Vera and Grace in front of a rose bush with Danny between them in the jumper they had made for him.
The moment Grace was done her work, she raced to where Danny was, usually on a blanket surrounded by pillows in the front room. If he was asleep, she lay down beside him and watched his eyes move under their lids. If he was awake, she carried him around the house, showing him things. He liked brightly lit places, but only if there was something dark as well, so that his eyes could follow the edges. He liked things that dangled, and reached his round little hands out for them, and things that moved, like curtains when the window was open. And he liked surprising sounds. Grace sneezed, and Danny let out a peal of laughter.
Vera said, “Close the window, Grace.” Babies needed fresh air, but fresh air carried germs. They needed to be wrapped up against the cold, but they also had to be able to kick their legs. Their hands had to be free, but they weren’t allowed to suck on them. They had to be fed, but on schedule, held properly but not too much. Otherwise, they would be spoiled. Vera was especially worried about spoiling. She told Frank, “I have to watch her constantly. She carries him around like he’s a doll, and the minute she puts him down, he fusses. If she keeps this up …” She didn’t finish. The booklets from Mrs. McCabe explained what would happen if Grace kept this up.
When Vera held Danny, her face changed, softening with the sheer pleasure of him, and she murmured and sang to him, andGrace felt bad for wanting to keep her away from the baby. So she listened and nodded when Vera said, “Listen to this, Grace. This was written by a doctor. ‘Babies under six months old should never be played with, and of kissing, the less the better.’ Do you hear that, Grace? And here you are, playing with him like he’s a toy and kissing him all the time. You don’t want to ruin him, do you, Grace?”
“No,” Grace said. She waited for Vera to leave the room before she kissed him.
“Listen, Grace: ‘A really contrary infant might try for an hour, or even for two or three hours, to get the best of his mother by crying. She must never give in, provided she is convinced that nothing is physically amiss with the child. Habitual criers should be left alone most of the time; otherwise, they might become nervous.’ ” Vera looked up from the book. “You see? Do you want him to be nervous? Now put him down.”
Grace put the baby down. The trick was to always be waiting, to be listening for that catch in his breath and watching for the shadow that darkened his face before he cried. The trick was to get to him just before he cried, whisk him away, upstairs, downstairs, wherever Vera was not, to feed him and rock him and kiss him, and then to put him back in his cradle before Vera got back. “You see how much more peaceful he is,” Vera asked, “now that you aren’t picking him up every minute of the day?”
It was hard to get to him, though, when Vera sent her outside to pick tomatoes. It was hard when Frank said, “Vera says you’re spoiling the baby.” It got worse when Vera found her in the root cellar, feeding Danny on the steps. “Grace! Have you gone mad? Bringing the baby down here?” Vera’s astonishment grew into fury. “And you just fed him! This is why he won’t stay on his schedule. Give him over!” But Grace would not give him over. She took Danny upstairs, leaving Vera yelling on the steps.
That night, when Frank came home, there was no dinner. Vera had been in her room all afternoon. Frank looked at Grace playing with Danny in the kitchen and rushed upstairs. Over by the windows, Grace could hear Frank’s low murmur in the room above, but no matter where she stood, she couldn’t hear Vera at all. When Frank came downstairs, he looked like all the air had been sucked out of him. “You’ve really upset her, Grace. Her nerves are shot.” When she didn’t look up, he said, “Grace.
The moment Grace was done her work, she raced to where Danny was, usually on a blanket surrounded by pillows in the front room. If he was asleep, she lay down beside him and watched his eyes move under their lids. If he was awake, she carried him around the house, showing him things. He liked brightly lit places, but only if there was something dark as well, so that his eyes could follow the edges. He liked things that dangled, and reached his round little hands out for them, and things that moved, like curtains when the window was open. And he liked surprising sounds. Grace sneezed, and Danny let out a peal of laughter.
Vera said, “Close the window, Grace.” Babies needed fresh air, but fresh air carried germs. They needed to be wrapped up against the cold, but they also had to be able to kick their legs. Their hands had to be free, but they weren’t allowed to suck on them. They had to be fed, but on schedule, held properly but not too much. Otherwise, they would be spoiled. Vera was especially worried about spoiling. She told Frank, “I have to watch her constantly. She carries him around like he’s a doll, and the minute she puts him down, he fusses. If she keeps this up …” She didn’t finish. The booklets from Mrs. McCabe explained what would happen if Grace kept this up.
When Vera held Danny, her face changed, softening with the sheer pleasure of him, and she murmured and sang to him, andGrace felt bad for wanting to keep her away from the baby. So she listened and nodded when Vera said, “Listen to this, Grace. This was written by a doctor. ‘Babies under six months old should never be played with, and of kissing, the less the better.’ Do you hear that, Grace? And here you are, playing with him like he’s a toy and kissing him all the time. You don’t want to ruin him, do you, Grace?”
“No,” Grace said. She waited for Vera to leave the room before she kissed him.
“Listen, Grace: ‘A really contrary infant might try for an hour, or even for two or three hours, to get the best of his mother by crying. She must never give in, provided she is convinced that nothing is physically amiss with the child. Habitual criers should be left alone most of the time; otherwise, they might become nervous.’ ” Vera looked up from the book. “You see? Do you want him to be nervous? Now put him down.”
Grace put the baby down. The trick was to always be waiting, to be listening for that catch in his breath and watching for the shadow that darkened his face before he cried. The trick was to get to him just before he cried, whisk him away, upstairs, downstairs, wherever Vera was not, to feed him and rock him and kiss him, and then to put him back in his cradle before Vera got back. “You see how much more peaceful he is,” Vera asked, “now that you aren’t picking him up every minute of the day?”
It was hard to get to him, though, when Vera sent her outside to pick tomatoes. It was hard when Frank said, “Vera says you’re spoiling the baby.” It got worse when Vera found her in the root cellar, feeding Danny on the steps. “Grace! Have you gone mad? Bringing the baby down here?” Vera’s astonishment grew into fury. “And you just fed him! This is why he won’t stay on his schedule. Give him over!” But Grace would not give him over. She took Danny upstairs, leaving Vera yelling on the steps.
That night, when Frank came home, there was no dinner. Vera had been in her room all afternoon. Frank looked at Grace playing with Danny in the kitchen and rushed upstairs. Over by the windows, Grace could hear Frank’s low murmur in the room above, but no matter where she stood, she couldn’t hear Vera at all. When Frank came downstairs, he looked like all the air had been sucked out of him. “You’ve really upset her, Grace. Her nerves are shot.” When she didn’t look up, he said, “Grace.
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