squealing and tripping on my outstretched legs. “And cooler because of the lake. The children play in the woods all day and only come home when it’s time for supper. It’s quiet enough to think, to read even. I bet I read twenty books last summer. And if the weather’s good, you can swim every day.”
“I’d probably sink,” Eva said, laughing. She was due in three weeks, but she looked as though she might go into labor any minute.
Suddenly an idea struck me. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t thought of it before. “Next summer you should come visit!” I said. “Bring the children.”
“Really?” she asked.
“Oh, please, it would be so nice. They could swim. Pick blueberries. There’s a tree house. Johnny would love it.”
Johnny, at the moment, was bouncing on a pogo stick on the small, square patio near the back steps. Up and down, up and down. Squeak, squeak, squeak .
“Well, then, it’s a plan!” she said, clapping her hands together.
I knew that by the time we got back from Vermont, Eva would have had her baby. And I would be four months along, nearly halfway there. Eva had convinced me that I needed to tell Frankie about it before we left. I was three months now, farther than I’d ever made it before. I’d hidden the slight swell of my belly under aprons but I wouldn’t be able to pull it off much longer. Besides, I knew Frankie would be over the moon; Francesca and Mouse would finally have a baby brother or sister. And as frightened as I was, a little tentative part of me thrilled at the notion of becoming a mother again, and of having a friend to share the experience with this time. Eva and I had discussed the names we’d considered, imagined the little ones playing together as our girls did. We’d pored over pink and blue paint samples Ted brought home from the hardware store, lingered over baby layettes in the Montgomery Ward catalogue. Still, the idea of telling Frankie made my stomach do flip-flops, and so I waited. On the Thursday before we were to leave, I still hadn’t told him.
I spent the entire morning packing and cleaning the house. I must have done five loads of laundry, most of it the girls’. I gathered their favorite toys, packed a bag for the train ride: cards and snacks and books. I made sure I had saltine crackers and a bottle of ginger ale for Mouse’s motion sickness, hoping she would sleep most of the way. I made a freezer full of casseroles, things that Frankie could just pop in the oven and heat up throughout the month: tuna casserole, beef stew, and lasagna. He wore a uniform to work, and he knew how to operate an iron, so I was spared there. But I made sure all the towels were clean, that there were fresh linens on the beds.
Chessy and Mouse were trying to get in every last possible minute with Donna and Sally; all morning they were back and forth between the houses, clinging to the final few hours with each other. I kept reassuring them that we’d be gone only four weeks, and that when we got back, school would start and they’d see each other every day. They would be in the third and first grades, respectively. Frankie had lobbied for the Catholic school but had, due to my stubborn resistance, lost. I had no problem with him bringing them to Mass every Sunday. I didn’t put up a fight when he wanted them baptized or later when they each had their first communions. But I put my foot down when it came to their schooling. Frankie must have known I wouldn’t budge, because he let well enough alone after our first discussion. Besides, the Catholic school was halfway across town, and the brand-new elementary school was less than a mile away. Even he had to admit that the round building, with each classroom like a slice of pie, opening to a huge cafetorium, was pretty impressive compared to the tired, old brick monstrosity that was St. Dorothy’s.
I fed the girls an early lunch, and then the older ones took off out the door again. Sally and Mouse stayed
“I’d probably sink,” Eva said, laughing. She was due in three weeks, but she looked as though she might go into labor any minute.
Suddenly an idea struck me. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t thought of it before. “Next summer you should come visit!” I said. “Bring the children.”
“Really?” she asked.
“Oh, please, it would be so nice. They could swim. Pick blueberries. There’s a tree house. Johnny would love it.”
Johnny, at the moment, was bouncing on a pogo stick on the small, square patio near the back steps. Up and down, up and down. Squeak, squeak, squeak .
“Well, then, it’s a plan!” she said, clapping her hands together.
I knew that by the time we got back from Vermont, Eva would have had her baby. And I would be four months along, nearly halfway there. Eva had convinced me that I needed to tell Frankie about it before we left. I was three months now, farther than I’d ever made it before. I’d hidden the slight swell of my belly under aprons but I wouldn’t be able to pull it off much longer. Besides, I knew Frankie would be over the moon; Francesca and Mouse would finally have a baby brother or sister. And as frightened as I was, a little tentative part of me thrilled at the notion of becoming a mother again, and of having a friend to share the experience with this time. Eva and I had discussed the names we’d considered, imagined the little ones playing together as our girls did. We’d pored over pink and blue paint samples Ted brought home from the hardware store, lingered over baby layettes in the Montgomery Ward catalogue. Still, the idea of telling Frankie made my stomach do flip-flops, and so I waited. On the Thursday before we were to leave, I still hadn’t told him.
I spent the entire morning packing and cleaning the house. I must have done five loads of laundry, most of it the girls’. I gathered their favorite toys, packed a bag for the train ride: cards and snacks and books. I made sure I had saltine crackers and a bottle of ginger ale for Mouse’s motion sickness, hoping she would sleep most of the way. I made a freezer full of casseroles, things that Frankie could just pop in the oven and heat up throughout the month: tuna casserole, beef stew, and lasagna. He wore a uniform to work, and he knew how to operate an iron, so I was spared there. But I made sure all the towels were clean, that there were fresh linens on the beds.
Chessy and Mouse were trying to get in every last possible minute with Donna and Sally; all morning they were back and forth between the houses, clinging to the final few hours with each other. I kept reassuring them that we’d be gone only four weeks, and that when we got back, school would start and they’d see each other every day. They would be in the third and first grades, respectively. Frankie had lobbied for the Catholic school but had, due to my stubborn resistance, lost. I had no problem with him bringing them to Mass every Sunday. I didn’t put up a fight when he wanted them baptized or later when they each had their first communions. But I put my foot down when it came to their schooling. Frankie must have known I wouldn’t budge, because he let well enough alone after our first discussion. Besides, the Catholic school was halfway across town, and the brand-new elementary school was less than a mile away. Even he had to admit that the round building, with each classroom like a slice of pie, opening to a huge cafetorium, was pretty impressive compared to the tired, old brick monstrosity that was St. Dorothy’s.
I fed the girls an early lunch, and then the older ones took off out the door again. Sally and Mouse stayed
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