Muchas gracias ha Beth, who did most of the beta-ing this round. Thank you to my other betas, Sarah on UU and born2speakmirth over at Twilighted for all their help and support. You three ladies are the shiznit.
Thank you to everyone who has given this story some love. I can't express how much I appreciate your giving this story a shot.
Stephanie Meyers owns Twilight, including its characters and plot. I own Jimmy, Marianne, Edith, Missy and all the people you haven't read of elsewhere. Enjoy.
October 30th 1910
The Brandons arrived back home in Biloxi right when Edith said they would. It was the day before Halloween when they pulled up to their house in a horse drawn carriage that Jimmy had hailed at the station. The cool weather permeated the coach and Marianne looked out the curtained window with a frown. The weather was warmer than when she had left in March, but Marianne still felt cheated somehow; they had left before the spring and arrived right before the winter. It seemed the warmest days would elude them; even now, the sun was hiding behind grey clouds.
After she exited the coach, Marianne stood in front of her home with Mary in her arms, tilting her head to the side. She tried to appraise the house, checking for damages, but she found herself unable to recall what the house had looked like before. Has that scratch in the second step always been there? Has that flower bed always been barren? Was the house always painted white, for heaven's sake? She turned to Jimmy but realized these questions were too crazy to ask out loud and instead busied herself with making sure Mary was bundled up tight.
"I say," Jimmy grabbed a suitcase and wiped his brow. "How did we come back with more than what we left with?"
The driver smiled and pointed to the bundle in Marianne's arms. "I think that's the way it's supposed to happen with babies." The men shared a hearty laugh. Marianne had to force hers.
The inside of 355 Tanglewood was no different than the outside, and once Mary was placed in the bassinet temporarily set up in the sitting room, Marianne looked at everything with new eyes. Whoever had stayed in the house had covered some of the furniture in sheets and Marianne's frown grew deeper when she realized she didn't know what was underneath. She pulled the sheets off and wrinkled her nose. Was the sofa always burgundy? Were the chairs always green? She was relieved to see the table in the dining room. It had been her grandfather's, and she remembered him sitting at the head clearly. She ran her hands over the knots in the wood, trying to commit every groove to memory.
Eventually, Marianne wandered back to the sitting room where Jimmy was standing, his back to the doorway. The room had felt tiny eons ago, and now it felt large with only her small family to fill the room. She recalled the times her friends had filled the space; Missy and Terrance holding hands in the corner. Elizabeth knitting on the wingback chair to the far right. Paul DeWitt asking Edith to dance…
"No one came out to greet us," Marianne said quietly.
Jimmy huffed in annoyance and turned around. "What did you expect? No one even knew when we were coming."
He walked over to the window and Marianne followed. Their eyes swept across the neighborhood. Everything looked as it should with one glaring exception. The house next door didn't look the same and Marianne couldn't place why. She felt a stirring in her chest and placed her hand over her heart.
"Our house hasn't changed at all, thank God." Jimmy said.
"It hasn't?" She hadn't meant to sound so surprised, but it came out anyway.
Jimmy turned to look at her and raised an eyebrow. "No, everything's the same as we left it." He studied her face closely and then gave a placating smile, "I shouldn't be surprised you can't remember it well. It seems the entire time we've lived here, you've been preoccupied. With good reason, of course." Jimmy cleared his throat and closed the curtains. As he walked away, Marianne couldn't help but feel defeated. She wanted to ask him a question he wouldn't understand; a question that she already knew the answer to.
I was the ghost, wasn't I?
Marianne did remember two rooms in startling detail. One was her bedroom; a room she had spent so much time during her days at the house, she wasn't surprised that she remembered it so well. The other room she needed courage to think about, let alone enter. She picked up her daughter, careful not to wake her, and took the steps one by one. She passed her bedroom and went to the door at the end of the hall, one that was barely used. Cobwebs hung from the jambs, and Marianne shifted the baby so she could sweep them away with a free hand. She stood there several moments, not moving, even when she heard Jimmy walk up next to her and ask her if she was okay.
"I'm afraid of going in," she finally answered.
After their son had died, neither of them had entered his nursery. The room held no memories of him; he had never been taken inside, never slept in his crib or been fed in the rocking chair.
Instead, the room held memories of promise:
Jimmy hammering the railing into the crib.
Marianne decorating the walls with paintings of animals.
Jimmy surprising her with a rocking chair.
Marianne singing a lullaby to her belly while gently rocking herself.
The excitement and anticipation had been such a force in their lives, she feared it still hung from the walls like a mobile forever circling around the room. It was these feelings Marianne was afraid of. What if she had only convinced herself she would love Mary as much as she had her son? What if, upon opening that door, the baby in her arms would feel like an intruder? What if, when she laid Mary down in his crib, the grief enveloped and crippled her? What if she couldn't keep her word?
"I can't go in there," she whispered to herself. "I can't."
Jimmy heard her and placed a hand on her shoulder. Marianne knew he too was terrified, but he couldn't possibly understand; Mary is his, Marianne thought, and I'm still not sure she's really mine.
"We can't avoid it forever," Jimmy said, and he pushed the door open. Its creak resonated through the halls, and Marianne cringed, squeezing her eyes shut. The air from inside the room came wafting out to greet them; it smelled stale, and it felt warm.
Marianne felt Jimmy push past her and enter the room. Please. She took in a lungful of their stagnant dreams and slowly opened her eyes. The room looked exactly the same. The walls were still the soft cream Jimmy had painted them. The drawings of animals were still hanging in their places, glittery strands of web reaching out from their corners. The soft teddy bear Marianne's mother had sent them still sat on top of the small dresser that held baby clothing and bibs. Clothing he never got to wear. She felt her lips tremble, and she opened her mouth to excuse herself. A small squeak made her stay rooted to her spot.
Jimmy was standing next to the rocking chair. He ran a finger across the arm, leaving a trail of exposed wood underneath the inch of dust. He stared at it for a long time before clearing his throat and looking up at the ceiling. "It needs a little dusting, and maybe some oil, but it still looks good," Jimmy said quietly. He turned to look at his wife and gave a watery smile. "Mary is going to love rocking in it, isn't she?"
And just like that, Marianne knew the room was Mary's, and that somehow it always had been. She nodded quickly and looked down at the baby in her arms. My baby. She blinked back a few tears and smiled. "I think we'll make your father dust, won't we?"
I love you so much, Mary, she thought.
Marianne kept her promise after all.
###
March 1910 - Boston
When the Brandons and Edith stepped off the train at the Boston station, someone was waiting for them on the platform. He was a short, bald man, with a large belly that made his suspenders look like they were ready to pop. He was holding up a small sign that read "Branden parti". Marianne poked her husband lightly in the arm and gestured toward the man. "Is he for us?"
"That must be Mr. Walker. He was supposed to meet us here with the keys to the place." Jimmy walked forward and shook the man's hand. After a few words were exchanged, Mr. Walker fished a key from his coat pocket. "I hope you enjoy your stay in Boston," he yelled toward the women. Marianne looked away, and Edith had shrugged.
It had been Marianne's idea to rent a townhouse for the few months they would be staying. It would allow them privacy and discretion, she had argued. Jimmy relented. The quest for a temporary home led them to Mr. Timothy Walker, a landlord who, in turn, led them to 299 Commonwealth Avenue. It was one of many townhouses in a row lined with trees and shade. Across from the houses, there was a small strip of grass and even more trees. The house certainly held the anonymity and discretion they had asked Mr. Walker for.
Jimmy walked inside first, carrying most of the bags. Edith followed with hers, and Marianne followed behind them, her eyes wearily searching the home. It was fully furnished, as Mr. Walker had said it would be, but it was devoid of any personal affects or touches. When they walked into the sitting room, the faint strums of a guitar could be heard through the wall.
Marianne forced herself to smile, "Isn't this nice, you two?"
Neither Jimmy nor Edith answered as they glanced around the room. After a few moments, Edith lifted her bag and excused herself up the stairs.
"This is hard enough as it is, Marianne." Jimmy dropped the bags he was holding and ran a hand through his hair.
"Don't you scold me, Jimmy. I was trying to be friendly."
"It's not working." The bags were taken into the room, and the house grew quiet. Even the strumming next door faded away.
Marianne dropped herself heavily on the flowery couch in the sitting room and pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes. Lord, please tell me I'm doing the right thing.
Ever since she was fifteen, Marianne wanted a baby. The urge was small at first, something her own mother had dismissed as a passing fancy. But as she grew older, her body ached for a child. The day she realized she was pregnant had been her happiest, and the day he died had been her worst. She felt a pain in her chest in the months following his death. Her heartbreak felt tangible; if she could cut open her chest, she was sure she would find nothing but shattered splinters in the space her heart used to occupy.
When she had found out Jimmy had gotten Edith pregnant, she thought she would die in shame. Instead her mind began to piece things together for her.
"Why can't it be mine?" she had asked herself.
"Why can't it?" she replied.
Edith could never raise a child on her own. If she were even allowed to keep it, she would be a pariah. Her child would have never lived the life every mother would want. No, the best solution was to find it a good home, a loving home, with a mother who would think of the child as hers without a second thought. The sense of betrayal was eclipsed by a sense of hope, and her thoughts spiraled out of control. Before she could reign them in, Edith was standing in front of her, and Marianne was uttering the words that would change their lives forever: "It's only right I take yours."
Marianne let out a slow exhale and got up off the couch. She took a moment to poke around the kitchen, and found a few teabags and a kettle. Once the tea was done, she fixed two cups and began her ascent up the steps, taking care not to spill any. She took a deep breath and knocked lightly on the door. "I was wondering…would you like some tea?"
The door flung open, and Edith stood on the other side, a shocked expression on her face. Several emotions flickered across her face before it settled into a calm mask. She opened the door wider, allowing Marianne to step in and take in the room before her.
It was painted beige, with a small closet on the left side, a four post bed in the middle, and not much else. There was a small window on one side covered by a lace curtain that had begun to unravel from the bottom. Edith had already begun to unpack, and a few dresses were hanging in the closet.
Marianne quietly passed Edith a cu,. and the two women each took a seat on the edge of the bed. Each searched for something to say before Marianne gestured to the closet, "You didn't bring much with you."
"Nothing I have back home will fit me in a few months. "
"Oh," Marianne felt ridiculous for asking. "Yes, of course. We'll have to get you some clothes, then."
Edith murmured her thanks. The two drank the rest of their tea in silence as they had done so many times in Biloxi
As the months passed, the ladies found it impossible to avoid each other. Jimmy had found a seasonal job that kept him out all day, and Marianne found herself craving company. She invited Edith to knit with her, or join her for lunches in the dining room. Marianne didn't feel a friendship with her, not anymore, but she was ultimately devoted to Edith and the baby's needs. It was during one of their quiet lunches in the kitchen, that the baby kicked for the first time.
Marianne gasped as Edith leaned over in her seat and took a sharp breath, "What is it, Edith? What do I do?"
Edith let out a laugh and sat back, "Someone in there is causin' a ruckus, is all."
"The baby is kicking?" Marianne's hand shot out toward Edith's belly automatically, but she stopped it short. "Can I? I mean, is it okay?"
There was a hesitant nod, but it was a nod nonetheless.
Marianne pressed her hand gently against the bump and waited. She felt it. A hard movement pressed against her hand, and she let out a sigh and felt her eyes tear up. "Hello, baby," she whispered. "Oh, Edith, how can you give this up?"
The words had slipped out without any thought. Marianne froze and choked back a sob. Now she'll want it. Now she'll think of the sacrifice and want to keep it. Her fingers began to sink into Edith's flesh as if they subconsciously wanted to claw the child from the womb. Edith was looking at the ice box, a faraway look in her eyes.
"I'm sorry," Marianne whispered. "I shouldn't have said that."
"No," Edith finally replied. "I always wondered if you'd ask. The truth is, I'm not sure I can look at her without feeling a sense of shame. Without thinking of how…" She cleared her throat and looked down at Marianne, "Promise me you won't do that. Promise me you'll love her."
"It's a girl?"
"I think so," Edith closed her eyes and rocked back and forth on the chair. "Yes, I think it is."
Marianne got up off her knees and went back to her seat. She felt Edith's eyes on her as she folded and unfolded her napkin three times, pushed a few peas around her plate, then took a deep breath and rolled her shoulders back.
"I promise I'll love her."
###
Edith went into labor on an idle Tuesday afternoon, and the next day, the baby was born. Marianne had stayed with her the entire time, wiping the sweat from her brow and holding her hand, "It's okay. It has to be okay this time." No one in the room was sure whom Marianne was comforting, not even Marianne herself.
It took almost a full twenty-four hours, but with one final push, loud cries filled the room. Edith clenched her eyes closed. "Thank you, God," she murmured.
The midwife, an older woman named Sarah, cleaned up the baby and held her out toward the head of the bed. "Do you want to hold her?" she asked.
Marianne swooped forward, bringing the baby into her arms. She took in as much as she could. The baby was a pale pink shade but glowing, with large grey eyes and the slightest dark fuzz covering the very top of her head. She was crying loudly, little fists shaking in the air. "Oh, you're so beautiful," Marianne cooed. She rushed out of the room and into the foyer where Jimmy was waiting.
"It's a girl, Jimmy! We have a little girl, and she's got your eyes!"
Jimmy stopped his pacing. The smile that spread across his face was instant and blinding. He crossed the room and gently stroked the baby's cheek, "She's beautiful. Did Edith see how beautiful she is?"
Marianne shook her head and continued cooing.
"Did she even see her? Jesus, did you even let Edith hold her?" Jimmy's voice was rising, and Marianne found herself glancing back into the bedroom. The midwife was still inside.
"Keep your voice down, Jimmy. She's ours, this was the whole plan."
"Marianne-"
"She's mine."
Somewhere next door the neighbor began strumming his guitar again. Marianne welcomed the distraction and took the baby into the sitting room, where she began wrapping her up in a blanket. Jimmy entered the room and crossed his arms.
"Edith is going to see her eventually. Who is going to nurse her?"
"I already found someone from the paper. She'll have formula in the meantime." She shifted her weight from foot to foot, "Don't you dare ask me to let Edith do it. I won't." She had meant to sound strong, but it sounded like a plea. Don't make me give them a chance to bond.
"If you just-"
"I won't, Jimmy."
The strumming next door abruptly stopped and signaled the end to their conversation.
Katherine Shaw was a beautiful young woman. She was almost a child herself, just nineteen, with long blonde ringlets and clear blue eyes. She had lost her second baby to crib-death and put an ad in the Boston Daily offering her milk to a family in need. Marianne was the first to answer, and she was hired with just a phone call. When Katherine walked into the townhouse that Friday afternoon, Marianne had paled at her youth and beauty and wondered if she had made a mistake not seeing her first. She should have hired someone older, someone homely. Someone Jimmy wouldn't take to…
They walked up the stairs together, and Marianne braced herself. Jimmy both calmed and angered her; he had barely given the girl a second glance. Instead, he stood like a guard outside of Edith's door, pacing back and forth, and pausing each time she seemed to stir inside.
"Mrs. Brandon?" Katherine gave her a small smile, "Do you think your baby is hungry now?"
Marianne nodded and led the way into her and Jimmy's bedroom. They had bought a small bassinet and, inside it, Mary was whimpering. Katherine winced in discomfort when the baby latched on before sighing and smiling.
"Does it hurt?" Marianne asked quietly.
"Just a little," Katherine shifted the baby in her arms, "I could see why you're not breastfeeding, Mrs. Brandon. You have a wonderful figure for someone with a newborn."
Marianne gave a huff before thanking the young woman and excusing herself. She exited the bedroom and looked down the hall. Jimmy wasn't anywhere in sight.
She didn't bother to knock; she opened Edith's door and looked around the room. Edith was propped up on her pillows, looking towards the small window.
"If you're looking for your husband," Edith said, "he's not here."
Marianne stepped all the way inside and closed the door quietly behind her. Her face began to color again, albeit this time in red with embarrassment. She changed the topic, "How are you feeling?" she began.
Edith's shoulders dropped. She rolled her head back a bit and let out a hum, "I feel alright, I suppose." She turned back toward the window. "Did I hear someone else enter the home? Do we have a visitor?"
"There's a wet nurse staying with us. Her name is Katherine, and she's quite nice." Marianne fiddled with the bow on her neckline. She wasn't sure how to say what she wanted. "Are you . . . Are you feeling well enough to go home yet?"
Edith gave a short laugh, one note that cut through the silence of the house, "Jesus, Marianne, it's been two days. You're just dying for me to leave, ain't you?" She shook her head in disgust and stared hard at Marianne, who grew uncomfortable under her gaze. Edith suddenly softened her features. "Can I see her?" she asked.
No.
"You'll see her in Biloxi all the time," Marianne choked out. Her throat was getting thick, and she found herself having difficulty speaking. "I'm going to go start dinner."
"Can you at least tell me her name?" Edith wrung her hands together, "Please?"
"We haven't chosen one."
Edith gave a sad smile, "Yes, you have."
Marianne found herself stumbling out of the bedroom as quickly as she could, and turned, closing the door in front of her. She heard a rattling noise and realized she still held the doorknob in her trembling hands, "Oh my God." She felt chilled to the bone.
Two hands grasped her shoulders tightly, and she felt herself being spun around. Bright blue eyes stared into hers.
"Mrs. Brandon, are you alright? You're shaking like a leaf!" Katherine patted the woman's arms. "Are you alright?" she repeated.
"Mary Alice," Marianne whispered.
"The baby?" Katherine scrunched up her nose in confusion, "She's asleep in her bassinet."
"Never mind, Katherine." Marianne pulled away from the girl and headed into her bedroom. She didn't bother to change, but crawled into bed just as she was, shoes and all. The shadows on the wall were the only mark of time, and she watched them wax and wane until they disappeared altogether. Sometime later, in the darkness, she felt the bed shift and knew Jimmy was sitting on the edge, removing his shoes.
"Honey?" she said quietly.
"I'm here, Marianne. Get some sleep."
Jimmy's dismissal stung. Marianne fiddled with her wedding band before taking a deep breath, "You didn't look twice at Katherine. She's such a pretty thing, too. I was so sure you'd like her."
"Marianne-"
"You know what hurts the most, Jimmy? That you love her. Edith wasn't a mistake for you. You love her," Marianne whispered.
Jimmy didn't respond. He pulled the duvet cover over them, and after some hesitation, draped an arm loosely around her waist.
When Marianne woke up the next morning, Edith was gone.
###
November 1st 1910 - Biloxi
The fanfare Marianne expected came one blustery afternoon two days after their return. Sis, Carolynn, and Elizabeth showed up at the Brandon's door without warning, bearing gifts, and flowers. Marianne welcomed the ladies inside and ushered them into the kitchen.
"I'm sorry if it's a bit dusty," she began. "I haven't had much time to clean since we got back. Whoever rented the place didn't make a mess, but they sure didn't use anything."
Elizabeth and Carolynn exchanged a glance before taking their seats around the kitchen table. The women took turns asking questions about Boston, the North, and the pregnancy. When they asked about the baby, Marianne went and got her from the nursery. The ladies shouted with glee when she returned. Sis was the first to rush over and gently take the baby from her mother's arms.
"I love her little outfit," Sis exclaimed, pulling lightly on the baby's dress. "Oh, and she's got Jimmy's eyes!"
"Where is Jimmy, anyway?" Elizabeth asked.
Jimmy had already gone back to work, and the ladies once again nodded in unison when they were told as much. Marianne was starting to find all their similar behaviors annoying.
"It's a shame Missy and Edith couldn't be here," Carolynn said in between bites of a ginger snap, "I though Edith would be missing the baby."
Marianne tensed up, "Why would you think she was missing the baby?" She didn't keep her voice even.
Carolynn put her cookie down and leaned back in her seat, "I just thought she'd miss her after spending so much time up there with you," she replied.
"Oh, of course. Well, Edith didn't spend much time with the baby itself. She left right after the birth." The ladies were quiet after that, and Marianne wondered why she had wanted any fanfare at all.
###
"She's too small," Jimmy frowned and let little Mary grasp his finger in her pale little fist, "Is she supposed to be this small?"
Marianne had been knitting in the nursery when Jimmy had come home from work. Several weeks had passed since they had arrived back in Biloxi, and they had settled into normalcy and routine. Jimmy gave her a quick kiss on the forehead, as he always did, and had walked over to the crib to say hello to Mary. This time, when he looked down, he stopped mid-bend and appraised his daughter once. Twice. Then he frowned and said the words Marianne knew she would hear eventually.
In Boston, Mary had seemed fine. In Biloxi, in the crib and clothes they had bought for their son, Mary seemed to swim in fabric. Marianne had noticed it a week ago, and had tried to give her daughter more milk, but the attempts were in vain. She wasn't having it.
"She is too small," Jimmy repeated, breaking Marianne out of her reverie. She gave an exasperated sigh and tossed her knitting onto the small table in the room.
"She's perfect, Jimmy. Absolutely fine."
"She's not fine. She's small, and she's still pale. We should have hired a wet nurse again."
Marianne was shaking her head before she finished her sentence, "The formula I got at the pharmacy is just as good as a wet nurse."
"It's obviously not, Marianne." He sighed and stuck his hands in his pocket, "Why won't you just let someone feed her?"
Marianne got up from the rocking chair and walked over to the crib, pushing Jimmy out of her way. She lifted Mary and took her into her own bedroom, closing the door on her husband's protests. When she was sure Jimmy wouldn't burst in, she began to unbuckle the blouse of her dress with one hand.
She had heard stories of adoptive mothers producing milk for their children, and she was determined to do the same for Mary. She held her close to her bosom and gave a small hiss when she latched on to her nipple. "That's it," she whispered.
After a few moments, Mary pulled away, mouth dry and lips lightly chapped, and began to cry. Marianne stared at her for a few moments before quietly buttoning her blouse and taking her downstairs for a bottle.
###
Desperation can do funny things to a person. It could make someone say something they shouldn't. It could make someone act before thinking. It could make someone ask for help in the last place they thought they would. The latter was what Marianne Brandon found herself doing one winter day.
Mary did grow, but, at four months, she was not nearly as big as she should have been. Her skin had begun to have a blue undertone, and Jimmy was at his limit. Marianne preferred to think it was something that would go away, that whatever it was would heal, and Mary would be right as rain. She pointed in excitement when Mary had begun to lift herself up on her arms. "See, Jimmy," Marianne had said, "She's fine." They both ignored the struggle it seemed to take their daughter to do anything, or the way her bones jutted out at the wrists.
But that desperate winter morning was the final straw. Marianne had just walked into the nursery, when Mary tried to lift herself as she had before.
"Good morning, darling--" Marianne was cut off as Mary collapsed with a thud onto her chest. The action surprised her more than hurt her, and after pursing her lips into a small 'o', she began to wail. Marianne found herself crying right along with her.
"What's wrong with you?" Jimmy had already left for work, which left Marianne alone and terrified. There was only one person she could get to quickly that would know what to do. She grabbed Mary and ran out the door without a second thought
When Edith opened the door, her first thought was that she was dreaming. Her second thought was that she had been in that position too many damn times; someone would bang on her door, and she would come running. Further more, she was getting tired of how often it was a Brandon on the other side. Still, she was surprised to find Marianne at her door at all, let alone in a robe and with pin curlers still in her dark brown hair.
"What in the world…?" She noticed the baby and raised her eyebrow.
"There's something wrong with her!" Marianne choked out, and she pushed the baby into Edith's arms. Edith stood frozen at the door for a second, looking down at Mary as if she had never seen a child before. A few beats passed before she gestured Marianne inside and closed the door. She hurried to the sitting room, and Marianne followed her blindly.
"She's so small, Edith. She's not growing like she should be. This morning she was lifting herself up and she collapsed! She couldn't hold herself up!" Marianne pressed a hand against her mouth to hold back the sobs. Edith couldn't contain the small smirk that appeared on her lips. This happened all the time to the new mothers: their babies would do something completely normal, and they would come to Edith in tears asking her what was wrong. Edith lay Mary down on the couch; the girl was looking at Edith curiously and trying to grab her hands.
"Babies usually drop themselves a couple of times, dear. Wait until she starts walkin'. She'll fall down more times than she steps, I tell you." She widened her smile and began poking and prodding Mary, feeling her arms and legs. She felt lightly around her skull and frowned.
"Who did you get to nurse her here?" Edith asked.
"I didn't get anyone," Marianne flinched under Edith's glare and sat down on the sofa with a sigh. "She's being fed, Edith. I give her formula."
Edith stared at her a moment longer before turning back to the baby and continuing her exam, "I never see you out much."
It was true the women had seen each other on the street, at the market, in the pharmacy. Once they had even gone to Carolynn's house for tea, not thinking the other would show. Marianne was the first to leave, citing feeling tired or needing to feed the baby.
"I thought seeing my family would be hard for you."
"Is that right?" Edith couldn't keep the incredulous tone out of her voice.
"No," Marianne licked her lips, "I thought if you saw us, you might change your mind and try to get her back."
Edith didn't respond. Instead, she lifted the baby up and placed her in her mother's arms, "I think she's got the rickets. It's a bit early to tell, but her head is real soft. It's not s'posed to be that soft at her age," she trailed off and brushed one of Mary's locks of hair off her forehead.
"Rickets?" Marianne began to tear up again, and Edith held up a hand.
"Don't you start that nonsense, Marianne. I know more kids with it than without. Mary will be fine if it doesn't get too bad. My mama used to give the kids cod liver oil to fix 'em up. I don't know if it works, but I never go against my mama."
Edith got up off the sofa with a gesture to wait. Marianne watched her leave and then took stock of her home. Whereas the Brandon home seemed like a museum in its lack of change, Edith's home felt like a store that changed fashions with the seasons. The furniture was different, the linens were different, even the wall color was different than she remembered.
"Paul," Edith had walked in and noticed Marianne's glances, "He thought change would be a good thing." She gave no further explanation as she handed Marianne a small bottle, "That's the cod liver oil. I suggest that baby get some fresh air and sunshine. It ain't good to have her cooped up every day."
She settled back on the sofa and folded her hands on her lap. Her voice grew quiet, "Marianne, you shouldn't worry about me. She knows you as her mother by now, and I wouldn't take that away from her."
The two women shared a look and a silent conversation.
This can be normal, Edith said.
Maybe it can be, Marianne answered.
They were interrupted by a knock on the door. Marianne took it as her cue to leave. She thanked Edith, who invited her over for tea. Marianne agreed and exited the house before she could change her mind. Missy Pleasant stood on the porch slack-jawed, and only managed a weak wave when Marianne walked past. Missy watched her walk back to her own house before running inside Edith's home. There she found her friend sitting on the sofa, a surprised look on her face, "Oh, Edith, what did she say to you? Why was she here with the baby? Was she here long?"
Edith caught the last question and shook her head. "No. Not long at all," she answered with a smile.
It seemed to Edith that the most life-changing events happened in mere minutes.
###
Mary went outside at least once a day for an hour. The improvement was instantaneous; her skin began to have a soft glow. Jimmy was often the one with her, and Marianne would watch lovingly from the kitchen window as he would walk Mary around in his arms. Some days he would turn on the phonograph loud enough so he could hear it outside. It was always Sophie Tucker, and he would sing along rocking Mary to the beat of the music. Marianne chose to ignore his longing glances to the house next door.
Those who knew the truth about Mary were surprised when Marianne decided to go over to have tea with Edith as she had said. The two eventually settled into conversation, ignoring the topic of Boston or Jimmy altogether, though talk of Mary was welcomed by both. Marianne found she preferred Edith's company over the usual group that seemed to hover around her porch, and she found herself going back again the next day.
Being in Edith's house so often made Marianne resent the drabness of her own home. One evening she felt inspired. She threw on a house-dress, dragged a chair over to the tall bookcase in the sitting room, grabbed her duster, and went to work.
"How does this house get so damn dusty?" Marianne swept the bundle of feathers over the top of the bookcase, making a large cloud of dust billow towards her face. She let out a few hacking coughs and a sneeze for good measure. The chair she was standing on rocked, and she let out a loud yelp.
Mary, who was lying on a blanket on the floor near the sofa, began to giggle.
"Your mother is amusing, isn't she, Mary?" Marianne tossed the duster to the floor and climbed down from the chair she had been using to reach the top shelves. "Your father, on the other hand, is not amusing at all. In fact," she turned toward the kitchen and bellowed, "He should be in here helping!"
"I'm not listening!" he called back.
Marianne picked the feather duster back up and shook it in his general direction. This made Mary laugh even harder, and she rolled herself on her back, her thin little legs sticking up in the air. Marianne watched warmly as her daughter became enthused with the socks on her feet and pulled them off.
"I just put those on you," Marianne sighed, then turned around and began to dust the bottom shelf.
Jimmy, being an accountant, had a large collection of books; algebra, statistics, and economics were his favorites, and there were countless texts stuffed into the Brandon bookcase. They didn't interest Marianne at all, and if she had had her way, they would have stayed behind in the move. After all, how practical were statistics in one's daily life? Her thoughts were interrupted when a few books slid off the shelf. She jumped back so they wouldn't fall on her feet as they settled into a heap on the floor.
"Oh, for heaven's sake!" She had tossed the duster aside and was gathering her skirts to kneel when something pink caught her eye. Moving the top books aside, she found what she was looking for; one of the heavier books had fallen open and, nestled between the pages, there was a single blossom.
Marianne picked up the book and scanned the cover. It was a mathematics book indeed, something only Jimmy would read. But why would he be keeping a flower in a geometry book? It appeared to have been there for some time by the way it was paper-thin and completely dry. The spine of the book was cracked on that page, as if it had been opened to that space frequently. Marianne stroked the edges of the blossom gingerly and pursed her lips.
"Honey?" She called out to her husband.
"Not now, dear," Jimmy replied in a sing-song voice.
Marianne let out a huff and walked towards the kitchen. When she entered, Jimmy was sitting at the table with piles of paperwork on either side of him. He held a small stub of a pencil in one hand and was mumbling numbers to himself, writing with a frantic pace in his notebook. Marianne cleared her throat to get his attention, "Jimmy?"
He looked up, his smile disappearing quickly when he noticed the book in her hand, "Marianne, what are you doing with that?"
"It was sitting on the bookcase I was cleaning."
Jimmy's eyes bore into hers. He let out a scoff, and his hand twitched as if to snatch the book away from her. His reaction was all she needed to suspect this was something more than it seemed.
"What does this flower mean, Jimmy?"
"It's just a flower I found on the street one day."
"And you saved it?" Marianne heard her voice rise in pitch and began tapping her foot to keep herself calm, "Keeping a random flower off the street isn't something you've done before."
"Look, I saw it on the sidewalk and I thought…," he trailed off and sighed, "It reminds me of a time I could have been a better man. But it's just a flower, Marianne."
Marianne studied his expression. He wasn't lying. "That's all it is?"
"That's all it is. Just a flower." He adjusted his glasses and looked down at his papers, "It's just a flower," he repeated. His voice sounded thick and tinged with a hint of sadness. It felt familiar to Marianne somehow.
"So should I keep it, then?"
"It doesn't really matter, dear." And he went back to his equations.
Marianne closed the book and exited the kitchen. She went back into the sitting room, taking a quick glance at her daughter. She was still enthused with her socks.
A quick scan of the bookshelf got Marianne what she was looking for. The Language of Flowers was something an aunt had given her a few years ago. She rarely found use for it, but now she had it propped on her lap, comparing illustrations to the flower in the math book. She found it quickly and read the definition out loud.
"Azalea: a flower meaning fragile passion. Restraint." It didn't mean anything to her. She placed her flower book back on the bookcase and tossed the math one into the dustpan. She began to walk away before suddenly stopping and turning back. She finally realized what was so odd about Jimmy's voice; it was devoid of hope.
Marianne picked the book up out of the dustpan, wiped it off, and placed it back on the shelf.
The foundation has been laid down and you know what that means: The next chapters are all about Mary. I know, I'm excited too. Head over to my profile page or blog to get more info on this story and this chapter, including some cool links.
Also don't forget I'm a judge in Les Femmes Noir. Kissing up to my story won't win you any points but you could try anyway…(just kidding).
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