The five towns, p.6
The Five Towns, page 6
The elderly woman began to pick up the silver she was polishing and move it to the counter near the sink. Evelyn Freundlich helped Lulu to a chair, then filled the kettle with water for tea.
“And I’ll give you a little toast with jelly, to help settle your stomach. Something sweet, I always say.”
Amy came over and took Lulu’s hand in her own small one. “You don’t feel well?” she said, her large dark eyes soft and expressive. Her baby sister crept up behind her and tried to grab at Lulu’s other hand. She loved to imitate her big sister. “Are you sad?” Amy went on. “Because if you’re sad, I could make you a picture in my coloring book that you would like to take home. Okay?”
Lulu smiled at the child and wished she could have a second chance at life, so that her little girl might be as sweet and clean and well dressed as this child, safe and secure in a comfortable home. And what of the next baby, the one she was carrying? She prayed to God that it might be a boy, because boys didn’t need pretty clothes and soft blankets and dolls, and a boy might someday take care of her, send her some money every month, get out in the world and make a decent living. The years of labor stretched ahead of her, cleaning bathrooms, scrubbing out kitchen stoves, ironing, washing floors, making beds—dust, rags, Bab-O cleanser and Tide, steel-wool splinters in her fingers and bologna sandwiches for lunch; for that was what they all fed her, bologna on white bread, with an occasional frankfurter for variety’s sake. Lulu had never been asked if she wanted anything else—tuna fish, cheese, the remains of a roast beef that had sat in the Weinblochs’ refrigerator for several days before it was thrown out. Her lunch was their idea of lunch, and Lulu was too proud to ask for her own choice.
“Here, drink this,” Mrs. Freundlich said, and she set down a cup of steaming tea. Lulu saw that it was one of the cups from the better set of dishes, not one of the everyday ones which were faded and chipped in several places. With the tea there was a plate of rye bread, toasted, not white bread out of the waxed-paper sack but rye from the bakery. And there was butter and a jar of preserves.
“Now just sip that tea and eat a little toast, and then we can start on today,” Evelyn Freundlich said. She hadn’t liked the way her maid looked leaning against that closet door. She hoped it wasn’t serious, for she liked Lulu and was concerned about her well-being. And the children loved her, which meant that Evelyn could go off without worrying that their grandmother might not be quick enough with the baby or might fall asleep while Amy tried to reach for a hot pot on the stove. She had never allowed herself to consider the possibility of hiring Lulu for more time, another day or two, to make her life even more convenient. She didn’t think her husband or mother-in-law would approve; and besides, Lulu did most of her work for the Weinblochs, and Evelyn was not about to try and steal the maid from their employ. She hoped Lulu might quit the Weinblochs on her own, and then she and Mrs. Miller might work something out, but that was a far-off dream, and if Lulu got sick, that would change everything.
Evelyn chased the children from the kitchen and asked her mother-in-law to go inside and watch them for a bit so she could talk to the girl. She knew her mother-in-law disapproved of a maid. She refused to acknowledge her advancing years and didn’t see why she couldn’t do all the work—that was what she was there for, wasn’t it? But Dora Freundlich could no longer get on her knees and scrub floors—indeed, the planning and preparation of three meals a day for the family was just about all she could manage when her arthritis was bad—and so she grumbled, but she left the kitchen to this stranger and went inside with her granddaughters.
“Now, tell me what’s the matter,” Evelyn said, pulling out a chair and sitting down. She saw that Lulu had not eaten much of the toast or sipped any of the tea, and she urged her again to try some. “It will help you, really.”
“I have to start my job,” Lulu protested, but she felt she couldn’t get up right away, the nausea was right there. This was all strange; her first pregnancy had been nothing like this one—it had been so easy to keep working then. What would she do? She desperately wanted to tell someone her troubles, but she knew if she said anything she would lose her jobs.
“Would you like to go home today? You can owe me one day’s work and I’ll pay your carfare and give you a little bit for your trouble coming,” Evelyn said. In her mind, she was already on her knees in the bathrooms cleaning up the floors herself. She could do it. She’d done it herself for years.
“No, I’ll be fine. I’ll just set these things in the sink,” Lulu said, starting to get up.
“Tell me,” said Evelyn directly. She had a feeling she knew what the problem was.
Lulu stared at the toast. This woman was kind, the kindest of them all, and she’d have to find out soon enough. By her own calculations, she was three months’ pregnant, at least, and it would start to show much more in a matter of weeks.
“It’s a baby,” she finally said.
Evelyn nodded, and tried not to act upset. She’d have to find another maid, train someone new, follow her around, see if she could be trusted. “There, there,” she soothed automatically. Then she looked into Lulu’s eyes and said, “I’ll do whatever I can to help you. I know it will be difficult for all of us, but I want you to go ahead with this and not do anything rash, nothing dangerous, you hear me?” Evelyn’s voice was firm and strong, and Lulu listened to her in shock and surprise. She’d had no idea anyone would ever care what happened to her, or that a woman like this might know of the frightening alternatives there were to having an unwanted child.
“But my job—what’ll I do about my work? And I have the other child and my mother—they need the money!” Lulu pressed her hands over her stomach and shook her head miserably, rocking back and forth as she did. Evelyn thought she’d never seen such misery, not in years. On Bush Road, people worried inordinately over grass seed that didn’t grow quickly enough, or concrete that set badly, or water in the crawl space, but life seemed to be, in general, insulated from matters of real pain. Now here, in her own kitchen, was the thing they’d all tried to avoid, staring them in the face. How little she knew about this person who worked in her home, Evelyn realized.
“I’ll see that you’re not fired. You can work until—until you have to quit, and then when you can come back we’ll have you back. If anyone objects, I’ll speak to them, and if the Weinblochs or Millers say no, I’ll hire you for the extra days.”
Evelyn knew they couldn’t afford a maid six days a week, nor did they need one, but she’d find some other neighbors to share, she’d work something out. For the first time since they’d moved to Bush Road, since the house was fixed up and the furniture arranged in place, she felt a sense of purpose, a real place in the community, in the neighborhood, that was more than being another compliant, waiting-at-home wife and mother with two small children. She resolved to do more of this kind of thing, helping people, and she started to think about the other Lulus who worked in the area. Didn’t they all come from Inwood, or Jamaica, or Far Rockaway? It was really a question of local people helping other local people.
“We’ll do it,” she said, patting Lulu’s arm. The dark skin was plump and cushiony, soft to the touch. “I’ll talk to Mrs. Weinbloch and Mrs. Miller myself.”
“Oh, Mrs.—” Lulu began.
“Now don’t thank me. It’s the least I can do. Do you want to go home? No? Well, then, you can start here in the kitchen, but don’t do anything that might make you feel worse. This will pass soon. You’ll feel lots better later on.”
“You’re a lady,” Lulu said to Evelyn Freundlich. “My momma always said you can tell a real lady by how she behaves and I know it is you.”
“Nonsense,” said Evelyn, thinking of something else, her eyes distant and focused on something inside her mind.
“Should I do the refrigerator today?” Lulu said.
“What’s that?” Evelyn said finally, aware that Lulu had spoken.
“I said, should I clean out the refrigerator today? I think I should do the defrost.”
“Yes, yes, that will be fine, dear. Just look after yourself. And take whatever you’d like to eat for lunch. I suppose that bologna isn’t going to sit well with you. But there’s some boiled chicken left over from dinner. I’ll tell my mother-in-law to fix you a nice plate.”
And she marched out of the kitchen and straight to the front door, ready to begin her first crusade.
Outside, the block was busy with Saturday activity. Children rode their bicycles, followed by barking dogs. Men in baggy old pants worked in the yards cleaning up dead leaves, planting bulbs, pruning and seeding and cultivating their patches of earth. Someone had a radio on, the Metropolitan Opera, live, and Evelyn recognized Lohengrin and stopped to listen. She remembered the day she saw the opera; it was during the war, and Edward Freundlich had taken her and she had fallen in love with Lohengrin and with his swan-boat and with the tenor rapturously singing of sacrifice, betrayal, separation, and atonement. Lohengrin on Bush Road—it seemed so strange to her, and yet here she was, and this was her life now.
She began to walk again, toward the Millers, and she saw Gerrie Miller out in the yard, supervising the placement of a dogwood tree, yelling at her husband, Sidney, while her children tumbled across the lawn playing Statues with the three Fisher boys from Highland Avenue.
“Hello, Evelyn,” boomed out Gerrie’s voice. Gerrie was the loudest woman on the block. At dinnertime you could hear her voice clearly from the back of the house as she hollered for her children—Melanie, the eldest, who was several years older than Amy, and the two boys, Jimmy and Jon, who were six and four years old. Her children roamed free all day long while their mother was out running several community organizations, charity fund-raising drives, and the like, applying herself with equal vigor to all causes, more for the sake of running things than helping out any particular group in need. She’d often asked Evelyn to join in, and for the first time Evelyn thought she might speak to her about doing something. Community work was a sensible thing to do, and Evelyn now felt there was a reason for her to participate. She needed to help someone. But first, she had to talk to Gerrie about Lulu’s situation. It would be impossible to approach Vivian Weinbloch about anything. The woman was quite loony. She and Gerrie Miller would have to present some solution to Vivian as a fait accompli and hope she wouldn’t object too much.
“Gerrie,” said Evelyn, “could you spare me a minute? I’ve got a problem I’d like to discuss with you.”
“More to the left!” she hollered at Sidney as he dragged the tree in the opposite direction. “In a second, Evvie. I’ve got to get this thing in the ground before I get apoplexy. It’s been sitting around staring at me for a week. ‘Why haven’t you planted me in the ground?’ it’s saying, I know it.” Gerrie wiped her hands on her pants, which pulled tightly across her wide hips. In addition to being a compulsive organizer, Geraldine Miller was a compulsive eater and the heftiest woman on the block. But it never seemed to matter to her; when the ice cream truck came around with the Good Humors, she was always right in line with the children, ready for a toasted-almond bar even though it was only an hour before dinner.
Evelyn stood to one side, squinting in the warm spring sun as Gerrie directed the placement of the small tree, back and forth, over and around, until it was just where she wanted it.
“Perfect!” she said to Sidney.
He set the tree down, smiled and nodded a shy hello at Evelyn, and mumbled something about getting a shovel. He was much older than Geraldine, a man in his forties, and he was as stoop-shouldered and gray in the face as everyone who worked in the garment district had been a generation earlier in the sweatshops. Only he didn’t work in a sweatshop, he ran one. His firm made cheap things for “kiddies” like caps and bonnets and little overalls that wore out quickly, forcing mothers to return to purchase more “bargains” when they had their subsequent children.
“Sidney’s things are never hand-me-downs,” Gerrie had once confided to Evelyn over coffee. “That’s his secret. He makes them to wear out. Someday everyone else will be onto his secret and the whole house will fall apart on some kind of schedule.”
Gerrie dressed her own children in Sidneywear, and Evelyn had always felt sorry for Melanie, a beautiful, long-haired little girl who looked awkward and uncomfortable in the cheap clothes. There was something about Gerrie that was different from most of the mothers Evelyn knew; she wasn’t sure why, but it had something to do with Gerrie’s background, about which Evelyn knew nothing. As chatty as Gerrie Miller was, she never discussed her past.
Evelyn glanced around the yard and saw that Sidney had gone into the garage and that the children had moved their games down the street, and so she took Gerrie’s arm and motioned for her to bring her head closer. “I think you ought to know this,” she whispered, feeling suddenly as if she were betraying her best friend’s secrets, “but our maid is pregnant.”
“Lulu?” Gerrie said, practically hollering the name so that the entire block might hear it. “Our Lulu? She’s got a hell of a nerve. I tell you, those people have no sense of propriety. She isn’t even hitched.”
“Well, you know how these things are. We have to help her, she has no one else.”
“I don’t know,” said Gerrie. “I’m inclined to wash my hands of this whole sordid affair.”
“But she’s such a nice girl, it seems a pity to let her go and have to find someone else.”
“That’s true. I haven’t got the damn time anyway. The March of Dimes is going to make me cochairman of the Five Towns, you know.”
“How nice for you,” Evelyn said. “That reminds me, I’d like to talk to you about helping—”
“See? I knew you’d come around. I know just the thing, too. CP is going to be really important.”
“Gerrie, I’m not interested in one of the diseases. I thought maybe something in the community, maybe with the people in Inwood.”
“So your heart is breaking. Because of Lulu? Well, there’s only one thing I know and I can’t help her that way. But you might talk to Dr. Weinbloch. He’s the one who can help her.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean,” Gerrie said coyly.
“Dr. Weinbloch? You mean he might know someone?”
“Look, there he is now, going out to his car. Just go over and speak to him.”
“But I don’t think—”
“Look,” Gerrie said in her best take-charge, community-management voice, “that’s the best I can do. Ask the good doctor.”
Evelyn felt she could not argue with Gerrie. But perhaps she would have to talk to Weinbloch. He was, after all, the primary employer; he’d known Lulu first and he surely cared about her fate. She didn’t think that Gerrie meant anything more than that the doctor would be concerned. Weinbloch was one of the most respected general practitioners in the area. He was well known as “everybody’s doctor.” He made a good deal of money, and the neighborhood had agreed that the Weinblochs were probably not long for Bush Road. They had all the earmarks of Hewlett Bay Park aspirants: lots of money in the future, expanded vistas, dreams of residential glory. Lulu Pearce wasn’t the only one who knew about Mrs. Weinbloch’s desire for a swimming pool.
“Mort,” Evelyn called out uncertainly. He’d told all the neighbors to “Call me Mort,” but she still found it awkward because he’d treated her and her husband from time to time for small ailments and she had been impressed by his large, crowded office in Cedarhurst, the nurse who assisted him, the crisp receptionist, and Weinbloch himself in his immaculate white coat.
He had opened the door of his Chrysler and was about to get in, his black bag in one hand. Evelyn hurried up to him. “I see you’re going out on a call. This can wait.”
“Anything my wife can help you with?” Weinbloch said. “She’s at home now. Could use a little company.” He was a compact man, getting rather stout from lack of exercise, and he held a lit cigarette in one hand. He smoked several packs a day and had a collection of all sorts of ashtrays and smoking devices displayed on his office desk and bookshelves. Fancy lighters, Turkish hookahs, metal holders shaped like flamingos that held the burning cigarettes in their beaks and allowed the ash to drop off into the painted metal pond at their feet.
“No, no, it can wait. I’ll try and get hold of you when you come back.” God forbid Vivian finds out about this, Evelyn thought, for then it would be all over the neighborhood by sundown. Poor Vivian had no hobbies, save nagging and gossiping. Evelyn had learned long ago never to tell her anything important or private; five minutes later, word would be out on the Five Towns drum and people for blocks around would be picking up ringing phones all day long to get the next bulletins. When Evelyn had given birth to Marci, Vivian Weinbloch had told everyone on Bush Road and Highland Avenue, for that matter, and total strangers had found out she’d had another daughter before her own mother in New York City had been informed.
“Listen, I can spare a few minutes,” Weinbloch said, crushing his cigarette under his shoe and lighting another. He smoked Camels, Evelyn noticed. Seeing the pack made her think of the war. “It’s only tonsillitis. Just going over to give the kid a shot of penicillin. The mother’s a nervous wreck, I’ll tell you. Told her to call the pediatrician, but no soap—he’s out on the golf course.” Evelyn detected a note of impatience in Weinbloch’s speech. She suspected he disliked children and that that was the reason he himself had none. She believed it was a matter of choice. “What’s up?” he said, taking a long pull on his Camel.
There was something about Dr. Weinbloch that Evelyn found distasteful. The authority and coolness he displayed in his office was fine professionally, but he brought his arrogance home. He expected to be asked his opinion on all subjects, from politics to books to sports, and he pontificated equally well in all areas. Still, he was a good neighbor and shared with the Freundlichs the distinction of being among the first three families on the block. They were the real pioneers, they had agreed, paving the way for the others, the settlers.
