Wednesday's Child

This is a short story from a collection set in the last half of the Twentieth Century entitled "In Days Long Past".  This one is from the 1950s Section.


The faded yellow bus bounced through potholes and rocked around the curves.  Barbara stared out at the bleak February countryside.  What was she going to do?  Already the waistbands of her skirts were riding up and the rising front hemlines were evidence of the bulging tummy the gathers covered.  She wouldn't be able to keep her secret much longer - if indeed it was even still a secret.

She glanced surreptitiously at the surrounding faces of the other students.  Had they really accepted the story that a "bug" had made her vomit every time she ate chili?  She frowned at the bare gray trees.  How ridiculous that she should crave the one thing that made her deathly sick.

Was it her imagination that everyone seemed to glance repeatedly at her mid-section whenever they talked to her?  Maybe if she began tapering her hems, lowering just the front, and if she wore her cardigans unbuttoned, she could hide it for a while longer.  But it was three months until graduation.

The bus turned the corner and drove slowly past the wide campus, past the sprawling red brick building, and jolted to a stop in the graveled loading area.  Barbara gathered her books and joined the line crowding toward the door.  As she descended the steps, her friend, Ann, came to greet her.

"Let's hurry," she said, her breath forming puffs in the cold air.  "I'm nearly frozen."
Barbara nodded.  Heads bent against the wind, they briskly walked the two long blocks to Mom and Pop's Lunch.

A few early arrivals were grouped around the pinball machines when they entered the steamy diner.  Dropping their books onto the table they slipped into a booth.  Ann hugged her coat around herself.  "I don't think I'll ever get warm."

Barbara nodded agreement, blowing on her chilled fingers.  The elderly proprietress leaned over the counter.

"Morning, girls."

"Hi, Mom," Barbara answered.  "Hot chocolate, please."

"Kinda cold this mornin', ain't it?"  She chuckled, looking at Ann.  "Same for you?"

"Yes, please."  Ann scooped her books off the table onto the bench beside her.  "Barb, did you get those newspaper articles Mr. Hill wanted?"

"I got some but they're probably not what he wants."

"All he'll get from anyone will be war stories."

"What other kind of current events are there?"

Judy Black bounced into the restaurant and dropped onto the bench beside Barbara.  She leaned forward confidentially and murmured, "Did you two hear about Kathy Lawrence?"

Barbara shook her head.

"What happened?" Ann asked, leaning over the table.

"Well," Judy said dramatically.  "You know she and Tommy ran off and got married last weekend."  She paused and glanced at each girl in turn.  They both nodded.  "Well, yesterday, Old Lady Harkness called Kathy into her office.  I swear that woman must have spies everywhere."

"I think she does," Ann agreed.  "What did she want?"

"Well, she took Kathy inside and closed the door.  The poor girl was scared to death.  She didn't know what was coming off.  Old Heartless really let her sweat it out, too.  She just moseyed around the room and when she finally sat down at the desk, then she just stared at her.  Didn't say a word!  Just sat there and stared with those awful black eyes."  Judy shuddered.

Barbara felt the butterflies beginning to flit about her stomach.  "What happened?"

"Well, finally, Kathy worked up her courage and just asked her, 'Why did you want to see me, Miss Harkness?'  She was just as calm as anything. 

The old lady stared some more, then said, 'Kathy, are you pregnant?'"

Barbara felt the blood drain out of her head.  She tried to focus her eyes on her cup, but it wavered and fuzzed.  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath as Judy continued.

"Well, of course Kathy told her 'No'.  Then Old Heartless wanted to know if it were true that she had gotten married.  Kathy just laughed and asked where she'd heard a thing like that.  Of course Miss Harkness didn't answer, but went on about how they couldn't have girls getting married and probably pregnant.  How that would damage the school's reputation and if Kathy were married, she would have to quit.  Can you imagine?  Even if she did get pregnant, no one could tell it by graduation."

Barbara saw Ann's sympathetic expression and watched her mouth form some words of comment.  She watched Judy's lips relate further details of their classmate's plight, but she heard nothing.  Her brain was awhirl.

How long before she too received a command invitation to the office of the forbidding Dean of Girls?  What would she tell her?  Would Miss H. believe that her tummy was swollen because her period was due?  Would she believe that she had a tumor maybe?  Whatever she told her, the old lady would probably insist that she see a doctor and bring in a report detailing her problem.  How could she get around that?  She hadn't even dared to go to a doctor to confirm her pregnancy.

With a wave Judy moved to another table and Barbara became aware that Ann was intently watching her.  How much did her face reveal?  She picked up a straw and stirred her cooling chocolate, avoiding her friend's questioning eyes by watching the frothy foam swirl around and around.

"Barb," Ann said in a low voice.  "What's wrong?"

Her heart pounded.  Carefully composing her features, she glanced up.  "What do you mean?"

"Something's the matter.  When Judy was telling us about Kathy you got as white as a sheet.  You still are."  Barbara forced a smile and shrugged her shoulders.  "What is it?  Maybe it'll help to talk about it."

"Ha!  Not much chance of that!"  If only she could talk it all away.  But how could she admit it, even to Ann?  Nice girls were supposed to keep their feelings under control - always.  Nice girls didn't get 'carried away'.  Had Ann ever felt so strongly about a boy that the temptation had been impossible to resist?  No, Ann was a good girl, she would never understand.  Or would she?  It would be so nice if she could just tell someone.  "Ann will you keep your mouth shut?"

"You know I will."

"I know, but I have to be sure.  It's terribly important."  She watched Ann nod her head emphatically and wondered why it was so important.  Soon she would know anyway, everyone would know, so why did it matter?  "Ann," she said hesitantly, her voice barely more than a whisper.  "I'm pregnant."

The quietly spoken word seemed to explode harshly from her lips and echo around the room, yet Ann's calm eyes never wavered from her face.

"Are you sure?" she asked softly.

"I'm sure."

"You've been to a doctor?"

"No.  And I'm not going."

"You'll have to sooner or later."

"But I can't!  Don't you see?  I just couldn't do it.  Can't you just imagine facing the nurse's questions and her knowing smile?"

"You could borrow someone's wedding band and give them a false name.  They'd never know the difference."

"I couldn't borrow a wedding ring without saying why I wanted it.  Besides, they'd ask for an address.  What would I do about that?"  She sighed deeply.  "Anyway, they'd know I was lying."

"How would they?"

"They'd just know.  Oh, Ann I don't know what to do."  She bit at her lip.  It didn't help to talk about it.  Nothing helped.  Ann leaned closer.

"How about the father?  Won't he marry you?"

"I haven't told him."

"You haven't told him!  For God's sake, why not?"

"I can't.  He's gone."  Her brimming eyes searched her friend's face.  "He was drafted.  That's what got me into this mess."

"Larry?"

Barbara nodded.  "Oh, Ann, you know how much I love him - and have for so long.  It seems like I've always loved him."

"Yeah, I know."

"But, I'd always held out."  Tears oozed from her brown eyes.  "Somehow I knew that he didn't really love me.  At least not in the same way that I loved him."  She thought of how he often teased her just when she wanted him to be the most serious.  "But that night, we had parked out on the old Chapel Road."  She remembered how their necking had fanned the ever-present flames.  "Then he told me about his draft notice.  I just couldn't bear the thought of his going away and maybe not coming back!"

Ann nodded slowly.  "Does he write to you?"

"I hear from him once in a while."

"Why don't you just write and tell him about the baby?  I'm sure he'd marry you, if he knew.  He could get leave long enough for that, couldn't he?"

"I don't know, but I can't tell him, Ann.  Even if he did marry me, he would always feel trapped and that would make us all miserable.  Maybe later, maybe when he comes home, he'll want to marry me.  But, Ann, I just can't try and force him."

"So what are you going to do?"

"I don't know.  At first I panicked.  I just wanted to get rid of it.  But now . . . " She gently cupped her abdomen in her hands.  "Its movements are getting stronger everyday.  This is Larry's baby I'm carrying.  It's a part of him, don't you see?  I can't just get rid of it like - like it was nothing."

"It's going to be rough.  The gossip . . . "

"I know."  She sighed.  "All my friends will avoid me.  They'll call me names.  You know what they say about a pregnant woman - that she's telling the world that she's been laid."

"Not everyone will feel that way.  I know I won't."

"Even if the kids don't, what about their parents?  I'll be a 'bad influence'.  Do you think your mom will want you to ruin your reputation by running around with me?"

"Barb!  Ann!"  Judy called to them from the doorway.  "Hurry up, you two.  You're going to be late!"

They hurriedly buttoned their coats, grabbed their books and rushed silently back to the school building.  Jostling through the crowd at the lockers, Barbara wondered what Ann thought of her confession.  Did she think that she was a terrible person?  Or maybe just plain stupid?  The din of shouting voices and banging metal doors made it impossible to ask, even if she could find the courage.

As they parted for classes, Ann gave her arm a comforting squeeze.  "See you at lunch," she said.

"Yeah, see you."  Barbara dashed around the corner and nearly ran into Miss Harkness.  "Sorry," she mumbled veering aside and rushing past.  Did she know? She wondered, breathlessly entering her classroom.

Concentration on adverbs and adjectives, clauses and phrases was impossible.  Barbara only half-listened to her teacher and each time the door opened, her pulse raced.  Would this be her summons to the office?

Every class, all day, it was the same.  At the final bell, she was weak with relief.  At least she could forget the Dean of Girls for a little while.  If only it hadn't all happened the way it had, she wouldn't have to worry about her at all.  If only she could have been sure that Larry really loved her, they might have been married by now.  Then the baby would be a cause for joy instead of fear.  The bus bounced homeward and Barbara dreamed of how happy they could have been.  She could have been writing Larry long letters, sharing with him the wonder of their child's growing, the strength of its movements and her anticipation of its birth and the day they would all be together.  Beautiful scenes of their life as a family accompanied her from the bus, to the house and up the stairs to the solitude of her room.

For hours she lay across the bed and reread Larry's few short letters.  As the haunting plea of "Three Coins in a Fountain" poured from the phonograph, she started at a light knock on the door.

"Barbara," her mother's voice called.  "May I come in?"

She rolled over onto her side and drew up her knees.  "Sure, Mom."

"I brought you a sandwich and a glass of milk.  You should have come down for dinner."

"I'm really not hungry."

"You have to eat."  She set the tray on the desk and glanced, uneasily, at her daughter.  "Uh, Barbara, I think we should have a talk."

Barbara's muscles tensed and her pulse quickened.  She didn't dare meet that searching gaze.  "Why?"

"You've been acting very strangely lately.  Is there anything you'd like to tell me?"

Barbara shook her head, not trusting herself to speak.  She lifted the scratching arm of the phonograph and switched it off, all the while sensing her mother's eyes staring into the top of her lowered head.

"How are your periods?"

Her head snapped up.  "Fine!"

"How long since your last one?"

"I don't know for sure."  She widened her eyes and for a long moment they silently stared at each other.

"Barbara," her mother said at last.  "I think you're lying to me.  I think you know exactly how long it's been and I think it's been quite a while."

"Oh?  And what are you accusing me of now?"

"I'm not accusing you of anything.  If anything's wrong, you should see the doctor.  I'm merely asking some questions that I feel need to be asked."

"Well, I don't feel they need to be asked!  And I won't go to that dumb old doctor either."

The older woman sighed heavily.  "Well, I hope you're not pregnant.  The shame and disgrace that would bring on this family.  I could never hold my head up again, knowing that everyone knew my daughter was . . . was . . . "

"Was what, Mother?"

She sighed and spread her hands.  "Never mind."  She reached for the doorknob.  "You'd better eat your sandwich and get to bed.  It's getting late."

Barbara watched the door close behind her and the cold feeling in her stomach grew and spread.  What had she done that was so wrong?  Was it wrong for her to love Larry so much?  So much that she wanted to be as close to him as was humanly possible?  Wasn't that what marriage was all about?  This deepest of all possible loves?

She gazed out the window at the fat, full moon. "But we weren't married," she whispered to its friendly smiling face.  So they'll call my child a bastard.  They'll call me a whore.  All of the guys will think they can make out because I've got nothing more to lose.  "Oh, Larry, I love you so."

She slid off the bed and tiptoed out of the room and down the stairs.  Taking her coat from the hall closet, she slipped out of the house into the cold, moon-bathed night.

How many nights had she and Larry walked like this?  They'd walked this same path, down this same hill to the little park below.  Sometimes they had laughed and chased each other through the trees.  Sometimes they had just strolled quietly, hand-in-hand, to the bridge and there watched the moon rise over the water.

A moon just like this one, she thought, looking up through the naked branches.  Yet, it had been different then somehow.  Warmer.  Happier.  She had been happier then too.  Just being with Larry had made her feel all bubbly with the belief that they could go on forever.

The wooden bridge snapped and creaked under her weight.  She sighed and leaned on the railing.  Far below the swift, black water cut its way through steep, narrow banks.  This was such a beautiful spot when one was in love.

Yet it could never be more gorgeous than it had been on those warm summer nights when the cooling breezes rustled the leaves and the water sang happily as it rushed past the pilings.  A fat moon had glowed on the water then too, just as it did now, and Larry had been there beside her.

"Oh, Larry, it wasn't wrong.  I know it wasn't!"

The reflected moon wavered on the water.  Barbara watched its silvery features shift and change to that beloved face.  She saw the mouth spread into the familiar twisted grin, the eyes become the same laughing blue and beckon to her as they had often done before.  At that moment she knew that Larry would never return to even possibly be a father to their child.

She scrambled onto the railing.  "Oh, Larry, you do love me!  And I love you."  Arms reaching out, she leaped toward that laughing image below.  "Lar-r-r-r-ry!"


The moon slowly traversed the sky and paled against the brightening eastern horizon.  In the house, the phone began to ring, and continued insistently as Barbara's mother slowly awakened and trudged down the stairs.

"I'm comin'.  I'm comin'," she muttered.  "What fool could be calling at this hour."  She grabbed the receiver.  "H'lo."

"Mrs. Johnson?  Is Barbara there?"

"Do you realize what time it is?"

"Oh, I'm sorry to have wakened you.  This is Larry's mother, and I thought Barbara - since they've been going together and all.  Well, I thought Barbara would want to know."

"Yes, yes, Barbara would want to know what?"

"Well, I . . . I just got a wire that says . . . It says Larry's missing."  Her voice cracked and the line was silent for a long moment.  "Missing in action, they call it, and presumed dead."

"Oh, I'm so sorry.  Yes, I'm sure Barbara would want to know.  I'll tell her immediately.  Thank you for calling."

She hung up the phone, climbed the stairs, and tapped softly on her daughter's door.  There was no response.  The message that she intended to deliver, Barbara already knew.