Modern Girls by Jennifer S. Brown

Author:Jennifer S. Brown [Jennifer S. Brown]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2016-04-05T07:00:00+00:00

Rose

SHELLING beans at the sink, I was overcome with melancholy. I yearned for my mama to wrap me in her arms, her hair smelling comfortingly of yeast and cooking smoke. I wanted to sit with Eta in the barn and hold hands while we plotted our grand futures. I pined for a simpler time. This pregnancy wasn’t sitting well with me—the aches and the fatigue—and even worse was Dottie’s. How did I end up here?

When the door banged open, I yelled, “Alfie, wipe your feet.”

“It’s not Alfie, Ma. It’s me,” Dottie called.

Oy vey, what was the matter now? I threw down my beans, wiped my hands on my apron, and was about to walk into the front room when Dottie entered the kitchen.

“What happened? Why are you home? Did you get fired?”

“Ma.” Dottie rolled her eyes at me. But then she peered at me. “Are you all right? You look flushed.”

“Why are you home?”

“Mr. Dover let us go early.”

I stood at an awkward angle, favoring my good side.

“Your leg is even worse,” she said, placing a gentle arm around my back. It was such a tender gesture that for a moment I thought I might fall upon her in my grief.

“You will be paid for the full day?”

“I get paid weekly, Ma. Not by the hour. Now, what’s wrong?” Dottie led me to the front room, seating me on the sofa. It was so maternal that my eyes teared. When had my baby girl turned into this woman? Where was the toddler who got into my threads, grabbed at my needles, and begged for one more poppy seed cookie?

“Ma,” Dottie said again, “what’s wrong?”

Bringing the hem of my apron up to my eyes, I blotted the tears I imagined were there, the ones that hadn’t actually fallen. Perhaps Ben was right. Perhaps now was the time to confide in Dottie. If anyone could understand the unwelcome situation, it would be my own daughter in a similar place. “A child,” I said. “A child is such work.”

I heard a loud sigh and looked up to see the exasperation on Dottie’s face. “I know, Ma.” Her voice was laced with whininess. “Don’t you think I’ve given thought to every possibility?”

Of course Dottie thought I was speaking about her. Why wouldn’t she? She had no idea.

“Actually, Dottala—,” I started, taking her hands in mine, but Dottie continued as if she didn’t hear me.

“I saw Willie, Ma. Saw him at lunch today.”

I pulled back my hands. All thoughts of confession fled. Did I raise such a fool? “Willie? What does he have to do with this?” Dottie was not a friend in whom to confide; she was my daughter, who still, apparently, needed the firm hand and level head of her mother.

“What do you mean, ‘What does he have to do with this’? You know perfectly well what he has to do with this.”

“Oh, Dottala. This is not his problem. Did you tell him? Oh, God above, please tell me you didn’t say anything to him.

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