no, of course not.” Helena was flustered now, her face flushed with joy. If Frederic could not contact his mother, then surely he could not contact her, either. He had not forgotten her. He loved her! She was sure of it.
“I love Frederic,” she said. “I wouldn’t do anything to hurt him, you must believe me.”
Mrs. Walenski’s shoulders lowered. She nodded, and a new sadness entered her eyes.
“I need help,” cried Helena, encouraged by the sympathy she now sensed. She looked at her belly. “Frederic doesn’t know about the child. He left before I was certain. Before I could tell him.” Raising her eyes, she leaned forward. “Please, if you could tell me just the name of the city in America he’s in, I’m sure I can find him. Please, you must believe me.”
Mrs. Walenski stared at nothing for a long time. Her hand had risen to her cheek and she sat as though frozen in thought. When she brought her hand back to her lap, her eyes were focused on Helena and the curve of her belly.
“I do believe you,” Mrs. Walenski replied at length.
“And now you must believe me. All I know is that he went to a city called Chicago in a province called Illinois. There is a large Polish population there.”
“Perhaps you can give me the names of your relatives, or friends. Someone I can reach when I arrive. I know no one in America. And I’m already five months along.”
“I’ll write a letter of introduction to a friend of mine. She will help you. And I will give you money to purchase an airplane ticket. One way.” She cleared her throat. “And there will be enough to give you a new start in America.”
“Oh, thank you,” Helena exclaimed, her hands covering her face as she sobbed in relief. She had never hoped for so much.
“Don’t thank me. You don’t know my son as well as I do.” Mrs. Walenski seemed to shrink inside herself as she continued. “Frederic is a selfish boy. Perhaps it’s my fault. I’ve spoiled him.” She fingered a rosette of garnets in her ear for a moment, then dropped her hand with a vague gesture. “If you should find him,” she began, pausing, searching for the words. “Please know that he may not welcome you. I don’t say this to hurt you, but you see…you are not the first girl he has placed in this situation. Frederic is very determined when he wants something. Obsessed. And…sometimes cruel. His father can be like that, you see. The other girl was from a small village, like you.”
Helena looked away, afraid the worry in her eyes would betray her.
“He never mentioned your name to me, not once,” Mrs. Walenski continued. “Do you understand what I’m trying to tell you?”
“I must find him,” Helena replied in a strangled voice.
“Very well. I shall see to the arrangements. One more condition, however. If you do not succeed in finding my son, you will promise not to declare your child a Walenski.”
The affront took Helena’s breath away. “But the child is…”
“I must insist on this point,” she interrupted.
Helena lowered her head. “I promise.” With two words, Helena whispered away her child’s heritage.
Mrs. Walenski was true to her word. Within the month a young, very pregnant Mrs. Helena Godowski arrived in Chicago. Helena learned quickly that a woman alone in a foreign country, especially a pregnant one, had no friends. So close to term, and with no English skills, the best that a letter of introduction got her was a baby-sitting job, earning enough for room and board. Whenever she could, Helena searched for Frederic.
She searched everywhere, begging the help of the close-knit Polish community for any word of a Frederic Walenski from Warsaw. One man had seen him, soon after his arrival, but had not seen him since. It was generally believed that he’d left town.
When her water broke, Helena realized she was about to give birth, alone, without a husband, or a mother, or even a friend. Her dream of finding Frederic in time was over. It suddenly became very clear to her that she was in this alone.
“Do you speak any English?” the nurse at County Hospital asked her. She spoke very loud and slow.
“N-no English,” Helena stuttered, her mouth dry with panic.
The nurse rolled her eyes. “Oh, boy. I’ve got a prima here with no English. We’re in for a ride. You just take it easy, honey. I’ll take good care of you.”
Helena stared at the peeling ceiling as she was wheeled past rooms filled with moaning women. They parked her in a small, pale green room where men and women dressed in uniforms took turns spreading her legs and poking cold fingers in her. She felt so alone, so afraid, so vulnerable. But she had to be strong for her baby.
The pain came in waves now, mounting high, roiling through her abdomen, then crashing against her lower back. The graphs on the strange beeping machine they hooked to her belly arched high and dipped low. Rhythmically, one after the other. Her sweat glistened. Sweet mother of God, why had no one told her? Was it like this for every woman, or was this a special punishment, just for her? She had no one to ask.
Suddenly she felt a strange, overpowering sensation to push. She cried out in Polish, “My baby is coming. Hurry! He’s coming!”
Suddenly three people in white surrounded her, shouting instructions she couldn’t understand. Gritting her teeth, she pushed till her breath squeezed out of her and tiny gray dots blurred her vision. Then again, and again, like a snarling, spitting animal tearing at its bindings, seeking to be free. “Frederic!” she cried out.
Then with a gush of relief, the pain suddenly was gone, and over the din of voices she heard the lusty wail of her baby. She tried to hoist herself up on her elbows but slipped back down, too exhausted. Tears, this time of joy, sprang to her eyes as she caught glimpses of the people in white bending over her bawling infant, talking excitedly. It seemed to take forever for them to finish fussing over her baby. At last they handed into her arms a baby swaddled as tight as a pierogi.
Helena’s breath stilled as she stared at the face of her newborn, nestled in the pink blanket. The baby’s face was puckered, and large blue eyes blinked heavily with wonder. But something was wrong. Very wrong. Now Helena blinked, and her attention zoomed in on the baby’s chin and jaw. They slid down into the neck, like a mudslide she had once seen in the mountains.
She shot a worried glance at the nurses standing beside her. Their eyes reflected pity, and without a word being spoken, Helena instantly understood that this was not normal. Like a madwoman she tore open the blanket to investigate the rest of the baby’s body. Exposed to the cold, the baby began to howl and kick while Helena’s gaze devoured the child. Everything looked normal. Ten fingers, ten toes. And it was a girl.
Helena looked again at the deformed chin on that little, scrunched-up face in her arms. She could not ignore it, nor wish it away. This deformity would not improve with time like the funny wrinkles or the pressed nose that she already knew would resemble Frederic’s.
Helena turned her head away. So…God had not forgiven her after all. She quietly wept. She hated the nurses who patted her arm and spoke garbled words of sympathy. Why didn’t they leave her alone? Didn’t they understand? This was her punishment—her cross to bear. Her pain went far beyond mere hopelessness and despair. Helena was like the dog that had been beaten so many
