The Fall of Alice K. (36 page)

Alice had read that people being prepared for surgery were often kept in cool rooms and that the operating room itself could be downright chilly. She felt as if she was preparing for a major operation: the announcement of her pregnancy to everyone concerned. The person she told should be cool, and the place where she told them should be cool, anything to keep her own cool composure against the possible heat of the moment. Making the announcements would be major surgery, and she planned to be the surgeon, not the patient.

Aldah's cradle of love had been a safe haven for the first announcement, and her acceptance a comforting precedent for what might follow. The rest made easy, cool and easy. The muscles in Alice's arms felt relaxed and her mind felt at peace. The Valium was working.

Nickson first, then her parents, and next Monday Lydia. And,
sometime soon, Rev. Prunesma before the rumor mill told him. Not to tell the Rev would in his eyes deepen the gravity of her offense. Not to tell him would be denial of what she had done. A cover-up.

Telling any and all of them would not be a confession, it would be an announcement:
I am going to have a baby.

To be ready meant being ready for it all: for the surprise, for the anger, and, no doubt, for the follow-up questions. What about college ? Are you going to get married at seventeen? How are your parents taking it? How are the Vangs taking it? What does Nickson want to do? Have you told everybody? Are you going to give it up for adoption? You wouldn't abort, would you? And the biggest question: How can you handle the fact that this changes everything for the rest of your life? In that peaceful but temporary state of mind immediately after learning she was pregnant, the question didn't cross her mind. Something inside her had put the question on hold, but now it hovered over everything. Everything.

But along with the question came the gift of resolve from somewhere, and it didn't matter where: God, her own heart, her mind, or the Valium—it didn't matter, but she felt it like a gift from an anonymous giver. What she felt was a cool and collected resolve that had calm hands and an expressionless face.

Resolve left no place for guilt, and how could anyone ever feel guilt for an accident of love?

If a person felt guilty for what she had done wrong, a person felt shame for something over which she had no control, shame for how others looked at her. Resolve was a less sturdy defense against shame, and she could not shut out the question to herself: How will you deal with the scornful faces of the lesser students at Midwest? High and mighty Alice Krayenbraak brought down to size. Shame from her mother's harsh judgment. Shame from her father's disappointment in her.

I am going to have a baby.
Keep it simple.
I am going to have a baby.
That was the premise from which all else would follow.

That Saturday was the day for announcements. Nickson first. Whatever she and Nickson did after the announcement, she was sure the pregnancy would deepen his love for her—but telling him would not be easy.

At 9:00 a.m. on Saturday when she picked Nickson up, he read her tension. “What's wrong? Your mother?”

“We need to talk.”

She drove to the city park. The day was sunny but cold—a crisp, decisive day. Fallen leaves fluttered nervously along the ground and crows weaved awkwardly against the gusty winds. They had never taken a walk quite like this one before, freely strolling through the open space of the park, exposed to everyone, and now their footsteps through the fallen leaves reminded Alice of their perfect harmony, the synchronized swishing of their feet through the fallen leaves. When her hand touched his elbow, his hand came up and took hers, and it was as if some part of him already knew that from now on their love for each other would be a secret to no one.

They walked to the cold picnic table behind the windmill whose huge arms like big white fans were locked and stationary. They sat down together with their backs to the tabletop.

An old adversary, sheer fright, had not visited her for many years, but here it was, trying valiantly to challenge her resolve. The last time fright had visited her in this way was when she was a sophomore at Midwest and in her first debate tournament. Fright had such a firm grip as she stood up for her first rebuttal that the five-by-eight note cards quivered in her hand, but what she had learned in the next few seconds was that she could trust the sound of her voice by letting the words pour out and finding that the flow of the sound would carry her along. The rest made easy. At the first sound of her voice the right words had come to her then and her resolve assured her that they would again.

“Nickson,” her clear voice now said. She held his hand in hers and looked at him squarely. “I am going to have a baby. I'm pregnant.”

There was a quick shocked expression on his face, followed by a slow nodding of his head. Then his neck seemed to flush and his face reddened. His eyes met hers. “You're kidding.”

He slowly pulled his hands free from hers and crossed them between his knees.

“I took the test,” said Alice. “I've got all the signs.”

She put her hands under her breasts. He looked at her hands with an expression that was more curious than alarmed. “It's not your fault,” she said. “You did what you could.”

His breathing grew measured and deep. She watched the squint of his eyes. She watched for signs of alarm. She watched for signs of anger. She saw none.

“How long, do you think?”

“A month, I think.”

He glanced down at her stomach and then at her face. His eyes glazed. “I knew it. When that pigeon,” he said, and stopped.

They sat silently in the cold air.

She leaned her shoulder against his. “I think it happened before that,” she said. She watched his clasped hands. They were not clenched tightly, but he was rubbing his thumbs over each other.

The large windmill groaned as if it wanted to start turning, and they both turned to look at it. How did other teenagers handle this moment? She reached for his clasped hands.

“I'm sorry,” she said, “but I'm happy too. I probably shouldn't be, but I am. Our baby.”

“This is a big one.” He unclasped his hands and took hers.

She pulled. “Be close.”

“Oh boy.” He leaned his head forward, as if he were about to put it to her chest, then stopped, looking over her shoulder.

“We can handle this,” said Alice.

“I am not worthy of you or your baby,” he said. “I'm not. You are so beautiful—and so intelligent.”

“Don't say that,” she said. “You are so very worthy. You're everything I could dream of.”

“Alice,” he sighed, “you hardly know me. I am such an empty man.”

“Stop,” she said. “I know how well you're doing at Midwest.”

“Trying to fill myself with something,” he said. “Trying to be somebody you could be proud of.”

“Please stop, Nickson.” She put both hands on his arm and gripped him tightly. “You are everything to me.”

“I wonder if it's a boy,” he said. He stared at the ground. He clasped his hands over his knees and rocked slowly on the bench as the cold breeze ruffled his hair.

“That doesn't matter,” said Alice.

He still didn't look at her. “I need some time,” he said. “Figure out what it means, you know. I need time.”

“Of course, of course,” she said. She rubbed his shoulder. He had stiffened up. “We can handle this.”

“I know it.”

Their walk back to the 150 was slower, but he did take her hand again. Alice listened for the synchronized swish of their feet through the leaves. They were still in step with each other. It was now
their
news.

“I just didn't think this would happen,” said Nickson.

“I know,” said Alice, “but don't blame yourself. I'm as responsible as you are.”

“Do you hate yourself for this?” he said.

“No, no,” she said. “This is no time for hatred of anyone.”

“I'll try,” he said. “I really need some time.”

He needed time. She understood that because she had needed time too, simultaneously to try to understand what was happening and what would happen next. She would let him digest the news in private. If she could have taken all of his pain, she would have, but it was his pain and she would honor his need to work through it himself. When she dropped him off at the Vang house, he wasn't able to hug her: he'd start and then withdraw. She thought he was suddenly afraid people were watching, but the two of them didn't need secrecy any longer. Their private lives would soon be public, so why not start now, and if others saw them they would know that they loved each other and that their child would truly be a love-child.

She pulled him toward herself, but he was a large spring that started to uncoil and then sprang back.

“I'm sorry,” he said. “I love you.”

She softly let him go. “I love you too. And don't ever say you are not worthy. You are a wonderful man. It's I who should worry about being worthy.”

She knew his love was there and as strong as always, but right now loving him back meant giving him the time and space that he needed.

“Do you want me to come with you to tell your mom and Mai? We
could do it together. They could see that we're together on this. It's our news.”

“It's best I tell them,” he said. “Don't worry. Have you told your folks?”

“Not yet.”

“Have you told anybody?”

“Just you,” said Alice. “No, that's not right. I told Aldah.”

“You told your sister?”

“Yes,” said Alice. She realized how strange that might seem to him. Tell a sister before the father? She watched his face to see if he was disturbed. He looked puzzled, but not angry. “I think I was practicing,” she said. “Aldah won't talk about it. I'm not sure she really understands. I just needed her comfort. Do you understand that?”

He looked at her, and then he nodded. “Yes, actually I do. That makes sense. I might tell Mai first too.”

“Do you think your mother will reject me when she finds out?”

“She couldn't do that.” He opened the pickup door and slid out. He stood with the door open, looking at her.

“You are so beautiful,” he said.

“I'm sorry,” she said.

“No.”

Alice felt the tears coming to her eyes. Nickson saw her expression and stepped back into the 150. He slid across the seat and took her in his arms. He put his hand behind her head and pulled her face to his neck.

“You have not brought me shame,” she said. “Don't ever say that again.”

“I want to believe you,” he said.

“I only hope I haven't brought you shame.”

“My family is strong,” he said.

“Nobody's losing anything, all right?”

“All right,” he said and turned to walk toward the Vang house with the weight of the news she had given him.

37

Only three months ago, the future had seemed so clear as Alice left the farmhouse for school. She would be a college-bound super student who did not go out for sports. It had been a ten-ton-boulder decision that nothing could budge—not her parents, not her friendships, nothing. It was the kind of rock-hard clarity she often thought her father had when he laid out his tables showing investments in livestock or crops with their corresponding tables of “reasonable expectations.” Create a reasonable framework and then work relentlessly to fill it.

Oh, how strong she had been when she told the coaches with rock-hard clarity, “I'm not going out for sports this year.” Her clear mind had been its own defense against naysayers who were never able to pierce or find a flaw in the armor of her clear decision.

She needed to sustain that kind of clarity again. She would do what had to be done, and the only thing she needed to think about was the telling: the clear telling.

It was time to tell her parents.

As she drove onto the driveway, she saw more clearly, more exactly, than usual: her father's obsession with order declared itself everywhere. Whenever her father finished using a piece of machinery, he lined it up neatly—everything in a row. The machinery was aligned as evenly as cornrows, and green sat next to green and red next to red. When tires of worn-out wagons started sagging, he pumped them up to make the wagons look ready to go. No matter what swerving sadness lay under the surface, her father's was a parallel and perpendicular world.

In the middle of the farmyard appearances had broken down. Her father was standing with the repairman next to his John Deere 4240
tractor—one of his farm-sale steals. The 4240 had the muscle for most farmwork, but it was now over twenty years old and arthritic. Her father always defended it with the story that he had bought it for a quarter of its original price when it had only six hundred hours on it. Alice looked at her troubled father and his troubled tractor. A mixer-grinder load of corn and soybean meal was attached to the tractor, which had stalled en route to the hog feeders.

Alice parked next to the men. Rodney Ver Mayr was a friend of the family and a lanky man like her father. He had his black work cap pulled down, making his dark protective glasses look even darker. Rodney had the expression she'd expect on a policeman's face if he had just driven up to tell her one of her dearest friends had died.

Rodney had opened the hood of the 4240 the way an ambulance driver might rip open an injured person's jacket to apply his diagnostic tools. The tractor had had the equivalent of a heart attack. It would cost six thousand dollars to bring it back to life.