Page 3 of A Mind of Her Own
The weather in Paris was as gray as Alex felt in the early months of 1918. Her studies were to come to an end in June, she was almost finished with school. It was a rite of passage her grandmother wanted to celebrate, but Alex didn’t want to acknowledge it. There was nothing she wanted to celebrate with both her parents dead. It seemed as though every doorway was draped in black. After nearly four years of war, everyone had lost someone. It wasn’t a time for celebration. She hadn’t applied to the Sorbonne yet. She planned to continue her studies, but she didn’t know when. All the boys she’d ever known were in the army, and many of them were dead. The country was decimated, along with all of Europe.
People were tired and malnourished. They looked lackluster, skeletal, and pale. If they got sick, there were no medicines to cure them. Almost all the available medical supplies had been sent to the front for the sick and wounded.
In early March, there were rumors of a wave of influenza, which was believed to have started in Spain. Some said it started in the United States first. No one was sure. It spread to Germany and to France rapidly, and was commonly referred to as the Spanish flu, since it had supposedly originated there. It was said to be highly contagious, which proved to be true. Later in March, there had been a number of deaths from it, and the newspapers reported it as an epidemic that was rapidly spreading from country to country. The first official case in the United States was reported on March fourth, in Kansas, on a military base.
Alex wasn’t worried about it, and didn’t care if she caught it. Her life had been so grim since her father’s death that dying of the flu would have seemed like a blessing. She awoke from her stupor and depression in mid-March when she heard her grandmother coughing late one night, and went to check on her. Her eyes were bright and her cheeks flushed, and when Alex touched her, her skin was blazing with fever.
“Are you all right, Mamie?” she asked her, worried. “Do you want me to call a doctor?” Alex felt a ripple of fear run up her spine. Marie-Thérèse didn’t look her age, but she was seventy-eight years old.
“There are no doctors,” she said in a raspy voice between fits of coughing. “They’re all at the front, and in military hospitals,” which Alex knew was true. “I’m fine.” But she didn’t look it. Alex made her a cup of tea with lemon and honey, and went back to bed with her door open, so she could hear her grandmother if she needed her or seemed worse.
Alex slept fitfully, waking every hour or so—she could hear her grandmother coughing for a long time, and then it stopped, and they both got some sleep. When she checked on her early in the morning, Marie-Thérèse seemed sicker. She went to the bathroom, holding onto the furniture as she went, and said she was dizzy and had a headache. They had some aspirin in their medical supplies and Alex gave it to her, but the fever didn’t abate, and an hour later, she had a massive nosebleed that frightened them both. When it stopped, she fell asleep.
Alex was in and out of her room all day, but there was no noticeable improvement by nightfall or the next day. Alex had read warnings in the press that the Spanish flu was particularly dangerous for young people and the elderly. She didn’t think of her grandmother as elderly, since she was so energetic and youthful for her age, but she hadn’t looked well recently. Neither of them had, ever since Tristan’s death. It had hit them both hard and demoralized them, but Alex had youth on her side. She didn’t try to protect herself from her grandmother’s flu. There was nothing she could do. The newspaper had said to wear a face covering in public, but hadn’t suggested wearing one at home. And living together in close quarters, if she was going to catch it, she would. She had already been exposed.
By the third day, Marie-Thérèse couldn’t get to the bathroom without Alex’s help, and her cough was worse. Her fever remained the same.
Not knowing what else to do, Alex went to find a doctor whose office she had seen in the next street. She knocked on the door and a nurse let her in. She said the doctor was away and would be back in a week. Alex offered to take Marie-Thérèse to the hospital, but she said she didn’t feel well enough to go.
“Should I get an ambulance, Mamie?” Alex asked her, feeling like a child again. She was scared. If her parents had been there, they would have known what to do, but Alex had no idea how to help her. None of the usual remedies were working to bring the fever down.
“Don’t be silly. I don’t need an ambulance, I’m not dying.” Alex hoped it was true, but she looked awful, and she had two nosebleeds that day.
On the fourth day, Marie-Thérèse seemed confused, and mistook Alex for her mother, and asked her when Tristan was coming home from the office. Alex ran to the pharmacy then, and explained to the pharmacist what was happening. He confirmed that it sounded like the Spanish flu. He told her to be careful, wash her hands frequently, and not to touch her grandmother or kiss her, but she already had. She wasn’t worried about herself, only Marie-Thérèse. The pharmacist confirmed that there was nothing she could do. She bought another bottle of aspirin, but it had had no effect so far, and it was the only medicine they had.
On the fifth day, Marie-Thérèse slept between coughing fits, and there was a rattle in her chest that Alex could hear plainly. She went back to the pharmacy, and he said it was almost certainly pneumonia. Marie-Thérèse hadn’t eaten all day, and wouldn’t drink the broth Alex warmed for her. She finally sipped a cup of tea, but she was rambling and vague, asked for Tristan again, and called Alex Victoria. She was clearly getting worse. Alex wanted to take her to the hospital, but Marie-Thérèse wouldn’t go. She felt too ill to go anywhere.
Alex sat up with her that night, and never slept. She watched her grandmother diligently, and she could almost see her fading away. After a particularly bad coughing fit, the rattle in her chest was markedly worse. Her breathing became labored then, and she slipped into unconsciousness as Alex watched in terror, sat next to her on the bed, and gently stroked her brow and her face, with tears running down her own cheeks.
“Mamie, don’t leave me…please…you’re all I have…I love you…” She gently kissed her cheek, as Marie-Thérèse gave a soft sigh, and exhaled her last breath. Alex sat staring at her, sobbing uncontrollably. She felt for a pulse and there was none. Her grandmother was dead.
Alex sat in the room with her for an hour, and knew what she had to do. She felt dazed and numb, as she put on a black dress and a black coat and walked to the embalmers that were a dozen blocks away. She told them what had happened, and filled out some papers. They had a doctor who worked with them, and they said he would come to fill out the death certificate when they took her away. The idea of her grandmother being taken away to be buried was terrifying. Alex had never felt so alone in her life.
She sat in the living room, and waited for the embalmers to arrive. They came in an hour, and she went to kiss her grandmother for the last time, and then they covered her and took her out on a litter carried by two men. The doctor signed the death certificate and gave Alex a copy. She was going to bury her grandmother at Père Lachaise with her mother. The mortician had told her that the new rule in the growing flu epidemic was that funeral services could last no longer than fifteen minutes and could be attended by no more than four people. Her grandmother was well liked, and had many friends, but there was no time to notify anyone, and she never thought to put a notice in the newspaper. It was all happening so quickly. Marie-Thérèse was to be buried the next day. It was like a nightmare from which Alex couldn’t wake.
Alex sat up all that night in the empty apartment thinking about her grandmother. She had no idea what to do now. She didn’t go to school. She didn’t tell anyone what had happened, except the parish priest, who agreed to perform the brief service at the cemetery the next day. He would barely have time to say the prayer for the dead and then they would have to leave.
Alex wore a simple black dress and coat to go to the cemetery, and a black hat of her mother’s that she had kept. The priest was there when she got to Père Lachaise. It was all over so quickly, there was no time for emotion. She had brought a bouquet of white roses with her, and left them next to the open grave, and she walked all the way back to the apartment in the gentle rain and was soaked when she got home. She stood in her grandmother’s bedroom, and tried to think of what to do next. She knew where her grandmother kept a supply of money in a locked drawer. There was a woman who usually came to clean three times a week and do laundry, but she had been ill recently, and Alex wondered if she had the flu. There was no telling where Marie-Thérèse had caught it and it didn’t matter now.
Alex went to the post office that afternoon and sent a message to her grandmother’s lawyer, who was a family friend. He would know what to do. And she sent a telegram to her grandfather in Illinois, telling him of Marie-Thérèse’s death. She thought he should know. He was her only living relative now.
The lawyer came to see her the next morning. She was surprised by what he said. Her grandmother had recently rewritten her will, after her son’s death. She left everything to Alex. She had had some money, not a great deal, but enough for Alex to live on for some time. And a year before, Alex had inherited what her father had. Her grandmother had put it in an account for her. She was by no means wealthy, but she had enough to support herself when she went to university. Everything in the apartment was hers too. Marie-Thérèse had owned the apartment, which belonged to Alex now, so she had a place to live. But she felt lost as she looked at the attorney.
“What do I do now?” She felt like an abandoned child. She had lost everyone. She was alone in the world.
“Do you have anyone you can live with? Your grandmother never said. You can’t stay here by yourself. You’re the only relative I’m aware of,” the lawyer said, feeling sorry for Alex. She was so young and looked so devastated.
“She was all I had,” Alex said, fighting back tears, trying to be brave.
“You can’t live alone in an apartment in a war. It’s not safe,” he said, concerned. But she had no other choice. “Do you go to school?” She nodded.
“I will finish in June.” She didn’t need to get a job, and she had no skills at her age, and so few respectable jobs were open to women, except menial, domestic ones. “I was going to go to university, but I haven’t applied yet.” She looked lost as she said it.
“Perhaps you should stay at a women’s residence, so you have some protection. Or hire a housekeeper to live with you, so you’re not alone.” She didn’t like the suggestion. The apartment was her home, and it was too small for a live-in employee. These were the darkest days of her life. The lawyer promised to give it some thought, and said he would need her to sign some papers, to transfer her grandmother’s bank accounts to Alex’s name. It was a very simple estate, and Alex was the youngest client he’d ever had. She thanked him when he left, and made a cup of tea. She had hardly eaten since her grandmother got ill eight days before. It had all happened so quickly. She felt a chill as she drank the tea, and started coughing that night, just as Marie-Thérèse had.
By the next morning she had a fever and a pounding headache. She took one of the aspirin she’d bought and it gave her some relief. She climbed into her bed, and slept for several hours. She was shaking with chills when she woke up, and her teeth were chattering. She was sure she had the Spanish flu, and hoped she would die. She didn’t want to live without her parents and grandmother. She didn’t care about university anymore. She hadn’t written in her journal in a week and didn’t even know where it was. She went back to bed, expecting to be worse in the morning, but when she woke up, the fever was gone. She still had the headache, but it was better. Her throat was sore, but it was no worse than a bad cold, or a mild flu. And the next day, she felt fine. She was sure she’d caught the Spanish flu from her grandmother, but in her case, it was over in three days. Even though she was very thin and malnourished from the shortage of food, she was young and strong. She sent a message to her school then, explaining that her grandmother had died, and she had been ill herself, and would be back in classes the following week.
A long telegram from her grandfather arrived that afternoon. He was very decisive, took charge of the situation, and told her what to do.
He told her that she couldn’t stay in Paris alone, that it wasn’t safe for a young girl her age to be living on her own in a war-torn country. He advised her to put the apartment up for sale, or rent it if she could, and to get an estate agent to help her. Her attorney would know one. He said to bring all the things that had sentimental value to her, and to come as soon as she could to Illinois. There was more than enough room in his house for her. He said they would discuss her academic plans when she arrived. She was to get a certificate from her school, explaining what academic level she had achieved in France, and a summary of her grades for the past year. She was to take a ship to New York, and from there a train to Chicago, where he would meet her. He emphasized what he said by telling her that her mother would want her to stay with him, and not remain in France alone, and he was sure her father would too.
Her grandfather expressed his sympathy for the loss of her grandmother, who was a charming woman he had enjoyed meeting on his visits to Paris. He told her to be careful not to catch the dreaded flu, and to observe all recommended cautionary measures. He assured her that he was eager for her to arrive, and to advise him of what ship she would be taking, so he could tell her what train she should take, and make the reservation. He asked if she needed him to wire her some money in order to pay for her passage and live on in the meantime. He assured her that she would be safe once she got to Illinois, and he would take care of her. He touched on all the necessary arrangements in the same practical, straightforward way her mother had done when she was alive. He reminded her of her mother, which made her smile. But Alex was capable too. She looked around the apartment, after she read the telegram, wondering what she should take with her. She was going to follow his advice. There were so many of her grandmother’s possessions that she loved. She and Marie-Thérèse had emptied her parents’ apartment when her father died, but neither Victoria nor Tristan had been collectors of sentimental objects, and had put all their attention and funds on their medical practice.
There were three small paintings of her grandmother’s that she loved, and a silver tea service that Marie-Thérèse used daily and which had belonged to her own grandmother. There were a number of things Alex wanted to keep, including her grandmother’s jewelry. Marie-Thérèse hadn’t had many pieces, but what she had was elegant and fine. And Alex had her mother’s string of pearls and her wedding band, which was all the jewelry Victoria had.
Her mind was racing as she thought of everything she had to do. She sent a message to the attorney about an estate agent, and went to her school the next day, to ask for the certificate her grandfather had requested, and a list of her grades for the year so far. She told the headmistress what she was doing, and the woman assured Alex that they would give her the necessary files for her next school. She only had a few months to finish in an advanced curriculum and she was at the top of her class. She said goodbye to her friends, and they cried when they hugged. She didn’t have many close friends. America seemed like it was part of another universe, and she wondered if she would ever see them again. It seemed unlikely, if she stayed in Illinois. She remembered how much Julien had wanted to go there one day, and now she was. She and his sister both cried when she left.
It took a week to pack everything she wanted in a dozen big boxes and two trunks. She asked one of her neighbors to store a small desk for her, and her grandmother’s dressing table, and she authorized the estate agent to sell the rest. He said he would sell it at auction and wire her the money when it sold. He was going to rent the apartment for her, which would give her an income every month. And the lawyer promised to wire the rest of her money to a bank in Illinois when she arrived. Alex gave him her grandfather’s name and address so he could contact her.
It took her three more weeks to organize everything and book passage on a ship. The SS La Touraine was still sailing to New York. It was one of the few ships still offering passenger service, and not being used for the war. She was well aware of the dangers, that the ship could be sunk by the Germans, but she wasn’t afraid of dying now. If she did, it was her destiny. She wore a hat of her grandmother’s as she left for the train that would take her to Bordeaux. The apartment was stripped by then. The auction house was picking up the furniture the next day, and there was nothing left that she wanted to keep. She had wired all the information to her grandfather, and he had made her a reservation on the train to Chicago. She had her school file in one of her trunks.
As she walked out the door, she realized it had been her birthday two days before, and she had forgotten it entirely in the rush of all she had to do. It meant nothing to her, with no one to celebrate it with her. She was eighteen now, an adult. She felt like one as she got into the carriage she had hired, with a truck to follow them, to take her to the station with all her boxes and trunks. Her grandfather had told her to book passage in first class. She had reserved the smallest cabin in Cabin Class, a new combination of first and second class. The ship carried one thousand and ninety passengers, had been entirely refurbished in 1902 after a fire, and had electric lighting throughout.
Alex got a last look at Paris, as the carriage rolled toward the Gare d’Austerlitz train station. She wasn’t sad leaving the city, she was sad for the life and the people she had lost. She wondered if she would ever come back. She was leaving so much behind, the people she had lost, the life she had loved, the childhood that was so suddenly over now. She hadn’t seen her grandfather for eight years, since before the war. She was a woman now, not a child.
The first part of the journey, on the train, took almost five hours, and the ship looked enormous to her when she saw it, with two funnels and four masts. It was specially equipped with stabilizers and was said to be unusually steady in rough seas, and very fast. She asked for the trunks to be sent to her cabin, and the boxes to go below. Her cabin was small but had a porthole so she could look out at the sea. She went up on deck so she could watch as the ship set sail and left the dock.
She touched the hat she was wearing, and thought of her grandmother. She could feel Marie-Thérèse wishing her well, and sending her blessing with her. Alex was leaving the war behind and taking all of her memories with her, of her parents and her grandmother, and Julien. As the boat horn sounded and the ship left the dock, she closed her eyes and she could see their faces, etched into her memory and her heart forever, and when she opened them again, they were heading out to sea, to her new life. She wondered if the ship would be sunk by the Germans or if they would reach New York safely. Whatever happened, she was ready to face it. Without knowing, her parents had prepared her to be strong and independent, and she would have to be now, and very brave. She left her childhood behind her as they sailed away, and she was an adult.