Jane
She reached to the shelf above the hanging garments to find her red-and-white cap and dislodged what felt like fifteen hundred other baseball caps, fedoras, berets, beanies, scarves, shawls, and mufflers.
She shrieked as it all showered down on her head, landing on her shoulders, feet, and the closet floor.
For a moment, she thought she was going to simply sit down on top of all those hats and cry.
And that’s what she did.
The thing was, she wasn’t crying because all that stuff was there. She was crying because these days all that stuff usually wasn’t there. It had all been moved to the three different places where her three children lived, and soon they would be gone again.
She reminded herself that everything would be different next Christmas.
Really, it was almost impossible to imagine.
A baby? This time she hadn’t had morning sickness, and when her breasts had felt swollen and achy, she’d assumed she was becoming pre-menopausal.
When she missed her first two periods, she was sure she was pre-menopausal.
When she missed her third period, she’d peed on a number of sticks, and still incredulous, she’d gone to her doctor and learned that, yes, she was pregnant.
She was happy. And terrified. She would be forty-five when this baby was born.
Well, she couldn’t sit on the closet floor like a child hiding from the world.
Jane got up off the floor, pulled on her everyday puffy down coat and soft fleece gloves and forced herself to leave the house.
The night air was cool and crisp. It smelled like ocean salt and crackling fires on the grates of houses all around her.
The sky was higher than ever before and scattered with stars.
Their house was close to Main Street, and she could hear laughter and the murmur of voices. It was not a night to be gloomy.
Jane walked along the sidewalk toward town, her shoes crunching late-fallen leaves, her lungs filling with cold, invigorating air. The closer she got to Main Street, the brighter the lights shone around her, as if she were coming from night into day, from darkness into joy.
She heard music.
She remembered that the town chorus was holding a Christmas Stroll concert in the Unitarian Church, and it had only just begun.
She crossed the street, entered the old, shingled building, and hurried up the stairs and into the main hall.
The pews were crowded and at the front, on the carpeted steps near the altar, a choir was singing “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.” It was tempting to burst into song along with the choir.
Jane knew the words so well, and it was such a happy, energetic song, all about welcoming a stranger into the club.
She slid into a pew at the back of the church.
So many Christmas songs were about bringing a newcomer into a group, and as the thought struck Jane, she had to struggle to contain her tears.
Christmas always made her emotional, and this year even more so.
So many decisions to be made, so many emotions to contain in her small and very confused heart.
She’d been an only child with two working parents, and every day of her life she’d wished she’d had a brother or sister.
She’d had plenty of friends, starting with preschool half-days and continuing through elementary, middle, and high school.
Two of her best friends lived with large families, five or six children each, and Jane adored spending time at their houses, watching the other kids tease one another, play hide-and-seek, even argue.
Jane had grown up longing for a large family.
When she and Brick Three started dating in college, she’d told him she didn’t want to marry anyone who didn’t want a big family.
They’d been so much in love, and optimistic with youth, and full of dreams. Not crazy, colorful, expansive dreams. Realistic dreams. Brick Three had known he would always work at the insurance company and one day become its president.
Jane knew she wanted to live on the island, have a large family, and volunteer in all the organizations that were open to volunteers—the library, the animal shelter, the environmental commissions.
She got pregnant when she and Brick were in their sophomore year of college.
They’d both been amazed and excited. They both missed the island and their friends.
Brick Jr. was delighted that Brick Three could start working for him full-time.
They didn’t return to college for their junior year but rented a house on Nantucket just large enough for them and their first child, Lydia.
The other children had come along in rapid succession.
Brick Three made enough money to buy a house, and after Lucas—the son—arrived, Brick Three had insisted they use birth control so they could get some sleep.
Now, Jane thought, as she listened to the soaring voices of the choir, her dreams had really come true. She just hadn’t dreamed far enough into the future, and who could do that? Who at twenty-one even imagined what their life would be like at forty-four? Forty-four had seemed unimaginably old.
But here, listening to children sing about a child being born, Jane was swept with an unexpected joy. She put both her hands on her slightly swollen belly and was thrilled to the depth of her heart with happiness. She was going to have a baby.
The concert ended. The congregation applauded wildly. The children in the choir smiled and bowed and waved to their adoring fans, and then the wide wooden doors at the back of the hall creaked open and people scooted out of the pews into the aisles and out into the night.
Jane stood, alone in the very back pew, quite happy to watch people leave, to wave and call hello to friends, to stay in the warmth and good fellowship of the vaulted room.
She didn’t know where she wanted to go next, but she wanted to dry her eyes before she went.
She hadn’t even known she was crying again. And this time, it was with joy.
Old Mrs. Beadle, wearing her ancient moth-nibbled fur coat, shuffled down the aisle and stopped when she saw Jane.
“Oh, hello, Jane, do you need a hanky? I’ve got a few tissues in my pocket. I always cry when the children sing, don’t you?” Mrs. Beadle had an undoubtedly real diamond snowflake brooch on her wool cap, and on her lapel, a new plastic pin of Rudolph with his red nose blinking electronically.
“I do need a hanky,” Jane told the old lady. Mrs. Beadle was one of the old-timers on the island, once the center of forming environmental councils and giving galas. Now she was in her nineties, widowed, stooped, and wrinkled, but she always had a smile when people said hello.
Jane didn’t know why, but as she took the tissue, she leaned down and whispered, “Mrs. Beadle, I’m pregnant. Don’t tell anyone, please, I’ve just found out. You’re the first person other than Brick Three that I’ve told.”
Mrs. Beadle’s eyes twinkled. “Oh my goodness, Jane, what a wonderful thing. And I do love a good secret.” She put both hands on her heart. “I’ll hold it close.”
Jane’s eyes filled with tears at the old woman’s words. “Thank you.”
The old lady stretched up and kissed Jane’s cheek. “Take care, my dear,” she said, and progressed with dignity on down the aisle and out the church doors.
Jane wiped her eyes, organized herself, and left the church.
Even though it looked like midnight outside, it was only eight o’clock.
She reached into her pocket and brought out her cellphone.
No one had called with an emergency and Brick Three was probably still yelling at the football game.
Tomorrow she’d be busy preparing for the Stroll house party.
Right now, she took a moment to stand in the fresh winter air, gazing up at the stars in wonder.