THE SECOND MRS WHITAKER

CHAPTER 5

Next month came fast.

Mrs. Albright said it on the first Monday of the month, standing in the kitchen with her clipboard that she loves more than anything.

"Personality coming. Big one. No mistakes. You are all mandated to behave well. Do you hear me? Mandated."

Master Jonathan, 28, is hosting a personality. General Harland. Retired Army, three stars, sits on the board of the Sterling Trust that controls Master's inheritance. He is coming for dinner. With his wife. With his aide. With press. If General Harland votes yes tomorrow, the board releases the trust even without an heir.

Madam Evelyn, 27, has been planning it for two weeks like it is her second wedding. White tablecloths from France, flowers flown in, new curtains for the big dining room that has 52 windows that I have to clean. She wants to impress because if General Harland votes yes, Master gets money, and if Master gets money, she gets the Paris apartment for her 30th.

She has been nicer to Master this month. Not slamming doors at 9pm every night. Still asking every day, I hear it when I drop laundry outside the master bedroom.

"Jonathan, come on. Every day. That's how we get an heir naturally."

And Master, tired voice: "Evelyn, not tonight. Not until after Harland leaves."

She slams the door. Then she goes to her walk-in closet, locks the drawer at the bottom with the pink box, stays there a long time. The other maids don't talk about it. They are mandated to behave well and not gossip. Only I know because I am on the stairs with laundry.

Me? I am still in Room 7. Downstairs. Still scrubbing. But now it is hard to scrub.

It is 9 weeks now. I counted from the night with the vial. 9 weeks.

My old shoes with black marker - I painted them again last week, paint peeled again in two days. My feet are swollen in the afternoon. I send money to my parents every month from this job, and that makes me so happy. Last month I sent $400 and Mama cried on video and said "Our Maeve is working in big house now." I keep the receipt in my pocket when I am scared. That receipt makes me happy.

My grey uniform - Mrs. Albright gave me a bigger one because she said "Girl, you are growing thick." But the bigger one is tight too, up top and low down. My chest is so sore I wear three vests underneath and still when I carry sheets upstairs it hurts with every step. I have to pee every 45 minutes now. Mrs. Albright shouted yesterday, "Maeve, if you go to toilet again, you will miss windows! You are mandated to behave well!" I said sorry, eyes down, but I had to run.

And the smells. Cook's oats in the morning - I gag before I enter. She makes me wait outside pantry with pots. I sit on cold floor of lower storage and breathe through mouth until nausea passes. That warm, heavy ache low down never left after first medical. It grew. Now it is fullness that pushes on bladder, pushes low on back. At night in Room 7, hot and kicking blanket off even though room is freezing in October, I lift nightdress and look.

There is no more small plum. Now there is a curve. Firm. Between hip bones, low, round, hard underneath when I press. Not fat. Fat is soft. This is hard underneath. My waist beads - the ones my mother gave me when I was 13 - are so tight they leave marks. I have to turn them at night.

I still tell myself it's potatoes. Because I am 19, never had a boyfriend, never kissed anyone, nuns said you need a husband in a bed to make a baby. So I can't be pregnant.

But last week I typed on cracked phone under blanket: "no period 2 months tired pee sore chest." Purple line: EARLY PREGNANCY SIGNS - 8-9 WEEKS.

Dr. Ellis came this morning. Day before General Harland dinner. Routine check for all staff before big event. Mrs. Albright said at 6am lineup, "No sick maid near General. Doctor will clear everyone. Mandated to behave well for doctor too."

He came at 7am. Same white door, INFIRMARY. Same tray. Same paper.

Mrs. Albright called names one by one. "Maeve! Quick! General comes tomorrow!"

I was last.

I stood outside white door, holding hands so they wouldn't shake, old shoes painted black, bigger uniform tight, receipt of $400 I sent to parents folded in my pocket.

Inside, Dr. Ellis was washing hands. He looked tired. He has known this family 2 years, six failed cycles. He thinks last vial was non-viable.

"Morning. Routine clearance for event tomorrow. Quick viewing, blood already done last month, all clean, remember?"

"Lay back please. Sheet over. Very respectful, two minutes. Mrs. Albright will assist."

I climbed onto table. Paper crinkled loud. Cold. Mrs. Albright put huge white sheet over my knees, like tent, so I was completely covered. Modest. Dress still on. Old shoes off at bottom of table.

"Breathe like folding napkins. In, out."

Dr. Ellis sat on little stool, gloves on. First part same. Cold pressure. Speculum. Light.

"Good... very healthy tissue..."

Then he paused.

He leaned closer. Adjusted light.

"Hold still please," he said, quieter.

He was quiet for long time. 60 seconds. Clock ticking.

Mrs. Albright: "Doctor? Infection?"

Dr. Ellis didn't answer. He took speculum out slowly. Put it on tray. Stripped gloves. New gloves. "Mrs. Albright, abdominal palpation? Routine."

Mrs. Albright nodded, lifted sheet just a little at bottom, still covering me completely. Kept dress down, only low belly over dress, modest.

Dr. Ellis pressed, gentle, low, between hip bones. Two fingers.

I felt his fingers on firm curve. Waist beads tight there.

He pressed again. Looked at my face. I was looking at ceiling crack, tears coming.

"Does this hurt?" he said, calm but different.

"No, sir. Just heavy. Heavy since first medical."

He looked at Mrs. Albright. Mrs. Albright looked at me, at low belly pushing grey dress, at tight uniform up top, at pale face.

Dr. Ellis sat back. Washed hands. Wrote in my white file. Flipped pages. Looked at last month's lab: ALL CLEAN. Age: 19. Intake: NO BOYFRIEND, NO INTERCOURSE, CONVENT SCHOOL.

He said to Mrs. Albright, "Please give us a minute. Wait outside."

Mrs. Albright squeezed my shoulder. "Breathe, girl. Mandated to behave well," she whispered, and left, closing white door.

Now just me and Dr. Ellis. Same room where 9 weeks ago he picked up warm vial labeled WHITAKER, J. - PREPARED SPERM - FOR QUINN, M. IVF - LAST VIAL and left it inside me thinking it was routine viewing.

He sat on stool, not touching me, sheet covering me completely, modest.

He looked at file, then at me, then at low belly where sheet made small round shape.

Then he started asking. This is how he asked me:

*Dr. Ellis:* "Maeve, I need to ask you something private. And you can tell me truth. No one will punish you. This house keeps medical private. Okay?"

*Me:* "Yes, sir." I stared at ceiling crack.

*Dr. Ellis:* "That fullness low down... how long have you felt it?"

*Me:* "Since... since first medical, sir. Heavy since first day. Then bigger. Since that day."

*Dr. Ellis:* "And the tiredness? You sleep a lot but still tired?"[writing]

*Me:* "Yes, sir. Very tired. After windows."

*Dr. Ellis:* "And peeing? How many times a day now?"

*Me:* "Many, sir. Every hour. Mrs. Albright shouts."

*Dr. Ellis:* "And your chest? Sore? Tight uniform?"

*Me:* [tears running] "Yes, sir. Very sore. I wear three vests."

*Dr. Ellis:* "And smells? Gagging? Oats? Perfume?"

*Me:* "Yes, sir. How you know, sir? Did Mrs. Albright tell you?"

*Dr. Ellis:* [quiet for long time, looking at file where he wrote EXCELLENT VIABILITY] "And your monthly bleeding? When was last time?"

*Me:* "Two... two months ago, sir. Before first medical."

*Dr. Ellis:* [leans forward, voice even softer, scared to ask] "Maeve... perhaps... did you have intercourse before coming to this house? Maybe before your medical? A boyfriend? Even once? Before you came here? Perhaps at school?"

*Me:* [crying now, hand over mouth, sheet still covering me completely] "No, sir. Never, sir. Never had boyfriend. Never kissed. Nuns said need husband."

*Dr. Ellis:* "You are sure? No one touched you? No one before you came here?"

*Me:* "No one, sir. Only medical. Only first medical, sir."

White door closed. Mrs. Albright outside. General Harland coming tomorrow with wife, aide, press. White tablecloths from France.

And in my pocket, folded receipt, I sent $400 to my parents last Friday and I was happy that I could send money to them.

And Dr. Ellis, who last month told Mrs. Albright "All clean, no issues" on phone, who thought my lab was clean, who thought last vial was non-viable - is now looking at my 9-week belly pushing sheet, at bigger uniform, at sore chest, at swollen feet in old shoes with black marker peeling, at waist beads tight.

And he is asking me if perhaps I had intercourse before coming, and I am telling him no, never, only medical.