Читать книгу Every Man for Himself - Mark J. Hannon - Страница 14

CHAPTER 10

BUFFALO, 1923

Eileen Brogan was sitting at her dressing table, crying. It was the third time that she had made a Novena to Our Lady, but every month, the bleeding came and went as usual. She looked up at the statue of Mary with the rosary draped over her shoulders, and at the blotchy, red face that stared back in the mirror. I look horrible, she thought, sniffling and wiping her face with a handkerchief. At least the pimples have gone away, she thought, grabbing the fine lacquered hairbrush that Bridy had given her for her wedding, and brushing her hair back, now parted in the middle and trimmed to the bottom of her ears in the popular shorter style. With a final sniffle, she stood up and tugged her dress farther down her hips, wondering if she should lose some more weight. She looked at the cover of the McClure’s magazine on her dresser, and saw the picture of the two girls in bathing suits at Atlantic City. Why, those wee slips of a thing, how could they ever carry a child? Yet, it seemed to be the way all the women in the advertisements looked nowadays, and the girls who all the young boys stared after. Not my Joe, though, she reassured herself. He’s my true love, and faithful as the day is long. Maybe Gibson Girls aren’t on the Coca-Cola ads anymore, their hair wound in elaborate designs on top, or in the Grecian style at the back of her head, like she had had it until Joe got back from the Army, but what of it?

Walking back to the kitchen, she spied the calendar, which silently kept track of her childlessness. Next to it, hanging on the wall, was the telephone. It was how she stayed in touch with Bridy and the other girls she had known in the First Ward since moving to their flat on the West Side. She thought of calling one of them, but left the phone alone. She thought of having one of the oatmeal cookies she had made, but smoothed down her dress and vowed to lose more weight. She looked at the phone again and picked it up, this time to call the doctor she had gone to in South Buffalo, Dr. Ryan on McKinley Parkway. Maybe he could help. She blushed and smiled, thinking God knows she and Joe were doing everything they knew. The priest had said to pray and trust in God, and the Lord would bring children if it was His will. It couldn’t be wrong, though, to lend Him a hand. Mrs. Santora over on Garner had gotten pregnant again, and she was a woman in her late thirties with children ten and twelve years old. She thought it was some pills the doctor had given her.

Eileen picked up the receiver and dialed Seneca 4611, a number she knew by heart. Marvelous, this direct dial they now had, she thought, wondering if the old ones back home would ever be able to get a telephone.

“Yes, hello. I’d like to make an appointment with Dr. Ryan. Yes, I’ve been seen by him before. The day after tomorrow? Can it be early? Yes, nine o’clock would be grand,” she answered, thinking she’d leave early after Joe went to work, and get there and back before he came home for lunch. “Yes, I’ll have the two dollars,” and she wondered how much the pills cost that Mrs. Santora had bought. Hanging up, she exhaled with relief and wondered if she’d have time to see Bridy or some of the other girls along Fulton Street after her visit to the doctor.