quickly!â the conductor called.
She still wouldnât move. Robert lifted her up bodily onto the car steps.
âRobert, you have to know, Iâmââ
âDonât worry about me!â he said. The conductor took her arm to steady her as the train gave a jolt and began to move. Robert smiled at her. âYou take care of yourself now.â
The wheels were turning, and the distance between them began to grow. âRobert, I love you!â she called out. âAnd Iâm pregnant!â
If sheâd leaned out and punched him in the jaw, she could hardly have stunned him more thoroughly. He stood watching the glittering silver train snaking its way into the distance, trailing its wake of diesel vapor and noise, Eleanorâs last words thumping over and over in his head in time with the clatter of the locomotive wheels. Iâm pregnant â Iâm pregnant â Her face shrank to a dot, then vanished; the train accelerated, and soon it was just a sliver on the horizon.
Weeks later, he could still hear the echoes, sitting in the cool quiet of the empty dining hall in the old consular building in Casablanca. Heâd come a long way since that parting â much of it sick and barely conscious. All the way, Eleanorâs confession had troubled him. She knew him well, and had guessed his feelings. When they flew up to Hamilton to collect their Liberator, Robert had been unable to concentrate, and had to ask Warren to take over the landing.
At first he had felt anger â an unreasoning annoyance, as if she had deliberately got herself pregnant for her own selfish reasons. They had talked about parenthood, and he knew that part of her desire fora baby was so that she would have a piece of him while he was gone. At the same time, he was aware of how selfish he was being. The toxic influence of his own father was at work, messing up his feelings in ways that he didnât understand, and wouldnât begin to understand for a good while yet. By the time they flew past the Golden Gate and touched down at Hamilton, his feelings had changed: his heart ached to the point of almost breaking at the knowledge of Eleanorâs love for him. But he still didnât feel that it was right to bring a baby into this world â a baby that, like him, might have to grow up without a father.
Recovered from his illness, and enjoying the pleasures of Casablanca, Robert was consumed by guilt, and finally put pen to paper. He wrote Eleanor a long letter describing his eventful journey â the first communication from him since that parting by the railroad track.
It wasnât received in the spirit it was intended. By this time, Eleanor had built up a head of anger of her own. She wasnât enjoying pregnancy one bit, and her anxiety about Robert was exacerbating the effects of chronic morning sickness. The letter might have been the first sheâd heard from him, but not the first sheâd heard of him. Not long before, she had received a letter from a nurse at the hospital at Dakar, who happened to be a Camp Hill, Pennsylvania, girl herself and had taken Robert under her wing. âMy name is Loretta,â she wrote, âand I am a nurse taking good care of your husband. He is recuperating here in Dakar, and will probably be well enough to continue his mission in a few days.â The fact that Robert made no mention of Loretta in his own missive caused Eleanor all manner of suspicion.
Sheâd had a hard time since they parted. Feeling insecure and alone, she had lugged her suitcases between trains in Chicago, and finally several blocks home to Hummel Avenue. No one offered to help her. No one had been at the station to greet her either; her father, mother, and brother were all dead.
As far as Eleanor could tell, Robert was being pampered by beautiful nurses and had forgotten all about her. She didnât know where he was going, so she couldnât write him yet. She
She still wouldnât move. Robert lifted her up bodily onto the car steps.
âRobert, you have to know, Iâmââ
âDonât worry about me!â he said. The conductor took her arm to steady her as the train gave a jolt and began to move. Robert smiled at her. âYou take care of yourself now.â
The wheels were turning, and the distance between them began to grow. âRobert, I love you!â she called out. âAnd Iâm pregnant!â
If sheâd leaned out and punched him in the jaw, she could hardly have stunned him more thoroughly. He stood watching the glittering silver train snaking its way into the distance, trailing its wake of diesel vapor and noise, Eleanorâs last words thumping over and over in his head in time with the clatter of the locomotive wheels. Iâm pregnant â Iâm pregnant â Her face shrank to a dot, then vanished; the train accelerated, and soon it was just a sliver on the horizon.
Weeks later, he could still hear the echoes, sitting in the cool quiet of the empty dining hall in the old consular building in Casablanca. Heâd come a long way since that parting â much of it sick and barely conscious. All the way, Eleanorâs confession had troubled him. She knew him well, and had guessed his feelings. When they flew up to Hamilton to collect their Liberator, Robert had been unable to concentrate, and had to ask Warren to take over the landing.
At first he had felt anger â an unreasoning annoyance, as if she had deliberately got herself pregnant for her own selfish reasons. They had talked about parenthood, and he knew that part of her desire fora baby was so that she would have a piece of him while he was gone. At the same time, he was aware of how selfish he was being. The toxic influence of his own father was at work, messing up his feelings in ways that he didnât understand, and wouldnât begin to understand for a good while yet. By the time they flew past the Golden Gate and touched down at Hamilton, his feelings had changed: his heart ached to the point of almost breaking at the knowledge of Eleanorâs love for him. But he still didnât feel that it was right to bring a baby into this world â a baby that, like him, might have to grow up without a father.
Recovered from his illness, and enjoying the pleasures of Casablanca, Robert was consumed by guilt, and finally put pen to paper. He wrote Eleanor a long letter describing his eventful journey â the first communication from him since that parting by the railroad track.
It wasnât received in the spirit it was intended. By this time, Eleanor had built up a head of anger of her own. She wasnât enjoying pregnancy one bit, and her anxiety about Robert was exacerbating the effects of chronic morning sickness. The letter might have been the first sheâd heard from him, but not the first sheâd heard of him. Not long before, she had received a letter from a nurse at the hospital at Dakar, who happened to be a Camp Hill, Pennsylvania, girl herself and had taken Robert under her wing. âMy name is Loretta,â she wrote, âand I am a nurse taking good care of your husband. He is recuperating here in Dakar, and will probably be well enough to continue his mission in a few days.â The fact that Robert made no mention of Loretta in his own missive caused Eleanor all manner of suspicion.
Sheâd had a hard time since they parted. Feeling insecure and alone, she had lugged her suitcases between trains in Chicago, and finally several blocks home to Hummel Avenue. No one offered to help her. No one had been at the station to greet her either; her father, mother, and brother were all dead.
As far as Eleanor could tell, Robert was being pampered by beautiful nurses and had forgotten all about her. She didnât know where he was going, so she couldnât write him yet. She
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