“All day the storm went on. The snow did not fall this time, it simply spilled out of heaven like thousands of feather-beds being emptied.”
—Willa Cather, My Antonia
When the weather came down from the north with fifty-five mile an hour winds and freezing rain turning to snow, she was ready for it. Hannah didn’t have to go to work because she retired two years ago from the hospital to take care of Ed and his cancer, but now he was gone. She made herself coffee, put in real cream and opened the blinds. Snow pelted the window, and she had trouble seeing out of it. She wrapped a comforter around her legs and read a few pages of the blizzard scene in My Antonia; then she heard a car spinning its tires.
She opened the door and held onto it because the snow whipped and pounded her. She could barely see it. A red car. It had slipped off the gravel road, slid down into the ditch near her lane and whoever was driving was trying to drive it out, but it wasn’t going very far.
Hannah put on her coat, stocking hat, boots, and covered her face with a wool scarf, and headed outside. The wind was fierce. She put her head down and pushed on. When she got closer, she saw the car door open. It was a young woman. She didn’t have a hat on and her long black hair was blowing across her face.
When Hannah got closer, she yelled out. “Hey, turn that car off.”
The young woman was holding onto the door, trying to stand. “I have to get to a wake service,” she called.
“Not today. You’re not going anywhere. You can wait out the storm at my house.”
The woman was in her late teens or early twenties.
When she got up to her, she saw that she had black high heels and was slipping all over. Snow was piling over her shoes. Her lips were painted purple, and her eyes were outlined in black and silver hoops the size of small plates hung from her ears.
“Got any boots in there?” Hannah asked.
“No,” she said. “But I have my work shoes.”
“Well, put them on.”
The young woman lowered herself back into the car. The snow stung as it hit Hannah’s eyes, and she almost toppled over from a gust. Hannah decided to get into the car herself and wait. She opened the back door and the floor was littered with Diet Coke cans and empty Dorito bags.
The young woman had pushed back her seat and was grunting as she put on her shoes. “I can’t believe this. How am I going to get out of here?”
“You’re not for awhile. So take what you need.”
She was stuffing things into her backpack. After five minutes, they were out of the car and heading toward the house. It was hard to see and Hannah told the woman to grab hold of the belt on the back of her coat.
When they got into the house, Hannah felt worn out from the battle with the wind. Hannah watched the young woman look around at her kitchen while she struggled out of her green ski coat. She had on a short black skirt, fishnet tights with a baggy black sweater. She sat on a chair, took off her Nikes, and then they introduced themselves. Beth and Hannah.
“Do you have any clothes in there?” Hannah asked, pointing to her pack.
“You mean like jeans?”
Hannah nodded.
“Nope, just books and stuff.”
“Let me find you something to wear.”
“I need to make a call. They are going to wonder where I am.”
Beth took out her cell phone and pushed some buttons.
“I can’t get a signal.”
“We’re down in a valley so the signal gets blocked.”
Right then she began whimpering. “But my parents are going to worry.”
Hannah was relieved she said parents. At least neither of them had died. “Use my phone and call them.”
Beth did and Hannah heard her say, “Dad, it’s me. I’m at a farmhouse with this older lady. I got off the highway because it was so icy.” There was a pause. “I think she’s safe. She looks like a grandma. Here, you can talk to her.”
Beth handed the phone to Hannah and that irritated her. Why should she talk to her dad? “Beth’s safe here. I have a daughter too.” Hannah didn’t know why she said that, but she thought it might make the parents feel better. Before she hung up, she found out that the wake this evening was for a great aunt. Then the lights flickered, and she knew they’d go out soon.
Hannah found Beth a pair of gray sweat pants and sweatshirt and a pair of pink fuzzy slippers that were too big but they would have to work until her shoes dried out. Beth changed into them in the bathroom and must have washed her face because it was pale and the lipstick and black around her eyes were gone.
“I’m hungry,” said Beth.
“How about tomato soup and a tuna salad sandwich?”
“Do you have any Velveeta? I like grilled cheese.”
Hannah thought that was cheeky of her to ask for something she didn’t suggest. But she took out the fry pan and the bread. She watched Beth sitting at her table leafing through her Better Homes and Gardens magazine. She looked less threatening now. Hannah could see she had some pockmarks and red eruptions on her face.
“What year are you in college?”
“I’m a sophomore.”
“Your major?”
“Not sure yet. It might be English.”
“What are you reading in that book?” Hannah nodded to the Norton Anthology of American Literature on the table.
“Oh, we’re doing As I Lay Dying by Faulkner but I don’t understand it.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s got all these strange kids and a lazy ass father who doesn’t sweat and has no teeth and they’re waiting for their mom to die. One’s building her coffin and showing her each piece. Can you believe that?”
“Sounds pretty gloomy.”
“It is.”
Then the light in the kitchen went out and the refrigerator quit making its usual noise.
“Why is the stove working?” Beth asked.
“It’s gas,” said Hannah. “Can you stand on that chair and reach for those three candles?”
Beth stood on a chair and reached up to the tallest shelf, and that’s when Hannah saw it. She was big in the belly. Maybe seven months. Oh my, she hoped nothing would happen.
“When are you due?” she asked when Beth set three fat beeswax candles on the counter.
Beth pulled the sweatshirt down over her belly and said, “End of March.”
“Where’s the young man?”
Beth reddened. “What?”
“The father. A baby has to have a dad.”
“Oh, it has one.”
“I see.”
“No, you don’t see really but let’s eat.” Beth picked up her book from the table and set in on the floor next to her backpack. Then they sat down but it was so quiet.
“Do you have a radio?”
“I do but we can’t use it. Remember no electricity.”
“The wind will have to be our music,” said Hannah.
Beth reached for two halves of the grilled cheese and set them on her plate. Hannah took one.
“Let’s say grace,” Hannah said.
“I don’t pray,” said Beth.
“Then just listen.”
Hannah made the sign of the cross and said a prayer. Beth waited for her to finish before taking one huge bite. She had four halves done in no time and reached for another. Hannah was glad she made three sandwiches.
Hannah asked, “Do you have a job besides going to school?”
Beth nodded. “I clean motel rooms.”
Hannah wanted to ask if she had used one of those rooms to get pregnant. “Do you like that?”
“Nope, I hate it.”
“Are you going to keep the job when you have the baby?”
Beth looked up and sighed. “I’m not keeping the job or the baby. A couple’s taking it and then I’m going to Italy. Next week is my last week of work.”
Hannah felt herself go cold. She’d had a daughter after having two miscarriages. She figured those miscarriages were punishment for what she did with the first one.
Beth looked up. “Do you have any Cheetos?”
“No. Why?”
“I like to put them in my soup.”
“Sorry. I don’t eat them.”
“Too bad. You don’t know what you’re missing.”
They finished lunch and Beth asked to take a nap. Hannah opened a door next to the bathroom and said, “Use the guest room. And cover up with that quilt.”
Two hours later the door opened, and Beth stepped into the kitchen. “It feels good in here.”
“The oven keeps things toasty,” said Hannah. “I’m going to bake cookies. I always bake when we have a blizzard.”
“But the stove. Why isn’t it off?” asked Beth.
“It’s gas.”
Hannah made the dough while Beth underlined with a yellow marker in her book. She could read because she was beside the window and the snow brightened things. After the ingredients were mixed, Hannah set the Saran-wrapped covered bowl with the dough outside the back door.
“What’d you do that for?” Beth asked.
“It has to be cold to roll out.” And Hannah opened her pantry door and found her tin filled with cutouts. She pulled out a heart-shaped one.
Beth was right behind her and said, “Can I look at those?” She took the tin container and dug through, finding a Christmas star and tree. She didn’t seem satisfied with them so she found a squirrel. At the bottom of the tin, she made a moan and found a square block that a baby might play with.
“I’m going to use these.”
“So you don’t want to use the heart? Valentine’s Day is coming up.”
“Nope. I don’t feel much love for anyone today.”
“Not even that baby inside of you?”
“Not really. All it does is give me heartburn.”
Hannah opened the back door. The taut Saran wrap on the metal mixing bowl was completely covered in snow. That scared her a little but also excited her. She bet it was snowing an inch an hour.
Hannah wiped off the counter and sprinkled a handful of flour on it. She took a mound of dough larger than her fist and began rolling it out.
“You can use your cutters now.”
Beth didn’t know the first thing about cutting out cookies. She put the squirrel right in the middle of the rolled-out dough. Didn’t she know you started around the edges and worked in?
“Hey, this is fun,” Beth said as she made three more and then switched to the toy block and pretty soon she was using the star.
“You know when I married Ed and got pregnant, I was sick all the time and I didn’t think I’d love my baby but I did.”
“I don’t want to think about it because I already sold it.”
Hannah’s head snapped. “Sold it.”
“Yup, this couple who can’t have kids bought it from me.”
“Really. How much are they paying you?”
“A lot,” said Beth.
“How did you find them?”
“Saw an ad in the paper.”
Hannah looked at the girl who was standing next to her and said, “How do you know it’s on the up and up?”
“Oh, we went to a lawyer. I have a contract and everything.”
“Really.”
“Yup, and they said they even want another one from me in two years.”
“Oh my,” said Hannah.
“I told them I’d think about it.”
“What’s the father of your child think?”
“Oh, the husband’s the father and the mom’s the mom. In vitro fertilization.”
Hannah’s head jerked.
“It isn’t like I slept with him or anything. I had to go to this clinic and they put his sperm and her eggs already fertilized up inside me and bango that’s how it happened. Implantation.”
“Oh my. Didn’t you feel funny seeing both of them after that?”
“A little. The hubby’s nice enough. It’s the wife that drives me crazy. She calls all the time and checks on me to make sure I’m eating my broccoli, pooping daily, and sleeping eight hours a night.”
“Does she come to your dorm?”
“I’m in an apartment that they pay for.”
“Is it nice?”
“Yah, it’s okay but my boyfriend wants me to ask for a better one.”
Hannah sat down. “So you do have a boyfriend?”
“Yah, but they don’t know it. She actually told me I can’t have sex with anyone because she’s afraid of what it might do to the baby. But what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her, that’s what I say.”
Hannah looked at this young woman and found she was getting angry at her. She didn’t even want to finish the cookies with her.
And the girl felt her anger and said, “Why’d you turn on me?”
“What do you mean?”
“You know, just now when I told you about the baby and selling it, you got pissy at me. I saw your face change. What’s it to you?”
Hannah looked at her and said, “I don’t think you want to know.”
“I hate when people say that. You really want to tell me so just say it.”
“No, I don’t want to. Let’s finish these cookies.”
So a cold war began in that kitchen and Beth moved to the table and sat with her book and Hannah stayed by the stove and took out each sheet of cookies and with a pancake turner took each cookie off and set them on paper towels. She usually sprinkled them with red crystals or frosted them with pink, but she didn’t feel like it. Was Beth going to pout all afternoon and night?
Hannah heard the wind gust and felt the house shake. It was miserable outside and inside now. And she decided to go ahead and make frosting with red food coloring just so she had something to do. If she kept working, then the time would move faster.
So she made a small bowl of red and white and stayed at the counter covering each cookie. She didn’t bother doing the squirrels because they were so misshapen they looked like slugs. When Beth noticed this, she came over and took the box of four primary colored food colorings and said, “Are you done with this white?”
“Why?”
“I’m going to make the color brown.”
And she put in drops of this and that and soon she had some godawful mess that looked more deep purple than brown.
“You shouldn’t be judging me,” Beth said.
There was silence.
“I saw you say that prayer before eating so I suspect you are some holy roller and aren’t you supposed to be loving and kind?”
Hannah felt her temperature rising. She squeezed her fist and moved away from the counter where Beth was taking over. She could damn well frost those stupid squirrels herself. Hannah began dusting a shelf with cookbooks over by the table.
Beth tried again. “Huh, aren’t you one of those that reads the bible a lot and I bet you voted Republican in the last election.”
That was it. Hannah slammed the Joy of Cooking on the table and said, “Just because I say grace doesn’t mean I voted Republican. Not that it’s any business of yours but I’m an independent and I’m not any holy roller which I don’t think you have a clue as to what that means.”
Beth was eating a squirrel covered in a purple frosting. Her lips were dark and she said, “Well, well, I finally got you to open that mouth.”
“You’d better remember whose house you are in,” warned Hannah. “I could throw you out and you wouldn’t last more than a few minutes out there.”
“Aren’t you a nice one?”
Then Hannah stepped over and said, “Don’t go acting like you’re the only one who was ever pregnant and gave up a baby.”
The house shook as the wind blew. Pellets of snow and sleet hit the windows.
Beth spoke in a low voice. “So did you?”
There was silence.
Hannah wiped off the shelf and set four of the six cookbooks back on it. “None of your business,” she said.
Beth came over toward her and said, “Then why did you say it?” The cookie in her hand broke and fell to the floor. She didn’t pick it up.
Hannah felt her eyes water and kept her face turned away. She didn’t want Beth to see her.
“I bet you’re lying just to pretend you’re so much better than me.”
At that Hannah was ready to spit nails. She stepped toward her and said, “I was a lot younger than you are now. And I gave it up without getting paid for it. I did it because I had no other way out.”
Beth was silent and squinted at her. “Was it a boy or girl?”
“A girl,” Hannah whispered.
The wind rattled and howled.
“How old were you?”
“Fifteen.”
“You were young. Who was the father?”
Hannah didn’t want to go on. “No one I’d want the baby or you to know about.”
“It was a rape, wasn’t it?”
Hannah didn’t even look at her.
“Was it your dad?”
“None of your business,” Hanna said. “I’m not going to tell you so quit trying to guess.”
“What does it matter that I know. I’m never going to see you again after I leave here.”
“And that’s why I’m not going to tell you. You don’t know me, and I don’t know you. Why should I confide in a stranger?”
“Because I am a stranger. Sort of like confession.”
“Who are you to talk of confession?”
“I used to go when I was in grade school.”
“Well, you’re not a priest so give it up.” Hannah was stuffing loose pages of recipes she’d cut out of magazines into the pages of a cookbook.
“Who took it?”
“What?” She set the cookbook on the shelf and set the lion bookend against it.
“You know, the baby. What did you do with it?”
“I went to a home. They took it and I got the hell out of there.”
“So you didn’t get anything.”
“No. Well, yes, I didn’t have to pay for anything. I had it and left a few days later.”
“Wow, that’s cool. A home, huh. What was it like?”
“It wasn’t cool, that’s for sure. It was an awful place run by a bunch of nuns who didn’t like girls or babies.”
“Did they beat you?”
“No, they just made us clean and scrub and do laundry.” Hannah dusted the lion on the bookend.
“Did they make you do it naked?”
“Naked. What the hell are you talking about?”
“I just wondered. I read somewhere about a place run by this evil woman and she made all the girls run around naked so they could see their big bellies and their shame.”
Hannah felt the awfulness of that time pelt her like the snow was doing against the window. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” And her voice broke and she didn’t want it to break.
“Well, there you go. You turn on me again. You open up and then you turn.”
Hannah realized it was getting dark in the kitchen and she opened a drawer and found the box of stick matches and lit the first candle on the counter by the radio. Then Beth lit the second candle on the windowsill and by accident both reached for the wick of the third candle on the table and lit it together. Hannah wanted to say—“Honey, don’t misinterpret this; it isn’t any goddamn unity candle”—but she held back and watched the three flames flicker and catch on and blaze.She felt kind of peaceful in the warmth of that stove and candles and even Beth being with her. Beth carried no guilt or shame about her give-away baby. Maybe it was time to let go—to give up her own anger and shame at her past. To forgive the nuns and her mom for sending her away and then forgive herself. To just let the glow of the candles wrap around her.
Tricia Currans-Sheehan is the author of The Egg Lady, The River Road, co-author of a trilogy Deep Skin, and editor of The Briar Cliff Review until 2023. Currans-Sheehan has published stories in VQR, Connecticut Review, South Dakota Review, Puerto del Sol, Frontiers: A Journal of Women Studies, Fiction, and many other journals.