Marion felt that bony hand squeeze hers.
‘You ever have clear moments, Marion? Conviction. You ever have that? The first time I conceived a child I had this force, this clarity that I had to be rid of it. And once I had that clarity, everything else was easy. I could lie. I could find the money. I found a place.’
‘Hortensia, I—’
‘Wait. Nobody knew where I was. You know how lonely that is. My mother and Zippy. Peter. It was easy to name some design exposition. I mean, they were happy for me and all the attention, but they weren’t keeping up with where I ought to be and when. I took the money from my business and went away for a week.’
‘How—’
‘I don’t remember anything,’ Hortensia said, looking at Marion in a way that made it clear that the exact opposite was true. A few seconds of terror in her eyes when she stopped looking like Hortensia and looked like some other person entirely. ‘When I returned, Peter was home. I’d complained some time back that he wasn’t taking me seriously. Wasn’t taking my work to heart. And I came home and all I wanted to do was lie down under two or three blankets. I wanted something heavy on top of me, something that could cover me. But he wanted to see what I’d exhibited. I pulled out some designs I had and he wanted me to talk about them. He pored over the work, asking questions. All I wanted to do was lie down with a blanket over my head.’
And years later when the pregnancies, one after another, poured through her body, Hortensia would torture herself with the notion that she had brought this upon herself. In the days when they still lamented together, she would always know that her lament was different to Peter’s and each new time she would hate that distance, hate him, hate herself more.
‘I’m so sorry.’
‘And someone was laughing at me. Someone was saying: “You see?” Taunting me.’
Marion shook her head.
‘I felt I had to fight that. Each time I didn’t carry to term, if I didn’t fight that voice I would just have got smaller and smaller until I disappeared altogether.’
‘It wasn’t your fault.’
‘Each new time, each failure, I felt the anger coming. You know how tough you have to be? To fight a voice in your own head. I couldn’t let anyone else see, but when I was alone I’d bang my fist. Against a hard surface. For the pain. I don’t want to let him off the hook, but sometimes I think: maybe that’s it. Maybe that’s why he took up with someone else. It was easier than coming home to me.’
‘Hortensia.’
‘Oh, don’t worry, I know he was a selfish bastard. There’s no escaping that, but sometimes I think perhaps I gave him a good excuse.’
It had started to rain outside.
‘And you know what? You know, I didn’t really want children. Not really anyway. Not until just that moment when I realised I would never have any.’
The following day Marion, brave, ventured.
‘I know it’s not my place … but do you suppose the things are connected, the—’
‘What things?’
‘You … the … children you didn’t have,’ she whispered. ‘And Beulah’s request – about her grandmother, to be buried near her dead babies. Do you suppose?’
‘You—’
‘Hortensia, I don’t want for you to get upset. I’m coming … in peace, I’m coming because, well, we’ve been talking a bit and you said that, and I suddenly thought maybe I understood.’
Marion waited, her heart beating fast. The woman stayed sitting up in bed, a magazine open in her lap, her back pressed against the headboard.
‘Do you suppose you’re angry at Beulah and even … Oh, what’s the grandmother’s name, Annamarie? Everything about what Beulah is asking has to do with family and love and children – lots and lots of children, some dead, yes, miscarried; but some that survived.’
Hortensia was staring at Marion, boring through her, but Marion continued.
‘I know I’m the last person to have an opinion, but why say no to her request? Why, really?’
After some seconds Hortensia spoke. ‘I don’t owe her anything.’ What she was thinking, though, was: I have no peace, why should she?
Marion felt sad. ‘Hortensia.’
‘What, Marion? What more?’
Marion didn’t know what she was going to say. She felt like crying but knew that would only make Hortensia think she was weak and, right in that moment, she needed Hortensia to look up to her, to follow her and do as she said.
‘Why would you say “no”, Hortensia?’
‘Because it’s my land and I can decide what I want to do with it. If Beulah Gierdien has a legitimate claim on it, not some sentimental nonsense, then she should call my lawyer.’
The argument Marion wanted to put forward to counter Hortensia was cogent in her head, but none of the words formed. She wished she was like Hortensia, always ready with the words, with the argument. Tears seeped out from both her eyes; she could almost hear them apologising as they did so.
‘For Heaven’s sake, Marion.’