Seasons of Her Life (13 page)

“I'm leaving in five days. Now, you can go to my sister and tell her all about it. That's your plan, isn't it? It isn't going to work. I've made up my mind and if you do anything to interfere, I'll hate you forever. And if you care about me like you say you do, then you should want to see me happy. Look, I don't care for shrimp salad, and cole slaw isn't on my favorite-food list. It would have been nice if you consulted me before ordering.” Ruby fished around in her purse for change and laid a dollar and ten cents on the table. “Good-bye, Andrew.”

“She dumped you, huh?” the gum-chewing waitress snickered. “You spit-and-polish marines are all alike. I could have told you she was going to do that the minute you ordered her food. I seen it in her face.” She slapped the check on the table and sashayed to her post.

Fall back and regroup, Andrew cautioned himself. He still had five days.

 

Ruby didn't know if she was angry or elated as she stepped onto the trolley and dropped in her token. She settled back and rode through two full stops before she hopped off and crossed the center island to wait for a trolley that would take her back to Sadie's.

She was impatient, tapping her foot on the hard concrete as her eyes scanned the knots of people out for an evening stroll. Somehow she had to find Andrew. She crossed her fingers the way she had when she was little and expecting the worst. What would she do if he was gone? He hadn't looked angry. On the contrary, he'd looked rather smug. And that could mean only one thing. He was going to go to her sister. Why would he do such a thing? Just to make trouble? She suspected he'd given her a real con job, telling her he considered her a prize, but it was nice to hear. Worth waiting for. And worth causing trouble for?

Ten minutes later Ruby smoothed her skirt and shook her shoulders to try to relax before she entered Sadie's. She decided to look into the window before she entered the crowded deli-bar unescorted. Her heart thumped crazily in her chest as she pressed her face up close to the frosted glass. Then her breath exploded in a loud hiss. Andrew was inside, laughing with three girls. Andrew chose that moment to lift his head. She swore she saw him mouth the words “Oh, shit” before she turned and ran. She hopped onto a trolley, bound for God only knew where. She dropped a third token, grabbed a transfer, and staggered to the back, where she sat next to an elderly man carrying on a conversation with himself. She joined in, muttering to herself. It wasn't until she reached Dupont Circle that she realized the man was conversing with his dead wife.

 

Andrew Blue's face was disdainful as he went through the cafeteria line at the Navy Annex. In his crisp marine uniform he stood out like a pimple on a debutante's nose. Not that he gave a damn. He was there on what he called a bullshit mission, and he could sling it with the best of his superiors. He knew he was being a real prick, but he didn't give a damn about that, either.

It was five minutes till noon, the hour when most secretaries took their lunch. He scanned the food trays and decided on ham and cheese and iced tea. He didn't want any messy lunch staring him in the face when he spoke to Amber Connors.

He'd gotten there just in time to grab a table for four all to himself. The swabbies were eyeing him and probably wondering what he was doing there. “Bullshit, men, pure bullshit,” he muttered, sinking his teeth into the dry-looking sandwich, his eyes glued to the entrance.

Three minutes later Amber Connors walked through the door with her friend ... Edna ... Ellie ... something like that. No, Ethel. That was it. He waited as they chose their lunch, and when they came toward his table, he stood, his bearing Marine Corps all the way. He knew the swabbies' eyes were on his six-foot-two frame, as well they should have been. By God, the Corps
did
turn out a superior individual.

“Miss Connors,” he said just loud enough for Amber to hear. He motioned to his table in the rapidly filling dining room. Amber's face broke into a simpering smile.

He was courtly and gracious when he pulled the chairs from the table and held them for the girls. “Fancy meeting you here. And I thought I was going to have to eat alone.”

“What brings you to the Annex, Andrew?” Amber asked, shaking her napkin free and settling it on her lap. Remembering her manners, she said, “You met Ethel, didn't you?”

“Yes, and the pleasure was all mine,” he said. His smile, warm and wide, seemed to embrace both girls. Amber preened, and Ethel flushed.

They talked about the weather, the seasons of the year, the approaching holidays. It was an awkward conversation, but Andrew adroitly managed to turn the conversation around to himself and Ruby.

“I really liked her and I'm going to miss her,” he said with just the right amount of regret in his voice.

Amber picked at her salad. “Oh, are you being transferred?” She didn't sound as though she cared one way or the other.

Andrew wagged his finger under her nose. “Aren't you the sly one.” Amber smiled, as if it were a compliment. Another hayseed. “No, I'm referring to Ruby. Are you standing up for her? Gee, did I say something wrong? You being her sister and all. I just assumed ... guess I put my foot in it, huh?”

Ethel stopped chewing.

“What are you talking about?” Amber demanded, laying her fork across the plate.

“C'mon, Miss Connors, don't put me on the spot like this. I'm sorry if I said something that ... look, I'm sorry,” he said, gathering up his plate and napkin. “I've got the general's staff car, and he's going to need it. Gotta go. It was real nice seeing you again. Guess we won't be seeing each other again.”

“Wait,” Amber said, panic in her voice. “Explain what you just said.”

“Look, I'm out of line here. With Ruby getting married tomorrow, I just thought you would ... Look, I really didn't mean to upset you. These things happen in families all the time.” He was babbling now, something he was real good at when it came to females. Girls loved to think they were throwing him for a loop. He smiled uneasily, shifting from one foot to the other. He noticed that Ethel still wasn't chewing. Amber's face grew red with anger.

Over his shoulder, sotto voce, Andrew said, “Give my best to Ruby and tell her I hope she's happy with that ... that ... Filipino, or whatever he is.”

“Filipino?” Amber gasped. “Come back here, Andrew,” she ordered tightly.

“Can't, Miss Connors, I'm late now. I hate to say this, but the gentleman in me has to. The best man won, and it wasn't me.”

Amber watched him leave, as did every other secretary in the dining room.

Ethel resumed chewing, but her eyes were lowered.

Amber took one deep breath and then another. Ruby was getting married tomorrow! It had to be some kind of joke, but the marine hadn't looked as if he was joking.

“My God!” was all she could say.

“Wouldn't Ruby—”

“No, she wouldn't,” Amber snapped. “She was always a sneak. She must be planning on running off. Right under my nose! I have to go now, Ethel. I have to call home. No, I can't do that, either. My father won't be home till four o'clock, and I can't tell my mother something like this.”

“Amber, wait,” Ethel pleaded. “Why do you have to tell them? Obviously, Ruby is trying to keep it a secret. If she's in love, why can't you let her be happy? If she was my sister, I wouldn't tell. I think you should mind your own business.”

“Ruby is my business,” Amber spat out.

“Not really. She's doing just fine on her own. I remember when she got here in June. She was like both of us when we arrived. Now she has a better job than both of us put together. She's going to school at night. She's got some nice clothes and ... Amber, she's trying to be happy like the rest of us.”

Amber pushed her tray away. “You don't understand, Ethel. My father—”

“I've pretty much figured it out about him on my own. You're over twenty-one now, and there's nothing he can do to you. Before you decide to fink on Ruby, you better look at what you're doing yourself. Nangi is ... well, you know what he is. You can't be this unfair.” Ethel stuck a forkful of lettuce in her mouth and chewed methodically, but her eyes remained on Amber. “Forget what this Andrew Blue said.”

Amber leaned back in her chair. Nobody wanted to hurt Ruby. Why was that? If she listened to Ethel, she would be defying her father. He would hate her, blame her. Probably disown her. In her mind she wasn't sure if her father didn't hate her already, the way he hated Ruby, and her mother, and probably Opal, too. Maybe he hated all women. Damn, how had Ruby managed to pull this off? Without Andrew she still wouldn't know. Part of her had to admire her sister's deviousness and subterfuge. And there was something else to consider. If her sister really did run off and get married, she would be someone else's problem from now on.

Amber gathered up her tray and smiled down at her friend, her
only
friend. “Andrew who?”

Ethel laughed and followed her from the dining room.

With the mail clutched tightly in her fist and her book bag
thumping against her slender thighs, Opal Connors raced to her grandmother's after school. Ohhh, she could hardly wait to read her sister's letter. Her grandmother had gotten one as well. She would be so happy to hear from Ruby.

Her mood sobered. She should write to Ruby. She should tell Ruby about how hard it was becoming for their grandmother to breathe. She should tell her that the doctor came by every other day, sometimes every day, and about all the pills she had to take. Her uncle Hank always looked scared now when he looked at his mother, and Uncle John stayed real close to home. They hardly ever left the house these days.

Her own routine had changed too. Every day before school, she would skip over to the little fieldstone house to pick up the grocery list to drop off at the company store. She'd pick up the groceries and lug them home on her lunch hour, fix her grandmother a sandwich or a bowl of soup, and then go back to school.

After school she would pick up the mail from the box at the post office, return to the little house, start supper, do a few odd chores, and then run home to do her own chores. She'd return again after supper to do the dishes for her grandmother and fold the laundry. She was doing many of the things Ruby used to do. Ruby had also ironed, though, and she had scrubbed and hung out laundry. In the summer she had even mowed the lawn if her uncles worked double shifts. Opal wondered how her sister did it all.

Opal was always so tired and cranky, but maybe that was because she was keeping the state of her grandmother's health from her sister. Keeping secrets made her dizzy. She wished she could complain to someone about how tired she was. She wished she had time to jump rope and play marbles and jacks with the other kids.

Opal was breathless when she banged the kitchen screen door. “I'm here, Bubba, and there's a letter from Ruby. Bubbaaaaa.”

“Shhh, Opal,” Mrs. Matia, her grandmother's neighbor, said, placing her index finger to her lips. “Your grandmother is in bed. She ... your grandmother's had a stroke.”

“What's a stroke?”

“Why it's a ... it's not important for you to know. She's very sick, Opal, so you should go home now and don't caterwaul like that again. You hear me, Opal?”

“Yes, ma'am,” Opal whispered. “Is my grandmother going to die?”

“More than likely,” Mrs. Matia said briskly. “You best tell your ma and pa. Go on now.”

Opal looked at the letters in her hand. Should she leave them for her uncles? Or should she take them with her so she could read them tonight in her room? Opal waged a battle with herself until her forehead beaded with sweat. She
wanted
to read the letters. She decided she would keep her own and leave her grandmother's.

“Mrs. Matia, will you take this letter to my grandmother's room? My uncles will read it to her later. Ruby's letters always make Bubba feel better.”

“I'll take it up and you tell your pa it isn't right for neighbors to be seeing to a person's own mother. You tell him to send your ma over here. I have my own family to take care of. Mind me, Opal, and do as I say.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Opal said, stuffing Ruby's letter into her history book.

Tears were dribbling down Opal's cheeks when she came to the monument works. She'd never stopped there, not once, neither had Ruby or Amber. She climbed the two steps that led to the front office of Mr. Riley's business. No one was there. Hesitantly, she pushed at the door leading to a cavernous room beyond. Sounds of chisels hitting stone grated on her ears.

Opal stared at her father's broad back and muscular arms as he hammered his chisel into a large piece of marble. Would he do Bubba's stone?

She waited for a lull of sound and said “Pop” in a squeaky voice. George Connors turned, his eyes full of something that scared Opal half to death. “Mrs. Matia said I should tell you ... Bubba had a ... a stroke and she's most likely to die. She said to tell you it isn't right for neighbors to take care of Bubba and you should send Mom over.” Opal turned and ran. She knew she'd get whipped for daring to enter her father's place of work, but now she didn't care because later she would have Ruby's letter to read. She could read it all night long, over and over.

Opal cut through the backyards and ran headlong into Grace Zachary, who was pulling weeds from her flower border.

“Whoa, Opal.” She laughed. “Oh, honey, what's the matter?” she asked as she noticed the tears falling down the little girl's cheeks.

Opal blurted out the past hour's happening, ending with “I know he's going to whip me. Mrs. Matia said to do it. My pop always said you have to mind your elders. It was important to tell him, wasn't it, Mrs. Zachary?”

“Of course,” Grace crooned, gathering the little girl in her arms. “Look, sweetie, I know this isn't going to sound ... I mean you might not understand, but someday you will. Nothing is forever. Pretty soon you'll be as big as Ruby, and you'll go away. In the meantime you have to make the best of things. If you ever need someone to talk to, come right on over. Scoot now, go in the back door and you can be up in your room when your pa gets to the house. Hurry, Opal,” Grace said anxiously.

Wiping her eyes, Opal ran.

 

Opal felt like a trapped animal as she crouched at the top of the steps. Was she going to get a whipping or not? If she was, she wished her father would do it and get it over with. He should have come after her by now, but maybe her grandmother's stroke was worrying him. She made a face. Nothing worried her father.

She strained to hear her parents' voices. She wished her mother would speak louder. All she could detect from her father's voice was anger. If that was the case, then her mother wasn't talking at all.

Suddenly the voices were nearer, in the hall. They were heading for the stairs. Opal inched her way into her room on her backside so as not to make a sound. She heard her mother say, “I'll change my dress.”

“No need for that. A dying woman isn't going to care what you're wearing. You walk fast, woman, before that busybody starts telling tales about us.”

Opal hunkered down over her history book. Wasn't he going? Bubba was his mother.

“If ... if your mother should ask ... what should I say, George?”

“She won't be doing any asking,” George said firmly. “You see if you can find that ring before my brothers get home. This is the perfect time to search for it. There's no one to stop you. I don't expect you to come back empty-handed.”

They were on the steps now. Why had they come upstairs? Opal wondered. Of course. Her mother had come up for her shoes. At this time of day her feet were always swollen and pink. Opal knew it must have been painful to squeeze her shoes on, and now she had to walk all the way over to her grandmother's. She wanted to cry for her mother, but Ruby had said not to cry. No, she had said not to
let them see you cry
, but when she remembered that, she didn't feel like crying anymore. All she felt was relief that she didn't get a whipping.

Opal ran to the window and saw her father striding down the street, way ahead of her mother, who was walking slowly, almost limping. He wasn't going to Bubba's house, he was going back to Riley's Monument Works.

A delighted giggle burst from Opal's mouth. She danced around her room. She was all alone in the house for the first time in her life. She could do anything she wanted, say anything she wanted, even cuss if she wanted to. Not that she would. She realized in dismay that there wasn't a thing she wanted to do in
this
house. Not a single thing except to read Ruby's letter and her library book. Maybe she'd answer the letter, too, but where would she get a stamp? Her grandmother had always provided the stamps. Maybe Mrs. Zachary would lend her one.

 

Mary Cozinsky knew she was dying. What she couldn't understand was why it was taking so long. She wanted to get on with it and join Mikel. She had so much to tell him. While she couldn't talk now, she knew she'd be able to talk once she got to heaven. God would see to that.

It was so hard to breathe, and she knew there was something wrong with the left side of her face and neck. She couldn't move her left arm or leg. It was time to let go, to leave this earth. She wouldn't be sorry to go. If she had any regret, it would be that she wouldn't see Ruby and Opal again. Opal had been here today, but she hadn't come upstairs. Adelaide Matia had seen to that, the old sour face.

She had no idea what time it was. Her vision was so blurred she could barely see, not that there was anything to look at. She was alone. The doctor had come and gone, and her sons would be here before long. They would call her daughters, and they would come, too. Ruby wouldn't come, though. She was never going to see Ruby again.

Now what had she been thinking? There was something wrong with her brain. One minute she could think clearly and the next she couldn't.

There was noise in the room. Her breathing. No, steps. The doctor then or Adelaide Matia. The voice, though, didn't belong to Adelaide but to ... dear God, Irma, her daughter-in-law. She was babbling something Mary didn't want to hear, not from Irma, not from George. Was George in the room? She didn't want George in her room. George who? Irma who? She was choking, trying to cough.

“Let me help you,” a gentle voice said. Strong hands tried to pull her upright, to brace the pillows behind her head. Who was it?

“That should help you a little. I would have come sooner, but I didn't know;” the gentle voice was saying. “They shouldn't have left you here by yourself. What kind of doctor would leave you like this?”

Mary felt something cool on her face. She sensed a certain trembling, agitation, in the soft ministrations. The pain in her chest was like the heat of a branding iron. It wouldn't go away. If only she could see ... the gentle voice was whispering now. Again she sensed movement, the covers being straightened, the coolness again. “I'm sure your daughters will be here before long. Hank and John will come, too.”

 

Irma wished then that she'd spent more time with George's mother, but there was no time in her day for a trip over here, and George ... with his estrangement, she knew she wasn't welcome. She liked Mary Cozinsky even though she knew the old lady thought her weak and ineffectual. Amber told her once that her mother-in-law called her a doormat. She was, she couldn't argue the point. She was worse, she was practically a slave to her husband. To be otherwise would incur his wrath, and she'd had to experience that only three times never to let it happen again. He'd dragged her to the cellar and beat her unconscious and she couldn't even remember why, what she'd done to warrant such a vicious attack. He'd left her there with her neatly lined jars of pickles and peaches. She remembered coming to with the smell of coal dust in her nostrils. She was lying on the earthen floor in the root cellar, her clothes torn and ragged. He'd beaten her with his wide three-inch work belt, the buckle gouging her back, her breasts, her thighs. All places where it wouldn't show. What could she have done that was so terrible? She should have gone to a doctor, knew she needed a doctor, but then the whole town would have known what happened. The beating was terrible, but what was worse was having to sleep that same night with the man who beat her. Amber was five, Ruby two that day, neither one in school.

That night, long after George had emptied himself into her, she realized he was capable of beating her children senseless. Whatever she had to do, whatever she had to become to prevent that from happening, she would. And, of course, she prayed, daily, hourly, as she went about her housework. She'd shed enough tears to form a lake, but nothing changed. Pure and simple, she was afraid, afraid of showing affection to her children, for if she did, George would ... she didn't know what he would do, but he would do something. Kill them maybe. She couldn't risk the lives of her little jewels. How she loved them. They were more precious than the czarina's ring she was supposed to be searching for. Well, she wasn't going to do it. She wouldn't steal from a dying woman. Not for George, not even for her children. And if she had to suffer a beating, she would.

Irma pulled her chair closer to the bed and positioned it so she could see the hallway through the open door. She reached for her mother-in-law's hand and started to talk, not knowing, not caring if the old lady could hear her or not. She was finally going to purge herself. She was realistic enough to know it would help for the moment, but as soon as she went home, everything would be the same.

Mary lay helpless, listening to the garbled words that made no sense to her. All she heard was sound, but she was still aware of the gentleness.