Four of a Kind: A women's historical fiction

by Russell, Vanessa

  “Don’t doubt a world-traveled reporter.” He flicked his thumb under my chin. “If you want a report, here is mine. ‘Bess Wright, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Robert Wright, has gladly, ecstatically, blissfully agreed to be the obedient wife to Mr. Thomas Pickering of 18 Pickering Lane. Her address was mysteriously not disclosed. The joyful wedding date is set for Christmas Day, in the year of our Lord, nineteen hundred and twenty.’”

  “That’s only two weeks away!”

  His business mask surfaced straight away and his hold around my waist relaxed. “Because we should be married before the election. People are beginning to question our relationship, for obvious reasons. My dear old opponent, George, made matters worse today. He made some disparaging remarks on the radio. I suppose you haven’t heard – I must buy a radio for this old house. But you’ll read about it tomorrow.” He paused and held firm to me again, as if tensed I might run away. “He claims I’m having an extra-marital affair with a married woman.”

  “But how can that be, Thomas? I’m the only woman you’re seeing, right?” Thoughts flashed. He sent me out of his office to work here. I only saw him at dinner. I narrowed my eyes. “Or am I?”

  Thomas chuckled. “He’s talking about you, girl.”

  “Me? We’re not having an affair. How extremely vulgar on his part. And I’m not married. Well yes, I suppose I could have been considered married, though I certainly don’t look at myself that way. Oh my goodness, Thomas, did he give my name?”

  “Not right away. At first he only referred to you as my assistant. But of course when asked who that was, he gave your name, yes. I think he enjoyed the suspense of it all. Luckily, or unluckily, he only knew your maiden name.” He looked away, likely not wanting to see my head explode.

  “On the radio? But oh my heavens, no one knew I was married and now everyone in town knows? Papa. He listens to it constantly. Now he and Mama know. How did George find out?”

  Thomas shrugged, more I think to shake off my horrified stare than to show nonchalance. “Who knows? We work around nosy reporters. They can smell a secret. Maybe one was nosing around my office while you and I were talking. Walls have big ears in a newspaper office. I should have been more discreet, but I trusted my own staff. I hope whoever ratted, got a tidy sum from George.”

  He shifted my dead weight on his legs. I sat slumped - heavier with the weight of the world now on my shoulders. He cleared his throat. “I owe you an apology. If it weren’t for my running for mayor, this would never have leaked out.”

  I turned straight ahead and stared at a shelf of books I had at one time coveted; Rousseau’s The Social Contract (‘Man is born free, and everywhere he is in chains’), a collection of poetry and ballads by Robert Burns (‘My love is like a red red rose/That’s newly sprung in June;/My love is like the melodie/That’s sweetly play’d in tune.’)

  My love. Here. Not wanting him to see my disappointment, I waved a shaky hand at him. “Oh Thomas, that’s not your fault. My supposed marriage is what has probably ruined your chances to win.”

  “Yes, I know. I was hoping you’d get around to thinking my way.”

  “What?” I turned to retort, but seeing his roguish grin return, I gave in to a laugh of my own.

  “So, you owe me,” he said. “You have to marry me now, to clear up both our names. We won’t be able to face family and friends if you don’t.”

  I watched his lips and those crooked teeth on the bottom and wondered why - the top ones were straight. I loved that mouth and what came out, and that grin that made me feel playful.

  I sighed and leaned against him, laying my head on his shoulder. I examined the gold buttons on his vest contentedly. “I must go out tonight. But first I only want you to hold me.”

  “Go out? Where to at this hour?”

  “Mama and Papa must be wondering about my marriage. I need to go explain.”

  He pulled out his pocket watch. “It’s past nine. It’s too late now. You can go tomorrow.”

  I took this from his fingers and touched the gold engraving. Love cannot be measured with time. It is forever. Your loving wife, Cady.

  I pushed away the green-eyed monster. It seemed the more I cared, the more this monster sat between us. I switched my thoughts to my own past. “Billy sent me a watch on a wrist band from overseas. These bands were issued during the war so the servicemen wouldn’t lose them. I’ve seen some men wearing them since. Perhaps I’ll buy you one someday.”

  “This pocket watch works perfectly,” he said and returned the gold disk to its vest pocket. “Billy, eh? Have you let go of your dead war hero? An ace pilot is something to be proud of.”

  “I’m not sure I had him to begin with. I never claimed ownership, although at times I regretted that. Billy was just always … there, in some form or another. Somehow this kept me attached for the longest time, knowing I could travel into the great unknown but have that line to guide me back. We all need something to hold, don’t you think? But eventually Billy dissolved into thin air. Long after he died. When I realized this, I took the watch to his parents; they are the ones who are proud of him. They were far more appreciative than I to hold a time piece that had once wrapped Billy’s wrist and absorbed his pulse. His mother listened to the ticking with her eyes aglow as if she were hearing his heart beat. I didn’t give them his letters though – I burned those. That was my way of letting go.” I wanted to add, Could you do as much, Thomas? but held my tongue. I was comfortable in his arms and didn’t want to be pushed away.

  Holding my tongue was the right thing to do. He held me tighter and lifted my chin to his. His kiss grew intense, his lips and tongue exploring and demanding. His breath and mine rushed and mingled and our nostrils flared for more but I dared not part with his mouth. I sucked and nibbled like a hungry lamb on a teat. His hand caressed my … well, he’d gone over the line and I was too heated to care. I felt his physical longing and my curiosity grew with it. I grew vividly aware of it all. To absorb his desire and give it back – was that love-making? I dared not ask; he would think I was far too presumptuous. We are not married, I reminded myself, and my immodesty may alarm him

  “Bess, I want you,” he whispered into my ear. “Would you—”

  “Mr. Pickering, would you—”

  I snapped to attention and stood up at the same time that Thomas pushed me. I stumbled a little as I brushed down my skirt. I had not the nerve to face toward the door where Mary Sue stood, but saw enough from the corner of my eye. I also spotted Thomas folding his hands across his lap to hide his bulge. I was mortified. Such an act of intimacy to be seen by such a young girl! Kissing – in his lap! I had not shared my engagement with her or anyone, waiting until the annulment was final. Any announcements before that seemed to smell of bigamy.

  “Now I know why you left my daddy,” Mary Sue said. Her voice was cold, monotone.

  I turned to face her but she wasn’t looking at me; she was staring at Thomas with an open hurt on her expression.

  “Mary Sue, Thomas and I are only recently engaged. I told your father I wished to be free to marry.”

  “You’re going to get hitched?” she asked Thomas.

  “You and Lizzie will be the first to know, as soon as we finalize a date for the marriage ceremony.” He stood up, obviously more suitable now to do so. “Bring your arithmetic to the back parlor. I’ll see if I can’t make it easier for you.”

  Excusing myself, I was decidedly relieved to have a task on hand to keep my hands occupied. I walked up the stairs to remove the bedroom sheets Lizzie had asked for. Until truly exhausted, I would not be able to sleep well tonight. There were too many questions banging around in my head wanting release. Thomas had mixed so much of good and bad emotions with black and white, in true reporter fashion, that all looked gray to me.

  The slippers I had changed into muffled my approach to the back parlor. The bundle of sheets still in my arms, a scent of urine wafting to my nostrils, a hint of something more burning my ears,
I stopped short before entering.

  “But why do you have to marry her?” Mary Sue’s voice came through in a higher pitch than normal.

  “Keep your voice down, girl! There goes your education if Bess hears you talking this way.”

  “Why won’t you answer my question?” Her tone had turned down to soft.

  “Because, little one, the answer should be obvious. She is a dear friend.”

  “Friends don’t make babies. Lovers do. She’s too old for babies. I’m not.”

  I clamped my hand over my mouth to quiet my gasp of air. A pillowcase fell from my unraveling bundle. I stood nailed to the floor awaiting his answer. There was silence for a few moments.

  “Mary Sue, this love you say you have for me, well I don’t believe it. You miss your father and I am that father figure. You’re also missing home and I perfectly understand homesickness for the south. That’s why I go down there quite regularly. You’re also sixteen and should be dating boys your own age. I meant it when I said I loved you back, but not like this. I love you as a daughter or niece. That’s what we will do!” He said as if he had a bright idea. “You may call me Uncle Thomas. How’s that?”

  Another silence and then a muffled sound like two people –

  “Do daughters kiss like that, Mr. Pickering?”

  “Where did you learn that,” he muttered.

  “From a boy down the holler from me. I’m not as young as you think I am.”

  “I suppose studying arithmetic is out of the question now.”

  I heard rustling of papers and a chair scoot on the wood flooring. I attempted to back away but my legs were lead.

  “Don’t go, Thomas!” she loudly whispered. I dropped my load onto the floor and stepped forward, drawn like a moth to the fire.

  “I will go, young lady,” he said, his voice low, his tone blessedly scolding, “and you will go to bed and we both will forget this conversation. You are an attractive girl and I don’t need any more frustrations than I already have. Remember that or Bess will not fill your head with matter, but have it on a platter!” He chuckled. “Not bad, eh? Chin up. Sit up straight. Give me that pretty smile of yours. That’s a good girl.”

  “Will you kiss me goodnight?”

  “You’re a stubborn lassie, aren’t you?” I heard a peck. “There’s a kiss on the cheek for my little niece. Study hard. Nighty-night.”

  He almost ran into me as he came out into the hall, placing his hat on his head. His finger went to his lips to keep me quiet but there was no risk of that; I could only stand as a stone statue and stare at him. He took me by the hand and led me down the hall to the entrance way and outside to the front porch.

  “You heard?” he said, still in that low tone of voice he used with her.

  I nodded.

  “She’s just a homesick little girl, Bess. Don’t look so stricken. You must pretend you don’t know anything. The school year is only two weeks away and once she is in school and meets boys—” He squeezed my elbow. “You’re not taking this seriously, I hope. You look pale in this moonlight.”

  “You kissed her,” was all that came out of me, like a sleepwalker might mutter in a bad dream.

  He scowled at me. “What would you have me do? Slap her?”

  “No, that will be my job,” I hissed. “But you could have told her how we feel for each other.” His dark profile became blurred.

  He peered into my face. “How do we feel about each other?”

  “Well, I certainly know how I feel!”

  “I don’t. How do you feel, Bess? I’d like to know.”

  “Oh Thomas, you’ve opened my eyes and my heart so much it hurts!”

  “That’s a start. Go on.”

  “I love you.” What a release this brought! I threw my arms around his neck and hid my flushed face in his neck.

  He hugged me tight. “So, you love me then?”

  I sniffed. “I must - I’m only happy with you. This house only feels like a home when you’re here. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but it’s so true. And it feels so good to say it.”

  “Then say it again.”

  “I love you, Thomas.”

  “I love you, Bess.”

  “Then tell her, Thomas. Tell her how you feel and then I want to send her back home. That’s all she talks about anyway.”

  He grasped my shoulders and pulled me away. “Bess, the jealous woman, I would never have guessed! I’m enjoying your sudden affections, but let’s be mature about this. I think Mary Sue understands my feelings for you. If she is blind to it, then soon you and I will be living here as man and wife and she will have to see the truth.” He lifted my chin to face him. His hat brim further shadowed his eyes and nose. I could only watch his mouth move in the dim light; lips that had kissed me so passionately so short a time ago, and then had kissed another. “She needs us. We can’t kick her out now. Give her a chance to grow up.”

  I nodded. He leaned down to kiss me and I turned and gave him my cheek, not wanting residue from her mouth on mine. I could see the disappointment drawing tight around his mouth as he pulled away. He silently headed toward his motor car. The green-eyed monster was back and between us, only now he held both the ghost of Cady and a real live girl. I would have to think more about this.

  I was grateful to have a mission the next morning. Mary Sue had been left to her own studying devices, papers and books strewn about her in the front parlor. School admission tests were only weeks away and I had little hope she’d pass. She gave me her customary scowl as I gave her the assignments and then I was on my way to Mama’s house.

  I walked in to find Mama feeding Papa his breakfast in their bedroom. Mama jumped up from the edge of the bed and turned off the radio as I said my hellos. Quiet settled around us and Mama’s countenance relaxed with it. She rewarded me with a genuine smile. Papa eyed me accusingly as he chewed his egg. His skin had grown more sallow since last I visited, his eyes more sunken. Mama’s worried expression and pallid complexion gave me further notice they hadn’t slept well.

  When asked how they were, Mama shook her head. “We had a long night.” She brought a glass up to his lips. “Drink your milk,” she said as to a child. “You need this.”

  He took one sip and then turned to me. “I heard about you on the radio yesterday. Perhaps you can explain why you’re smearing the good name of Wright. What will the neighbors think now?”

  Mama shook her head and sighed. She returned the glass to his tray. “I tried to explain to him it wasn’t true, but you know how he is with that radio.”

  I sat in the chair on the other side of the bed and returned her sigh. Inhaling their weariness wore on me. “Some things are not true, some things are. It is hard to tell the difference. I wish I could say the radio was all lies.” I came prepared with my handkerchief and this I fiddled with nervously. Telling them was going to be harder than I had anticipated.

  Mama raised another bite of egg to Papa’s lips but his attention stayed on me. She sighed again, not seeming to have the strength to finish feeding him. She removed his napkin from his chest and his tray from his lap and this she set on top of the radio cabinet.

  That got his attention. “Ruby dear, do not take the chance of food falling onto my radio knobs. Take it out please.”

  She took the tray to the hallway floor by the door. Returning to sit again on the edge of the bed, she brushed off his sheet and smoothed his blanket. She moved methodically, as if out of a long habit, without thinking. From my youth I recalled how he had insisted on obedience from her and he would have it no other way, but at what cost? Did she love him after all these years of marriage? Did this question even matter to Papa? Did only her allegiance to him matter? Perhaps I wasn’t to judge so harshly; this may be the course for all long-term marriages. Mates attached only at the hands, to lift and feed during the day, to pat to sleep at night. After my own fitful sleep the night before, with Thomas and little ‘niece’ spinning in my mind like a merry-go-round, marriag
e appeared bleaker by the moment. I would simply have to tell him I couldn’t marry him.

  “I know for a fact that the radio tells lies,” Mama said, finally resting her hands in her lap and turning to me. “I heard advertised a beauty oil that if rubbed onto the face, would take away twenty years of wrinkles and lines.” She touched these with her fingertips. “I am living proof this is a lie.”

  “Ruby dear, I told you that was a ridiculous purchase and if asked as I should have been, you would have been forbidden. Age is a natural progression and we’re now in our old age. Why, at forty-eight I’m nearing my life expectancy. You dear, are not far behind me at forty.”

  “Fine, I’ll give you another example. Mrs. Potts’ Irons. Yes,” she poked his leg, her spirit seeming to perk up in the banter. “Her Sad Irons were to make ironing so much easier than the old-style flat irons. This would reduce my ironing time in half so that I may spend more time in my well-equipped engine room of the home, my kitchen. Ha, the wooden handle broke in half! It reduced my time all right. To nothing! Now I must order another one. All lies, the radio is all lies.”

  I didn’t have the heart to tell her I wrote that advertisement.

  “You must send Bess out to buy you a Hotpoint Iron then. I just heard it advertised this morning. It has a cantilever handle that will save exertion all through your body. It requires electricity, however.”

  “You wouldn’t allow a receptacle in the kitchen, Robert, remember? I suppose I could unplug your radio and iron up here.”

  “Now you’re getting ridiculous.”

  “We could have a twin receptacle installed. Aimee has one in her kitchen in the same space as her single outlet and can plug in two appliances at once.”

  I was becoming restless. I had to jump in or Papa would be asleep soon. “Papa, what exactly did you hear on the radio yesterday that upset you?”

  Mama glared openly at me, her puckered brow questioning my question.

  I gave her a feeble smile but she didn’t accept it. She turned her attention to Papa who cleared his throat as was customary when he felt he had something important to say. “A radio talk show. Most interesting. Candidate for mayor, Mr. Groves, said his opponent, Mr. Pickering, lived in immorality. He couldn’t be trusted in public when he held such secrets in private. Something of that nature. Well, that sparked my interest. George Groves is a deacon in our church and I should vote for a man of God. However, bad judgment prevailed for I intended to vote for Mr. Pickering and since your mama has won such an important privilege, I directed her to do the same, trusting your judgment. He’s always been good to you, gave you a home and employment. Your mama had assured me many times that he didn’t live there in the same house.”