Chapter 38
SURPRISES
My face and arms were clean when Joe’s parents arrived, though the rest of me was still covered in blood.
“Marguerite,” Mrs. Stark said with horror. “What happened?”
“It was a …” I tried to say, clutching my paper cup of coffee. “It was—”
“It was a mountain lion,” Fred said, taking charge.
I was grateful; I could hardly hold myself up now.
In fact, Susie was beside me, her arm around my shoulders.
She’d insisted that the medical staff check me over, but other than some bruising and soreness in my hands and arms from wielding the log, I was unharmed.
“But how is he?” Mrs. Stark asked. “Where is he?”
“They haven’t told us yet,” Fred said. He was as cool and competent as he’d been all along, and I didn’t believe anymore that he’d been a disaster as an airman. “He’ll be in surgery. It was quite a scalp wound.”
It was at least another hour, or so I judged, before we heard more.
The gold watch my father had given me was covered in blood and had stopped, and I spared a thought for it before letting it go.
My mind was with Joe, and my heart, too.
And when a man came out and called my name, I nearly staggered as I rose.
“Here,” I said. “I’m here.”
The doctor looked tired. He said, “We’ve cleaned the wounds and stitched him up, and he’s resting. The biggest danger now is infection. We’re pumping him full of antibiotics and will be doing it for quite a while. I understand it was a mountain lion.”
“Yes,” I said, then, in a louder voice, “Yes. A mountain lion. It took him from … from behind and knocked him … knocked him …” I was shaking again.
“And you fought it off,” the doctor said. “That’s what we heard.”
I nodded numbly.
“That was quite the heroic effort,” the doctor said. “How are you feeling now? All right?”
“Uh … yes,” I said. “Can I see Joe?”
“Maybe later,” he said. “Your husband says that you’re a hemophilia carrier. Have you been checked over?”
“Yes,” I said. “But Joe—"
Mrs. Stark said, “When can we see our son?” Her tone sharp, worried.
“Talk to the nurses,” the doctor said. “That was a heck of a brave thing to do, Mrs. Stark.” It took me a moment to realize that he was talking to me. “Take care of yourself, now,” he said. And walked away.
They finally let me see Joe at two o’clock the next afternoon: the start of visiting hours.
I went in with his mother. I’d wanted to be with him alone, of course, but how could I have denied her?
She and Mr. Stark had stayed in our house the night before.
Susie had cooked dinner for all of us, which had been so kind of her, while Mrs. Stark had taken care of breakfast. As for me, I’d moved through the house like a ghost, feeling only halfway here.
Infection.
A mountain lion’s teeth and claws.
Believe, I’d told myself as I lay sleepless in our bed, staring into the dark. Believe.
Joe’s face, when we were allowed into the room at last, was nearly as white as the bandages on his head.
He raised the ghost of a grin for us, though.
I wanted to hold him, but I didn’t know where he hurt.
When I stood there, hesitating, he took my hand and said, “That makes twice.” His voice weaker than usual, but sounding exactly like Joe.
“Wh-what?” I asked, my chin and lips and hands trembling like leaves.
“That you’ve saved my life,” he said. “Come sit by me and hold my hand. Hi, Mom. You OK?”
She had a handkerchief to her lips, but now, she nodded and tried to smile. “Thanks be to God,” she said. “Thanks be to God, you’re alive.”
“Well, God and Marguerite,” Joe said. “If we’d had her fighting with us, we’d have won the war sooner.”
“Ha,” I said, doing my best to smile. It wasn’t easy, since I was crying again into my own handkerchief. “I’ve never felt such rage. Never in my life.”
“’Though she be but little,’ Joe quoted, ‘she is fierce.’”
“A Midsummer Night’s Dream,” I said.
“I’m beginning to think you’ll be all right,” his mother said, taking a seat beside me and touching Joe’s leg as if she needed to touch him somewhere, to reassure herself that he was really alive. “If you’re back to quoting Shakespeare.”
“Mm,” Joe said, but he was still looking at me. “You never got to tell me what you wanted to say yesterday. Tell me now. By the way—I could have a bald spot. Will you still love me then?”
“I loved my father,” I said. “And I love you. It seems that I love brave men who have been wounded and carry on.”
“Lucky me,” Joe said, at which I cried some more. “So,” he said when I’d finished, “what was it you wanted to talk to me about?” He told his mother, “We went for a walk because Marguerite wanted to talk something over.”
“Oh,” I said, and squeezed my handkerchief more tightly. “It’s—it’s …” I stopped.
“You’ve never been anything but strong,” Joe said. “Whatever it is—tell me. We’ll get through it together.”
How could I help but love this man? I said, “The doctor says I am to have a child.”
Joe stared. His mother gasped. Joe said, “But that’s— That’s great! But how?”
I knew I was turning pink. This wasn’t a proper subject to discuss before Joe’s mother, but here we were. I said, “On New Year’s Eve, I think. After the party. We’d had rather a lot of champagne, if you remember, and …”
“And we got carried away.” Joe was grinning like a man who had not been nearly killed by a mountain lion. “Yes, I seem to recall that. And you’re worried.”
I said, “Yes. I am.” And was overtaken by another rush of emotion.
“I know the time is wrong to say this, but I believe I must. My mother was pregnant again after me. After my brothers died. She and my father—they asked Dr. Becker to help. She was very delicate, you know, and it was most dangerous for her to have another child. And the death of the boys …” I had to stop for a moment.
“It was very hard. A very hard choice. I heard this first from the servants—I overheard, you know, as one does when one is young—and later, I asked Dr. Becker. He looked very grave, and said, ‘Yes, I helped them. Losing a child is the most difficult thing one can face, and losing two is unimaginable. And your father was very afraid for your mother. You mustn’t judge them too harshly. It was an impossible choice.’”
Joe had gone, if anything, paler. His grip tightened on my hand. “What are you trying to say?”
“That I want to do this,” I said. “I want to try. I know it’s selfish of me to wish it so much when the child could suffer, and I know we haven’t spoken of it in a long time, but … But if you can’t face it,” I said with the last of my strength, “I’ll understand. It’s a risk.”
“How can you think,” Joe said, “that I’d want anything else? Life is a risk. And this is the New World, you know. We’re supposed to be bold over here, and optimistic. We’re supposed to dare to dream. So I’m going to say this right now. We’re going ahead and daring. You and me.”
“And if something happens?” I asked.
“Then it happens,” he said. “And we pick ourselves up and keep going. Together. Just like we did yesterday.” He grinned, suddenly. “A baby. How about that? How about that, Mom?”
“Wonderful,” she said, making more use of the handkerchief. “Just wonderful.”
“I’ll say,” Joe said. “We’re going to have a baby, Marguerite. You and me. And you’re going to be the best mother.”
Oh, did that make me cry! Joe held me as much as he could manage—I may have mostly been on the bed, in fact—and stroked my hair.
And when I was finished crying and attempting to put myself to rights again, he said, “Did you really start singing the Army song yesterday, or did I hallucinate that? I have the weirdest memory of staggering down a trail, hardly able to see for blood, and singing about how the caissons go rolling along. With my German wife.”
“Your German shiksa,” I said. “Who loves you more than life and wishes only to be with you always.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Look what Uncle Sam gave me, Mom. Am I the luckiest guy in the world or what?”
“Yes,” she said. “Yes, I think you are.” And smiled through her tears.