Synopsis: Willa, now widowed, was raped by her stepson and, taking her daughter Ruth, left the farm and ran away to Winnipeg where she called Sarah.
*****
I was raised by a single mother in a small apartment in Winnipeg. Mine was an ordinary childhood except we were poor. In the wintertime, I remember I was almost always cold.
I was a bright girl and graduated from high school with honors. That led to a small scholarship at a local college. I managed to complete nearly three years of my program before we, my boyfriend Graham and I, realized I was pregnant.
Since we were both students, we had very little money. My mother had passed away two years earlier (for which I was grateful because she would have been scandalized to learn about my condition). Graham's people were barely able to pay his tuition, so our planning for the baby meant one of us would have to drop out of school and find a job.
Graham was ahead of me, so it seemed only logical that I should go to work. After he graduated, it would be my turn to return to school, at least on a part-time basis. I found a receptionist's position at Bose, Rothchild.
In due course, Nonnie was born. Graham and I had kept postponing our wedding, but we were as happy in our tiny apartment as newlyweds, and I knew it was just a matter time before he made an "honest woman" of me.
Nonnie was a happy baby, content to lie on her back for hours playing with her toes. She was truly the light of my life, or perhaps I should say, our lives. I knew Graham cared as deeply for her as I did. Or at least I thought he did.
He graduated on schedule, but instead of seeking local employment, went straight away to a stock broker's position in Toronto. "Just wait, dearest, until my commissions begin rolling in. Then we'll be on easy street and together forever." He had a way a tickling my neck that was very distracting, and somehow, every time he said that, he'd tickle me and I'd forget to ask him to be more definite. I wonder how many other gullible girls have fallen into that trap?
At first, Graham wrote to us every day, glowingly describing the firm, the partners, and his wonderful prospects. However, whenever I'd ask him to contribute to Nonnie's support, he'd either ignore my request or promise that he'd put a check in the mail "next week." Next week, of course, never came.
A year went by. A year when we were nearly as poor as I was in my own childhood. A year of frustrating promises that never materialized, and finally a dull realization that Graham had closed the book on his college "fling" with me, and was no longer interested in his little family. Even though we had not married, I still clung to the hope that we could be reunited.
Almost exactly a year after he left, I bundled little Nonnie up for a train ride to Toronto. If he wouldn't come to us, then clearly we had to go to him. I thought even if he had lost interest in me, that when he saw our baby, he would remember his responsibilities.
Traveling any distance with a baby is always very exhausting. The trip from Winnipeg to Toronto particularly so, since it required almost a full 24 hours. Sitting up all night in a coach while trying to prevent the baby from disturbing other passengers was almost more than I could handle. Thus, I was groggy when, at last, we arrived in the big city.
It was about nine o'clock in the morning when I found a telephone booth and after searching the directory, found Graham's number and dialed it. I was sure he would be at his apartment, since it was a Saturday morning. The phone rang, and then I heard a young woman's voice. "Hello?"
I gently hung the receiver back on its hook, took a deep breath, and on shaky legs, made my way to a bench. As you could imagine, I was more than shocked; stunned might be a more accurate description. Yet what did I expect? Was it reasonable of me to assume that because I was playing the game straight that he would do the same? After all, I had Nonnie, while he, theoretically at least, had no one.
More urgently, as the surprise wore off, I had to consider what to do next. Should I confront him and his girl friend? Or should I quietly retreat to Winnipeg and pretend someone else had made that fateful telephone call?
As you'll learn when you hear the rest of my story, I seldom retreat quietly. Picking Nonnie up again, I stepped out of the train depot and flagged the first cab in line. I don't remember much about that cab ride because my stomach was in knots and I feverishly rehearsed first one scenario, then another. But even in my wildest imagination, I could never have guessed the surprise I was about to receive.
The apartment house where Graham lived seemed a bit old fashioned, which suggested that its tenants would be living modestly. His apartment was on the second floor. I climbed the stairs and paused for a moment to catch my breath and hopefully quiet my fluttering pulse. Number 4 was directly across the hall. Taking a deep breath, I resolutely pressed the doorbell button.
It seemed an eternity -- indeed, I even had an insane impulse to turn and run -- before the door opened and I stared into the eyes of a very pregnant statuesque redhead wearing a revealing housecoat. "Yes?"
This was all wrong. Graham should have answered the door! What should I say? "Is Graham here?" seemed inane, almost foolish. Of course he was there! On the other hand, "I'd like to speak to Graham" seemed harsh.
Just then, Graham's face appeared behind the redhead. "My God! Where did you come from, Sarah?"
The redhead looked perplexed, especially after Graham invited us in. Silently, he ushered us into the sitting room. I had expected at least a welcoming hug and a kiss, even with his girl friend standing to one side. I had not expect to be treated like a distant cousin.
We sat facing one another. Graham was decidedly older than the enthusiastic young man who had left Winnipeg a scant 12 months earlier. I thought I detected imbedded worry lines in his face. He spoke first.
"You're looking just as beautiful as ever," he said with an obviously forced joviality.
There seemed only one way to respond. "I don't understand, Graham. You're acting almost as if you're unhappy to see your fiancee and your baby. You do remember her, don't you?"
I was surprised when the redhead perched herself on the arm of Graham's chair. I had expected her to at least remain in the background if not leave the apartment. She seemed almost defiant.
Graham seemed to be groping for words. "Of course I remember her," he said. But things have changed." He paused, then blurted, "There is no nice way to tell you, Sarah, but you see, Tammy, here, is my wife!"
I felt suddenly as if I had been kicked in the stomach. I'm sure I might have fainted had I not been seated. "How. . .? Ahh, ahh, what did you say?" was the best I could manage.
"Tammy and I were married about six months ago; shortly after . . ." Graham looked meaningfully toward her prominent stomach.
A girl friend, even a live-in mistress, I might have been able to work myself around -- but this was the ultimate betrayal! I was suddenly very angry. 'Never forget, Mister, your name is on her birth certificate!" Rising, I heard myself say, "You may be able to duck out on me -- but you can bet your ass, you'll be paying child support for the next 18 years. Your new wife," I nearly spat the word, "will have to make do with what's left!"
Gathering Nonnie to my breast, I stormed out of the apartment. I don't know when I've been more angry. In a way, I suppose anger was more preferable than the sick despair I began to experience after checking into a hotel near the train station, because I must have cried for hours in the privacy of our hotel room. All my hopes and dreams, all my beautiful plans for the future, were suddenly trashed.
Nonnie and I had a late supper in the hotel dining room, and after returning to our room, I reflected on a bitter irony. I was raised by a single parent, and now it seemed likely that poor little Nonnie was destined to carry on the tradition. However, there was a difference. My father had died. Nonnie's father was alive and well. With that thought firmly in mind, I began to search the yellow pages in the phone book for a lawyer.
The showdown with Graham had occurred on Saturday. The next train to Winnipeg would leave Monday afternoon, so Nonnie and I spent Sunday window shopping and admiring the big city. Shortly after eight o'clock on Monday morning, I got an early appointment to see a lawyer. That afternoon, we boarded the train for an unhappy ride back to Winnipeg.
On that trip, I had something of an epiphany. As I sat holding Nonnie on my lap, watching the Ontario landscape flow past my train window, it occurred to me how foolish I had been to waste a year of my young, vital life planning for a future that did not exist. More than that, the experience with Graham left an invisible but indelible mark on my psyche.
I also knew, without even thinking about it very much, that it would be a long time before I trusted another man. On the other hand, now that I was free of my obsession with Graham, I actually found myself getting moist as I speculated about a man sitting across the aisle, frankly wondering how skilled he was with his tongue and fingers and -- of course -- how well endowed he might be.
Shaking my head to clear it of those unbidden thoughts, I turned my attention to Nonnie, who was becoming restless and obviously needed changing. Upon my return with the baby from the lavatory, I found I had company. A young man about my age was carelessly sprawled across the facing seat, ostensibly reading a magazine.
I tried to ignore him as I turned away to open my blouse so I could feed Nonnie as unobtrusively and modestly as possible. However, even though I shielded my exposed breast under Nonnie's burping towel, and never looked up, I nevertheless felt his eyes on me and that, combined with Nonnie's vigorous and noisy assault on my nipple caused endless ripples of tiny lightning sparks to descent into my delta, and the moistening I had experienced earlier now became an unpleasant, aching emptiness.
Despite my resolve, almost involuntarily, I glanced up and saw him openly staring at my partly exposed breast. Suddenly angered by his unwarranted invasion of my privacy, I snapped, "Haven't you anything better to do than stare at a woman feeding her baby?"
I spoke more loudly than I intended, and was terribly embarrassed to see heads in adjoining seats turn to stare at me. The older man sitting across the aisle leaned over and spoke to the young man. "I'd suggest you find another place to sit before I have to call the conductor," he said in a pleasant tone.
