Chapter 6

The time had come: they had to know. It started at breakfast, what used to be her favourite meal of the day. She was always the one to rebuke her comrades for skipping it, admonishing them with biological facts that proved the value of a solid morning meal to one’s health. This morning she couldn’t eat it.
She didn’t even have a chance. She knew it the second she started mounting those stairs; was even more sure as the aroma of fresh pancakes assaulted her senses. When the kitchen girls passed by with trays of breakfast sausages she had to run and lock herself in the bathroom for a full five minutes. Her body was betraying her - and her stomach, of all things, which had always been so dependable. Phil wasn’t at her table to cover for her, and her lovely shade of green did not go unnoticed upon her return.
“Not feelin’ so great this morning?” asked Mark. Mark Saunders was a good kid, an assistant cabin leader and little brother of Josh Saunders, who had been a staple at Rocky Bay for years. Mark had thick brown hair and freckles, and looked and acted like the wholesome farm boy he was.
Jesse shrugged. “It’ll probably go away soon.” No point in trying to lie her way out of it.
“Hope so,” said Mark, taking a giganteus bite of pancake.
But Jasmine, who was also at their table, looked at Jesse suspiciously. Her steely black eyes didn’t miss a thing. Jesse couldn’t even pretend to eat.
Then there was the crying. In the middle of chapel, no less. “They will enter Zion with singing; everlasting joy will crown their heads. Gladness and joy will overtake them, and sorrow and sighing will flee away.” These were the ill-fated words voiced by the unfortunate guest speaker; nary a second after, the poor girl in the middle row began to sniffle. Presently tears escaped as well in spite of her, and before long she had to excuse herself from the bewildered gathering. A lone snicker followed her out, and she could have sworn it was Phil. “Wretched girl,” she muttered through her tears as she sat on the floor of the downstairs washroom with cold, wet paper towel over her eyes. The tiles were hard and frigid, and gave her a headache. She was too embarrassed to go back upstairs, so she stayed in the basement a long time, until she heard the others leave, singing.
She had to tell them. There was no use putting it off, if they didn’t already know then they soon would, or suspect something worse. Her hormones were giving her away. Besides, the secret lay heavily on her, and these were the people she trusted most. They would not judge her, of that she was certain, and those who knew better would not make it to be more than it was. So why did she hesitate?
There could be no senior staff - they would make her too nervous. They already knew about her anyway. She ran outside with a plan already forming in her head. There was an hour left before lunch.

They sat on the floor of the chapel basement, which also served as the staff lounge, arranged roughly in a circle. Phil had spread the word around, and they had all come. No one seemed to know what they were gathered for, and it was kind of exciting. An air of secrecy was about the meeting, and they spoke in whispers or not at all while they waited.
Finally Will Chambers spoke up. He was the giant of the bunch, and had a voice to match. “So Phil, what are we here for, exactly?” The whispering stopped.
“It better be good,” Zeb declared. “I was winning a game of ping pong.”
“Hey, this isn’t my meeting,” Phil defended herself. She looked at her friend, who nodded.
“Alright,” said Jesse, looking up at everybody but not standing. “It’s my meeting.” Might as well just say it, she thought. “I’ve called you all here because you might have noticed I’ve been acting a little strange lately.”
Several people agreed.
“You’re sick, aren’t you?” said Mark. “She throws up every day,” he explained to the others.
“You mean every morning,” corrected Amy. Jesse was surprised. The kitchen girl was more observant than she looked.
“Yes, I’ve been throwing up my breakfast every morning,” Jesse admitted. “But I’m not sick.” There was silence for a few moments. She knew they were all guessing the truth, but no one was willing to suggest it. “I’ve also been a little emotional lately.”
“We’ve noticed,” said Chris. “Crying in church is one thing... but chapel wasn’t even that good today.”
“So we’re all agreed Jesse’s emotionally unstable,” said Zeb. “I think I should also tell you that she’s been wandering out in the rain in the middle of the night.”
“And she refused to play PIT with me the other night in the dining hall,” put in Will.
More than one person was confused by the last two testimonies, and Mark spoke for them all when he said, “Um, anyways...”
“I’m pregnant,” said Jesse.
There was a strange silence. A silence formed out of disbelief. The birds that had been singing a minute before were no longer heard.
Phil took her hand, and she went on. “Four months ago, I was walking back to campus, and it was kind of late. I was alone, and I know it was stupid, but the town I was in is usually pretty safe. That night, it wasn’t. Some guys decided to make some trouble, and beat me up pretty bad, and left me for dead a few miles away.”
Though she’d only skimmed the surface of the events as they’d truly happened, the girls looked horrified. Many of the boys were obviously upset, angry even. Some looked embarrassed.
“The people who found me thought I was dead. Even I was pretty sure I was dead, but somehow I wasn’t. I was, however, pregnant.”
And Michael, sitting in a far corner, met her eyes.
“It’s not a big deal,” she said quickly, wrenching herself from his gaze, surveying the circle. “I just wanted you all to know. So I can throw up at breakfast and be emotionally unstable without getting the third degree.”
Uncomfortable silence followed. People started looking at each other, unsure of how to behave in this situation. Finally, seeing that no one else was going to do anything, Iris Peterson raised her hand.
Jesse coughed. “Yes, Iris?” she acknowledged her, feeling strangely like a schoolteacher.
Iris sat up straight and spoke with her usual precision. “First, I’d like to say that I’m very glad you’re alive.”
“Thank you, Iris.”
“I would also like to know if the men who did this to you are in jail. And I use the term ‘men’ loosely.”
“Yes,” Jesse replied, “they are in jail.”
Following the example of question and answer, Chris then raised her hand, and Jesse nodded to her.
“How long are they in jail for?”
That was an easy one. “Not long enough,” said Jesse.
The atmosphere didn’t lighten, exactly; in fact everyone became more serious, if that were possible, but at least they were talking about it. That was a relief to everybody.
“So are you keeping it?” asked Will.
This was a tougher question. “I haven’t made that decision yet,” she said diplomatically.
Mark asked what she would do if she kept the baby.
She shrugged. “I would probably stay at home, try to get a job. I’m just not sure yet.”
Iris raised her hand again. “Are you quitting school?” she asked. Jesse had just finished her first year of university. She was in the humanities program and hadn’t yet chosen a major.
“I can’t go back in the fall,” she admitted. “I don’t know yet if I’ll finish, but I can’t say I would be terribly broken up about it if I didn’t.”
“I wish I could drop out of school,” Missy, a young kitchen girl, remarked enviously.
“You’d rather go to school than have to give birth,” remarked Amy Laverly. “Do you have any idea how painful that would be?”
“My mom’s always said it’s the reason I’m an only child,” said Megan.
Chris rolled her eyes. “Must you discuss this in front of the expectant mother?” she chastised.
Zeb raised his hand. “I think this conversation is getting a little risque. I’m not really comfortable discussing birth pains.”
“Neither am I,” stated Jesse, relieved. “This meeting is officially over.”

Lunch was unusually quiet. Jesse sat at a table of all girls: Phil, Chris, Megan, Iris, and the shy new girl, Jasmine. But as they whispered Jesse could feel eyes on her all the time.
“I can’t believe you’re pregnant!” Chris said. “You don’t look it at all.”
“When’s it due?” asked Megan.
“December,” Jesse answered.
“Do you have a name yet?” said Chris.
“Not yet.”
“Does it feel weird?” asked Iris. Though well-spoken and confident for her age, she was after all only sixteen, delicate and pretty. The thought of having a baby scared her to death.
“Very weird,” Jesse admitted.
“I don’t know how you can do it,” said a small voice. It was the first time Jasmine had spoken to her. “I wouldn’t do it.” Her eyes met Jesse’s.
“What do you mean, you wouldn’t do it?” said Phil. “It’s not like she has a choice here.”
Jasmine turned to her. “Alright, say she has this baby. What good will come of it? All it will do is remind her of him, that thing that did this to her. For the rest of her life. Every time she looks at it, that’s who she’ll see. You think she deserves to go through that kind of pain?” Her anger was evident through her whispering. She addressed the whole table now. “And what about the kid? You think it will do any good for it to live without a dad, and with a mom who doesn’t love him? Who can’t love him? Who probably won’t even be able to support him? It’s not fair to either of them!”
“Look, if anyone can do it, Jesse can,” Chris said in her defence.
“I don’t mean to offend Jesse,” Jasmine retorted, “but it’s too much to ask of anyone.”
“So what do you want her to do? Put it up for adoption?” asked Iris timidly.
Jasmine looked directly at Jesse. “Yeah, sure, that’s what I mean.” Her eyes were pitying, yet defiant. There was more than Jesse had thought, behind those eyes. Yes, she knew what she meant.
************************************************************
The walls were white. Her eyes wouldn’t open all the way, but the white shone through. Her eyes hurt; her whole body hurt. The pillows were soft but she could feel every lump, and every scratch and bruise and cut between the sterile sheets. It hurt to move, to breathe, to think. It hurt to live. She had thought she had died, or at least she had prayed for it. She wished she had; if she were in Heaven the pain would be gone. There would be no scars.
She turned her head. Through the slit of one eye she saw a woman to her left, old, sitting up in bed with the back of her paper nightie hanging open; grinning at her through yellow teeth. The world was ugly.
“Aahh, you’re awake,” the old woman cackled. She squinted at her. “I see ye there, tryin ti’ open yer eyes. Don’t bother. I’ll go tell yer Mummy yer up.” She started to get up, seemed to think about that for a minute, and then took it back. “No, wait now, I don’t rightly know where she’s gone. But she’ll be back, she’ll be back,” she assured her, leaning back and nodding her old head wisely.
She sighed. Mom. I want Mom, she thought. I want to go home.
She rolled back the covers and discovered she didn’t have on the same mint-green nightie as the old woman, but her own pyjamas. Her plaid flannel bottoms and soft white t-shirt. Somehow that made her feel better. Not wonderful, but better. She sat up and swung her legs down onto the floor. Then she tried to stand up.
It was a bad idea. The woman laughed as Jesse grabbed at the food tray to stop herself from falling. She was so dizzy. Her legs felt like jelly and pain shot through her insides. She cried out loud in shock. With the old woman’s laughter following her, she slid to the cold floor and landed with a smack. Gritting her teeth through the pain and humiliation, she slowly crawled across the floor to the bathroom.
She hauled herself up by gripping the edge of the sink and slammed the door. Then she flipped on the light switch and looked at her face in the mirror. She was ugly. The skin around her eyes was black and swollen, and the right side of her jaw was in much the same condition. Her lips were dry and scabbed over. Her neck was red and tender. But what brought it back was the white bandage on her forehead. She gasped. “I hit my head...” she said out loud. It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true.
She looked at her hands. Her fingers were red and scratched, her wrists were wrapped in gauze. They hurt more than anything. They burned. It was the rope, wasn’t it? The rope had done this! Before she knew what she was doing she had ripped off the tape and began unwinding the bandage. As she took off layer after layer her wrist hurt more and more; the lower ones were crusted with blood and puss. She choked on the sobs that racked her chest with violence. With a final rip, the last layer of gauze came off, and in the air the wound stung with new lustiness. She held the offending arm in front of her, eyes wide, crying out in anger.
That was how they found her, screaming like a mad woman while the witch cackled from her bed. Her mother cried and the nurse led her to bed and re-wrapped her wrist while her mother asked why. She didn’t know why. Her wrist hurt more than ever, she should have let it alone. It would have healed better. Now it was bleeding again, and Mom was crying. Mom held her other hand and stroked her hair and cried. Seeing those tears stopped Jesse’s own, at least. It’s ok, she wanted to say. She wanted to reassure her mother, to tell her she was alright. But she just lay there, immobile, looking at her mom, while the nurse muttered and cleaned up the blood. She would not cry again, not for almost four months.
Then the doctor came. He wore glasses and a white lab coat that made him look important. He talked to her like she was a little girl. Didn’t she know it was bad to take off her bandage? She must be a good girl and not scream and wake up all the other patients. Now could she sit up so he could make sure her heart was beating right? That’s a good girl. This might be a little cold on your back now. There we go, all done. Lay back down now. He never looked at her while he talked.
She stayed sitting up. He turned to her mother and asked her to go with the nurse while he asked her some questions. Her mother stayed. Her mother was not stupid.
He checked her eyes, and her tongue, and her temperature. He asked her where it hurt and she said everywhere. He told her what her injuries were, the major ones anyway. Then her mother had a phone call and had to leave the room.
That’s when he did it. He told her. She might be pregnant. Then he gave her a pill and said her parents didn’t need to know about it. The pill would make it all go away, and this whole ordeal would just fade like a bad dream.
Go away? she thought. This was not just going to go away. He had no idea. Then she looked at the pill in her hand for the first time, and realized what it was; what he was talking about. Her mind’s fog was cleared for a moment and she dropped the thing to the floor. It landed with a soft click. The doctor frowned and looked at her for the first time. “You shouldn’t have done that.”
************************************************************
Yes, she knew exactly what Jasmine meant.