The war-widows were out for a walk, early in the New Year, trailing behind Melanie and Denny, who were running ahead, exclaiming over the early flowers and the smell of spring that was in the air, when they saw a strange sight. Allan Miller was sitting, fully dressed in his work attire, on the front steps of the little slate-roofed house that he and Juliet shared.
"What--is--Allan doing home at this time of day?" said Maggie, whose breath was coming in short gasps. That was happening more and more lately. Mona slanted her eyes toward her friend, and said, "Let's go and see. I could use the rest. Melanie! Dennis! Come over here please. Hullo, Allan! What're you doing home so early?"
Her tone was cordial, but there was still an undercurrent of bitterness. Ever since her and Juliet's quarrel at the birthday dance, Mona had avoided the Millers. If Maggie hadn't needed to sit for a while and catch her breath, she never would have gone over, just passed silently by without a word. But today Mona was careful to make it look as if they were just stopping for a friendly visit. Maggie had gotten so stubborn and sensitive when anyone noticed her condition, lately.
"The bank closed early," Allan said, smiling ruefully, "And, dunce that I am, I've forgotten my keys. I've rung and rung the bell but Juliet isn't answering. Could she have gone into town, do you think?"
"The car's here," said Mona dubiously.
"She might have walked?"
"All the way into town? In her condition?" said Maggie in concern.
Allan threw up his hands. "She's probably asleep--with the radio on, that's why she's not hearing my knocks. But I've got an idea. Melanie," he said to the little girl, "What if I hoisted you up on my shoulders. Do you think you could see into the little window above the door, the one without curtains? If Juliet is asleep we can rap on that--it would surely wake her."
Melanie, a child who was used to being overprotected, agreed. She liked Mr. Miller--even though she sensed some coldness between him and his wife and her mother--and she was only too glad to do what he asked. Up she went, cupping her hands as she peered in the window.
"I see her!" Melanie cried. "You're right--she is asleep."
"Can you tap on the window?" Allan asked. "That should get her out of bed."
"But she's not in bed," said Melanie. "She's on the floor, at the bottom of the stairs, and her skirts are crumpled up all around her. My, she looks pale--like she's seen a ghost."
Down came Melanie--Allan set her quickly but carefully down, and for a split-second the adults stared at one another in shock. Then, before anyone could say or do anything, Mona wrapped her hand in her apron and put it neatly through one of the front windows, unlocked it, and scrambled in, running across the room to Juliet, sprawled amid the contents of an upturned laundry basket. She did look as cold and pale as death.
"Go across the street and call an ambulance," Mona screamed to the others, still outside. "Now!"
* * *
Juliet drifted in and out of consciousness. She remembered Mona bowing over her, looking at her in consternation and alarm. Mona! But Mona hated her. Mona wouldn't care if anything happened to her. She remembered Maggie pressing her hand as they lifted her up, her big dark eyes full of tears. She remembered Allan's white face peering down at her as she felt herself speeding along. She thought she was speeding along. She wanted to ask what had happened, but she could not speak. Just keeping her eyes open for more than a few seconds was too exhausting. Juliet let her curtains close and drifted away again.
There were bright lights, and people rushing around. "She's had a bad fall," someone said, and it all came back. Grabbing for the banister, missing, and tumbling down. "I'm so clumsy," she murmured. "So clumsy, Allan"
"But she is going to be all right?" Allan asked.
"Yes," said the same disembodied voice. Juliet couldn't place it. "But the child--only time will tell--"
It was a struggle to try to place it, so Juliet let herself drift away again.
* * *
When she came to, she knew right away what had happened. No one had to tell her that there would not be a baby. Juliet stared listlessly out the window at the deepening twilight and would not look at anyone. She closed her eyes when the pain in her heart was too great.
"You're lucky to be alive, Mrs. Miller," said the young doctor. "You could have broken your spine, your neck." Allan waveringly dashed water from his eyes and agreed: They were very lucky. He was lucky. His darling Juliet--and he could have lost her forever.
Juliet sighed and said nothing more. Lucky! How could she be lucky? She was stupid--stupid--she had cost them their baby, the one they had planned and hoped for. And that very same doctor had told them there might not be anymore babies, not ever.
Mother and Aunt Ilse both had offered to come out and be with Juliet, but Juliet told Allan to keep them away. She didn't want to see anyone. Bella, too, had offered, but Juliet felt a flame of hatred in her heart for sweet Bella, who had always been one of her best friends. Bella had her baby, and was about to have another. Bea, too. No, Juliet did not want to see either of them. It hurt her to be around ever Allan, the person she loved most in the world. He was so kind and loving to her, stroking her hair, reading to her, and saying soothing things--but perhaps, underneath, he blamed her? Juliet wouldn't blame him if he did. She blamed herself.
After a week in the hospital she was allowed to go home. Allan eased her gently onto the sofa in the front parlor, settling her amid heaps of pillows and blankets. But he needn't have bothered. Juliet's bumps would heal and her bones would knit back together. It was her heart that had been broken, forever.
* * *
As a member of the race of Joseph, Juliet had always been the type of person who looks forward to each new days, and savors the possibilities of what may come like they are golden beads on a silver string. But now, after her fall, for the first time in her life Juliet was afraid of the world.
Who knew what would happen today? A thousand bad things might happen--you were just as likely to get the bad than the good. It seemed like everyone was out to hurt her. The commercials on the television that showed fat, plump babies splashing about in their bath water taunted her. She could not stop looking at the little yellow knitted booties that she'd been working on before--well, before. And just this morning, Allan had been whistling as he got ready to go to work. Whistling cheerfully. How could he be so cheerful at a time like this? Juliet picked a fight with him, and they had parted ways angrily.
The worst was the letter that had come from Trudy, overseas. Juliet had found it wedged in the trash can, opened--obviously someone hadn't wanted her to read it. She read it and wished she hadn't. Juliet hadn't yet written to Trudy about the baby, but Trudy had written about hers. She and Blair had had a baby girl, named Sara Marilla.
Miss Eppie let herself into the little house one afternoon and found Juliet on the kitchen floor, amidst a pile of eggshells and coffee grounds, reading the letter she had pulled out from the garbage. Without saying a word she cleaned off the sobbing Juliet and led her gently, by the hand, to the sofa, where she tucked her in like a small child.
"Now," said Miss Eppie. "I want you to tell me everything about your baby--everything you had hoped, and everything you had planned."
Juliet thought the words would not come but they did. She started out haltingly, but before she knew it the words poured out, and Juliet could not stop them.
"We were going to call her Imogene, Miss Eppie, if she was a girl. Isn't that the most beautiful name? I-mo-gene! It means image of beauty--we would have called her 'Genie' for short. I told this to Bella, practical, sensible Bella, and Bella said, 'You can have another little girl and call her that.' But I couldn't! That name has been reserved for my little lost babe. Oh, Miss Eppie, I don't know for sure but I think she would have been the most beautiful baby in the world. I think she would have had great violet eyes like Mother's, and dark hair like me, and a sweet little mouth and freckled face like Allan's! No, I don't think it! I know she would have been."
Miss Eppie nodded knowingly, but Juliet went on.
"I hate everyone who has a baby of their own. I can't stand to hear from Douglas or Joy or Bea because I hear the babies squalling in the background when they call. And Alice has a new little son, you know! Imagine that! Alice! Maggie has dear Dennis, and even Mona has her little girl. When I read of Trudy's baby I hated her suddenly--my best friend, Trudy!--I was seized with anger. When the old me would have been so happy for her."
Juliet tried to find a dry spot on the hanky Miss Eppie offered, but it was all wet. Miss Eppie gently took it and offered another.
"I even wrote to Trudy," Juliet sobbed, "And I said congratulations, but my words looked so stilted and false. And then a perverse, mean-spirited part of me wrote that the baby was beautiful--but a little squashed and red looking like all babies. As soon as I posted it I was ashamed of myself--but secretly satisfied. I've probably hurt Trudy's feelings irreparably--and Sara Marilla really is a perfect baby, not squashed-looking at all."
"I'm sure she'll understand, dear," said Miss Eppie. "Go on."
"We-e-e-ll," said Juliet. "Everyone keeps telling me not to think about the baby. 'Just put it out of your mind, dear.' As if I could! As if I would! I don't want to stop thinking about my baby--about all the beautiful things that might have been. And Allan--Allan doesn't seem sad at all--he never wants to talk--no one does--not even Mother. She talks about everything but that one thing. I've never known--Mother--to not do the right thing before."
Juliet had a great long cry, at the end of which she said,
"Miss Eppie, I'm sure no one else has ever felt the way I do, ever before."
Miss Eppie smiled--a sad little smile--and said, "I have."
"You--have?"
"Oh, yes," Miss Eppie nodded. "I've got heaps of step-children, you know that. My first husband had two--my second three--and my third four. It got worse and worse each time. But--what I really wanted--was a baby of my own. The stepchildren were urchins--monsters--they had no use for me. My own baby wouldn't be like that. I was sure of it. I lost three babies in all, Juliet. I was too hardened after that to try for anymore, and my heart hasn't been the same since. Don't let that happen to you."
Miss Eppie's eyes took on a dreamy look. "I felt just the way you did now after the first one. Only I always thought my baby was a boy. I would have named him Ross. It was my father's name. He would have been forty years old, now, if he'd lived, but I always think of him as a fat, chubby baby. I like to think that he and little Imogene are up in heaven now, playing together on a fluffy pink, sunset cloud."
This was remarkably poetic for Miss Eppie.
"And you--never--had any children of your own?" Juliet asked.
Miss Eppie's eyes smiled, and she placed her wizened hand on Juliet's smooth young one.
"I have you," she said. "Does that count?"
"Yes," Juliet said, her own eyes moist.
"Good," said Miss Eppie, becoming brisk and no nonsense again. "Now I've got to go. Two of my 'wicked' stepchildren are coming to take me out to lunch--for Chinese, although they know I consider it indigestible. Or so I told them--secretly, I love it. Only they think they're outsmarting me, but I'm really outsmarting them. Ha ha--not bad for an old fox." She gave Juliet a quick kiss and thought that if she'd ever had a daughter, she'd want her to be just like this velvety young thing. "One more thing--go in to your Allan. I saw him in his study when I came in, and he looked mighty low. I think you'll find that he feels a lot of what you're feeling, too--only he feels like he's got to be brave--for your sake. Think about how hard it must be for men to feel things--and to also feel like that they can't let it out. Go to him. Let him know that it's all right, Juliet."
And with those parting words and a fond glance, Miss Eppie was gone. And Juliet, feeling still sad, but stronger, got up and made her way to the study to take Miss Eppie's advice.
