“Not everyone on the street gets calzone from the matriarch of the street,” Beth said, pulling it out of the icebox. She poked at the crust to inspect the filling.
“I don’t think you should eat if you’re going to be anesthetized,” Lily said.
“Who says she’s going to put me out? All it takes is nerve, a coat hanger, water, and heat.” Beth looked her sister in the eye with bravado and then added, “Lily, I’m scared. That’s why I underlined ‘please come.’ You have the nerve. You’ve always been stronger than me. Now, let me eat a bit and stop treating this as though it’s the Last Supper.”
Lily found she had no appetite and put the remainder of the calzone back in the icebox. Then she went into the bedroom to make sure everything was clean and tidy. Feeling helpless, she pulled the sheets taut, plumped the pillows, folded Beth’s quilt, and put it aside. Every mean thing she had ever said to Beth came back like a chorus. She’d always thought she was the only one under pressure at home because their mother was so critical of her. But poor Beth had to be her mother’s alter ego. It was their mother who had encouraged Beth to go to New York.
Lily wanted to cry, but she couldn’t. At six-thirty, a knock at the door signalled the doctor’s arrival. She wore a white cotton dress and a kerchief tied at the nape of her neck. She had a crisp, cold look that frightened Lily. She stood in the living room, holding a black bag, staring at her. Lily met her stare with a hard look of her own. Then she softened, realizing that in a few moments this woman would have her sister’s life in her hands.
“So, where do you want me to do the job?” the woman asked, looking at the sofa.
“It’s my sister, not me. She’s in the bedroom.” Lily nodded her head in that direction. “Are you a qualified doctor?”
“I have enough medical training to do the procedure I’m about to perform. It’s simple. If you’re pregnant and don’t want to have a baby, there’s no alternative.”
The woman, who had not offered her name, went into the bedroom, where Beth was lying covered by a top sheet. Her face was pale and taut, without an ounce of her old bravado.
“I’ll have to heat this on the stove,” the woman said as she pulled a wire from her bag. “Put an apron on so you can help me. I’ll need some hot water.”
Lily turned on the gas and watched, half paralyzed, as the woman rotated the wire over the flame holding a pair of tongs.
She returned to the bedroom and poured iodine on a sponge. “Roll on your side,” she said and began wiping Beth’s buttocks and thighs.
“Are you ready?” the woman asked.
Lily checked her urge to flee. She gripped Beth’s hand and whispered, “It will soon be over.”
The woman folded a piece of gauze several times, and then soaked it in a clear liquid. The smell of ether nauseated Lily. The woman positioned Beth’s legs wide apart and slipped a towel under her. She put on cotton gloves.
“I’m going to put this cloth over your face. Breathe normally.”
Beth reached for Lily’s hand. She breathed for three breaths and was out.
“Keep her legs apart,” the woman said.
Beth’s breathing was even. The woman took the coat hanger wire and slowly inserted it into Beth’s vagina. She put a few more drops of ether on the cloth over Beth’s mouth and nose and continued the wire on its journey. Lily’s entire body winced when the woman nodded, indicating the wire was doing its job. She moved it around in a circular motion. Blood trickled onto the towel.
“Stop,” Lily said and put her ear next to Beth’s mouth. “My sister’s gagging. She can’t breathe under that cloth.” There was a pinkish spot on the gauze. Lily tore the cloth off Beth’s face. Beth’s mouth was covered in partially digested food. She took a shallow breath and began coughing. Her heart was pounding under her slip.
“She’s aspirating,” the woman said, and she tipped Beth over onto her side. With each raspy attempt to take in air, Beth’s body shook with spasms. The woman, who had pulled out the wire, scrambled up on the bed. She straddled Beth, encircled her chest with her arms, and squeezed hard repeatedly until a bolus of food spewed out on the floor.
“I’ve got to get out of here,” the woman said. “I’ve disturbed things enough that the abortion will occur spontaneously. I told your sister not to eat beforehand.”
“If you had, she would have followed your instructions,” Lily spat.
“I’m sorry, but she’ll have to abort without an anesthetic. She will have a lot of pain.” The woman threw her things into her bag and scurried out of the apartment and down the stairs.
“What am I supposed to do?” Lily screamed after her.
She propped pillows behind Beth’s back so she would remain on her side. She waited until Beth could breathe without going into a spasm, then she raced down the stairs to Signora Bumbacco, who was eating dinner with her husband.
“You like my calzone?” the woman asked, shovelling in a big mouthful.
“Signora, please come. Beth is losing her baby.” Signora Bumbacco made the sign of the cross. “I’ll explain when we get there. We need to hurry.”
Chapter 5
Boarding the Scotian, 1919
Clara took the ten-mile train ride back to Woodside after saying goodbye to her family. Ivy slept the entire way. The fast rhythmical click of the train made her feel anxious. She’d hardly had time to think in the past few months as she’d prepared to leave her homeland. She placed her finger on her wrist, breathing slowly until her pulse slowed down. As the train rolled forward she thought of ways she might connect with Amelia once in Canada. Her sister had inherited their father’s dark-eyed gypsy look; that she remembered, but as events turned out, also their mother’s careless ways. Clara marvelled that her unmarried sister with a child had captured the heart of a pharmacist. As an adult reflecting on her parents’ decision to send Amelia away to avoid scandal, Clara felt Amelia’s good fortune was poetic justice. She believed her parents could have handled the situation less harshly.
“Three more nights in the house,” Clara said when they arrived back in Woodside. Boxes were piled and marked, waiting to be picked up by the local auctioneers. Their contents defined her domestic life. She pictured the auctioneer holding up her twin crystal decanters with their matching sherry and port glasses. She hoped they would go to someone who liked entertaining.
The pungent aroma of camphor wafted up from the dining-room table. Clara had surrounded her silver tea-and-coffee service with camphor-soaked cloths to prevent tarnishing. The set was packed and ready for shipping along with eleven Limoges demitasse cups. George had bought them directly from the Laternier factory during a visit to France. Clara thought the decorative Limoges stamp on the bottom of the cups was as lovely as the pink, gold, green, and blue border. She loved to serve after-dinner coffee in them when she was entertaining. George, unable to smoke himself, would offer guests a round of cigarettes with the coffee.
It was during a pleasant dinner for a visiting officer that one of her precious Limoges cups had been broken. As she passed a cup of steaming coffee to a guest sitting beside her, the officer made a quick gesture with his outstretched arm. The hot liquid was knocked onto the lap of the guest. When he stood up, yelping in discomfort, the cup on his lap tumbled to the ground, shattering into countless pieces. Clara rushed the afflicted gentleman to the kitchen, alternately reassuring the officer and apologizing to the guest. She handed him a jar of salve she had taken