Walking the Cliffs
by
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Hail Mary, full of grace--
“I’m sure he’s going to be all right. You watch. You’ll be back in here tomorrow telling us everything is just fine. Ida, get the attendance officer for me, that’s a good girl. I was supposed to call him right back.”
The taxi seat was wide and cold and unbelievably lonely. Mary Catherine looked at the back of the driver’s head--so far away--and looked beyond him at the moving cars and moving people. Only she was frozen.
“No, this can’t be it. No,” she said when the driver stopped at a small apartment house not a mile from her home. “Dr. Werther’s not here. He’s on
“Sorry, lady. This is what ya told me--
She checked the slip clutched in her hand. Yes, it did say that. How come? What was Dad doing here? A car with M.D. plates stood at the curb. It must have happened when he was walking past. What a good Samaritan, the person who had taken him in.
It was odd, though. The apartment number was for the second floor rear. At Mary Catherine’s ring, the door was opened by a woman in bathrobe and slippers.
“My father--I--where is he?”
The woman pulled her in and closed the door. “Yes. Come, liebchen.”
Mary Catherine found herself standing before a rumpled bed on which someone lay, eyes closed, covered to the chin, one bare arm lying across the blanket. It was her father’s face, but something had happened to it. White. Masklike. Sweat dewing the forehead. Seated at the bedside was a stocky man with a stethoscope, his fingers on the sick man’s pulse.
“O God!” Mary Catherine stood still, unable to go closer. It couldn’t be her father. There was some crazy mistake. “Daddy!”
The eyes remained closed.
The doctor glanced up and frowned; the woman put an arm around her shoulder.
“Ssh. Mustn’t disturb him. The ambulance is on the way. Dr. Baumgarten has given him a shot of adrenalin.”
Her low voice was cheerful. “He will be all right, Doctor thinks. It is just that we must be very quiet.” She gave her cheek a little slap. “It was my fault. I should have been careful. He was feeling a little tired. We had been dancing. So foolish--we should not have gone to bed after that.”
Dancing? Bed?
Mary Catherine suddenly noticed her father’s clothes hanging neatly over a chair in the corner, the folded underpants obscene in the strange room.
It had to be some kind of daylight nightmare. In a few minutes she’d wake up and find herself on hall duty or waiting for the bus.
“Come in the kitchen and sit down.”
She was clinging to the doorframe. “Daddy! It’s Mary Catherine. Open your eyes. Let me see you open your eyes. Just for a minute, Daddy!”
The woman took her firmly by the wrist. “Come and sit down. Let me give you some coffee.”
“No. No. I’ll stay here. He might open his eyes.”
The doctor shook his head and waved her away.
“Come, liebchen.”
Seated, Mary Catherine tried not to look at the table. On an embroidered cloth stood two plates with strudel crusts and two cups with coffee dr
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About the Book
When Mary Catherine, the only child of old-fashioned parents, becomes a teacher in a ghetto school, she and her family will never be the same. New ideas and new relationships lead to trouble at home as well as on the job. Since the year is 1953, her struggle to adapt to change plays out against a daily barrage of headlines about a Soviet H-bomb and the long reach of Senator Joseph McCarthy’s Red witch hunt. The two colleagues who offer support each prove to be threat to her peace of mind. The discovery of her father’s double life and the demands of her own increasing sexuality finally drive her to a painful decision.
About the Author
Mildred M. Jeffrey, a retired professor of literature and creative writing at
Before becoming a teacher, Ms. Jeffrey was a by-line reporter for a daily metropolitan newspaper. WALKING THE CLIFFS is her second published novel.