Chapter Seventy-Four
ADA THREW HERSELF INTO HER WORK. SOMETIMES, AFTER Rosenbach had left for the evening, she would slip into his office and read a letter that had arrived earlier that day for him from Eleanor Widener.
She knew it wasn’t meant for her eyes, but as she pulled the paper from the already opened envelope, Ada would search Eleanor’s words for any crumb of new information about the developments regarding Harry’s library at Harvard.
It helped alleviate her isolation as she read about the evolving design details.
These letters drew her into a world from which she felt painfully excluded.
A place where, had things been different, she could have expressed her grief outwardly.
A place where her loss could have been channeled to something public and respected.
She worried that such a thing would never be possible for her or for the child that grew inside her.
Ada’s eyes focused on every line.
Dear Dr. Rosenbach,
This library project has given me a reason to wake each morning. As I described in our earlier meeting, at first I imagined creating a small memorial library comprised solely of Harry’s collection.
But recently, Harvard’s President Lowell has illuminated the college’s overall need for a more expansive library.
While I initially thought such an undertaking might prove too overwhelming for me, I now find myself rather exhilarated by the prospect.
We have discussed having a special room as part of a much larger space in which to house Harry’s collection of rare books.
This idea now lifts my spirits immensely, for I imagine it being the heart of the building. …
In another letter, she wrote how upset she was with the press.
Dear Dr. Rosenbach,
Of course, you can understand how distressing it is for me to see these reports in the paper that wrongly state that it’s my father-in-law who’s underwriting the cost of the new library.
While Harry’s grandfather shares my grief, the press should acknowledge that this library will be my gift to my son, financed wholly and irrefutably by me. …
Ada put both letters back in their envelopes and closed the door to Rosenbach’s office.
In the soft hazy light of the summer evening, the rooms at Walnut Street were a haven for her.
Back in her boarding house, there was hardly any light.
The narrow staircase of the tenement building led to her small cramped room that had a lone window, which looked out to an air shaft.
She shared a bathroom with three other women.
Two of them worked as laundresses, whom Ada hardly saw because they got up far earlier than she did and came home to go to sleep when it was still daylight.
But Fanny, an Irish immigrant who worked in one of the garment factories, was always friendly and kind to her.
“I’m here if you ever need someone to talk to,” she said to Ada one night in the hallway. Their rooms were adjacent to each other.
Fanny’s eyes fell to Ada’s midline. A sympathetic look washed over her. “Know that you’re not alone. I’ve been where you are now, too.”
Since her arrival in America, Ada had struggled to get used to the directness in which people there spoke to each other.
At first Ada chose to pretend she hadn’t heard what Fanny said.
But one night, after getting home from Rosenbach’s, Ada closed the door of her room and sobbed into her pillow.
She was midway through her fourth month and, despite having already let out the waistbands of her skirts, she could barely squeeze herself into them anymore.
She knew that soon she would no longer be able to conceal her pregnancy.
A light rapping sounded on her door.
“Ada, are you all right?” It was Fanny’s voice. “Please. Let me in.”
Ada opened the door a crack, revealing her red streaked face. “I’m just a little homesick,” she lied. “I’ll be fine.”
Fanny’s eyes looked straight into hers. “Please, Ada. Let me be a friend to you.”
“You don’t need to say anything,” Fanny said as she walked a few steps across the room and sat on Ada’s bed. “I know it’s a hard thing to discuss with anyone.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ada said as she blotted her eyes with her handkerchief.
“I’m a seamstress. Most people wouldn’t notice when a woman uses a wider sash to distract from her middle, or suddenly starts wearing a wrapper underneath her dress. But I do.”
Ada still didn’t admit a single thing.
“I’m not judging you, it’s the opposite actually. I found myself in the same situation last year. I fell in love with someone who didn’t love me back.” Fanny turned away, her eyes settling on the patch of peeling paint on the wall.
“Giving up my baby was the hardest thing I ever did in my life.” Her voice broke.
“And I really yearned for a friend to talk to when I was at my lowest,” she said, now turning to Ada.
“I promised myself if I ever saw another woman in the same predicament, I’d show her the kindness I wished someone had given me back then. ”
Ada’s fingers twisted in her lap. “Thank you.”
“Don’t worry about your clothing for the next few weeks. I can adjust anything if I have a needle and some thread.” She patted Ada’s hand.
“But what about the bigger problem?” she whispered. “Has your beau any intentions to do the right thing? Or did he react just like mine did, leaving you up the pole?” Fanny clicked her tongue.
Ada eyes wettened. “He never knew. He died.”
“Oh my.” Fanny’s eyes widened. “I’m so very sorry. That’s horrible.”
“‘Yes,” Ada said. She did not want to reveal the circumstances. Mentioning the Titanic now would only breed unwanted gossip.
“How far along are you? Five months?”
“In a week or so, yes.”
“Depending on how you start to carry over the next month, you might be able to delay going to the unwed mother’s home until your seventh or eighth month. But you must be extra cautious. Our landlady won’t let you stay here if she suspects anything.”
Ada’s eyes fell to her lap. She couldn’t imagine giving up her child.
“I’ll help you,” Fanny promised. “I can give you the name of the place I went to. They will find a good home for your baby. It’s really the only option; the hospital won’t admit unwed girls.” Her voice trembled. “No sympathy care, they told me.”
Ada winced. She knew that just speaking about her own experience must have made Fanny’s heartache feel fresh all over again.
Still, her hand remained firmly gripped with Ada’s. “But St. Anne’s Home for Unwed Mothers promised me they’d find a good family for my girl. And really, what other choice do we have? We have to believe them.”