11. Estelle

11

Estelle

S everal weeks passed. Each day I felt a little better than the day before. By the end of the third week, I felt ready to return to normal activities. My milk had dried up by the fourth day of binding, just as the ladies had said it would. I no longer looked pregnant.

Despite being bedridden, I'd developed a routine. Mrs. Bancroft visited after breakfast, and we would chat for a few minutes. It was during those times that I learned more about Mrs. Bancroft's work with the poor.

After she left for her appointments, I napped or read until Penelope brought my lunch and sat with me for a few minutes. From her I learned a lot about the household, including the antics of one little girl named Clara.

In the late afternoons, Dr. Bancroft dropped in on me and often stayed to visit. During that time, he told me more about his life, including his years at medical school and stories from his practice. He didn't speak of the war much, but that wasn't unusual for the boys who were blessed enough to come home. Still, I could see the memories of those horrid days and nights lurking in his eyes.

Mrs. Bancroft and Percival seldom mentioned his wife. I came to understand as the weeks unfolded that she had been at the asylum for the entirety of Clara's life. In fact, she'd never met her mother. Although Mary Bancroft still existed, she was absent from conversation.

At the beginning of my third week of convalescence, I was allowed to get out of bed for more than just a bath. In fact, Percival encouraged me to walk up and down the hallway several times a day. I was only too happy to follow his direction. The idleness of being bedridden was enough to drive me mad.

To occupy my time during the long days of recuperation, I read novels from the family library. Mrs. Bancroft brought me a leather-bound journal as a gift, encouraging me to write down my feelings. At first, I resisted, thinking it was nothing more than busy work. However, after a few days of jotting down random thoughts, I found it somewhat addictive. Talking about oneself when no one could hear proved to be therapeutic.

I wrote about Constantine a lot, detailing our time together so that I would not forget. An urgency to catalog our memories had become almost an obsession. One I could not let go of until I'd written about every last moment we'd spent together.

During these musings, I asked myself difficult questions about my own behavior. Would it have made a difference if I'd not succumbed to desire that afternoon? Would he still be alive if we'd acted differently? The outcome was impossible to predict. Still, I found myself contemplating the chain of events that had led to my current circumstance over and over again.

Was it fate or the result of bad decisions? I would never know. That troubled me most of all. If only I could make sense out of what happened. Find something good. Was it enough to know I'd given my sister the gift of a precious daughter? In my darkest moments, I had to admit to myself that Connie and I were the ones who had lost while my sister and Pierre won. But I didn't allow myself to dwell upon it overly long. Jealousy and bitterness hurt only me, not them.

When I finished writing about Connie and me, I spent a day reading through my entries, crying and laughing. Although my grief remained fresh, a sense of gratitude for the time I'd had with him had embedded itself within me. Albeit short, we had enjoyed every moment together. Now I would have the memories to sustain me for the rest of my life.

I also wrote about Mireille. Sometimes I wrote letters directly to her, telling her about how her father and I had met and what a good man he'd been. I told her about the Bancrofts and their kindness and of Penelope's entertaining stories of her family. Mostly, though, I told her about myself. Knowing I would never send them gave me a sense of freedom. I could write without fear of anyone ever reading my words. I surprised myself with the details of my life that came to mind as pen was in hand.

One afternoon, I asked Percival if I might explore more of the house. "Beyond my excursions up and down the hallway?"

"Are you growing bored?" Percival asked, sitting in his usual chair next to the bed.

"Growing? I would say that I have grown bored." I smiled at the raising of his eyebrows. "Not that I'm complaining. You have all taken such good care of me."

"If you feel up to it, by all means, explore the rest of the house. The more you're up and about, the better."

"Are there any rooms I'm forbidden to explore?"

He laughed. "No, we have no rooms with buried secrets. Other than my bedroom and Mother's, you're welcome to go anywhere you like."

The next morning, Mrs. Bancroft came to see me after breakfast. "I've good news. Our favorite doctor has given me permission to invite you to lunch. You may get dressed and join me for lunch downstairs today. Clara's home for school holiday and is anxious to make your acquaintance."

A thrum of excitement rushed through me. "I'd love to come downstairs for a meal with you and Clara."

"We've caught her peeking through the keyhole several times. The child's as curious as a cat."

"I'm curious about her too," I said.

Mrs. Bancroft sat in the chair next to the bed. "There's something else I'd like to talk to you about. I'd like to offer you a position here. Working as my assistant."

"With you?" Was she serious? "But I don't know how to do anything."

"You will soon enough. For the most part, the role involves accompanying me to my various engagements and helping me during my visits to the sick. I can teach you everything you need to know."

"I'm forever in your debt. I'll do whatever's required of me."

"Very well." She waved her hand dismissively. "I've been contemplating your wardrobe or lack thereof. If you are to work for me, you must have decent dresses. My seamstress will come and take your measurements. I'll ask her to bring samples of fabric to choose from. For work, you'll need a sturdy dress, preferably made of a dark color. Some of the places we visit can be dirty, damp, and infested with cockroaches."

I swallowed. "Cockroaches."

"Yes, they're disgusting little beasts, but this work is not for the faint of heart."

"I'll try to be brave."

"You'll be fine. We can offer you room and board and a small stipend. You may stay here in this room. We're already calling it 'Stella's room,' so it makes sense for you to stay. I'd also like you to take your meals with us."

"Not with the other staff?"

"No, you belong with us."

"I accept," I said.

For the first time in a long time, I felt light and somewhat hopeful. Helping others would give me something useful and purposeful to do, even if it was selfishly motivated. Plus, I would be safe here and well taken care of. What more could I ask for?

Penelope helped me to dress for the midday meal. I'd only brought two dresses with me, and bloodstains in the dress I'd arrived in had proven impossible to remove. Thus, I was left with only a drab brown dress. I'd resigned myself to wearing it for our luncheon but to my surprise, Penelope arrived with two dresses draped over her arm.

"These are Mrs. Bancroft's dresses, but she thought you might like to wear them until yours can be made."

"Yes, that would be lovely."

"Which would you like to wear this afternoon?" She placed them both on the bed. One was a pale pink and the other a deep midnight blue.

"I think the pink's best," I said.

"Yes, it'll be cooler than the other."

She helped me into one of the girdles that had essentially replaced the corsets my mother had been forced into when she was my age. I stood in front of the mirror, amazed that my stomach had flattened in such a short time. The dresses were shapeless, with dropped waists and slim skirts, all meant to hide women's curves. I had none to speak of, being tall and slender, which made the latest fashions flattering. Mauve used to express envy at my figure. She was short and curvy—unsuited for the current styles. I'd always admired her voluptuousness, but I had to agree that the straight dresses looked better on me.

During my pregnancy, I'd not cut my thick, dark hair, and it had grown longer than was fashionable. I'd not bothered to fix it of late, simply leaving it in a braid that hung down my back. Penelope was having none of that. She marched me over to the dressing table and soon had my hair fixed with pins and curls in a mimic of a bob. Next, she powdered me and pressed rouge into my cheeks.

When she deemed me satisfactory, she helped me into the pale pink cotton dress.

"You look lovely," Penelope said, clearly pleased with her efforts.

"It feels nice to wear something pretty." I actually resembled my old self. Except for my eyes. They no longer sparkled with the idea that something wonderful could happen at any moment. Would they ever do so again? Or would the weight of what I'd done, what I'd lost, haunt me the rest of my days?

"Thank you for making me feel like normal again," I said.

Penelope stood back, a pleased smile lighting up her round face. "You look very well, miss. Very well indeed. This is the beginning of a new life for you."

"I'm frightened." I met her gaze in the mirror.

She gave me an encouraging smile. "You're stronger than you think."

"I certainly hope so."

"Come along. Mrs. Bancroft said to bring you down when you were ready."

I nodded and drew in a deep breath to fight my nerves before heading downstairs.

Lunch was served in a sunroom, clearly designed to catch the morning light. Large floor-to-ceiling windows framed with finely crafted wood dominated the walls. French doors opened onto a terrace, where potted flowers burst with spring color. Light, airy curtains moved gently with the breeze. A soft light filtered through the gauzy material.

The colors of the wall and furniture appeared inspired by nature, with soft greens and floral patterns. Comfortable rattan chairs and sofas, adorned with plush, vibrant cushions, added comfort and style. A large decorative rug anchored the seating area, with potted plants and flowers placed around the room.

A small table, surrounded by a few chairs, had been set for three. Upon my entrance, Mrs. Bancroft turned from the French doors where she'd been looking out to the flower-laden garden.

"Miss McCord, how well you look." She held out her hands and I took them, flushing under her keen gaze.

"Thank you. It's nice to be up and dressed."

"Madam, lunch is served." A middle-aged footman dressed in black gestured toward the table. "Would you like me to bring the first course?"

"Yes, thank you, Samuel. I'm famished. Are you hungry?"

"Indeed. Thank you."

Soon we were seated, and I was about to ask about Clara when I heard the pitter-patter of feet. I looked toward the doorway to see a little girl bounding toward us, wearing a sailor-style dress and patent leather shoes.

"Clara, there you are." Mrs. Bancroft beamed and held out her arms. Clara threw herself into her grandmother's embrace, nearly knocking the older woman over.

"Grandmama, do we have company?" Clara pushed away locks of yellow hair to gaze up at me. She had her father's eyes, although fringed with thick, curly lashes.

"This is Miss McCord," Mrs. Bancroft said. "And this is Clara."

Clara curtsied and grinned up at me. Her two front teeth were missing, adding to her charm. "Pleased to meet you, Miss McCord."

"I'm pleased to meet you," I said. "I've heard a lot about you."

"You have?" Clara's eyes widened. "What did they say?"

"Never mind that," Mrs. Bancroft said.

A silver-haired woman dressed in gray came in just behind Clara, slightly breathless. "Ma'am, I'm sorry we're tardy. We ran into one of Clara's friends at the park and I didn't realize how late it had gotten."

Mrs. Bancroft introduced me to Miss Lisk, Clara's nanny. With her hook nose and close-set, bulgy eyes and fidgeting hands, she reminded me of a squirrel.

"Pleased to meet you," I said.

"Likewise." Miss Lisk's gaze flickered toward me briefly before she turned back to Mrs. Bancroft. "Miss Clara's washed up for lunch. Would you like me to dine with you?"

"No, thank you. Enjoy an hour off," Mrs. Bancroft said. "We'll be occupied for at least that long."

"Thank you, ma'am." Miss Lisk darted away, as if worried Mrs. Bancroft might change her mind.

We all sat at the table, unfolding napkins and placing them into our laps. Samuel returned with the first course, a cold tomato bisque.

"Clara, will you say the prayer, please?" Mrs. Bancroft asked.

We all bowed our heads.

"Dear Jesus. Thank you for food and school. And Grandmama. Amen."

Mrs. Bancroft and I both chimed in with an "amen."

"How come I get to eat luncheon with you today?" Clara asked, picking up her spoon.

"Because we have a guest," Mrs. Bancroft said.

Clara's gaze slid to me, blue eyes scouring my face. "You look different."

"That's because I'm out of bed and dressed," I said. "I've been ill."

"I heard you saying strange things one day," Clara said, with a guilty glance in her grandmother's direction. "When I happened to be walking by your room."

"Happened?" Mrs. Bancroft asked. "Or walked by there on purpose?"

"I was looking for something," Clara said, innocently.

"Miss McCord had a terrible fever, which caused her to become delusional," Mrs. Bancroft said.

"Did I scare you with my feverish ramblings?" I asked, picking up my spoon.

"No, not really." Clara shrugged. "I don't scare easily."

I hid a smile behind my hand. "An excellent skill to have."

"I'm glad you're feeling better." Clara used her spoon to daintily scoop a small amount into her mouth. "My mother's sick. She never comes to visit me because she's locked up in a bad place."

I glanced at Mrs. Bancroft to gauge what to say to the little girl, but she seemed untroubled by this honest statement from a six-year-old. She nodded in my direction, essentially granting me permission to speak freely.

"You must miss her," I said.

"I've never seen her." Clara smacked her lips before diving in for more soup.

They never took her to visit her mother? How sick was the poor woman? Clara's mother was like me—she would never see her daughter. I immediately said a silent prayer for the younger Mrs. Bancroft. I fervently hoped she did not feel as alone as I. Or miss her daughter as much as I missed mine.

"Clara dear, Miss McCord might like to hear about your adventures this morning. Were you able to feed the ducks as you hoped?"

"Oh yes." Clara's face lit up. She spent the next few minutes giving details about the various ducks and their apparent affinity for breadcrumbs. "Would you like to go to the park with me sometime? I've named them all and can tell you who is who."

"I'd be delighted," I said. "However, your grandmama has a job for me, so I might be too busy to go anytime soon."

"What kind of job?" Clara asked, staring at me as if finding it hard to believe I had any skills whatsoever. Not that she was incorrect in her assessment.

"Miss McCord's going to assist me in my work," Mrs. Bancroft said.

"Can I come with you?" Clara asked.

"Not today, darling." Mrs. Bancroft turned to me. "Sometimes Clara goes with me to visit our elderly patients."

"Goodness me," I said, astounded to learn that a little girl would accompany Mrs. Bancroft. "You're brave to do so."

Clara nodded solemnly. "Grandmama says I've been blessed with good fortune and therefore must assist those in need. She claims it's more important than going to the park."

The last was said with some skepticism.

"Clara's been quite helpful during our visits," Mrs. Bancroft said. "She cheers the patients."

I had no doubt, I thought, glancing at the little girl's sweet face.

"Who will you see today?" Clara asked her grandmother.

"Mrs. Caldwell, for one," Mrs. Bancroft said.

"Ah, yes." Clara nodded, as if a forty-year-old spinster had suddenly entered her body. "Papa says the poor woman's been very ill."

"She's had pneumonia," Mrs. Bancroft said to me. "A deep cough keeps her from getting any rest, not to mention her lack of proper nutrition. I go by several times a week to make sure she's eating and to help her take a bath."

"How kind of you," I said.

"My son does all the important work, but I do what I can," Mrs. Bancroft said. "You cannot imagine the squalor so many endure here in the city. It's shameful."

"Are you going to stay here in our home?" Clara asked, returning her gaze to me.

Before I could answer, Mrs. Bancroft did so. "She's going to live here with us for the foreseeable future."

"Where's your real home?" Clara asked.

"I do not have one." The truth of my words showered me with a spray of stinging grief. I had no one, other than the kind people who had taken me in. "I plan to earn my keep as best I can working hard for your grandmother."

"You will, dear girl. You will." Mrs. Bancroft winked at me.

Should I be glad or frightened of the work ahead? I couldn't be sure of one or the other. All I knew is that it was a chance for survival, and I must not shrink away but face it boldly.

That afternoon Mrs. Bancroft's chauffeur drove us in one of their automobiles toward the Lower East Side. Before my intrepid recent travel, I'd been to New York City many times, but we had never veered into neighborhoods such as the ones I saw before me now.

Soon the driver stopped in front of a tenement housing project, and I followed Mrs. Bancroft inside a hallway that smelled of mildew and grease. I followed my companion up a skinny staircase. Paint peeled in places along the wall; water damage had lifted floorboards, and mold crept along the ceiling. I heard several people coughing, deep and phlegmy. As we climbed, I caught the putrid scent of communal toilets located on each floor. This could not possibly be sanitary, I thought. Diseases must spread from lack of clean water and shared bathrooms.

I brought a handkerchief to my nose, but it did little to block the scents of poverty.

"Most of the people here share a one- or two-room apartment with extended family," Mrs. Bancroft said. "Sometimes there's a dozen occupants in one small room. Because of the close proximity, the moment one in a family becomes ill, the virus or bacteria quickly spreads to others. Even when stomachs are full, their diet lacks nutrients, which only worsens chances of survival. We lose women and babies in childbirth. Sometimes, an infant will only live a few days. It's a terrible thing to see."

We reached the fourth floor. Mrs. Bancroft and I walked down a narrow hallway until we reached apartment 12. She knocked, then opened the door a smidge to call out to the occupant. "Mrs. Caldwell, it's Mrs. Bancroft. May I come in?"

"Yes, please," a weak voice called from within.

I followed Mrs. Bancroft into the room. A single bed and a chair were the only furniture. The kitchen, if one could call it that, was located in one corner, equipped with a woodstove for heating and cooking. A scattering of a few personal items lay on shelves made of wooden fruit crates. One small window, too dirty to see though, brought little light into the room.

Mrs. Caldwell lay on her back in the slim bed. She lifted her head as we approached, revealing a face lined with wrinkles and a mouth missing most of its teeth. Dirty, scraggly white hair fell around her thin shoulders.

Mrs. Bancroft introduced me. "This is Miss McCord. She'll be assisting me today."

"It's a pleasure to meet you," I said.

Mrs. Caldwell looked at me from deep-set, faded blue eyes. "Why would a pretty young thing like you want to take care of the likes of us?" Her voice faltered between words, as if it were a struggle to speak.

"I'm proud to assist Mrs. Bancroft," I said. As if I had anywhere else to go.

Mrs. Bancroft's mouth twitched into a near smile as she nodded approvingly in my direction. I'd pleased her with my answer.

"You must not have much of a life if you want to come see me," Mrs. Caldwell said.

"Has my son been by to see you today?" Mrs. Bancroft asked.

"Nah, but yesterday afternoon he come by. Said I was showing signs of improvement. Ain't that something?"

"What excellent news." Mrs. Bancroft set to work then, warming water on the stove for our patient's sponge bath while instructing me to take a loaf of bread and a chunk of cheese out of her bag. "Cut up a few slices of each for Mrs. Caldwell."

I did as asked, none too sure about the sanitation of the rickety table. I located a cracked plate to put it on and then took it over to her. "May I help you sit up?" I asked her.

"Yes, thank you kindly."

I slid an arm around her shoulders and helped her to sit up and lean against the headboard. No sooner did I have her upright than a coughing fit overwhelmed her. I stood there powerless to help. When it seemed she was done, I brought her water in a canning jar I found near the stove. She drank greedily and then asked for the food.

I set it on her lap, as there were no trays anywhere nearby.

"How's Mr. Caldwell?" Mrs. Bancroft asked as she fetched a clean washrag out of her bag. What else was in that thing?

"He's found work at one of the factories." Mrs. Caldwell took a piece of bread and tore it savagely before sticking the corner into her mouth.

"What a relief." Mrs. Bancroft dragged the only chair from the table and came to sit next to the bed.

"Yeah, they won't be able to throw us out of here for at least another month." Mrs. Caldwell bit into a slice of cheese from the side of her mouth that still had teeth.

After our patient was done eating, Mrs. Bancroft gave her a sponge bath, then brushed and braided her hair. "I don't see any nits. I think we got them all last time."

Nits?

Immediately, my head started itching.

Soon, we were on our way, promising to come back in a few days to check on her. We stopped in two more apartments, one with a newborn baby who seemed to be doing well, much to Mrs. Bancroft's relief. I couldn't so much as look at the baby and instead busied myself cleaning up and putting a pot of beans on the stove. The final visit was to see an entire family—five small children and their mother—suffering from the flu. They were much improved, according to Mrs. Bancroft. "Thank goodness. Last week I wasn't so sure the little boy would make it."

"Why is there so much coughing?" I asked on the way down the dank stairwell.

"Tuberculosis, pneumonia, typhus—take your pick," Mrs. Bancroft said, with a sad shake of her head.

The Bancrofts' chauffeur was waiting for us at the corner and helped us into the back seat.

On the way home, I asked Mrs. Bancroft a question that had been on my mind all afternoon. "Why do you bring Clara with you on these visits?"

She glanced over at me, eyes bright. The rumbling of the car's engine did not drown out what she said to me. I was to remember it all my life. "Because I want her to understand that to be born into wealth is a privilege she did not earn—it was merely luck. She'll have all the education she wants and never worry over whether she'll eat that day or now. My hope is that it will awaken a part of her that wants to do something meaningful with her life. Other than being some man's pretty wife."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Every time she sees a person in need and does something to help them, she not only improves their life but her own. To be of service is the only thing that matters. If we wake to the luxury of a day without hunger or cold or utter despair, then we must take it upon ourselves to do whatever we can to alleviate the suffering of others. It's the only thing God wants from us and in fact, may bring us closer to him. Clara has no mother, other than me. If I do nothing else important with my time here on earth, I can leave this world knowing I helped shape two spectacular people—not because of their accomplishments or wealth, but the way in which they use their gifts to improve the lives of others. I've done my duty with Percy, and I'm very proud of him. Now I must do the same with my little Clara."

"It's no wonder he rescued me on the train." The emotions coursing through me brought tears to my eyes.

She patted my hand resting in my lap. "If you're looking for a way to lessen the ache in your heart, then you have only to look around you and see who needs your help. You'll be amazed at how much it enriches your life to give of yourself."

In the weeks to come, I went on many such outings with Mrs. Bancroft. She taught me everything she knew, including how to clean and bandage a wound, tend to minor burns, and provide advice on nutrition and hygiene. At the beginning, I felt like a fish out of water, so unsure of myself and self-conscious. But by the end of those first few weeks, the work had become almost second nature. I was not at the caliber of my mentor, but soon I could see what needed doing almost as quickly as she. She was right. It gave me great joy to spend my days in service.

If only the nights were easier. The darkness of my soul came then, like the grim reaper, only instead of death, he cursed me with a deep sadness that had no cure.