Tessa McDermid - Family Stories (12 page)

"If I never see you, what does a house matter?" she asked him one night.

His eyes were dark as he looked at her. "Marian, this is for both of us. I want your father to see that I can provide for you."

"I don't care about that. Don't I matter more than my father?" She'd written to her parents, informing them that she was married. Her mother had replied with a short note, thankful that she was a respectable woman, but disappointed in the manner of the wedding. Her father had not been mentioned at al .

Frank didn't say anything. And when he tried to hug her, she turned away, unwilling to release her hurt feelings.

The little house was quiet during those days. Laughter seldom echoed around the walls and Marian was eager to leave each morning.

One bright September afternoon, she sat on the stoop, trying to catch any breeze that might blow away the unseasonably hot weather. The thick woolen child's dress she was mending would be warm in the upcoming winter, but now its weight added to the heat. She grateful y put the dress aside when Clara came into view.

Clara picked up the tiny dress "Do you have news for us already?"

Marian laughed and then sobered. Her lonely nights mocked her. "No, my landlady keeps me busy. I do mending for a committee she's on."

"Oh, the Women for Women Group."

Marian nodded. "Wel , don't tel Mother," Clara said. "She believes it's unhealthy. Al those women need, she says, is a husband."

"I'm sure they'd like to have theirs back," Marian snapped. "Unfortunately, most of them died in the war or disappeared. And there aren't that many men around now. Not that a husband is a woman's answer to happiness."

"Oh?" Clara's eyebrows went up.

"I mean—" Marian stopped in consternation. "I mean, a woman has to be able to care for herself, not rely on a man..."

"Are you al right?" Clara asked quietly.

Marian paused. How could she tel Frank's unmarried sister the true problem? Even though Clara was older, Marian had more experience.

"Frank doesn't talk to me much," Marian said. "He comes home from work, eats dinner, goes to sleep. He's too tired for anything."

"Anything?" Clara echoed.

Marian couldn't face Clara. She could feel that her skin was probably brick-red. She shifted on the step as a mosquito buzzed past her ear.

"I may not be married, but I do know about men and women," Clara final y said.

Marian turned to her sister-in-law. "I didn't mean to be rude, Clara. It's just that I'm not used to talking about this."

El ie, Mrs. Sul ivan's maid, came out of the house and waved at them. She carried a basket of laundry to the line and began careful y pinning up towels and sheets. Children could be heard running down the al ey, home from school. Clara sat silent.

Marian made a decision. She had to tel someone. And maybe Clara had some ideas. "I don't know what to do. I make supper before Frank comes home and I'm waiting when he walks in the door. He sits down, gobbles his food and practical y fal s into bed. Before I've even cleared the table and washed the dishes, he's asleep. And he wakes up and goes to work before dawn."

"Don't do the dishes."

Marian stared at her sister-in-law. "Leave them on the table?" The one night she'd done that, she had awakened the next morning, appal ed at the mess. Her mother had never left the dishes until morning and she was certain Mrs. Robertson was the same sort of housekeeper.

Clara nodded. "What's more important, a clean house or your husband? What would happen if you got up in the morning and did the dishes then? Or got up after Frank went to sleep? Sounds as if your working in the kitchen doesn't bother him or wake him up."

Marian could only frown, trying to readjust a lifetime of teaching. "But, Clara, if I don't do the dishes..."

"What?" Clara interrupted. "Wil you be a loose woman if you leave the dishes to go to bed with your husband? I wouldn't say so. And I'm sure if you asked Frank, he'd agree with me."

She couldn't imagine asking Frank. In the early days, they'd discussed so many things but except for his one speech about how much he desired her body, they'd never talked about lovemaking.

Clara changed the subject then, asking about the committee's work. After she'd gone home, Marian continued to sit on the stoop, watching El ie take down the laundry, shaking each piece before neatly folding it and placing it in the basket. That simple, ordinary act snapped her to attention.

She went into the apartment, the dress in the basket Mrs. Sul ivan had provided. She set the table and made a salad and sandwiches. She put tomorrow's breakfast plates in a stack by the sink. After Frank went to sleep, she'd get up and do the supper dishes. Then she'd place the breakfast ones on the table.

Frank flopped onto the bed when he came in the door, his hand over his eyes. Marian bent down and slipped off his shoes, rubbing his feet. His hand dropped to her hair.

"What a day, honey. But I did make two sales so we can pay the rent. I've also got some grocery money for you."

He stretched and sat up, his hand stil tangled in her hair. "You are paying Dad for the groceries, aren't you?"

"Of course." And it was true. Except for that first gift, she'd insisted on paying. "I know how you feel about charity."

He held her against him. "It's not just charity, Marian. It's being beholden to them. We can take care of ourselves."

Her evening was not going as planned. She didn't want to discuss his parents. She stood up. "Come on, let's eat supper. The salad wil wilt if we let it sit any longer."

He didn't talk as they ate. She kept the silence fil ed by chatting about Clara's visit and listing several upcoming town activities. He responded with grunts and sighs.

After supper, he closed the curtains and went into the bedroom alcove. He undressed, folding each item of clothing neatly before placing it on a wooden chair near the bed. Just like El ie folded the laundry, Marian noticed.

She didn't move. She considered Clara's advice and tried to get up from her chair. The dishes waited on the table, taunting her. When she heard the creak of the bed, she put her head down and let the tears come.

Frank was by her side instantly. "Marian, honey, what's the matter?"

The tears flowed faster. He cradled her in his arms, her face pressed against his bare skin. The feel of his chest under her cheek made her sob in sadness and then exasperation. When his hand caressed her neck, she twisted away, putting several feet between them.

"What's the matter?" Her voice wobbled, and she swallowed, determined to tel him exactly how she felt. "For the last three weeks, you've come home, eaten your supper and fal en into bed. Have you forgotten you're married? Don't you care about your wife? About me?"

She was shouting, pacing around the room. She brushed at the tears stil fal ing, irritated by her lack of control.

The urge to open the door and storm down the steps, into the street, away from these confusing emotions, was overwhelming.

"Marian, I'm tired. I work al day." His voice was patient, like that of a parent consoling a child, which irritated her more.

"Did your father just come home from work and col apse? Or even mine? How do you think we got here? Or your sisters?"

His face creased in angry lines. "What are you talking about? I've never heard you talk like this."

"You haven't heard me talk much at al , Frank. Not about anything important. I chatter away about mundane events of the day and you pretend to listen while you bolt down your supper. I'm not sure we should even have gotten married. We know hardly anything about each other."

She couldn't breathe. She couldn't stop the angry words. It was as if a huge dam had burst inside her and al the aches and misery of the last few weeks were flooding out, threatening to drown them both. She wanted him to hold her, to dry her tears, to make the hurt go away.

He was zipping his pants, his shirt already buttoned. "What are you doing?" she asked, frightened. When had he put on his clothes?

"I need some air. I'm going for a walk."

He left the room, the door clicking shut behind him. She stared at it, waiting for him to come back. But the door remained firmly closed and the night sounds crowded around her.

She did the dishes, trying to ignore the ugly things she'd said. But her words seemed to tumble around the room, as if they'd taken on a life of their own. She set the table for breakfast, ran a rag over the dustless furniture, straightened the cupboards. When she could stand the empty room no longer, she flung open the door and stepped outside.

And almost tripped over Frank. She stopped inches away from him. He didn't raise his head and she kept stil , afraid her voice would crack or those hateful words would come spewing out again.

"Marian, I'm sorry about what I said."

She knelt beside him. Covering his face with kisses, she said, "Frank, I'm so sorry. I was mean. You had a hard day at work and I shouldn't have talked like that."

He gathered her onto his lap, her feet dangling over the side of the steps. "No, honey, 1 should've been more considerate. You're here alone al day—and then I don't even talk to you at night."

"It's not just the talking," she began shyly.

He kissed her lips and let his mouth trail down the open neck of her blouse. "I've been a fool," he said huskily."

Imagine wanting to sleep more than this."

When he began to unbutton her blouse, she moaned. A light came on in the house across the way, and she wriggled in his arms but he held her fast. "We need to go in, Frank. What if Mrs. Sul ivan comes out?"

"She'd see that Frank Robertson was making amends for his foolish behavior." He popped the last button out of its hole and pul ed the material apart.

The evening breeze whisked over her breasts. "Frank!" She pushed out of his lap and stood up. Then, grinning, she reached down, tugging him to his feet. "Come on. It's late and you need to go to bed." Her hand in his, she led him into their apartment and shut the door.

Chapter 8

A new pattern began. Frank would come home from work and she'd be waiting for him. They would crawl into bed and make love. She would then get up and bring their supper to the bed, where they'd eat and talk about their day's activities. They were becoming friends.

Days turned into weeks. Marian heard talk about trouble in the financial world but she didn't understand much of it. When Frank came home without a sale, Mrs. Sul ivan told them not to worry about the rent. Marian didn't.

She had a new concern to occupy her time.

She had not had a period for two months. So far, she could fit into al her clothes. However, if she was pregnant, she'd only be a few months along. She hadn't experienced any queasiness yet or any of the other symptoms the women at the committee meetings mentioned, but from their talk, she knew each woman was different.

She stil hadn't told Frank when he came home early one day, a Thursday in late October. She had decided not to go to Mrs.Sul ivan's house for the regular meeting and was resting on the bed when Frank walked in the door.

She scrambled to her feet, smoothing down her hair. Frank sat at the kitchen table, his hands folded on the wooden surface. His silence worried her. Not since their argument had he been so serious.

"What's the matter, Frank?" She slid into a chair opposite him.

His eyes were dark and hol ow. "Marian, the stock market crashed. Businesses are failing al over the country and the banks are closed. You can't get your money out. Not that we have much in there but it's affecting everyone. Joe said not to worry and then closed up shop early. I didn't know what else to do so I came home."

Marian thought of their tiny savings, tucked away in her slip drawer. Every paycheck, Frank peeled off a few bil s, enough for their household expenses and a few dol ars for savings. He had asked her to open a saving?

account at the bank, but she hadn't liked someone else having their money. Now she got up and went to the drawer.

He ignored the can she tried to hand him. She final y took off the lid to show him the rol ed-up wads of bil s.

"I never opened an account, Frank. Don't yel at me, but I didn't want someone else taking care of our money.

Not after you worked so hard for it."

He stared at her, then tipped the can over, pouring the bil s and coins onto the table. Marian stood there, unsure of his emotions, as he counted the money.

He hugged her around the knees. "I should be mad at you, honey, but you've saved us. We can live on this until things are okay again. Thank goodness you can be so stubborn."

His mood tempted her to tel him about the baby, but a knock sounded at the door. Opening it, she was surprised to see Clara.

"We need Frank. Right now."

No questions were asked as they ran down the street. Marian struggled to keep up with them. When Clara came back for her, Marian motioned her on. "I'll get there. Just hurry." Something awful had happened; she could tel by Clara's face.

People stood on the street corners, talking. Businesses were closed, even though it was only midafternoon.

Marian weaved through the crowds, hurrying to the Robertsons' house.

The front door was open and Marian ran in. Rebecca sat in the front parlor, her eyes wide, her arms around her bent knees. Marian heard a commotion down the hal but she couldn't abandon the little girl sitting alone.

She sat down next to her.

"Honey, are you al right?"

Rebecca looked around at Marian's words, her eyes unfocused. "Daddy? What's the matter with Daddy?"

Before Marian could say anything, Frank appeared in the doorway. He gestured to her, and Marian left Rebecca, casting a worried glance over her shoulder before turning to Frank.

"I don't understand it al yet, but my father seems to have lost the business and the house."

Marian gasped; she felt her muscles dissolve. Frank caught her as she sank to the floor.