December 1968
Her father had told her she wouldn’t have to leave until January, and she’d been relieved, so grateful to be home for holidays. Not that she would be allowed to celebrate with the family. She was already showing, and her nieces and nephews were impressionable.
Today had been fun. She and her mother had finished decorating the fir tree, baked cookies and gingerbread, and made a batch of Mama’s famous fudge. The house smelled like Christmas.
Her father had come home in a good mood. Over dinner, he told stories from the office and even smiled. Afterward, he lit a fire in the fireplace while she served peanut butter cookies and hot chocolate. She couldn’t imagine a more festive evening.
When the phone rang, Daddy answered, of course. She didn’t think anything of it until he stilled, his smile vanishing. He looked from Mama to her, then walked into the formal living room, as far as the phone cord would stretch. When he returned, he hung up the handset and frowned at her, his eyes bleak. “A space opened for you at the maternity home. We’ll take you in the morning.”
She froze in disbelief. Take her tomorrow? Five days before Christmas?
“Please, no,” her mother cried.
He shook his head, his gaze never wavering. “Go pack,” he said firmly.
Words of protest filled her mouth, but she suppressed them. There was no point. Daddy wouldn’t back away from his decision. So she simply slid from the chair and went to her bedroom, closing the door behind her. It was dark in here. And peaceful. She paused. Just for a moment.
From the kitchen came the faint rise and fall of an argument. Her mother should stop. He wasn’t going to change his mind.
Okay, enough. There was much to do. She flicked on a table lamp, surveyed the room, made a plan, then blanked her mind and got to work.
Twelve hours later, the room was clean and white, all color moved to the shelves in the closet. She’d stored her throw pillows and record collection. Rolled up and rubber-banded a Monkees poster. Devoted a shelf to nonfiction: her encyclopedias, dictionary, and reference books on biology and space.
Lastly, and most precious, were her Christmas gifts from Galen. Hardcovers of A Wrinkle in Time and The Prophet, held in place by a Murano glass paperweight. He’d gone to a lot of trouble to get them to her, convincing Aunt Trudy to smuggle them in.
If her father found out, would he throw them away?
She hated that she had to leave them behind, but the packing list from the Home said No personal items.
She was waiting on the edge of the bed, a small suitcase at her feet, when her father rapped lightly on the open door.
“Ready, sweet girl?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. I want to leave by six.”
So the neighbors wouldn’t see her. She understood. “Where’s Mama?”
“Already in the car.” He held out one of his sweaters. “It’s cold. You may need this.”
“Thank you.” She shrugged it on, looked around the room for the final time, and followed her father outside.
They backed out of the driveway before dawn and headed east into the sunrise for the three-hour drive to the Home. She sat quietly in the back, trembling with shame, doing her best to pretend she wasn’t absolutely terrified by what lay ahead.
After her sleepless night, she must have dozed, for she awakened with a start. The sun was high and bright, and the rolling hills of the North Carolina Piedmont had flattened to the coastal plain. They exited the highway, wound through a charming town, and turned onto a long lane of stately mansions with big lawns. At its end, they bumped onto a circular driveway and parked before a wide set of steps.
She peered up at the house, a two-story redbrick box. It had black-shuttered windows, a porch outlined in Christmas lights, and a wreath on the door. To her parents, it must look reassuringly ordinary.
Daddy pulled her suitcase from the back and came around to open her car door.
She ignored the quaking of her body and fought to stay calm, refusing to embarrass her parents by making a scene. “Goodbye, Mama.”
But her mother merely nodded, ripped another from the box, blew her nose, and tossed it on the mountain of used tissues at her feet.
“Come on.” Her father helped her from the back seat.
She held onto his arm as they climbed the front steps, her legs wobbling like Jell-O. On the porch, she stood numbly as he set the suitcase beside her.
“Well, we’ll be going. You take care.”
“Aren’t you coming inside?”
“No need for that. You’ll be fine.”
Frantic now that the moment had arrived, she grasped his arm with both hands and said, “Daddy, don’t leave me. Please.”
He tugged his arm free. “I’m sorry, but we’ve been over this. It’s for the best.” He kissed the top of her head, hurried down the steps, and hopped into the car
in horror as the station wagon accelerated up the lane and braked sharply at an intersection before vanishing from view.
If she’d thought telling her parents she was in trouble had been the most terrible moment of her life, she had been wrong. Watching them leave her behind was far worse.
A minute passed. Then two. And still she waited, hoping they would realize their mistake. In the distance, a train whistled. The wind gusted, yanking a lock of hair from her ponytail. She shivered in her father’s gray sweater, clutching it to her neck, breathing in the scent of Old Spice and pipe smoke.
They weren’t coming back. She would be stuck here until May. Her parents had left her in this strange place and hadn’t taken the time to check inside.
It would be up to her to figure out how to survive.
“Miss Mitchell?”
She stirred painfully and looked over her shoulder. “Yes?”
A short, thin woman stood in the doorway, in a pale-green suit with matching tights, a blond beehive, and an expertly made-up face. “I am Mrs. Lloyd, director of the Eastern Carolina Home for Mothers and Babies. Come along.”
Lifting her suitcase, she followed the woman into a paneled foyer. Abstract art crowded the walls. A white Christmas tree perched in the corner, covered with orange glass balls, more forlorn than merry.
“In here.” Mrs. Lloyd opened a door hidden by the paneling and led the way into an office. It had soft-pink walls, delicate furniture, and weak light filtering through sheer curtains. She sat behind a dainty desk, its surface bare except for a fancy phone and a folder.
Where were the other chairs?
The director noticed her confusion. “You will stand, Miss Mitchell. Girls do not sit in my presence without permission. Is that understood?”
She shivered with foreboding. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Very well. First order of business. While you’re here, you may not tell anyone your real name. We will call you Eve.”
What? She had to give up her name too? “Why?”
Mrs. Lloyd’s eyes narrowed. “I won’t tolerate your kind of insolence here, Eve. Leave your attitude at the door, or we’ll get rid of it for you.” The director flipped open the folder. “I wish to confirm three details. Your eighteenth birthday is in April.”
She nodded.
“Your due date is May third.”
“Yes.”
“And you plan to finish high school while you’re here.”
“Yes.”
“Very well.” Mrs. Lloyd pressed a hidden buzzer. A door opened at the rear of the room, and a woman in a mustard-yellow dress stepped in. “This is Mrs. Wilson, the assistant director. She’ll explain the rules and get you settled in. Any questions, Eve?”
Oh, she had many, many questions, but the forbidding set of the director’s jaw made it clear that only one response was acceptable. “No, ma’am.”
The assistant director led her into a narrow hallway with blank walls and dark linoleum floors. The contrast with the public rooms was stark, like watching The Wizard of Oz in reverse, going from Technicolor to black and white.
“Come in, Eve.” Mrs. Wilson was standing in an open doorway. Once they were both inside the room, she locked the door. “May I get you anything? A drink?”
“No, thank you.”
“Okay, then. Strip to your panties and bra, please.”
“What?”
The woman’s voice was soft with apology. “I’m sorry, Eve, it’s uncomfortable for me, too, but I have to ensure you didn’t bring contraband.”
Cool tears slid down cheeks burning with humiliation as she kicked off her shoes. With her back to the woman, she folded her sweater, removed her dress and hose, then stacked them on a chair.
“Stand here, Eve. Arms at your sides.”
As the assistant director walked around her, she cast down her eyes, trying to ignore a stranger scrutinizing her body, the bulge of her waistline.
“Thank you, Eve.” Mrs. Wilson indicated a screen in the corner of the room. “We provide uniforms. You can change over there.”
A privacy screen? It was a kindness after the indignity she’d just suffered. She hurried behind it, her limbs stiff and cold. Once out of sight, she braced herself against the wall, afraid she might fall apart. How would she get through this?
“Eve, are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” The words came out scratchy. She pushed away from the wall, only to discover another horror. A full-length mirror.
Did every kindness come with a mean-spirited kick?
She stared in shock at her reflection, hardly recognizing herself. Limp brown hair. Eyes a dull blue with dark smudges underneath. Lips ragged where she’d bit them. And her belly? Sickening.
Science was her favorite subject in school, and what she liked best was solving problems. Make observations, find patterns, draw conclusions. Was she already seeing a pattern here? Kindness and cruelty coming in pairs?
After slipping on the brown tentlike top and elastic-waist pants awaiting her, she stepped from behind the screen to find Mrs. Wilson rifling through her suitcase, patting the spare change of clothes, feeling the insides of her sneakers. The woman unzipped the makeup case, sighed, and emptied its contents into a garbage can.
“What are you doing?”
Mrs. Wilson’s smile was strained. “I’m so sorry, Eve. Makeup is a personal item. It isn’t permitted. We supply all your needs.”
“But . . .” She swallowed the protest. If the assistant director was as nice as she seemed, it would be smart to stay on her good side. “Okay.”
The woman whispered, “Mrs. Lloyd is in the hall, listening to us. We have to be careful.” Then she said at a more normal volume, “The Home has many rules. Follow them, and you’ll be fine.”
“What rules?”
“I’ll tell you the main ones, but read the binder in your room. Every word. You don’t want to be punished for breaking a rule. The first one is easy. Whatever tasks you’re assigned, do them well.”
No worries there. She would. “What am I assigned?”
“In the afternoons, schoolwork is your only responsibility. Mrs. Lloyd prides herself on the number of girls who finish high school here. You’ll clean the bathrooms each morning or anytime they’re soiled. Mrs. Lloyd will inspect them daily, so do not disappoint her.” The assistant director held a finger to her lips and concentrated hard. After a moment, she relaxed. “Mrs. Lloyd has left.” Mrs. Wilson looked at her clipboard. “Meal times are at eight, noon, and six. Don’t be late, not even a minute. And no smoking inside the house.”
“I don’t smoke.”
“Good. Finally—and this is very important—you’re Eve here. Don’t tell anyone your real name. Only Mrs. Lloyd and the doctors are allowed to know.”
Assuming a different name might not be so bad. She could pretend to be a different person. When she left, she could shed who she’d been here along with the name. “I’m Eve.”
“Excellent. Now, we will keep the clothes you traveled in, but you may take your sweater and your suitcase. Come on. I’ll show you to your room.”
They climbed a flight of stairs and stopped midway down a hall that ran the length of the house.
“Here you are.”
The room was small, hardly big enough for the two twin beds. One was made with military precision. The other, a bare mattress. Beside each bed was a nightstand.
A tall, thin brunette with a Cleopatra haircut leaned against the wall, blowing cigarette smoke through an open window. She stubbed out her cigarette and turned lazily.
Mrs. Wilson sighed, fighting to contain a smile. “Miriam.”
“I promise, I won’t ever do it again.”
“Or at least, not until tomorrow. Anyway, this is Eve. Can I trust you to show her the ropes?”
“You shouldn’t trust me ever.”
Mrs. Wilson’s laugh became a cough. “Take care.” She left.
Eve set her suitcase on the end of the bare bed and looked at her new roommate warily. Who had they picked for her? Would they get along? Or would her bedroom be another place to fear?
The two girls eyed each other silently, assessing, although Miriam looked too mature to be called a girl. Early twenties, Eve would guess. It surprised her that someone so old would have to come to a place like this.
“Welcome to hell, Eve. Where do you want to start?”
She blinked at the raw greeting. Liked it. “The bathroom. I need to pee.”
There was a brief silence, and they both laughed. The ice was broken.
Miriam gestured toward the hall. “Go and do your business. Second door on the left.”
When Eve returned, her roommate was leaning against the wall again, the bare bed now neatly made, the suitcase stowed underneath.
“I took care of yours. The lunch gong will sound soon, and we don’t want to miss that.” Miriam groaned and pressed a hand to her back.
“When are you due?”
“April Fools’ Day. Appropriately.” She smoothed a tender hand over the tiniest swell of a belly.
In that moment, Eve knew she would trust her roommate despite what Miriam claimed earlier. The next four months would be awful without someone to rely on. “What’s it like here?”
Miriam’s lips twisted. “You’ll figure it out soon enough.” She looked out the window. “Their sole focus is to get us to deliver a baby, sign the papers, and leave. It’s tolerable if you go along with that.”
“And if you don’t?”
“It’s a nightmare.”
A loud bong reverberated through the house. Doors creaked open up and down the hall.
“The food will be the highlight of your day. Come on. We don’t want to be late.”
When they walked into the dining room, it was so quiet that Eve was surprised to find ten other girls there. All were dressed in the same ill-fitting outfits of solid-color tops with dark pants. All were unnaturally subdued for teenaged girls.
Two women entered from the kitchen, each carrying a large tray, their matching aprons starched. Silently, they set a plate before each girl and left. The pot roast and potatoes smelled wonderful, but nobody moved, still as statues. The women returned with rolls and a pitcher of water. This time, when they disappeared back into the kitchen, the girls ate.
Halfway through the meal, a girl clapped a hand over her mouth, forced her chair back, and ran from the room.
Miriam made a soft grunt. “You’re on bathroom duty?”
Eve nodded. This was what Mrs. Wilson meant by soiled.
“I’ll help but only this once.”
They shared a smile, and Eve let her guard down. Just a little.
***
The Home enforced lights out at nine. It had seemed ridiculously early when Eve first heard, but after her exhausting day, she was glad. She lay on her back, watching moonlight flicker on the ceiling.
There was a twitch on the side of her belly. When she rubbed it, it twitched again. No, it was more like a flutter. Was that the baby? The possibility filled her with wonder. No one had warned her about how this part would feel. That there was a person inside her, wanting to be known.
She waited for another flutter, disappointed when it didn’t repeat.
On the other side of the room, bedsprings squeaked. Miriam must be awake.
Eve whispered, “The baby kicked me. I think.”
“It’s sweet, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” Was her roommate willing to talk? The darkness encouraged secrets. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-three.” Miriam snorted. “Old enough to know better.”
Eve had always been slow to build friendships. As the daughter of the high school principal, she’d felt isolated, never quite sure why people were nice to her. It had been easier to remain aloof.
She could tell a difference with Miriam. They might be six years apart in age, but circumstances had made them friends. At least, Eve hoped so. She would take a chance and ask an extremely personal question. “What happened?”
Miriam exhaled slowly. “It’s humiliating how stupid I was. I was working as a teller at my stepfather’s bank, and he hired a new branch manager. Handsome, smart, and sooo charming. He’d just moved to town and asked me to show him around. I was happy to.” Her voice thickened. “I discovered I was expecting around the time his wife and kids arrived. My stepfather told everyone I was on vacation and sent me here. What about you?”
“A summer fling.” Her parents’ term. She couldn’t believe how matter-of-factly she was using it. Galen was much more than a fling. “I stayed at my grandmother’s and met a boy.”
“Handsome, smart, and sooo charming.”
All true, but . . . “It wasn’t like that.” Eve still missed him. Hadn’t received a letter in weeks. If it hadn’t been for her Christmas gifts, she would’ve worried that he’d moved on. “He was my first everything. First boyfriend. First kiss. First—” She blushed in the dark.
“Aren’t we a pair of clichés?” Miriam sounded amused.
No. Tears stung Eve’s eyes. She and Galen were not a cliché. “Maybe he’ll write me here.”
“He can’t, Eve. Mrs. Lloyd would throw his letter away.”
“Why?”
“She censors our mail. Anything she deems inappropriate is cut out or destroyed.”
“That’s awful.”
“It’s part of the agreement your parents signed. You’ll get used to it because you have to.”
Was Miriam right? Would Eve ever get used to it here? Or would she get good at pretending?
“The worst part, though, is the social worker. Mrs. Kinsley lectures us on our sins with religious zeal. We are fallen, and it’s her mission to ensure we don’t forget.”
Eve was so weary of the ugly words. Ruined. Shameful. Slut. Escaping the contempt of her brothers and sisters-in-law was the only good part of leaving home. “I’m not fallen.”
“You’ll think you are when Mrs. Kinsley’s done with you. Stick close, Eve. I’ll take care of you.”
“You’ll be gone before me.”
“You’ll be good at the game by then. Now, go to sleep.” It wasn’t long before Miriam’s breathing grew even.
Eve stared wide eyed at the ceiling, plucking at her quilt, trapped in a prison without bars. She wasn’t sure which part would be the hardest to deal with: Being homesick. Forgiving her parents for inflicting this on her. Or withstanding the sense of malice pervading The Home.
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