Fall on Your Knees by Ann-marie MacDonald

settled back into the gum. She made him a card to tell him she loved him. She wrote a funny poem about “the lost chord”. They put it behind them.

The First Solution
    The next night, Materia conceived Mercedes.
    To her own surprise, Materia began to look forward to this child, not even caring if it was a boy. She was Hebleh again and she liked it this time. It made her feel close to her own mother, expanding body, avalanche breasts, slow thighs. Her troubles went into remission.
    James still didn’t take her places, but he came alive again at night — she’s my wife, after all. Her dark body and soft mind allowed him to enjoy her in an uncomplicated way. Why did he ever look to her for conversation or mental stimulation? It was unfair of him. A man looks elsewhere for those things. James finally felt normal.
    He put on a little weight; she fed him, ran his nightly bath, washed his back, licked his ear and reached into the water. He let her. He was soothed. He had outrun the demon that had leapt up in him the day he hurt Kathleen.
    Materia tried to conceive in sorrow, telling herself that it was only to prevent a greater sin on her husband’s part that she acted the harlot with him, enticing him even when she was already pregnant. Lust in marriage is the same as adultery. Adultery’s a mortal sin. That’s in the Commandments. Materia prayed that God might overlook the impurity in her heart. For after all, her actions were correct.
    Mercedes is born late in 1912. Materia loves her. She doesn’t have to try, she just does, it’s a Joyful Mystery. Thank you Jesus, Mary and Joseph and all the saints. And God too.
    Materia doesn’t begrudge Mrs Luvovitz a third son, Ralph, two months younger than Mercedes; maybe they’ll grow up to marry each other.
    James doesn’t object or even comment when Materia gets Mercedes baptized by the priest at the Catholic church in nearby Lingan. She starts going to mass again, not just Sunday but every day. Holy water in the desert, she hadn’t known how thirsty she’d been. Materia lights candles and kneels to pray with Mercedes in her arms at the base of the beautiful eight-foot Mary. But Materia doesn’t look up. She looks straight into the ruby eyes of the grinning serpent dying under the Virgin’s foot.
    Materia offers it a sacrifice. She will play only at church, and only from the hymnal. Her one concession is Mrs Luvovitz’s Yiddish songbook, which is the least she can do for a friend who has given so much. It’s the same God, after all.
    Eleven months later, Mrs Luvovitz is on the spot again when Materia gives birth to Frances. Lucky thing, because Frances is set to walk out feet first. Mrs Luvovitz reaches in and turns her around. Not so much difference between a calf and a child. Frances is born with the caul. An especially good omen for an island child, being a charm against drowning.
    Frances looks a little starveling and she’s bald as a post. Materia figures it’s because she conceived too soon after Mercedes, the goodness in her womb hadn’t yet been replenished. And her milk isn’t as bountiful. All the more reason to love this one too.
    Frances is baptized at the Empire Theatre on Plummer Avenue. The temporary digs of the new Our Lady of Mount Carmel Catholic Church.
    Mercedes is a good baby, following everything closely with her brown eyes, sleeping when she ought, wanting to hold the cup and not spill a drop. Frances laughs at seven weeks.
    Along with Frances, the town is officially born in 1913. The boom town has a name now: New Waterford.
    James feels the normal pride of a man with a growing family. He works double shifts but that’s a small price to pay. Those two babies are the proof. His demon is so far behind him now, he can reflect upon it: he was overworked. He hit his daughter by mistake and got terribly upset. In the ensuing panic there was a physical accident. Meaningless. Hanged men get hard-ons, for heaven’s sake.
    Materia’s pregnant