Chapter 25 Adelaide
adelaide
After my nap, I found Hope packing up a drawer of saucers in the dining room, her bottom lip caught in her teeth, her eyes dark.
I rested on my walker and studied her. “You look like something is weighing on you. Have I scandalized you with my tales?”
“Oh, no, Gran.” She straightened and gave me a big smile, but her eyes still looked troubled.
“Actually, I just got some good news. I just got off the phone with the biggest art consulting firm in Chicago. One of their major clients remembered me because I advised her not to buy a piece of art from Kurt, and she recommended me to be an associate.”
“How wonderful, dear!”
Hope nodded and smiled, but the smile still didn’t reach her eyes. “It’s a terrific opportunity. I’ll get a great salary and full benefits, and travel to art shows all over the world.”
What I would have given for such an opportunity as a single, young woman! “Oh, how fabulous! Do you need to go back right now for an interview?”
“No. They said the job was mine if I wanted it. I said yes, of course. I’ll start in June.” There was that funny smile again. It was hard to tell because I still see two of everything, but it sure didn’t seem to come from the inside. She seemed more anxious than joyful.
“But?”
“But, what?”
“Well, I have to say, you don’t seem all that thrilled to have just landed the job of a lifetime.”
“I am! Of course I am. It’s wonderful. It’s just so . . . unexpected. I think I need time to process it.”
“Maybe you should take a walk or go down to the coffee shop.” I’d been glad to hear that Hope was forming a friendship with Kirsten.
“Maybe later. Right now, I’d rather get back to your closet.”
She wanted to postpone thinking about it. It was a sentiment I could relate to all too well. I thought about warning her about the dangers of avoiding things. On the other hand, her news was recent, and sometimes a little time helps us see things more clearly.
“I can’t wait to hear more of your story,” she said.
And I needed to get on with it. I nodded and let her help me back to my bedroom, where I settled in my rocker. “Pull out that dark blue dress on the left.”
“This one?” She lifted a navy wool, a dress I’d originally bought for my great-grandfather’s funeral when I was seventeen.
I nodded. “That’s the dress I was wearing when Charlie and I returned to Wedding Tree after our honeymoon.”
“How long was your honeymoon?”
“Five days.” I closed my eyes and shifted into storytelling mode.
1943
They were five of the longest days of my life. I’d been grieving Joe, fighting near-constant nausea, and dealing with Charlie’s almost pathological lovesickness.
I felt—and God help me for this, because I loved Charlie on so many levels—like a hostage.
Oh, I knew I wasn’t; I’d entered into the marriage completely of my own volition—but still.
He had the right to paw me, to kiss me, to touch me, to look at me anywhere and anytime, and I didn’t have the right to tell him no.
I’d signed up for this. It struck me that marrying Charlie was a lot like joining the service; I would do my duty, even if it killed me.
And there were times I felt like it might.
Oh, he was very gentle and sweet and considerate, but he was overeager and inept and desperately anxious to please, and his anxiety .
. . well, it kind of repelled me, which made me feel ungrateful and monstrous.
Charlie was doing me and the baby a favor, I reminded myself.
The constant lump in my throat that threatened to gag me was morning sickness and grief, but it was hard not to think it was revulsion at Charlie.
On the fifth day, we went back to New Orleans. We stopped by Lucille’s house, gathered up my belongings, then swung by the newspaper so I could turn in my resignation. I had wanted to stay and work until Charlie found us a place to live in Wedding Tree, but he wouldn’t hear of it.
“No.” His voice had been adamant. “We’ll go back and live with my parents.”
He insisted on accompanying me to the paper to turn in my resignation. It was our first fight, and it was a doozy.
“This job is the only thing in my life that was all mine,” I told him. “The only thing that I made happen all on my own, the only thing that really, truly belonged to me, just me, and I want to leave it on those terms.”
He thought I was ashamed of him, of his gimpy leg. I told him not to be ridiculous. He wanted to know if there were other men at the paper that I’d been involved with. I glared at him.
“What kind of girl do you think I am?”
“Frankly, I’m not so sure,” he’d snapped. “I never would have thought that you were the kind of girl to find herself in this position.”
That stung, but the truth was, I’d never thought so, either. And here I was.
“If it’s so damned important to you, come on,” I’d told him. “But understand this, Charlie: I will never get over resenting you for it.”
To his credit, he acquiesced. I went in and met with Thomas while he paced the sidewalk outside. I hugged people good-bye. I cried. I gathered up my things. I went in the darkroom for the last time.
Thomas took me aside. “Is he treating you well?”
“Yes, of course. Why would you ask?”
“Well, it’s none of my business, but you don’t look like a bride should look.” He looked down and busied himself flecking crumbs off that day’s sweater vest.
I realized then that I needed to step up my game or I wouldn’t be able to pull this off once we got back home. It was important for my baby’s future that everyone think I was happy so they wouldn’t suspect Charlie wasn’t the father. “I’m fine. I’ve just got a little bug, that’s all.”
He patted my arm. “We wish you the best, Adelaide. You did a splendid job. Never expected a woman to take such good photos. You’re just as good—actually, you’re better—than most of the men working here.”
· · ·
Hope laughed, pulling me back to the moment. “He actually said that?”
I grinned. “It must sound silly to you, but back then, it was the highest compliment I could get. I walked out of there feeling ten feet tall.”
Until I saw Charlie, waiting on a bench on the outside sidewalk.
“Go on with your story,” Hope urged.
1943
It was evening when our bus pulled into Wedding Tree. Both sets of parents were waiting at the station, and they threw rice as we disembarked.
My mother’s face was positively aglow. “I swear, Adelaide, I don’t know whether to hug you or spank you! Don’t you know I’ve been looking forward to your wedding since you and Charlie were both in diapers?”
“And, Charlie, my only child!” his mother cried.
“We didn’t feel like making a big fuss,” Charlie said. “We just wanted to be together.”
I smiled throughout, but it was tough. We went to my parents’ home, where my mother had prepared a small wedding cake, and half the town showed up to wish us well.
My father took me aside as the evening wore on.
“Are you all right?”
“Yes, Father.”
“I have to say, this comes as a quite a surprise—especially considering the things you said last time you were home.”
I swallowed hard. Part of me wanted to tell him the truth, but a bigger part knew it would just break his heart.
Besides, apparently Joe hadn’t gotten around to writing him a letter.
Marge had flat out told me that Joe might have lost the matrimonial urge once he got a little time and distance.
According to her, it was more common than not for a woman to think a relationship was more serious than it was, and for men to get cold feet.
In any event, I needed everyone to think the baby was Charlie’s. “That . . . didn’t work out. And I realized I’ve always loved Charlie.”
“I see.”
I didn’t think he did, but neither of us wanted to get into it. Better to just let it fade away.
The party ended at midnight, and we went home with Charlie’s parents. We all had to share a bathroom. Charlie’s bedroom was directly across the hall from his parents.
As we settled into his childhood bed, he reached for me.
I pulled away. “I can’t, Charlie,” I whispered. “Not with them so close.”
“But you’re my wife. It’s okay.”
“No. Not here.”
That was all the incentive he needed to find us a house. He located one the very next day. It was small, but it had everything we needed. His mother offered to buy us furniture.
Shopping with her was a nightmare. I wanted sleek and modern, and she was into reproduction Victorian. Charlie worked for his father, so his parents, in effect, held our purse strings. This was my first experience butting heads with Virginia.
She finally just sighed. “Well, pick out what you like, then, dear. I’m sure Charlie will get used to it.”
To compromise, I let her pick out the bedroom furniture.
It was a horror show in there, anyway; why not have furniture to match?
I selected the living room furniture and the kitchen table.
The rest of the house was furnished with hand-me-downs or heirlooms, depending on how you wanted to look at it.
We moved in three days later. I made a pot roast, and Charlie bought a bottle of wine. When we sat down at our new table, he raised his glass. “To wonderful beginnings with my new bride.”
I was too nauseous to eat. But the wine seemed to give him courage, and the single glass I drank eased my queasiness.
“I love you so much, Addie,” he said later as we climbed into our new bed. “Do you think you could find it in your heart to love me just a little?”
“I’ve always loved you,” I said. “You know that.”
“I mean like a wife loves a husband.”
I couldn’t find it in my heart to lie. “I want to be a good wife to you, Charlie. Sometimes it just takes a little while for a man and woman to get in sync.”
“Apparently you didn’t have that problem with Joe.”
I pulled away. “You promised me you wouldn’t bring that up.”
“I’m sorry. I just . . .” He’d untied the bow on my nightgown. “Oh, Addie, I just love you so.”