home in Jamestown. Jamestown was on an island, so they had the fun of taking the ferry to the island where Carmela would be waiting to take them to her home. During the ride over, they happened to sit by an elderly couple who delighted in telling them about Jamestown.

  They found out that ferries had been going between Conanicut Island and Newport since 1675, and that in 1678 Conanicut Island was incorporated as the town of Jamestown, named after James, duke of York who would become King James II in 1685. At the time of incorporation, only one hundred and fifty people lived on the Island. Britt was astonished. Almost four hundred years ago. She knew of nothing in Minnesota that was that old. Minnesota had become a state less than one hundred years ago. Her love of history prompted her to ask for more. “What else do you know about Jamestown?”

  The two Jamestown “historians” beamed. “Well, let’s see … in 1775
, two hundred British and Hessian troops—Germans hired by England were called Hessians—landed on the Island. They burned the ferry house, destroyed buildings and homes. Many people here had to flee to the mainland. A year later, also in December, a British fleet came and occupied Newport. They stayed for almost three years. They destroyed the Quaker Meetinghouse and the Jamestown Windmill.”

  “Oh, no,” said Jan. “I love a windmill, but why did they need one on the island? There’s water all around.”

  “The windmill was important as it provided the wind power to grind corn. You’re right about there being a lot of water, but no source of running water to turn a waterwheel, and then,” continued the elderly woman, “as the British left Narragansett Bay in October 1779, they destroyed the places they’d occupied and burned down the Beavertail Lighthouse. The lighthouse was back in operation by 1784. About the windmill, Jan, you’ll be happy to know that it and the Quaker Meetinghouse were rebuilt by 1787.”

  “Time to go ashore. We’ve hit Jamestown. I see Carmela waving. She’s waiting for us,” said Britt as she, Jan, and Krista thanked the couple for the interesting history lesson and rushed off to hug Carmela.

  Lunch with Carmela and her parents, Anna and Tony Nicoletti, was like no New Year’s lunch Britt had ever eaten before. They wanted to give these “landlubbers” a traditional Italian New Year’s Day meal. The entrée was cotechino, best described as a pork sausage dish, with basil pasta and a salad. The simple meal had in mind the efforts of three pregnant young women to keep their weight down. Though champagne is a tradition on New Year’s Eve, enough was left to toast the new year, a year that would be making mothers of three of the young women seated at the table.