bullet. They’d say this with wily smiles across their faces, as if that was somehow an achievement, too. They weren’t thinking of pregnancy as a gateway to motherhood.
I saw it as nothing else. Even though what I was doing had nothing to do with any loving relationship or another expected stage in my development as a woman, I still felt years older than the girl who had first arrived in New York to make her career as a singer. My father once told me that nothing ages you faster than the struggle to survive, and to my way of thinking, that was what I was doing: struggling to survive. The smug girls I had left back home would surely think I had gone mad. There were many days when I wondered myself if I had.
I was sure both Dr. Davenport and Dr. Bliskin were studying me for signs of regret and what might result if those symptoms became intense. After the procedure had been completed, Samantha was certainly as worried and as attentive as I had anticipated she would be. Once Dr. Bliskin confirmed the transfer had been successful, that concern increased tenfold. Everything Samantha had envisioned to ensure that the baby I carried would be healthy became reality. A nutritionist was hired to design all my meals. The descriptions were given to Mrs. Marlene, whom Samantha then told to follow them “exactly.” Portions were meticulously weighed out in grams. Mrs. Marlene made big eyes at me but did what Samantha asked. Dr. Bliskin approved of everything first, of course, and then, when the baby growing inside me was determined to be a boy, Samantha might as well have become my shadow. Dr. Davenport tried unsuccessfully to get her to be less intense. He was gentle about it, always avoiding upsetting her in any way.
He tried reverse psychology.
“Don’t make her nervous, Samantha. We must keep her quiet, contented, right?”
“Oh, yes,” she said, with tears in her eyes. “I don’t mean anything. Have I upset you, Emma?” she asked immediately.
“I’m all right,” I said, but I did want to complain about how restrictive she was when it came to my movements about the house. This chair was good; this chair wasn’t. I’d sink too far in that soft pillow settee and strain myself getting up. Windows were opened too wide or not wide enough near me. Don’t lift anything heavy was a warning she might have tattooed on her forehead. There were servants for that. Sometimes, I thought she was spying on me to see if I got out of bed too quickly. She was always there to help me bathe and sometimes even to help me dress.
Perhaps even worse, Samantha was on Mrs. Cohen’s back almost as much as she was on mine. She knew every pill and when it should be taken. She was there practically for every test of my blood pressure. She pummeled me and Mrs. Cohen with questions I knew she had studied and memorized relating to a variety of symptoms important to a pregnant woman, like some morning sickness and fatigue, especially during my first trimester.
When I began to take my walks, she wasn’t just at my side. She was always holding my arm, keenly aware of every step I took. I think my going up and down the stairway was the most frightening for her, however. I grew to believe she waited and watched for me to start down or turn to start up and then surged forward to be right behind me.
In the beginning, I was understanding, even a little appreciative, despite the fact that she wasn’t concerned about me for me but for her baby. I really tried never to be frustrated or annoyed. When Dr. Davenport softly attempted to pull her off me, I was almost amused, but as time went by, especially when I was in my second trimester, I know I was a little more irritable. My patience began to grow thinner, but I kept as much of it as I could to myself, swallowing back anything that might bring her to tears.
During this whole time, I rarely saw Elizabeth Davenport. Whenever I did, she was still wearing black. She took her dinners in her room, and her breakfast was often brought to her as well. Her interest in outside activities waned. I could tell from Dr. Davenport’s remarks that he was increasingly concerned about her. He was urging her to seek therapy. I was afraid to ask or