Girl In The Mirror. Mary Monroe Alice

door. “Just one moment. What I have to tell you should be spoken in private.”

      Mrs. Walenski’s eyes narrowed in scrutiny, and Helena read dismissal in their flinty coldness. “I don’t allow strangers inside my home. What is this about?”

      Standing on the front stoop, Helena stubbornly held her ground. She unbuttoned her long coat and slipped it open, revealing the rounded belly of a woman in her fifth month of pregnancy. She felt tawdry beside the elegance of her surroundings, ashamed of her predicament, but for her child’s sake, for Frederic’s, she would not back down.

      “I am carrying Frederic’s child.”

      “You are lying,” Mrs. Walenski whispered, quickly ushering Helena into the foyer and closing the door. “Do you think you are the first girl to try to trap my son in such a vile manner?”

      While Mrs. Walenski moved through the rooms with sharp precision, Helena wandered as though she were walking in a dream. The house was a blur of splendor, such a contrast from the ramshackle farmhouse her family squeezed into. As she gazed around the room, she noticed details rather than the whole: a gold filigreed clock, the rich carpet, a crystal chandelier of princely proportion. What must it be like to be the mistress of such a house? she wondered. If she were Frederic’s wife, would she live here as well?

      “Tell me who you are,” Mrs. Walenski demanded.

      “I am Helena Godowski and I am not trying to trap your son. Don’t you think it’s the other way around? I am carrying his child. Your grandchild. Frederic promised he would send for me from America, but as you can see, I can’t wait any longer. My family is shamed and I can’t return home, either. I’ve nowhere else to turn. The nuns want me to give away my child. Did Frederic never mention me?”

      Mrs. Walenski was blinking heavily and shifting in her seat. “No, never. What do you want?”

      “I want Frederic. I want to be with him.”

      “That’s impossible! I don’t know where he is. Really, I don’t. He cannot write, you little fool. The authorities are looking for him, surely you understand that? You don’t want him to go to prison, do you? You can’t want that.”

      “No, no, of course not.” Helena was flustered now, her face flushed with joy. If Frederic could not contact his mother, then surely he could not contact her, either. He had not forgotten her. He loved her! She was sure of it.

      “I love Frederic,” she said. “I wouldn’t do anything to hurt him, you must believe me.”

      Mrs. Walenski’s shoulders lowered. She nodded, and a new sadness entered her eyes.

      “I need help,” cried Helena, encouraged by the sympathy she now sensed. She looked at her belly. “Frederic doesn’t know about the child. He left before I was certain. Before I could tell him.” Raising her eyes, she leaned forward. “Please, if you could tell me just the name of the city in America he’s in, I’m sure I can find him. Please, you must believe me.”

      Mrs. Walenski stared at nothing for a long time. Her hand had risen to her cheek and she sat as though frozen in thought. When she brought her hand back to her lap, her eyes were focused on Helena and the curve of her belly.

      “I do believe you,” Mrs. Walenski replied at length.

      “And now you must believe me. All I know is that he went to a city called Chicago in a province called Illinois. There is a large Polish population there.”

      “Perhaps you can give me the names of your relatives, or friends. Someone I can reach when I arrive. I know no one in America. And I’m already five months along.”

      “I’ll write a letter of introduction to a friend of mine. She will help you. And I will give you money to purchase an airplane ticket. One way.” She cleared her throat. “And there will be enough to give you a new start in America.”

      “Oh, thank you,” Helena exclaimed, her hands covering her face as she sobbed in relief. She had never hoped for so much.

      “Don’t thank me. You don’t know my son as well as I do.” Mrs. Walenski seemed to shrink inside herself as she continued. “Frederic is a selfish boy. Perhaps it’s my fault. I’ve spoiled him.” She fingered a rosette of garnets in her ear for a moment, then dropped her hand with a vague gesture. “If you should find him,” she began, pausing, searching for the words. “Please know that he may not welcome you. I don’t say this to hurt you, but you see…you are not the first girl he has placed in this situation. Frederic is very determined when he wants something. Obsessed. And…sometimes cruel. His father can be like that, you see. The other girl was from a small village, like you.”

      Helena looked away, afraid the worry in her eyes would betray her.

      “He never mentioned your name to me, not once,” Mrs. Walenski continued. “Do you understand what I’m trying to tell you?”

      “I must find him,” Helena replied in a strangled voice.

      “Very well. I shall see to the arrangements. One more condition, however. If you do not succeed in finding my son, you will promise not to declare your child a Walenski.”

      The affront took Helena’s breath away. “But the child is…”

      “I must insist on this point,” she interrupted.

      Helena lowered her head. “I promise.” With two words, Helena whispered away her child’s heritage.

      Mrs. Walenski was true to her word. Within the month a young, very pregnant Mrs. Helena Godowski arrived in Chicago. Helena learned quickly that a woman alone in a foreign country, especially a pregnant one, had no friends. So close to term, and with no English skills, the best that a letter of introduction got her was a baby-sitting job, earning enough for room and board. Whenever she could, Helena searched for Frederic.

      She searched everywhere, begging the help of the close-knit Polish community for any word of a Frederic Walenski from Warsaw. One man had seen him, soon after his arrival, but had not seen him since. It was generally believed that he’d left town.

      When her water broke, Helena realized she was about to give birth, alone, without a husband, or a mother, or even a friend. Her dream of finding Frederic in time was over. It suddenly became very clear to her that she was in this alone.

      “Do you speak any English?” the nurse at County Hospital asked her. She spoke very loud and slow.

      “N-no English,” Helena stuttered, her mouth dry with panic.

      The nurse rolled her eyes. “Oh, boy. I’ve got a prima here with no English. We’re in for a ride. You just take it easy, honey. I’ll take good care of you.”

      Helena stared at the peeling ceiling as she was wheeled past rooms filled with moaning women. They parked her in a small, pale green room where men and women dressed in uniforms took turns spreading her legs and poking cold fingers in her. She felt so alone, so afraid, so vulnerable. But she had to be strong for her baby.

      The pain came in waves now, mounting high, roiling through her abdomen, then crashing against her lower back. The graphs on the strange beeping machine they hooked to her belly arched high and dipped low. Rhythmically, one after the other. Her sweat glistened. Sweet mother of God, why had no one told her? Was it like this for every woman, or was this a special punishment, just for her? She had no one to ask.

      Suddenly she felt a strange, overpowering sensation to push. She cried out in Polish, “My baby is coming. Hurry! He’s coming!”

      Suddenly three people in white surrounded her, shouting instructions she couldn’t understand. Gritting her teeth, she pushed till her breath squeezed out of her and tiny gray dots blurred her vision. Then again, and again, like a snarling, spitting animal tearing at its bindings, seeking to be free. “Frederic!” she cried out.

      Then with a gush of relief, the pain suddenly was gone, and over the din of voices she heard the lusty wail of her baby. She tried to hoist herself