Misplaced Devotion

Mary didn’t have to look at a calendar to know it was March.  The howling wind buffeted the window panes of the run-down Brooklyn apartment building in which she lived.  March of nineteen forty-three was coming in like a raging lion.  The putty, put in place many years ago, had long since ceased to protect against the elements.  The glass rattled and the papers on the desk fluttered in the breeze.  Mary bent over her notebook.  The angry cries of the force being denied entry didn’t concern her.  In truth she hardly heard them.  Her ears were tuned to the radio in her parents’ bedroom.  While her hand formed letters on the page before her the strains of a ballad filtered through her consciousness.  The music was being played much louder than ordinarily.

Mary worked studiously to complete her homework assignment.  She’d been met at the front-parlor door by her Aunt Trudy when school was out.  That door to the apartment was usually only used to usher in company.  There’d been a conspiratorial smile on Trudy’s face.

“Is the baby here,” Mary had asked breathlessly.

Trudy had held out her hand to take Mary’s books.  “Not yet.  Soon, I think.”

Mary had grinned while she undid the buttons of her coat.  “Do you think it will be a girl,” she’d asked as she hung her garment on the coat tree.

“Now Mary you know it’s bad luck to hope for either a boy or a girl.  Whatever it is will be just perfect.”  She’d pointed to the cookies and milk on the desk.

Mary had obediently sat down and placed her notebook before her.  She’d blown her warm breath on her chilled fingers before she began her assignment.

Now it was hours later.  Aunt Trudy hadn’t returned.  Mary felt deserted.  She placed the final period at the end of the last sentence.  She closed the book and flexed her cramped fingers as she looked around the parlor.  Two mohair couches stood against opposite walls.  Their dull prints stood out from the cream-colored paint.  Mary walked to the sofa that faced the door to the hall.  As she sat her stomach grumbled.  A glance at the clock hanging between the two front-room windows showed seven o’clock.  An hour past supper time she thought.  Wonder if I should go knock on the kitchen door.  Better not.

At the age of thirteen Mary was aware that having a baby could take a long time.  Lucky my homework took so long she thought.  Now the waiting will get boring.  What did mama say she’d name my sister?  I know she’d name a boy for daddy.  I tried not to let myself believe it would be a girl.  Like Aunt Trudy says that’s bad luck.  But now I really want it to be a sister.

She tossed her head to dislodge the thoughts.  She walked to the window.  It was pitch black outside.  The wisps of wind that stole through the cracks made her hug her shoulders.  There weren’t many people about.  Those who were outside walked hurriedly with their coat collars pulled high and their hands pushed deeply into their pockets.  A movement in the stairwell leading to the cellar of the building caught her eye.  She leaned her forehead against the glass and strained to see.

The grating sound the moving glass made alerted Felix to Mary’s presence.  He raised his arm in greeting.  His smile revealed his gleaming white teeth.  His lips framed words.

A frown drew her eyebrows together.

Felix set aside the bucket he held.  He pantomimed a baby cradled in his arms.

Mary shook her head.

His finger held aloft told her he would be up to see her soon.

She smiled at the prospect.  She turned from the window and went to take up her position on the couch facing the hall door