Eppie returned to the apartment later that afternoon and let herself in with her newly acquired key. She fetched her bookbag from its hiding place behind a bench on the porch where she had left it the prior evening and set it down on the kitchen table. She looked in the refrigerator and the pantry to see what she might have for dinner. Although she had eaten nothing since breakfast at the mission that morning she was not very hungry, and she found nothing in the apartment which sparked her appetite. Maybe she would have something later.
She turned on the television and flipped through the channels, searching for something interesting to watch. The options consisted mostly of old movies and the weekend news, which she always found extremely boring, interspersed with a few infomercials. She turned the television off and went back to the kitchen table. From her bookbag she removed a couple of textbooks and a spiral-bound notebook. Her history teacher had told the class to expect a quiz on Monday morning, so she opened her book to the relevant chapter and began reading and taking notes. She was not one of the most academically gifted students in her class, but she was conscientious about her studies and history was one of the classes which she genuinely enjoyed. She did not mind spending a portion of her Saturday doing homework. With no one else in the apartment to keep her company and no social events to attend, her schoolwork served to pass some time and keep her mind occupied for a while.
After a couple of hours she closed the textbook and reread her notes. Confident that she would be ready for the quiz on Monday, she slid her materials back into the bookbag and stood up from the table to stretch. Looking around the room, she realized that the afternoon had turned to evening and that she had finished her work in the darkness on the dim edge of twilight.
She switched on the kitchen light and gave her eyes a few seconds to adjust to the brightness. Again she inspected the contents of the refrigerator but decided that it was not worth the effort to cook anything just for herself. She found some bread and some peanut butter and jelly and made herself a sandwich. She poured a glass of milk, grabbed a banana from a bowl of fruit on the counter, then switched off the kitchen light and carried her dinner into the living room.
The television set bathed the room in a flickering glow as Eppie flipped about absentmindedly through the channels once again. A game show managed to catch her attention from among the mundane offerings, and she watched with half-hearted interest as she ate her spare meal. When the show ended she again turned off the set, but remained seated on the sofa in the dark and silent apartment.
A three-quarter moon had risen low and vivid in the clear night sky, casting through the windows faint beams of light which until that moment had been undetectable. The twilight came glooming upward out of the corners of the room and shadows of the tall furniture now appeared where none had been before, elongated or shortened from the true dimensions of their parent objects according to the angle of their positions relative to the windows. Eppie's eyes adjusted quickly to the semidarkness, and she found that in the soft light she could see things clearly even without the aid of a lamp.
She looked around the room once again and sighed. The loneliness of her surroundings finally gripped her, and she realized that she could ignore the feeling no longer. She was not happy living with Rachel and Allison, and she had run out of diversions to keep herself from facing the truth squarely. She was a refugee here and nothing more. She could not imagine raising a child in this apartment. Rachel and Allison had been charitable to her—unquestionably so—but they were not her family. She had no right to impose upon their generosity even further by bringing another hungry mouth into their home. Rachel was wrong to have been so apologetic to her at the jailhouse. It was not Rachel's fault that she and Allison had their own lives to lead. The apology should have gone the other way—she should have apologized to Rachel and Allison for imposing her needs on them. They were in jail and she was not, yet somehow they were still expected to look out for her well-being? And shortly to provide for her child as well?
Eppie could not bear to think of the burden that that would be. She had no job and, unless she chose to drop out of school, no hope of earning anywhere close to the amount of money that would be necessary to raise a child. She could not ask Allison and Rachel to provide for her child things that she could not provide herself. It was not their responsibility to do so, and she was not so selfish as to force such responsibility upon them. She had to make a decision.
She closed her eyes and drew in a deep, anxious breath, holding it in for as long as she could. When her lungs ached to breathe again she allowed them to do so, deriving a moment's contentment from their release. She opened her eyes again and tried to relax as her respiration returned to its normal rhythm.
She stretched her body out along the length of the sofa, propping her head up on the armrest at one end and letting her feet dangle off the cushions near the other. Staring up at the blank expanse of the ceiling above her, she allowed the quietude of the still, moonlit night to settle over her. She wanted to think this through calmly.
Her hands came to rest on her abdomen, and she began to move them, unconsciously at first, but then deliberately, back and forth across her midsection. She could feel the faint beginnings of the distention of her body which belied the life that was growing within her. She guessed that she was probably halfway to term. In a few more weeks her pregnancy would be obvious to everyone, at which point there would be no turning back, no option to nullify the process that she had allowed to proceed thus far.
Allison and Rachel had a solution to her dilemma. They fought to hold open the door to that solution every day. They had never pressured her to do anything that she did not want to do, had never added to the crushing load of adversities that was the history of her young life in that way, but Eppie heard an unspoken message whenever she was in their presence. She felt an uncomfortable urge to acknowledge her debt to them by exercising the option which they struggled so diligently to maintain for her. They had not known of her pregnancy when they had taken her in; they discovered her condition only afterward. It would be a grievous insult, she thought, for her to turn her back on them now, to walk away from them and tell them that their efforts on her behalf were unnecessary and unappreciated. She wanted to be independent and to make the decision based on what her own judgment told her to do, but she did not want to hurt the feelings of those who had been generous to her. Sitting alone in the empty apartment, she felt for the first time just how lonely her life had become. She wanted to have her child—to have someone in the world whom she could call her family, her loved one. She felt the unmistakable desires of motherhood in her heart, but she would only fulfill those desires if she could provide for her child by herself. The responsibility was hers, and hers alone.
She thought of Shelley and her baby at the mission. Would she trade places with Shelley at this moment? In many ways their lives were not so dissimilar. Shelley too lived among benevolent strangers who provided for her daily needs while she went about the task of preparing for her future. To be sure, a greater part of Shelley's future was already set. Eppie still had options open to her which Shelley did not. Still, she wondered about the assistance that the mission might be able to provide for Shelley. Would they be able to help her find a job? A home of her own? Would they assist her in caring for her child? And if they could do all of those things for someone like Shelley, might they not be able to do those things for her as well?
Eppie grasped at the hope that the mission might be more than a way station for the permanently downtrodden. Perhaps Father Andrew and the Applebaums really could help to rebuild lives in that old farmhouse. They had certainly been in the business a long time. If Shelley's life and the lives of the other women who stayed at the mission could be resurrected there, why not her own? She could repay their kindness by doing chores around the mission. The Applebaums must be in their seventies, she thought. There must be many things with which they could use a helping hand. It might not fully compensate for her expense, but at least she would feel that she was doing something to earn her keep. And, perhaps more than anything else, she would feel more comfortable there if she were to decide to let her pregnancy take its course.
Eppie considered the possibility seriously. Tomorrow would be Sunday. She decided that she would go to the nine o'clock mass. The mission residents would all be there. She ran through all of their faces in her mind and was pleased with herself when she was able to recall each of their names. They would be happy to see her there, and she to see them. It would be like a little homecoming, a small gesture of thanks on her part for the kindness and hospitality they had shown her. Afterward she might join them for breakfast again and talk with Shelley and the Applebaums and Father Andrew. She felt that she could confide in them. Perhaps they would be able to offer her an option which she felt that Rachel and Allison could not. It was worth a try, she told herself. She had nothing to lose.
She looked at the clock and decided that she would go to bed early. It had been a long day for her and she wanted to be well rested for church in the morning. She lifted herself up off the sofa and moved the coffee table to one side of the room. She removed the cushions from the sofa and tugged at the steel bedframe beneath until it extended out flat. She fetched her pillow and sleeping bag from the hall closet and laid them on the mattress, then went into the bathroom to prepare for bed.
A few minutes later, Eppie emerged from the bathroom and crawled into the temporary bed she had made. She lay on her back and listened to the stillness. The blustery weather that had prevailed that morning had passed through, leaving behind a calmness which was absolute. Consoled by the silence, she drifted off into a quiet, peaceful sleep, and all was still, inside the apartment and out.
* * *
Eppie arose early the next morning, allowing herself plenty of time to shower and dress for church. She felt a bit self-conscious about her attire. After trying on the few dresses she owned, she found only one which still fit her around the waist. It was a rather plain dress, one which she had rarely worn before, thinking it oversized and frumpy. She wished that she had something nicer to wear to church, but she had not dared to buy any new clothes recently, knowing that they would not fit her for very long. She sighed with the realization that she would have to purchase some new clothes soon. Rachel and Allison had nothing near her size. She might be able to find some things at the thrift store, but she could not afford to be choosy. Fashion would have to give way to practicality.
She left the apartment at eight-thirty and strolled casually through the neighborhood toward the church. It was a beautiful mid-autumn morning, clear and calm and somewhat more mild than normal for that time of the year. The neighborhood was quiet and unmoving, the houses dark and the streets empty, displaying none of the bustling activity which she observed every morning during the week on her way to school. In concert with her surroundings, Eppie walked at a leisurely pace down the sidewalks, drawing in a deep, relaxing breath every so often, enjoying the pleasantness of the weather and the ampleness of time which she had allotted herself.
As she passed by the front of one house, she saw a skinny black and white cat resting lazily beneath a chair on the porch. The cat spied her immediately and watched her with idle interest as she walked by. Eppie stopped momentarily in front of the house to see if she could entice the cat to come up to her, but her gesture only seemed to make the animal wary. Its body tensed and it drew in its feet, prepared to bolt at her slightest approach as it stared back at her intently. Seeing that her presence only served to make the cat fearful, she continued on down the street. The cat seemed to relax once again at the resumption of her movement, yet it watched her, sentry-like, until she was well away from the property.
Eppie arrived at the church well before nine o'clock. There were only a few people seated in the pews and she saw that the mission residents were not among them, so she took up a position along one wall of the vestibule, a place from which she would be sure to see them when they arrived. She felt a bit conspicuous standing there by herself, as stranger after stranger passed by on their way into the church. Some smiled politely and nodded a quick good morning to her, while others did not acknowledge her presence at all. As she watched the people passing through, she noticed that none of them arrived alone. Everyone came to church as part of a group of one kind or another, mostly as families. This realization made her all the more uncomfortable, standing alone as she was in her insular position at the side of the vestibule. She began to grow anxious at the thought that the mission residents might have changed their plans. Perhaps, she thought, they had decided for some reason to attend the ten o'clock mass that morning. If that was true, then she would just have to stay for both services. She would feel strange sitting alone through the first service, but she had no place else to go in the mean time. She didn't want to just walk over to the mission house uninvited, even though she felt sure that she would be welcomed there. Somehow that would seem to be an imposition.
She tried to put herself at ease by dispensing with such thoughts. Don't worry, she told herself, they would be there shortly. They were just running a little late.
At that moment there came through the doorway a distinguished-looking couple —a dapper gentleman who appeared to be in his mid-sixties and who wore an exquisitely tailored charcoal gray suit, and a woman of equal age wearing a white cotton sweater over a modest pale blue dress. The man held a dignified air as he escorted the woman by his left arm. The woman, in turn, moved forward slowly and tentatively, hesitating every now and then as if she was unsure of where they were going. Each time she paused, the man would pat her gently on the hand and whisper a few reassuring words to her, coaxing her forward once again.
The man's eyes met Eppie's for a brief moment as the couple passed through the vestibule and into the main body of the church. He nodded to her in a polite but formal manner, and she smiled at him in return. She watched the couple as they moved slowly down the center aisle, and she saw that, one by one, the parishioners who had already taken their seats took notice of the couple as well as they moved toward the front of the church. By the time the couple had reached the first pew, every person in the congregation was watching them. Neither the man nor the woman showed the slightest degree of discomfort with the attention that they drew, however. The woman seemed completely unaware of the looks which were cast in her direction, while the man's presence appeared enlarged by the focus of the others. His posture was erect and dignified and his mannerisms had a polished nature as he escorted the woman to a seat in the first pew and then settled down next to her.
Eppie sensed the attention which the couple continued to draw from the congregation even after they had taken their seats, and suddenly she felt less self-conscious about her own position. She could wait there alone for a while longer, she told herself. It didn't matter if people took some brief notice of her; they meant no disrespect.
A few minutes later the familiar faces of the mission residents appeared as a group in the doorway. Their eyes lit up in quick succession as they spotted Eppie, who wore a broad smile as she stepped forward to greet them. Hugs and handshakes were enthusiastically given and received, the residents having to restrain their surprise so as to avoid disturbing the solemnity of the congregation as they waited for the service to begin. After their greetings were exchanged, the group proceeded into the church together and took their seats in a pew about halfway to the altar, which was the closest one with enough remaining room to accommodate all of them. Eppie sat in the middle of the group, with Mr. and Mrs. Applebaum to her left and Shelley, with Jonathan sleeping peacefully in her arms, on her right. As they waited for the service to begin, Eppie glanced repeatedly up and down the row of faces, sharing smiles and knowing nods with the other members of the group. Within those looks were silent but clear indications that the residents recognized her presence for exactly what it was—an overture which said that she saw herself as a part of their group, a member of a family that had come together not through marriage or birth, but through a bond of common circumstance. She had felt her admission into this unconventional family become secure the moment she had taken her place among them in the pew. They had previously offered her shelter under their roof and food at their table, and she had accepted those offerings out of need, but it was not until this moment, sitting with them and sharing in the ritual activity which in no small measure served to bind the group together as a whole, that Eppie felt herself to be truly one of them.
Mrs. Applebaum, seeming to sense Eppie's growing contentment, reached out and took the girl's hand in hers, squeezing it gently. Eppie looked at her and tried to keep the tears from welling up in her eyes. She felt a warmth flow through her which she had not felt in a very long time—a happiness reborn from some distant recess which she had often assumed to be closed to her forever. She smiled through misty eyes at Mrs. Applebaum, and then she looked away. There was nothing that needed to be said.
Eppie picked up one of the printed programs for the mass which were distributed throughout the pews, hoping to find some familiar songs so that she might join in with the others at the appropriate time. As if on cue, the church's massive pipe organ came to life with the opening bars of a song that Eppie knew well. Father Andrew appeared in the vestibule very near the place where Eppie had been waiting just minutes earlier. The congregation rose from their seats as one and lifted their voices together in song. Eppie sang along with the others joyfully, her voice blending in harmony with the chorus, as Father Andrew walked ceremoniously down the aisle and the service began.
Eppie enjoyed the mass thoroughly, taking particular pleasure in presenting herself before Father Andrew at communion time, standing before him with her hands upturned to receive the Eucharist. A warm smile of recognition played across his face as he placed the host in her hands.
"Eppie, this is the body of Christ," he said.
"Amen," Eppie replied.
After the service had ended, Eppie accompanied the mission residents back to the house for breakfast. Mr. Applebaum took his turn in the kitchen that morning, mixing together flour and water in a large bowl and spooning out ladle after ladle of batter onto a hot checkerboard grill. Within minutes he was peeling off with practiced efficiency a steady stream of hot, crispy waffles. The residents topped them with blueberries and maple syrup and devoured them as quickly as they were served.
When Shelley's waffle came she asked Eppie to hold Jonathan while she ate. Eppie was caught by surprise at this request, and she reacted unsteadily at first. She had never before seen a baby so small, let alone held one in her arms, and she felt honored that Shelley would show such trust in her before everyone else at the table. She extended her hands tentatively and accepted the child with great care as Shelley placed him in her arms. To everyone's surprise the baby did not fuss as Eppie rocked him gently.
"He really seems to like you, Eppie," said Mrs. Applebaum admiringly.
"That's amazing," said another. "He hasn't let any of us hold him like that."
Eppie felt her face flush at the others' compliments. She rocked the baby as gently as she could and tried to give the impression that the motion came naturally to her. Jonathan let out a contented yawn and then dozed off quietly.
After Shelley had finished her breakfast the baby awoke and started to whimper. Eppie was prepared to return the child to his mother's arms, but Shelley instead got up and walked to the refrigerator. She retrieved a plastic baby bottle full of milk and warmed it in the microwave oven for about thirty seconds, then handed it to Eppie.
"Here you go," she said casually. "See if he'll take this."
Eppie held the bottle nervously in her fingers, placing the nipple delicately between Jonathan's lips. The baby looked up at her and grimaced slightly, bringing a look of objection to his tiny face, and for a moment it appeared that he would begin to cry. But the moment passed without a sound, and he closed his lips around the soft plastic mouthpiece and began to suck vigorously at the bottle.
"Oh, my goodness, would you look at that," said Mrs. Applebaum.
The others looked on in silent astonishment.
"I think you're a natural at that, Eppie," said Shelley. "I'm going to have to keep you in mind when I need a baby-sitter."
Eppie could not contain her smile. She looked down at the small infant cradled in her arm and felt a glow come over her. The baby continued to drink happily from the bottle in her hand. She had never imagined anything so precious in her life.
The baby drank hungrily, ignoring the voices and the movements of the others around the table and blinking his eyes contentedly at Eppie as he fed. When the bottle was half empty, Shelley coached her through the proper technique for burping an infant. Eppie felt incredibly clumsy as she leaned the child upright and then lifted him up and laid him on her shoulder. Her hands were nervous, as if she were handling a piece of rare, delicate crystal, but the baby seemed very much at ease as his cheek came to rest just above her collarbone. She felt the wispy hair on the back of the baby’s head brush softly against the side of her neck as she patted him gently on the back. One of the baby's arms wrapped itself across the front of her neck, and his hand found her ear on the other side of her head. His fingers curled and uncurled themselves repeatedly across her earlobe, tickling the sensitive skin. Eppie's face contorted with the sensation, drawing giggles from the entire group.
For a couple of minutes the two of them remained in this tender embrace, their arms wrapped around each other in mutual support as they groped and felt their way in tandem through a process that was to each of them both natural and unfamiliar. The baby soon let out an audible burp, and the group reacted with expressions of approval which bordered on applause.
Eppie smiled bashfully as she lowered Jonathan back into the cradle of her arm and resumed feeding him. This time she moved more confidently, nestling the child down easily and returning the bottle directly to his mouth. The baby took to the bottle eagerly once again, and Eppie felt a great sense of relief in seeing that she was managing her way through the task without a great deal of difficulty. The others continued to look on approvingly as they finished their breakfasts.
Jonathan finished the bottle to the last drop and then allowed Eppie to burp him a second time without complaint.
"Great job, Eppie," said Shelley. "He'll sleep for hours after that meal. Why don't we put him to bed before he gets too heavy for you."
"Can I carry him upstairs?" Eppie asked eagerly, trying not to sound as if she was pleading.
"Of course," Shelley said with a smile. "Come on, I'll show you where his crib is."
Eppie followed Shelley down the hallway and then up the stairs, holding Jonathan across her shoulder with one arm as she went. She held on to the banister with her free hand to steady herself as she climbed, moving her feet slowly and deliberately, one step at a time, to ensure that she did not trip accidentally.
Shelley showed her to a large bedroom containing a queen-size bed and a small wooden crib against the opposite wall. Eppie laid Jonathan down carefully in the crib and pulled the small blanket up to his shoulders while Shelley turned the window blinds closed. The pair stood next to the crib in the darkened room, looking down at the child as he drifted off to sleep.
"You really did a marvelous job with Jonathan, Eppie," said Shelley in a soft voice, barely above a whisper. "You're going to be a terrific mother when your time comes."
Eppie remained silent for a while. She felt a strange sadness come over her as she watched the baby sleep, as if his slumber brought back into focus the myriad challenges that such a young life brings to its guardian. She felt the need to reach out to Shelley for reassurance.
"How is it, Shelley?" Eppie asked.
Shelley looked at her quizzically for a moment. "You mean being a single mother?" she asked. She had read the context of Eppie's question precisely.
"Yes."
Shelley sighed, sharing the burden of concern in Eppie's voice. "It's okay," she said after a long pause. "Sometimes it's wonderful. Sometimes it's awfully hard. I don't know if I'll ever get used to the range of emotions. I never realized how much work a baby requires, but I never realized how much joy one thing could bring me either." She reached down and adjusted the blanket across the baby's shoulders. "He runs me ragged every single day. I don't think I've slept more than three or four hours at a stretch since he was born. But when he's quiet like this and I have a chance to relax, I can't help but see how much I love him. Then it all seems worthwhile."
"Were you happy when you found out that you were pregnant?" Eppie asked.
"No," Shelley said, shaking her head. "Honestly, I wasn't. I was very upset at first. It came as a big shock to me—a big shock for my boyfriend, too. He got really mad at me when I told him. He accused me of having done it on purpose. He said I was just trying to force him into marrying me."
"Did he hit you?"
"No," Shelley said, giving Eppie a look of concern. “He didn't have it in him to do that. He wasn't violent with me, just very immature and irresponsible. He gave me an ultimatum, though. He said I had to choose between him and the baby. Said he wasn't going to be 'trapped into fatherhood.' Those were his exact words."
"So you chose the baby over him?"
"Well, I suppose you could say that, but I didn't look at it that way. It wasn't a single either-or decision. To me, there were two decisions that had to be made. First, do I stay with him or not? And second, do I have the baby or don't I? I made the two decisions independently. I didn't let the second decision be influenced by the first."
"Do you think you made the right decisions?"
Shelley paused again. "Yeah, I think so," she said at last. "I know I made the right decision in leaving my boyfriend. He was wrong for me, and he would have been a terrible father. I would have been miserable being married to him. If he had really cared for me and for Jonathan it would have been different, but he didn't. I can't really say that I miss him very much either. We're better off without him."
Shelley's voice trailed off, and her eyes grew foggy and distant as she looked down at her sleeping child. Her face became empty and expressionless, her thoughts drifting off to places which only the most tired minds could reach.
"And Jonathan?" Eppie asked gently, trying not to pry too deeply into places where she might not belong. "Do you ever think you made the wrong decision to have him?"
Shelley closed her eyes for a moment and shook her head wearily. "No, I don't," she said. "Here's how I see it, Eppie. My life is completely different today than it was a year ago because of him. My old life was what it was, but now I have a new life. I've got infinitely more responsibilities now—infinitely more things to worry about, infinitely more things to do—and it seems I have infinitely less time in which to do them. Jonathan's growing so fast. I know he must look small to you now, but he was smaller last week, and even smaller than that the week before. I notice him growing a little bit more every day. I never used to be that observant, but I am now. I just know he's going to be walking and talking on his own in no time."
Shelley turned her head and looked at Eppie. "This new life doesn't wait for you, Eppie. No matter how tired or lonely or scared you may feel, this life just keeps on going whether you want it to or not. But this life is a good life. That's what Jonathan has taught me. I can see it so much more clearly now than I did before. My old life was just a waste of time before he came along. Just empty days followed by empty nights. I still find myself tired and lonely and scared a lot of the time—Jonathan hasn't taken those feelings away from me. Sometimes he even makes me feel more so. But I see now that it's better to be tired and lonely and scared and have a purpose in life than to have those feelings without a purpose. That’s what this new life is about."
Shelley looked down at her son again. "My worries and fears are only greater because of him, it's true, but they're focused and they have meaning because of him as well. That's the key difference. Now I know why I feel bad sometimes."
She reached down and made another minor adjustment to the blanket. "My new life is not perfect, but now it's whole. Life makes sense to me now, whereas it didn't before. That's how I know I made the right decision."
Eppie felt a lump rise in her throat as she listened to Shelley's words. They rang true for her immediately, without the need for thought or reflection. She understood what Shelley had said as few others could, for she lived an existence as lost and directionless as Shelley's former life had been. From where she was at that moment, a path existed which led in the right direction. From that very spot only a few months earlier, Shelley had found that path—stumbled upon it perhaps, navigated its twisted way with trepidation and doubt, but emerged at length in a place that was secure and more rewarding, with moments of fulfillment large and small which allowed her to be more confident in the person she was and in the direction that her life was leading her. She had not chosen to live for herself; she had chosen instead to live each day for her child, and this simple, selfless act made her whole. Eppie heard Shelley's voice speaking to her from that place like a beacon, and the uncertainty that had surrounded her began to fade. The path that Shelley had taken was narrow and difficult, but it was clearly there before her. It was not the path that all would choose, but it seemed to be the path that was right for her. She decided that she would go in that direction.
Eppie looked down for a final time at Jonathan as he slept. She saw the child much differently now than she had seen him just a day earlier. Shelley was right, she thought—babies change constantly. Sometimes they changed right before your eyes.
"Well," Eppie said at last, "I guess we should be getting back downstairs. The others are going to start wondering what's happened to us."
"You go on down, Eppie," Shelley replied as she turned and sat down on the bed wearily. "I'm going to stay here and take a nap while Jonathan sleeps. I need to take advantage of the opportunity whenever I can. Please tell the others that I'll be down in a few hours."
Eppie nodded and moved toward the door. "Thanks for talking to me, Shelley," she said. "You've helped me a great deal, more than you know. I hope I wasn't too nosey."
"Not at all," Shelley replied as she laid her head down on the pillow. "There's nothing left in my life that's too personal to reveal. If you can gain some benefit from my experience, I'm happy to share it."