The car lunges in reverse down the driveway. Frances watches her sister’s laughing profile and reflects that Mercedes has been under a strain.
Blue Dress
Daddy and Lily are very happy together at home alone. It’s so peaceful. Three and a half weeks pass. Lily doesn’t realize the extent of James’s latest limitations until he starts to smell a bit rank. She helps him into the bath once a week. She lays out fresh underwear daily and bleaches the rest. Fresh and clean. She checks on him if he’s too long in the toilet. He sometimes falls asleep there. She tidies him, then wakes him up. He still spends an hour a day working in the shed but he misses Trixie’s company. They haven’t seen her since Frances left. Lily expects Trixie to show up at the foot of Frances’s bed in Mabou. Meantime, Lily has had to put mousetraps in the cellar and kitchen.
On April 25 the telegram arrives: it’s a boy stop coming home wed stop. Lily and Daddy toast the new arrival with milk. They consider a battery of names — Isador, Ignatius, Malcolm, Rupert, Bingo, George, Sebastian, Christopher, Pius, Lief, Horace, Romulus, Patrick, Pierre, Cornelius, Michael, Alec, Eustochium, Felix, Augustus, David — and decide on all of them. Until Lily comes up with Aloysius, which seems to say it all.
“Aloysius,” says James. “… Aloysius. Yes.”
“Aloysius,” replies Lily.
The first of May, month of Immaculate Mary. Lily is still in her white dress and headgear from the noon procession up Plummer Avenue to the church. It seems an appropriate outfit in which to greet her sisters and her new nephew. She has strewn the stone path to the house with Queen Anne’s lace and daisies. “Welcome Home” in Gothic script hangs from the veranda eaves. In the kitchen, bread sculptures cool on the table — Madonna and the Infant of Prague, and a pietà. She has prepared a feast: a roast cooked to the size of a wallet with raw turnip slices, cranberry sauce, baked potatoes — the two that failed to detonate in the oven — tea biscuits and molasses. Date squares, pits in. Upstairs, lily of the valley exhale on Frances’s pillow. All is in readiness. Last but not least, a big blue cake with white writing, “Happy Birthday Allowishes”.
The morning rain has turned to evaporating diamonds in the afternoon heat. Lily has had her eyes peeled on the street for the past three hours.
“Here they come!”
James joins her on the veranda. As soon as the car gets within range, Lily waves and runs back into the house to get the new camera. She gets a shot of the car as it turns into the driveway. Mercedes is waving now too but in the background Frances is, of course, more concerned with the bright blue bundle at her breast. Click. The car pulls to a stop. Mercedes’ hand goes up to her window. Click. The driver’s side opens. Click. Mercedes steps out, still waving, click. She runs up the path to Lily, click, click, click. And grabs the camera, jerking Lily’s head forward at the same time because the new camera comes with a strap. She hisses at Lily, “Not a word, do you hear me? Not a word.”
Mercedes glances up to include James in this proviso but he’s on his way down the steps with his cane, walking to meet Frances, who has stopped halfway up the flowered path. Mercedes moves to overtake him but “No Mercedes,” says Lily.
Mercedes is surprised. But she obeys, understanding that Lily is up to something saintly.
James reaches Frances, puts out his arm for her, and she takes it. Together they walk to the house. Frances is wearing a sky-blue dress to go with the darker blue bundle she cradles with her free arm. When they reach the foot of the veranda, Lily sees that it is not a bundle at all, but Frances’s breasts. Huge and leaking. Staining her pale dress a royal blue.
By evening Frances is still asleep upstairs on her bed, her face crushing heavy scent from the lily of the valley. In the lower reaches, the decorations are down. They have eaten no supper. Mercedes consents to a cup of tea.
“The birth went smoothly.” Mercedes lifts her cup but her hand shakes so badly that she sets it down again on the kitchen table. “Frances was very brave. The sisters said it was as though she felt no pain.”
Lily and James wait for her to continue.
“It was a boy. He was, of course, quite dark. And very healthy.”
“You saw him,” says James.
Mercedes nods and the tears come. “He was beautiful. A beautiful baby with a lusty cry.” She smiles a little at the recollection.
“Did you hold him?” Lily asks.
Mercedes nods yes.
“Did Frances?”
“He took to the breast right away, there was no problem.”
Mercedes catches James’s eye and he looks down, shaking his head.
“What happened to him?” Lily is confused. She seems to be the only one who doesn’t understand. Mercedes turns to her and explains tenderly, “He just died, Lily. Sometimes it happens, a baby just dies in its sleep, they don’t know why.”
James nods, his mouth tightening. He says in a would-be matter-of-fact voice, “Crib death. That’s what happened to the first Lily.”
“Other Lily?”
“That’s right,” says James, rising to leave. “Was he baptized?”
Mercedes nods, starting to cry again. As James shuffles past he bonks each of them affectionately on the head with his bad hand and says without looking, “Night-night, girls.”
“Good-night, Daddy.”
He shambles from the room. They hear him clear his throat once or twice when he reaches the hall.
Mercedes puts forth a hand and strokes Lily’s hair, “Sometimes, if a child is very special, God might choose to spare it the pain and temptations of this world, and take it straight to Him.”
“What was wrong with him?” Lily is suspicious.
“Why, nothing, Lily. He was perfect.”
“You said he was ‘special’.”
“Yes, specially beloved of God.”
“That means there was something wrong with him, he was crippled.”
“He wasn’t crippled.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Lily. Look at me.” Mercedes continues gently, “I have some nice news too.”
Lily waits, not trusting. Mercedes takes Lily’s hand and leans forward. “While I was at Mabou I saw the bishop. He’d like to have a talk with you.”
Lily looks up. “What for?”
“He wants to hear about your visions.”
“You mean Ambrose?”
“Yes. And other things.”
“What other things?”
Lily’s hand cools and moistens in response to Mercedes’ gathering warmth.
“Your special way with the sick and the lost.”
“Who?”
“The veterans, for example. And Frances. And Daddy —” Mercedes’ eyes have begun to shine, giving Lily the old creepy feeling of being a front for some figure situated immediately behind her, a figure she knows will disappear no matter how suddenly she turns — “And your special knowledge of God’s plan.”
The soft fur at the nape of Lily’s neck stirs. She can no longer resist, she turns around in her chair but there is no one behind her — nothing to see but the oven, standing where it has always stood.
“What are you looking at, Lily?”
“Nothing. I thought I heard something.”
Mercedes’ gaze follows Lily’s to the oven. And now the filaments at the back of Mercedes’ neck likewise bristle to life.
“What does he want?” asks Lily, turning round again.
“Who?”
“The bishop.”
“He wants to interview you. To find out if God has a special plan for you.”
“How’s he going to find that out?”