Alden is well, and busy. There is such a need for him here.
And I have made friends. There is lots to do, for a small town, even for someone like me who won't join a bridge group or go to cocktail parties. There are good people in Branford.
Alden had me see a gynecologist in Portland, and the news was disappointing, I'm afraid. The same old tests that I had in Boston, and the same old results. The same "It is very unlikely, Mrs. Armstrong—" etc. The same "Have you considered adoption, Mrs. Armstrong?"
We have registered with an adoption agency, but they are just as dreary to listen to as the doctors. My lord, Tallie, the paper-pushing that goes on! They seem to forget sometimes that they're dealing with humans. And with babies. They call them "our placements." "'Our placements' have a very high percentage of success." Ho hum. I don't care about their placements and percentages; I just want a baby, for pete's sake. Alden is much more patient and understanding of all the bureaucratic nonsense, and he makes a good impression on them, I'm sure, but then they look at me and stroke their chins and I suspect that they are thinking "Hmmmm ... would one of our placements work with this crazy woman who wears jeans to an interview?"
And of course they cringed ... tastefully, of course ... when they asked about my family background. Turns out my education was what they call "unconventional." Can't imagine why! I thought having tutors come and go in Greece, France, Mexico, and Spain was great! Especially when they went, and left the three of us together and we all used to agonize over those schoolbooks and sometimes give up altogether. Remember when Stefan held a ceremonial Book-Burning of Algebra I when none of us could understand the fifth chapter?
Oh well. I wouldn't trade that for anything, but it is, apparently, making a "placement" difficult. In the meantime, I have left a small bedroom completely empty, waiting. I haven't given up hope, not at all.
But I would so like a child. A daughter, I confess. I daydream about holding her and singing some of those songs that you used to sing to me when I was small. Off-key, I might add.
Do come to visit. We could drink tea and sit by the fireplace and talk.
Much love,
Kay
June 10, 1960
Dearest Tallie,
Isn't it wonderful that we are living here, right on the way to Ox Island, so that there was no way you could not visit en route?
I loved having you here; so did Alden. It will take me a week to catch up on the lost sleep, but I have needed someone ... especially you ... to sit up with and talk to.
No, there is no new news from my visit to the agency. We have been officially approved, whatever that means ... I suspect, from the way the woman looks at me, that they have stamped HIGHLY SUSPECT on our papers, but they do say that we passed all the necessary procedures, inspections, whatever.
But that seems to mean nothing, because then they tell us about the WAITING LIST, in hushed voices. Seems there is a LONG WAITING LIST.
Maybe I will just turn the empty bedroom into something useful, like a sewing room, or a place to keep plants, and try to forget that I wanted to hang bright pictures on the walls, and look in at night to see a baby sleeping there.
Oh, dammit, Tallie. You know, I try to be cheerful about it, but I want a baby so badly. Remember, when I was married, I said we would have one right away, and then another every year until there was a houseful? And now we have a houseful of emptiness, and I am so sad. Alden is so good, and says "Wait, wait," very patiently, but how can you wait forever for something you want so much?
I'm sorry to whine. But you will understand.
Much love,
Kay
July 12, 1960
Dearest Tallie,
I don't know where to begin this letter. I have been sitting here in the kitchen drinking tea and smiling, all by myself. Pour yourself a cup of tea while you read this and then smile with me.
Alden has been told by a lawyer whom we know slightly that there is a possibility of our adopting a baby privately. Not just "a baby," but a real one that is already in the making, that already exists! It is to be born in the fall.
I haven't been able to sleep since we heard. Alden is as always much more circumspect. He is carefully considering all the pros and cons, as he puts it ... but I am quite, quite sure that we have already made the decision. He wants it as much as I do, and from what he was told, it won't be a surreptitious thing. All quite legal; just that we don't have to go through the long waiting period that the agency has been promising us.
Do you remember what it felt like to be waiting for your child to be born? This is no different from what it would be if I were pregnant. I am so excited ... so scared. I worry about whether the baby will be born safely, and be healthy. I lie awake at night and think of all the things that I have waited so long for ... to hold my own child, to teach it things, even to knit little sweaters, even though you know how undomestic I am!
I say "it" because I dont want to tempt fate, I suppose, but I feel very certain that it will be a little girl. Alden as usual pretends not to allow himself to be caught up by whims and emotions; he quotes statistics to point out that it is just as likely, more so actually, that it will be a boy. Then, last night, while we were having dinner, he suddenly smiled and said, "Let's name her for Tallie."
Will you like being a grandmother? Oh, how I wish Stefan were alive to share this with us all!
Much love,
Kay
August 29, 1960
Dearest Tallie,
Thank you, thank you for the wonderful surprise. When the package came, I couldn't imagine what it was ... knowing that there are no stores on the island ... and knowing that you wouldn't leave the island to go shopping, not even for an impending grandchild!
And there was my own childhood, packed so neatly into the box! That book of fairy tales in French; I remember your reading it to me ... where did we live then? I was so small; I can remember the fireplace, and that there were blue bowls on a table, and that you had gold earrings that I used to reach for when you held me on your lap, but I can't remember where it was.
And those funny pictures that Stefan used to draw for me. I had no idea you had kept them! I am having them framed to hang in the baby's room. Some of them are quite indecent by Branford, Maine, standards ... a nude Red Riding Hood ... imagine! I remember laughing and laughing at that. Good thing the agency lady is no longer stopping by to check out our standards!
What fun it will be to share all of those things with my own child. Oh, Tallie, it is so hard to wait. I am knitting the most terrible sweater; the sleeves are different lengths even though I have ripped one of them out twice and re-done it. But it gives me something to do while the time goes by.