As soon as she entered her room, Betty wrote down the address that Elkin had written on the paper she’d given Henry.
Twirling the pencil between her fingers, she glanced at the calendar on the wall, then lifted it down. She stared at the little mark she’d made when she’d had her last monthly, and counted forty weeks. May. The second week. That was when her baby would arrive.
May. It seemed so far away and right around the corner at the same time. So far away before she’d be able to hold her baby in her arms, the one thing she had wanted since she was a little girl dreaming about being a grown-up.
There wasn’t much time before everyone would know she was pregnant and everyone would be able to count. Her father would be enraged if she, her baby, created a scandal.
When she was here, in her bedroom, alone, she believed marrying James was her best option, her only option, but when Henry was near, she couldn’t even consider marrying James because Henry... Henry was who she loved.
It was time she admitted that. Her heart had decided that she would love him for the rest of her life, and no matter how hard she tried, her heart wouldn’t let her change that.
Henry was also who made her want more—in so many ways. Ways that didn’t fit with her. When she was with him, she was impulsive and risky. That wasn’t her. It was thrilling and exciting, but that wasn’t her. It was like he turned her into someone she was not.
James wouldn’t do that. He didn’t do that. He would let her be who she was. He would provide her with a home, near her family where she could continue to look out for her sisters and help her mother, while obeying Father’s rules.
Was that truly what she wanted? Obeying Father’s rules until the end of time?
It would be safe. Orderly.
Babies needed that.
Tears burned her eyes as she replaced the calendar, hung it on the nail, and dressed for bed. Another wave of sadness washed over her as she tucked the green dress in her hope chest. That would soon be over, forever. Nights out. James had never gone to a speakeasy, never gone dancing. He’d told her that. Her life with him wouldn’t be exciting, but it would be predictable. No surprises. No rule breaking.
She crawled into bed and cried herself to sleep, and awoke in the aftermath of dreams that had made her heart race. They’d been about Henry.
She tried to erase them as she dressed and prepared to see him again, at the house she would clean. Once again, that reminded her of how different she was from her sisters. Both Jane and Patsy despised chores. She didn’t. There was satisfaction in having things clean, neat, and tidy.
She’d had another dream last night. Or maybe it had been a memory.
Because she did remember it. How she’d cried when Aunt Joan had been forced to go to the convent. She had been pregnant, and Betty would forever remember hearing her parents talk, about how the baby would be taken away as soon as it was born and given up for adoption.
She and her sisters hadn’t even been able to say goodbye to their aunt. She’d just been gone one morning when they woke up, and they’d never heard from her again. Weren’t allowed to even ask about her.
The tears fell faster as she thought about her mother, and how that had to have hurt, to never see her sister again.
Tears fell for herself, too, how she had to marry James. It was her only answer.
Her stomach revolted, and she ran for the bathroom.
Chapter Eleven
Betty, leaning over the sink, sucking in air after, stiffened at the sound of the door opening, and let out a sigh at seeing Jane in the reflection of the mirror over the sink.
“Are you sick?” Jane asked.
Betty cupped water in her hand, used it to rinse out her mouth, and spat in the sink. “It must have been something I ate.”
“You haven’t eaten yet. Mother sent me up here to see where you were. Breakfast is almost ready.”
The mention of food made her stomach erupt all over again. She dropped down next to the toilet, but there was nothing left to come up. It was worse this morning than it had been. Probably because the baby was revolting against her marrying James.
No, the baby wouldn’t know the difference. No one would ever know the difference.
“I’ll tell Mother you’re sick,” Jane said.
“No.” Betty pushed off the stool and stood. “I’m fine.”
“No, you aren’t.”
“Yes, I am.” She shook her head. “Really, I’m fine now.”
“You’re awfully pale.”
Betty lifted the washcloth off the edge of the sink and used it to scrub her face, giving her cheeks some color. She then fluffed her hair, so it hung closer to her face. “There. How’s that?”
“Better.” Jane nodded. “Somewhat.”
“Then let’s go,” Betty said, and followed Jane out of the bathroom.
Breakfast was ready, and she and Jane had to hurry to get the table set before things grew cold. Betty ate cautiously, just some toast, which made her feel much better, and the cleaning up went quickly.
She hurried upstairs, to put her hair up and put on an apron for cleaning, and was just about to leave for the abandoned house when Jane entered her room.
“Sit down,” Jane said, closing the door behind her.
“Why?”
Jane huffed out a breath and, holding a magazine against her chest, she paced the floor.
“Why?” Betty repeated. “I need to—”
“I need to read you something,” Jane said.
Betty sat, but said, “I don’t have time to hear about actresses today.” Jane was forever sneaking popular magazines into the house, mainly those about actors, actresses, and singers, and always had something to share out of them.
“It’s not about actresses. It’s about you.”
“Me?”
Jane nodded.
“What are you talking about? I’m not in any magazine.”
Jane huffed out another breath and
