Chapter 3

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The baby was so close. I started sleeping later and later. Less than a month left to go; my mind and body felt so ready. Some nights I willed him to come. I concentrated and rubbed my belly. Tried to coax him out. The excitement was building. I wanted to hold him in my arms. I felt that once he was born, my life in Bend would be secured. It had been two months since the letter from Jeff Lambert. It remained in my winter coat pocket in the armoire. I hadn't looked at it since the day it came. At first I was afraid that because I never wrote back he would be angry with me and do something vengeful. I didn't know what he could do from Portland, but I knew he could be cold and mean. As time wore on I realized that things were different. What could he do if I didn't write him back? I wasn't living in a house in Sellwood, having an affair with a married man. The worst thing that could have happened had already happened.

One day another letter from Jeff arrived. That day was like the others late in the pregnancy. I felt as if I hadn't slept at all, but I made myself get out of bed and get ready for the day. That morning I opened the armoire and removed a slip and one of the adorable maternity outfits Mary and I had made back when we couldn't have imagined I would be so big. I pulled the slip over my belly and powered my chest and neck. It was so warm those last days of my pregnancy. I pulled the skirt on and then the smock. The smock had barely any give. The skirt fastened with ties so adjusted to my size. Even pregnant, it was a smart looking outfit. Navy blue with tiny flower print, a white color and a red bow. It was simple but made me feel pretty and somehow suggested that at one time I'd had a girlish figure. Charlie was so big by then that instead of little kicks to my ribs, he seemed to fill up my belly, tightly secure in there. My skin around my stomach was like an inflated balloon. I could feel a little part of his foot just under my rib causing some pressure but barely moving. I knew that little round lump was his heel. I would rub it gently throughout the day. I was sure he was big enough to be born, but Mary's friend Lenore who had four children told me that the last month would take forever. "You feel ready, as if it will happen any moment. Then it takes weeks before labor starts." I had such a feeling of love and contentment when I ran my hand over my stomach. It was all I could do to wait for him to arrive. I picked up the hairbrush and bobby pins and started putting my hair up.

I turned when I heard a gentle rap on the door. The door opened slowly, it was Mary. "I thought you were sleeping. I just brought your mail. I'll leave it up here. You can take your time getting ready. No need to rush." She placed the letters on the dresser.

"Mail? From Carmen?"

"Yes. And, there's another letter from that man who wants to buy your house."

"Jeff Lambert?"

"Yes, that's what it says. Portland Museum of Art."

"He's a professor there. An artist. He teaches."

"Well, here it is." Mary started out the door. She lingered for a moment. "Do you want Frank to help you with your business affairs? Like we talked about? When you decide to sell the house in Portland. If you end up staying here in Bend? There's a lot he can do to help you Eve. He's a very good businessman. He's done a lot of work with the bank for the farm."

I was paralyzed. As much as I didn't want to let on that there was anything other than a letter from a persistent buyer, I felt almost as if I couldn't speak. I had to muster words to keep Mary from worrying or suspecting something else was going on.

"I do, Mary. When I decide to sell, I will have Frank contact Mr. Lambert."

She nodded. "I keep meaning to tell Frank about his letters and the man's interest in the house. I was going to ask Carmen if she knows him. Maybe she can talk to him for you when you decide."

"Mary," I tried to sound earnest. "Would it be all right if we didn't just yet, Can we just let the letters sit, not bother Frank or Carmen until Charlie gets here? The baby is all I want to think about. The house will be there. You haven't seen it, but its very lovely. There'll be no problem selling it. When I do, I'll need Frank's help. And Carmen's. I so much appreciate—"

"All right darling. I'm getting ahead of myself. I suppose I want you to stay here. Get you settled here. But, I know it's not that easy. You're right. Let's get Charlie here safe and sound. Should I bring you some coffee or orange juice?"

"I'll come down. I'll finish getting dressed then I'll be down."

"Oh good, some of the girls will be over for tea. Come sit with us for a while."

"I will. It'll be fun."

Mary left the room, closing the door quietly behind her. When I heard the metal click I walked over to oak dresser and picked up his letter. I moved to the bed and sat down. All I felt was anger at his arrogance. What if I hadn't been able to make up a story about him to explain the letter? What if Frank had seen it? What if he or Mary had opened it? I felt as if Jeff was controlling my life again, or trying to—even from so far away. The letters were a reminder that he once had so much power and that again mine was slipping. I feared I would lose everything all over again. I began crying. I turned and sobbed into the pillow, drowning the sounds but feeling a weighted pain consuming me. After a short time of imagining the worst possible fate --having to live as Jeff's mistress, endure a life of shame-- I began to panic. I thought of packing my things and taking the train somewhere and settling there, telling my lies in complete anonymity. Suddenly, something descended on me, woke me up from my despair. Both fear and clarity causing a piercing calm. Were my emotions overtaking me? I sobered quickly, recognizing a certain danger in expressing such strong feelings. It must have been the pregnancy. I realized I needed to remain calm and in control of my emotions. I wished Carmen had been there to remind me that Jeff really didn't have any control over me. He was a bully. He'd never really had power, it was me. I was just too afraid to say no to him. It was true that I'd done something very wrong in having an affair and carrying on as if nothing had been at stake. I had been like a girl in the movies, behaving as if I lacked morals or integrity. I didn't know why I'd done it, but all of that ended with little Charlie. Jeff was not in a privileged position. He wasn't my husband or a part of my close circle. He was nothing to me. In truth, I'd grown to find him revolting.

I was already exhausted and couldn't imagine moving through the whole day. I didn't know how I'd muster the energy. After I composed myself, I opened the envelope. Inside was his letter. A photograph fell onto the quilt as I removed the stationary. I didn't want to look at the photograph just then. Not until I'd read what he'd written. I was afraid of everything. The letter. The photograph.

Eve,

You've surprised me. I've waited so many days for a response from you, but no letter ever arrived. Please write me so I know how you are. Eve, I don't want anything except to know that you've forgiven me. Although we have been lovers, we have never been correspondents. I look forward to reading your thoughts on paper. It would mean so much to me, becoming intimate with your handwriting, coming to know the lines, and loops and curves of your cursive. I want to see you through your words and how you compose your thoughts to me. Then, I will come to recognize you in your writing. I'm selfish. I want words you choose when you write to me. Ones meant only for me. I want to know what secrets you'll tell me.

As you know I'm not a believer in fate or luck but last night, I stayed awake for a long time, almost till morning. I was thinking about you and, just as if I'd summoned them, the next day I found photographs of you. I opened my desk drawer to retrieve my stationary and write you this letter, and there under my papers were the pictures of us at the beach last summer. I put one in my wallet and I keep it with me. You wouldn't believe me if I told you how often I look at it. It was one I took of you by the shore. Do you remember our weekend together? You were so lovely, Eve. You always take my breath away. I'm enclosing one of the photographs. One of the two of us outside the crab shack. Remember we asked that man at the restaurant to snap a shot with my camera? I always thought we looked like film stars, in that picture. The two of us in front of the car with the building just behind us and beyond that the sea. Well, perhaps it's only you that resembles a film star. You were so lovely in your swimsuit, the scarf in your hair and the sunglasses I bought you at the beach shop.

Eve, I want you to take the train and meet me in Eugene. I've found a hotel for you to stay. I'll register you as your brother and I will purchase a second room for myself. I realize that you may not be well enough to travel, immediately. We should wait until the baby is a little older, but not too long. I'd like to take you on a tour of the town. I've traveled up there several times and driven through neighborhoods and looked at houses. It would be perfect. That way I can make sure you are taken care of. In the meantime, write me about you and your life in Bend. Please don't forget to tell me when you can make the trip. Once the child is old enough come and let me look at you. Let me see you as the mother of my child. I know that my coming to Bend would be full of complications, so I won't bother suggesting it.

Eve, please write something. Don't ignore my letters.

I love you.

Jeff

I rose numbly and folded the letter. I was about to place it in the old wool coat along with the first one, but instead, I put it along with the photograph in my skirt pocket. I retrieved a straight pin and secured the pocket so they wouldn't fall out. I knew I'd need to reread the letter; that there would be moments throughout the day when a panic would come over me. Or, I would question what I remembered he'd written.

I needed to go for a walk, maybe through the orchards or out to the woods. I wanted to contemplate this new development. I straightened the quilts on the bed and puffed the pillows. I tidied the room. I realized I was too tired and frightened to go sit with the ladies. I moved to the window seat and stared out over the orchards. I could see that the trees were full of apples. They'd be ripe and ready to harvest in a month or so. There was a man down below; he was raking around the trees, cleaning up the orchard. He had a wheelbarrow into which he was transfering leaves, sticks and early fallen fruit. As he raked, little parallel lines and grooves were formed. The lines followed the path of the trees and curved and looped around, a short distance between each curve the tracks were straight.

Coming to know the lines, and loops and curves of your cursive.

I returned to myself when I heard the sound of the ladies gossiping downstairs in the parlor. I didn't feel much like putting on my charade. I didn't want to be the heroine, the war widow with a hero soldier's baby. Doing my part for the country. No matter how they felt about me, I was filled with shame. My lies made it worse. Jeff's letter had cast a terrible curse over my life. All I could hope was that it would fade. Perhaps he'd find another woman. All I wished was that I would forget about him and he'd leave me be, but after the second letter I recognized he wouldn't. His letters gave no indication that he would stop until he had me. What that meant, I didn't know. I opened the door and started down the stairs, I could hear Lenore and Susan going on about a lady named Mrs. Phillips.

"She really has some nerve! I wasn't three feet away with her going on about the bridge group!"

"It couldn't possibly surprise you—her rudeness."

"Well, she wasn't outright rude—"

"She wouldn't be, now would she? No, there's always a smile in her face and an insult in her eye. I 'v seen..."

I slipped on to the back screen porch. August was hot in Bend. It may have been the baby that made it especially unbearable. My heaviness, the heat. My back hurt so. The thought that a solid month of pregnancy remained made the whole thing seem unbearable at times. I kept my hand on the top of the pocket, feeling the stiff paper of the letter and photograph. I strolled out through the orchards, under the shady canopy of leaves and growing fruit. The worker was no longer raking. I walked over the loops and lines, parallel tracks in the earth. My mind was bubbling with a response to his letter. Not a word of his seduction stirred me. He wrote as if I were still in love with him. As if it would be a natural secret correspondence, just as our affair had been. As if I was still so thirsty for his slightest attention, that his deluge of words would fill my empty, lonely life. As if each of these letters would satiate me for a while, until finally I would run back to him. How could he know I'd changed and I wasn't that person any more? How would he ever understand how a woman is transformed when she is about to have a child? All of the months conceiving, not just a new life for my baby, but also a new role for myself. I didn't think he would even like this new person I'd become. I knew I didn't like him any more. I feared if I wrote anything to him at all then it would cause him to act. But, in not responding, it left me with a sickening fear that he may just show up in Bend. If he were to do that, I knew what Frank's reaction would be. I could imagine the two men talking calmly and with each word, my status lowering and lowering until I was nothing but a disgrace. I found myself panicking again. I stood under one of the large trees and looked up at the sky through the branches. As much as fear ripped into me, a maternal side was growing stronger. It was hopeful. It came in these unexpected dreams. Like looking up into the blue patches of sky through sturdy branches, I saw my son in the future. A little handsome face staring down at me. I could feel my heart rise and fall "be careful darling." I imagined myself wanting to protect him, as all mothers want to protect their little sons from all any harm that could come to them.

I walked a bit further and found a spot under a large apple tree, one of the last in the orchard. An expansive field opened up before me. Despite my aches and pains, walking through the orchards and gardens seemed to return me to my life there in Bend, at least a little bit. I managed to lower my heavy body to the ground and sit in the shade of the tree. I took off my shoes and let my swollen feet rest on the cool ground. Although I hadn't looked at the photograph, I couldn't get Jeff's description of that day on the beach out of my thoughts. I removed the pin and retrieved the picture from my pocket. I loathed myself when I looked at it.. I hated to think I had been the kind of girl to behave in that way. Looking back on the girl that I was, I felt as if I were dancing on someone's grave. Wasn't that what anyone else would see too? There I was with a married man, away for a weekend. Taking a picture in my swimsuit. He said I looked like a film star. That wasn't how I looked. I had the arrogant look of a woman who was sleeping with someone else's husband. It was plain as day. Jeff was the glamorous one, truly looking like a film star, celebrating his victory. I continued to stare at the photograph. If I had been a child, I might have convinced myself to rip it to pieces, bury the letter and the picture in the woods. Once it was out of my hands, hidden, I would have been able to tell myself, that it didn't exist. I would no longer be guilty of anything. There would be no Jeff. If I somehow destroyed the picture, then none of it would have ever happened. I ran my finger over the image. Then, I returned it to my skirt, fastened the pocket with again with the pin. Of course, the grown up me knew there were more letters, more pictures; more drawings. I couldn't destroy the evidence against me.

I looked up again at the forest and then at the little field just in front of me. This was the part of the farm Mary had asked if I wanted, in order to create my own garden, just like I'd had in Sellwood. This would be the only place on their property dedicated to flowers and garden rooms. The rest was farmland, orchards and a dairy farm. She had taken me to this spot on the edge of the forest, just past the orchards. It was sunny with a little slope. In truth, the plot itself was larger than my gardens in Sellwood. Mary and I had come out here with twine and little stakes. We sectioned off the part of the farm that would be mine to design and take care of.

I looked over the empty earth. It was the potential my life held. It was a beginning. It would be the start of a new existence. Realizing that, I came back to myself. I even found I had energy. I stood and walked around the perimeter marked by twine. I dragged one foot along the dry ground to mark how I might organize the outdoor rooms. I took steps to count my way from each corner to the center. I marked a large circle at the very middle of the space. Here I would place a sturdy round pergola, big enough to cover a table and chairs. Frank had told me he would build it when I was ready.

I'd planned to grow wisteria over the top of the pergola and lay a brick patio underneath. The circle of brick under the pergola would create a lovely, cool space to sit and think. "Contemplate life" as my father used to say. That was to be the center of the flower gardens. I would create four rooms around the area. Little paths would lead to each. I had planned to use shrubs and topiaries in one section. I'd plant wildflowers in the area directly in front of the forest so that when you looked out towards the trees from the patio, it would be preceded by a natural field of poppies, daisies' brown-eyed susans and lupine. Pretty wildflowers moving with the wind. Of course I would create a rose garden, but this area would be farther back, through a curved path of hostas and ferns. I'd plant larger shrubs and trees to shade the path to the roses. Frank said he'd build a small picket fence to surround my rose garden. Once inside, it would be in rows of three semi circles, in the center a stone bench with lattice. Climbing roses. The fourth garden, the smallest, would be reserved for cutting flowers and shrubs. Bulbs: Daffodils, crocus, gladiolas, iris. Shrubs too: hydrangea, lilac, forsythia. It would be wonderful to have the baby near me in a bassinet. While he slept I could tend to the garden. It would be a wonderland for him once he was old enough to dig up worms and play in the mud. The little trees I'd plant would be tall enough to provide shade by the time he got to that age.

There was only so much I could do in my condition but, as I always did, I'd brought a small pad and colored pencils with me on my walk. I stood for a moment and added notes to my sketched out plans for the garden. The colors, the rooms and even the most minute details. Slate paths or moss growing over rocks in the shade were coming into focus. Maybe even before Charlie was born, I'd have the whole thing conceived.

I felt the comforting feeling return as I started back towards the apple orchard. I loved the order of the orchards, all the trees evenly spaced in long shaded rows. I would have loved to run around there as a child. Even far from ripe, the apple trees had a sweet scent. Even in the heat, it was pleasant.

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