Читать книгу Up the Hill to Home - Jennifer Bort Yacovissi - Страница 13

Baby

1894-1902

The Becks of 741 Flint Street, Brightwood Park, quickly fall into a routine. Their day starts earlier than before the wedding, now that they take the streetcar all the way into town. Charley is in charge of packing the lunch pails, typically from supper leftovers of the night before. They ride home together also, often stopping at the market for the evening’s groceries. Early evenings typically consist of Charley’s gardening or finishing another item on the house’s to-do list while Emma makes supper. On Saturdays, when Emma works until noon, George lends Charley a small work crew so he can finish the larger remaining jobs. Once again, there is a sense of urgency in the work, as Charley continues the preparation to move Mary into the new house. Saturday evenings and Sundays after Mass are their times to socialize with friends and family.

There are, of course, a few surprises on both sides for the newlyweds. For example, Joe’s prediction of Emma’s disrupted sleep, courtesy of Charley’s snoring, proves true. More unexpected, though, is that Charley experiences the same problem.

One morning before breakfast, Charley stands at the window gazing out at the backyard, and starts to chuckle. “It’s a surprise we have any trees left in the mornings at all, what with all the wood-sawing we’re doing around here.”

Emma smiles to herself, relieved that he knows the problem, until she realizes that he said we. She is stunned into horrified silence.

When he notices her lack of response, he turns to look at her and immediately realizes his mistake; she is as red as a ripe tomato. “Oh, Em, I’m sorry. I was just teasing. I wasn’t meaning to hurt your feelings.”

She can hear that her voice is thick. “Is it horrible?”

“Of course not. I’m just so used to Joe always giving me a fit about snoring—well, about all sorts of things. I just forgot you don’t have a Joe.”

“Well,” she says slowly as she finds a smile, “I guess you’re my Joe now.”

From then on, they each know that the first asleep gets the better rest. Eventually, the tacit understanding develops that either party can give the other a tap—or a shove, as the occasion demands—to prompt a shift in position. In the end, though, Charley comes out far ahead in the bargain as he grows increasingly deaf.

Emma is most surprised to learn that her husband reads the newspapers every day from beginning to end. Though he has little formal education, Charley sops up knowledge like soft bread through gravy and is always greedy for the next bite. It’s helpful that he has no particular political bent, since as a resident of the Federal City he has no voting rights whatever. “Politicians are like bad relatives,” he likes to say. “You get no say in who they are, and there’s no getting rid of them.” So he finds as much humor in the foibles and general idiocy of all politicians as he does in the funny papers, which he likes to save for last. Emma enjoys that he reads snippets to her while she prepares supper, or in the evenings when she mends by the gaslight. Sometimes the item he’s reading strikes his funny bone with such force that he loses his breath from laughing and can’t finish.

For his part, Charley finds himself fascinated by Emma’s hair. With few exceptions, he had never seen a woman with her hair down, and Emma’s falls almost to her waist. That it is salted with gray is of no concern to him. Before they retire for the night, he watches her brush it out as she sits at her dressing table, fifty times on each side, until it shines. Occasionally, he asks if he can brush it for her, and that sweetly intimate act will sometimes lead to others.

Perhaps three months after the wedding, they meet Mary at St. Patrick’s one Sunday for early Mass. She is within a week of moving in with them, now that they have met all the terms of the curmudgeonly landlord to ensure he doesn’t hold them up for money. After Mass today, they intend to settle the plans for the final move. Mary is chatting with another parishioner and turns at Charley’s call. He bows over her extended hand, the unserious greeting they have created between themselves, and Emma kisses her mother’s cheek. Mary notices her pallor and looks closely at her. “You’re not feeling well.”

“It’s nothing. I’ve just been under the weather lately.”

“Have you gotten sick?”

“Only once or twice. But it passes. I’ll be fine by dinner time.”

Mary puts her hand to her own brow and shakes her head. “Lord, child.” The church bells start to ring, summoning the parishioners in for Mass, and they all turn to walk inside. “Do you not know that you’re expecting?”

Charley nearly stumbles, but they are across the threshold already, and all conversation ceases. Though they maintain the proper decorum during the Mass, Charley’s little finger seeks out Emma’s to give it a reassuring brush. Expecting? Who would have expected that?

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The memory box holds so many treasures, but chief among them is Emma’s diary, which Lillie reads for the first time when she is pregnant with Margaret and Emma presents it to her. Whenever it’s time to open the box again, Lillie is drawn to the diary first. Though she will settle in later to read in earnest, initially she simply skims the twelve years recorded there. She stops at entries as they catch her eye, and even though each one is long since written in her memory, there is always a sense of discovery, as though the recorded days are the glass pieces in a kaleidoscope that arrange themselves into a new image with each successive turn.

From Emma’s Diary

Sunday, September 1, 1895: Sunday at 3 p.m. we had the baby christened in St. Patrick’s Church by Father McGhee. It was a cool day, cloudy nearly all day, but the sun came out while baby was being christened and set a beautiful ray right across the font. We named her Lillie for the beautiful flowers of that name, and May for the lovely month of flowers, and the month dedicated to the Mother of God.

Tuesday, October 1, 1895: Mamma left baby for the first time to go back to the office. How hard it seems. I sit here at my desk and think all day of baby and how she is getting along without me, but she is too young yet, to know me or to miss me. It is only mamma that feels the loss of the sweet little face and the touch of her little warm hand.

Thanksgiving Day, Thursday, November 28, 1895: Baby is four months old today, a very pretty day. After dinner we took baby out for a walk. We had not gone two squares when baby went to sleep, as usual. She was perfectly happy to be out and laughed and cooed until she went to sleep. Then I tucked her under my cape and she slept until I got into the woods in the rear of the house. Then baby stretched herself, looked around, up at the trees and the sky and laughed as much as to say, Well I declare, here I have been asleep and dreaming under mamma’s cape, when I ought to have been sitting up looking around and enjoying the beautiful sunset and the lovely woods.

Wednesday December 24, 1895: Warm as a spring day and baby’s first Christmas Eve. Papa and Uncle Louis went to the woods Sunday evening and brought greens to decorate the house and a pretty little tree for baby. We brought baby down Christmas morning and put her in the large rocking chair in front of the tree. She looked at the bright things and was very much taken with a little Chinese baby that was hung up by its neck. The little thing would go around and baby would laugh.

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January 12, 1896: Baby is very bright and has been laughing and romping all day, but it is Sunday and that accounts for it, for Sunday is baby’s day. Mamma is home with her all day and baby just has a good time.

Monday, August 3, 1896: Mr. Claughton sent his carriage over this evening for grandma and baby to go out riding, so cousin Lil, Joe, grandma, mamma and baby went out riding. Baby enjoyed it very much.

Friday ,August 14, 1896: Today baby walked for the first time alone. When I came home she walked to me, then hid her little head in my lap and laughed, she thought it was fine fun. Now I think baby will have a gay time, and oh my, won’t she be getting into mischief. Papa says he will have to tie her to the windmill to keep her from getting away.

Sunday, December 13, 1896: A beautiful warm day. A friend came out to take baby’s picture, and oh such a time as we had trying to keep baby quiet for just a second. She would not keep still, so I guess we did not get a good one of her. We wanted to have the cat’s picture taken, but Tom was nowhere to be found, but just as Mr. Heilman was getting ready, here comes Tom up the road. We hustled him up on the porch by the side of the baby, then baby began hugging Tom. Well, that would not do, so we gave baby a graham cracker to eat to keep her quiet. When Tom saw the cracker, he wanted it, so we gave him a piece, then baby would stoop down and get the cat’s cracker, and so, between the baby and the cat, we had a perfect show. The cat would sit still a minute, then the baby would move, when the baby was still the cat would move, we laughed and laughed, and it was about an hour before we had the picture taken.

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Sunday, January 10, 1897: Papa and I took baby out to the zoo. It was a beautiful day. The park was very crowded, everyone noticed baby, and said what a cute, lovely baby. She would laugh at everyone, go up to all the children she would see, and want to kiss them, or shake hands with them. She was just as happy as could be. We got home about dark, but baby did not even get tired. When we got out of the car at Flint Street, papa said to baby, If you are tired and sleepy, Lillie, lay your head on papa’s shoulder and go to sleep. She laid her little head down and sang to herself all the way down to the house. Then when we got in the house, she played a little with Cousin Lil and Joe, I nursed her, and she went right to sleep.

Tuesday, February 2, 1897: Groundhog Day, and such a day: rain, hail, snow and wind, all day and all night, so that the little fellow did not see his shadow, and if he stepped out that day he got pretty cold and wet. Baby is well and at night when I go home I do nothing but romp with baby, and she enjoys it. I tell you, Uncle Henry was out last night, he played the mouth organ and I took baby under the arms and danced with her in the dining room out into the kitchen and hall, until mamma was nearly exhausted, but baby thought it was fine fun, and cried as though her little heart would break because I did not keep it up. Then we went upstairs and played hide and seek until nine o’clock. Oh, but we have lots of fun, baby and I. She is just beginning to say little things: mamma, papa, Harry, ice, pap, but she understands every word that is spoken to her, and is a sharp, cute, sweet little rascal that laughs and romps all day long. What would I do without her? What if I should have to leave her? It would be terrible.

Sunday, April 25, 1897: Papa and mamma took baby for her first long walk in the woods, over in Browns woods. Baby had her supper, then we gathered some violets. Papa carried baby home, we planted the violets, and today they are holding up their little heads, as bright and happy as can be, although I think they would rather have stayed down in the violet dell, where the ground was just covered with them. I guess they had a real jolly time down there, and at night, I expect the little fairies would come out to dance and have a good time with them, so it does seem a shame to bring the little things from their sweet home to adorn baby’s garden. But then baby is so sweet and loves them so, and waters them and cares for them, that I am sure when they look up into her sweet baby face, they forget all about their fairy dell and think she is one of the little fairies that has come up from the dell to minister to their wants.

Thursday, October 28, 1897: A rainy day, has been raining for eight days, and I have been home sick for eight days. Baby was perfectly happy and wild with delight, she never left me for a minute. She would sit on the bed and have her breakfast and lunch with me. Sometimes she would sit in her little rocking chair, but she would always put it close to the bed, then she would say, Right here, where mammie can see baby. Ma taught her to say Rock a Bye Baby, I wish anyone could hear her. After she had said it two or three times, she insisted that baby could do it, in this way: I would tell her a line, she would say it after me, then when I was about to say the second line, she would say, Baby dood it.

Sunday, November 28, 1897: Baby is twenty-eight months old, still the same happy little darling. When I leave her in the morning she will kiss me and say, Mammie go away and lead the baby all day, in the most woebegone little voice. She can help me do everything, her little hands are in everything. She can make bread, she can cook, clear off the table, set the table, wash the dishes and wipe them, in fact baby can dood it all. She is a perfect picture with her little apron on, her sleeves rolled up, and standing on a chair by the sink, turning on first one spigot then the other, to get hot water or cold just as she wants it, washing her hands, washing out the dishcloth, washing off the table and other things too numerous to mention.

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Monday, February 7, 1898: A beautiful day. I guess baby is out walking with Aunt Lizzie. I wish I could be with her everyday. She said to me this morning as I was leaving her, Don’t lead the baby, mammie, stay with me. And so it is every day.

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Saturday, January 28, 1899: Baby is well, and such a sweet little romp, still as happy as a bird, and three years, six months old. How very fast my baby is slipping away from me. Sunday when I am home with her, she says, looking out of the window, Sunday, you must stay longer, the other Sunday wasn’t long.

Sunday, January 29, 1899: Took baby out for a walk. She insisted upon a car ride, she wanted to go to the city, to her new green house, to see her children that were sick. Well, we took a short ride and came back, when we got out of the car she burst out crying and said, Mamma you did not take me to my new house.

June 3, 1899: Saturday I was swinging baby in the hammock when she said, Ain’t I growing mamma? Stretching herself out. I said, Yes, you are darling. She said, Ain’t you sorry? Indeed I am, said I. Well, never mind, mamma, when I grow up I will get you another baby. Well, I may not love that one as I do you, said I. Oh, never mind, mamma, yes you will. I will get you six of them. Ha!ha!ha! Poor little darling, and so she thinks it is all right, and so she chatters away. She says she doesn’t want her new mamma, she loves me, and I am so good to her. I said, Where is your new mamma? Oh! she says, Down in my new house.

Monday, October 30, 1899: A hop will be given for the purpose of raising money for the Catholic church to be built at Brightwood. Baby doesn’t know what a hop is, as she has never been to anything of the kind, but she hears everyone talking about it so she says she is going. So of course that settles it. When papa and I go Monday night, we will take her up for a little while. It will be given at the hall over the hotel.

Well, we went to the hop, and I will tell you we did hop, baby and I. She kept me dancing all over the hall. It did not make any difference to her whether anyone else danced or not, she could dance. She had me skipping in and out and dodging in among the dancers like fun, and she was so tired and sleepy she did not know what to do with herself.

Friday, November 17, 1899: Baby told Christie today all about her family in Maine. She said she had so many children, and they were so bad and self-willed. Why, said Christie, who do they take after, their father or their mother? With a sigh, I guess they take after me. Christie asked her where she got so many children. Oh! I borned them all, and had them christened, she said. Well, how did you do that? said Christie. Oh! I took them around to Father McGhee’s and he poured water on their heads.

Tuesday, November 28, 1899: Papa is home with baby painting the roof, fixing the chimney, and finishing up the painting of the house that he started in September. Baby has a fine time playing in the garden, especially while papa is home. She is wild for a baby sister, and she says she is going to buy one at the Palais Royal, she has money enough. She will tell the man that is all she has, and he will give it to her cheap. Bought baby a beautiful pair of patent leather shoes at one of the finest shoe stores on F Street, Hoover & Snyder’s, price $1.50, another pair of stockings thirty-five cents. Now baby is all fixed up. Little white coat looks beautiful, little cap with lovely new pink moiré ribbon, quite wide, so when she gets it on she will look very sweet, I am sure.

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Saturday, January 27, 1900: A bright clear cold day, and my baby is well, and still a very happy, jolly little girl. Her home is now in Maine. She has the most wonderful things there, including 300 children.

Tuesday, May 15, 1900: Bought baby a pair of tan lace shoes, she wanted them lace, $1.00, tan stockings, twenty-five cents, drop stitch. She had them put right on, dressed, and her hair braided in two little pigtails, tied with pretty pink ribbon. And she thought they looked fine and went up to see Lydia McElwee, to show her shoes. She looked quite like a little girl, and my baby has gone. How terrible it seems, to lose the sweet baby so soon, but she still has the sweet little baby face.

Saturday, July 28, 1900: A very hot day. Baby is five years old today. She is growing tall, but is still the same little baby, happy and a great romp and tease. We have had the city water put in the house, cost of putting it in $50.00. She is wild over it. She will go into the garden, turn on the water, pick the hose up and turn it full on her father. This she thinks grand fun, then she drops it and runs, then her father will turn it on her. They have jolly times together. I am home on leave and baby thinks this is fine, to come downstairs every morning and find me home. But I am painting all the walls of the rooms, and she paints too, but she is always saying, Mamma, please play with me, and so the time passes quickly.

And now August is here, and I am back at the office, and baby misses me so much and feels so lonesome.

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Monday, January 28, 1901: Baby is five years, six months old, a sweet lovely little girl, that wants a little baby sister. And when we told her we would buy one for her, said she didn’t want any bought ones or made ones. So what shall we do about it? She says she doesn’t want any boys around the house, because they are a nuisance, and if one came she would send it back.

Sunday, February 10, 1901: A beautiful clear cold day, a little windy. The new Catholic church was opened for the first time, Mass at 10:45. Rev. Dr. Elliott preached the sermon about the church and the Catholic Church. We took baby. She thought it was fine, but she got tired of the sermon. It was too much for the first time.

Thursday, February 28, 1901: Baby is five years seven months old, is very well and as happy as the days are long. She said yesterday, when I got home, that she had something to tell me, then she whispered that on Sunday morning at half past six she was going to have a surprise party. She was going to have a little baby one year old and a little girl past five. She was going to get them out of the Asylum. There were lots there, the sisters would be glad to get rid of them, and she could take care of two.

Wednesday, August 28, 1901: A very pleasant day, not too warm. Baby is well and growing tall. She is losing her little baby teeth, and getting her new ones. Of course she does not look quite so nice, but the new ones are coming in nicely. A little boy by the name of Felix Daily that waits on the altar has attracted our baby’s attention. She thinks he is a cute little boy, and watches everything he does. She did not know his name for a long time, and would say, Mamma, can’t you find out his name? So I did, then she would say, Mamma, don’t you think Felix would come down to see me and play with me? She is the sweetest baby, and so cute about it. She has always said that she did not want a baby brother, but now she wants one just like Felix. It is too cute to hear her talk. She is so lonely, she longs for someone to play with.

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Sunday, June 1, 1902: Lillie has been looking forward with a great deal of pleasure and excitement to the coming of her little cousin Theresa.

Friday, June 6, 1902: Lil went over to Baltimore today to bring her over. Baby waited up for them until 11 p.m., but they did not come, so she went to bed tired and disgusted.

Saturday, June 7, 1902: As I was going to the office in the car, Lil and Theresa passed me, so I suppose today the baby is happy with her little playmate.

Monday, July 28, 1902: A very hot day, but clear. Baby is well and is seven years old. We gave her a party. Twenty-three children were there, Chinese lanterns were hung all around the garden, the table was set under the English walnut tree on the west side of the house, lanterns were hung over the table, and everything was very pretty.

Tuesday, August 5, 1902: Bought a very pretty Jersey cow, $30.00. Baby named her Blossom. She gives nearly two gallons of milk a day. She is very gentle, and the children just played with her all day, and in the evening when papa milked her, baby and little Theresa kept the flies off with palm leaf fans, while Gertie held her. She had quite a reception when she came; Gertie, Lil, Mr. Blade, Lillie, and Theresa were at the gate to meet her, and we did nothing but pet her all evening.

Monday, September 22, 1902: A beautiful bright warm day. Baby started to school, and a sad day it was for me, I can tell you. She did not know whether she would like it or not, but I went with her and stayed in the schoolroom with her until school was dismissed at 11:30. Miss Byrne her teacher is a very nice sweet girl. Lillie was very much pleased with everything, and as Lydia McElwee and the two little twins of Mrs. Wertmueller, Hortense and Selma, went, she did not feel lonesome. The second day, I let her go up with the twins alone. I followed shortly with her lunch, stayed a few minutes, came home, went back at recess, saw that she had her lunch. Then when the bell rang for them to go in and she was seated at her little desk, I left her. Went back again at 12:30 when the little ones were dismissed, and brought her home, perfectly happy and delighted, and she said, I had the best day at school I ever had, and this was only her second day. Oh, how I wish that I was home, and could go up with her every day, and watch over her. But such is life, and she must take it with all the rest.

Monday, November 10, 1902: Today at noon, Lil and Mr. Blade were married, a perfect almost-summer day. Baby went from school to see her married.

Thursday evening, November 13, 1902: Baby was vaccinated by Doctor Loseham on Tennessee Street. The weather so far this month has been perfectly beautiful, they say it is Indian summer. The days are as warm as summer, the nights are perfectly lovely, the moon as bright as day, the air balmy and hazy. A pair of shoes, $2.00.

Sunday, December 28, 1902: Baby is well and is seven years, five months old. Lillie has had a pretty blue cheviot dress made with Duchess pleats in the skirt, waist, and sleeves, very becoming. A pink all-wool crepe, lined with pink silk, a little drop skirt of pink silk, with fine knife pleating at the bottom, yoke of pink silk, trimmed with cream lace.