what might those be?”
“Inoculations. Needles to prevent a whole nightmare of things that could kill him: smallpox, whooping cough, diphtheria, tetanus.”
“I think not.”
“Do you have a doctor?”
“We do not.” James kept them well with infusions, poultices, teas and tonics of ginger, yarrow, nettles, mullein, lavender, evening primrose, meadowsweet, lemon balm, bergamot, milk thistle, sage and more. The recipes were in a book handed down from his mother and grandmother, a book he’d added to with his own brews using plants that grew wild in the area and ones he cultivated behind their house.
“He’s got to have his shots, hon. I’ll phone Carolyn’s pediatrician tomorrow.”
Miranda hugs Cian tighter. This brave, new World is a dangerous place.
• • •
At twenty-six, Doris was behind schedule for the six kids she and Bill wanted. It took two years doing it every which way before she’d gotten pregnant with Carolyn. All the while, she’d been working for Children’s Aid, typing up case studies about parents who didn’t deserve the precious babies they’d been given. It broke her heart to come across a neglected child she could have been sheltering. And two were in her car, although Miranda was old enough to be more sister than daughter. If not for the missing side tooth and morbidly pale complexion, she’d have been a looker, with her Teresa Brewer nose and wide-set green eyes. Doris wanted to take a brush to that tangled red-gold hair. The boy was another matter. It had taken all the restraint she could muster not to gasp at his stunted head and narrow, receding forehead.
“Welcome to Nolan Manor,” she said, trying to lighten things up as she pulled into the carport beside the modest red brick ranch house.
The desk sergeant who phoned had said only that Bill needed help with a toddler and a teenager whose father had died. He wanted to put them up for a night or two if that was okay with Doris. Of course it was. Whatever Bill’s job demanded came first. She’d learned that from her Army Wife-with-a-capital-W mother. The sixty-four-thousand-dollar question was who’d fathered Miranda’s baby. While Doris dreaded what she might learn, she was drawn to the mystery as to a locked diary. The whole drive she’d been yakking like an old gossip, trying to loosen the girl’s tongue.
They entered through the side door. Doris set the girl’s suitcase on the faux marble linoleum Bill installed last year for their fifth anniversary. With the boy on her hip, Miranda spun around agog as though she’d never seen a kitchen. She walked her fingers along the turquoise tabletop and matching counters, the paper towel rack above the sink. “What’s this?” she asked, opening the refrigerator without the slightest do-you-mind. She lifted the wall phone receiver, listened and smiled. Flicked the ceiling light switch up and down. Turned on the tap and let perfectly good water escape down the drain.
“Looks like you’re thirsty,” Doris said, slipping a glass under the tap. She filled Carolyn’s Tommie Tippee for Cian and held it up to his mouth. He stuck his tongue in it and lapped. “Adorable,” she said, because he was—like any frail creature needing protection. “We’d better feed him soon. He wolfed down the cookie I gave him at the hospital.”
Miranda pulled out a kitchen chair and unbuttoned the dress that looked like a USO hostess hand-me-down with its shoulder pads and Peter Pan collar. Her small, blue-veined breasts were braless. On the shopping list she kept by the fridge, Doris wrote Bra for M/nursing/other?
“Carolyn stopped nursing at nine months.”
“Sometimes this is all he’ll take,” Miranda said with a challenging lift to her chin.
“Well, sure, if you keep indulging him.” Doris immediately regretted her words. Bill complained she was quick to judge and sometimes he was right. “Will he eat a banana?”
“Sure I don’t know. We never have them. They’re too dear.”
“Let’s give it a go.” Doris held out her arms and Miranda uncoupled Cian from her breast. He whined as Doris lowered Carolyn’s high chair tray over his head. Settled down as she sliced a banana onto it. When he stuffed all the slices into his mouth at once, Doris laughed, nearly missing Miranda slip into the hallway. She lifted Cian from the chair and hurried after her.
“I must relieve myself,” Miranda said. Doris directed her to the bathroom. Miranda asked Doris to go with her and insisted the door stay open. Doris made a mental note to add panties to the shopping list. And more appropriate shoes. She would have liked to throttle someone. After Doris showed her how to flush, Miranda remained, watching the swirling water.
Doris handed Cian to Miranda, desperately needing to pee, herself. When she came out, Miranda was in Doris and Bill’s bedroom, as though no one had taught her manners, studying a Blessed Virgin postcard Doris kept tucked in the frame of her dressing table mirror.
“And who’s this?” Miranda asked softly.
“Mary, our Blessed Mother.” The girl must not have had proper religious instruction.
Miranda stared at a framed photograph of Carolyn on Bill’s shoulders, taken last month at Surprise Lake and, then, like a breeze, deserted the room with Cian on her hip. Doris followed her to the living room. Miranda pushed back the sheers covering the picture window and pressed her face against the glass, leaving marks.
“Would you like to go outside?”
Miranda didn’t reply. Still holding Cian, she plopped herself onto the dark green hide-a-bed and, moments later, bounced up to try one wingback chair and then the other. She stood, picked up a newspaper from the maple coffee table and read: “149 confirmed polio cases among children receiving Salk vaccine. What’s polio, then?”
“You can read!”
“Aye.” She glanced about. “Where are your books?” She turned away, not waiting for an answer. Her hand caressed the wooden console TV. “What is this for?”
“I’ll show you later,” Doris said. “Bring Keen into the kitchen, please. It’s time to cook dinner.” She was done letting this flippy girl call the shots.
• • •
Miranda is bewitched by Doris’s house, especially the kitchen with its white box that keeps food cold and the counters and tabletop the color she imagines the ocean to be, the glittery specks in them like the sparkle of sunlight. Knowing from James that water flowed from other people’s pipes doesn’t make witnessing it any less thrilling. And the long-legged chair! Cian is in it, his hands and mouth happily occupied with tiny animal-shaped biscuits. Doris has given him a clean nappy (she calls it a diaper) and smeared thick white cream on his rash. Doris is so clever, Miranda wonders if she has invented her along with all else that’s happened today.
Doris chops a cabbage she’s taken from the cold box and has Miranda wash her hands before peeling the potatoes. Warm water over her fingers makes Miranda giggle. Doris opens a cabinet filled with pots and pans. What bounty. Miranda and James had only what they needed. Whenever she asked for more of anything, James would say she was indulging in wishful jam-on-your-egg thinking.
“I add onion. Do you?” Doris asks.
“When we have it, aye.”
They boil the potatoes
