His father got up and looked out the window. “No sign of your friend.” He breached the obvious. “No mention of that young woman to your sister and brother. So I’m under the impression you’re reconsidering the shiksa situation.”
David Miller put his cup down, walked over to his father, and spoke his mind. “Pop, I love Cordelia. You’re either with me or against me. What’ll it be?”
“I have a choice? God brings you back from the war in one piece, and I’m going to drive you away?” Mr. Miller, a big man, ponderously clapped his son on the back, momentarily gripped his shoulder, and at the same time looked about, as if the solution to “all this goy business” were hiding in a corner.
David Miller’s late maternal grandmother had a tremendous fondness for her youngest grandson. “My David, such a bright, kind boy.” And she would often hold out her wrinkled, white as chalk, left hand, point and say, “One day, this gorgeous ring will be your bride’s.”
A whirl of concerns raced across Samuel Ira Miller’s mind: the horrors of Hitler and devastating loss of family members in Europe, his determination to preserve hearth, home, and tradition for his own. And there was the disgrace. He could hear them now, relatives and friends, equally devoted to the beliefs and legacy of their Jewish forefathers, questioning such a union. “I couldn’t believe my ears…”
“We are shocked and saddened, but what can you do? They make up their minds, they make up their minds.”
“It’s a different world than we grew up in.”
He soon came to a reluctant conclusion. I gain a shiksa daughter or lose my beloved son, my David, my heart. You could have heard a pin drop, until the patriarch spoke his peace.
“So we’ll work it out. Am I disappointed? Yes, but we’ll work it out.”
“Thanks, Pop.” David took hold of his father’s shoulder. “I knew this wasn’t going to be easy for you, but we’ll make the best of it. Just wait and see.”
His mother joined in. “Mann traoch, Gott lauch.” Man plans, God laughs. She kissed both men and inquired of her son, “I suppose you want to take Bubbe’s ring back to Boston with you?”
“Yes, I do.”
Once inside, David took his shoes off and tiptoed upstairs, not wanting to wake Cordelia or Richard. He got to the top and spied a glimmer of light beneath his sweetheart’s door. Bet she fell asleep with the lamp on. He imagined Cordelia snug under the covers, an open book beside her.
The weary traveler removed his sports coat, unbuttoned his shirt collar, and was unpacking a few essentials when he caught sight of an envelope on the floor by the door. I must have stepped right over it. He saw his full name written in Cordelia’s swirled handwriting. Wonder what this could be. David read the letter three times, every word on the personalized sheet of ivory vellum stationery spoke to his heart before he finally put it down on a nightstand. I’ll need to look at this again in the morning. And just as soon, he decided what he needed right now was to see his sweetheart, if by any chance, she should still be awake.
A couple of light taps on her bedroom door, and there she was, Cordelia’s mussed blonde hair and long, white robe only added to the overall ethereal look. My angel.
“David, you’re back. Thank you for waking me. I fell asleep reading.”
He held up the letter. “This was quite a surprise.”
“Is that good?”
“About as good as it gets.” He took her into his arms, her hands embraced the back of his neck, and they made up for lost time with the most passionate kiss yet.
Cordelia lightly pressed her body against his, and in the heat of the moment, he pulled her even closer. Their passion was steadily spiraling beyond reason, but Cordelia had enough presence of mind to remember they weren’t the only ones in the house. She pulled David farther into her room, and with a push of his foot he closed the door behind them. Their kisses got deeper, Cordelia loosened the sash on her robe, and with some assistance from David it slipped off her shoulders and fell to the floor. The satin pajamas beneath it increased his passion, and he caressed her waist and hips as she removed his shirt, when just like that, he stopped cold.
“No, my love, not like this.” He took a deep breath and stepped back.
Cordelia retrieved her robe and pulled herself together. “I’m so embarrassed, David.”
“No need to be. We’re in love and this is what lovers do. They make love, but not yet.” He buttoned his shirt. “And no more closed doors when we’re alone in the same room, at least not for now. The privacy is much too tempting. Agreed?” He smiled.
“Agreed.” She stood on tiptoe and kissed his forehead.
David exited as quietly as he could and whispered, “You’ll come into the hallway please?”
“I don’t understand,” she whispered in return and took his offered hand.
“I’ll be back,” he assured her and let go with a squeeze.
Cordelia stood by the grandfather clock that had been her great-grandparents and the very present tick-tock, tick-tock, under the circumstances, sounded much louder than usual, which of course it wasn’t. Her racing heart seemed equally as loud, which of course it wasn’t.
David returned and requested she “please have a seat” on the Hancock chair next to the clock, an exact match for the one on the other side. Another kiss, and out of the fullness of his heart, David Miller got down on one knee. “Cordelia, will you please do me the honor of becoming my wife?” His right hand unfolded to reveal a multi-diamond, splendidly vintage, gold ring.
Cordelia took his dark and handsome face into her fair Patrician hands and blissfully answered, “Yes, David. Yes.”
The long-term plan was all David’s doing.
Although she’d protested initially, Cordelia patiently accepted his reason for waiting to get married at a much later date than she’d anticipated. Truth be known, she admired him for it. His next decision made the waiting practically unbearable, but she was grateful for his protection personally, socially, and spiritually. I am marrying an honorable man. Prideful but honorable, thank God.
It was almost impossible for the couple to keep their hands off each other. Teatime now became “love to have my arms around you time” as they filled the kettle together, his body against hers while they stood at the sink.
None of it went unnoticed by Hilda and Rolf, who still delighted in keeping track of “the goings on” in Cordelia’s kitchen from their perch above the garage. One night, Rolf questioned the appropriateness of such an arrangement and even speculated, “Do you think they’re carrying on?”
Hilda scolded, “Not all men are like you were, Rolf. And besides, Miss Cordelia would never bring such disgrace to her parents’ house.”
Long, affectionate goodbyes made the determinedly chaste couple late on more than one occasion, but bedtime brought the greatest challenge of all. They’d kiss and kiss “good night,” go to their respective bedrooms, pine for one another, and one would tap on the other’s door for “just one more,” which took place in the open hallway as agreed upon. However, one night as Cordelia lay in her bed after a particularly tempting and torrid parting, she deduced differently. We are, after all, consenting adults. But she thought better of it, turned over, and went to sleep hugging her pillow.
It was the next day, and only two weeks into their engagement, when she rushed to meet David in the garden before she left for work as he’d asked. She could hardly wait. Hearts unfold like flowers before Thee.
A spring breeze blew fairly hard but the sun was warm. Rows of multi-colored pansies bordered the brick courtyard and looked as if they were sunbathing, their pretty flower faces turned toward the light; dozens of daffodils and tulips swayed to and fro behind them.
David was nervously pacing with his back to the house when Cordelia stepped outside and stared at him adoringly without his knowledge. You are more than I ever could have asked for. She leaned over the cast-iron stair rail. “My, my, you look fretful.” Cordelia walked to the garden bench, mindfu
l he had his eyes on her, and teasingly suggested with all the stage presence of a concerned doctor, “Let’s have a seat and talk all about it. Tell me, when did these symptoms first appear, sir?”
David briefly kissed her. “This will only take a few minutes, honey. I know you need to get to the store.” They sat down and he sighed. “Last night … ”
She put her head on his shoulder and said, “I know … ”
“I’m moving out as soon as I can, Cordelia.”
She felt a knot in her stomach and faced him. He couldn’t help but notice all the color had gone from her face.
“Please don’t go, David.”
“I have to. We can’t continue like this.”
“Like what? I thought we were doing just fine.”
“We were until last night.”
“I can’t bear the thought.”
“We’ll be better off this way, Cordelia. At least for now.”
“Maybe you will, but I won’t.”
“It’s just not right for me to stay here any longer under the present circumstances.”
David Miller stood in front of her now, straight and strong, as if lecturing. “I’ve waited my whole life for you. And I’m not going to disgrace our future with shame and regret, or have us be the subject of neighborhood murmurings. I love you too much for that.”
Cordelia sat stiffly upright, her hands folded on her lap and both feet together, looking every inch a proper Bostonian. “Waiting to get married until you’ve completed your residency and found a place to practice is much too long.”
“It’s not quite a year, Miss Parker.” He was depending on the formality for levity because they frequently laughed at how prim everything was in the beginning. “You know I can’t enter into marriage with my wife bringing the only material assets to our union. Call me proud, but it’s the way it has to be.”
Cordelia sprang to her feet and protested. “No, it doesn’t, David.”
He tenderly tucked a wayward tendril back behind her ear, where it belonged and asked, “What happened to that perfectly happy young lady who already agreed to the previous terms?”
Cordelia teared up. “She’s afraid to let you out of her sight, lest the whole thing be a dream.”
“Dear, dear Cordelia.” David took her hands into his and gazed at the family heirloom ring. “No shame, no regret, only love and honor.” And he kissed it. “Forever.”
CHAPTER 36
I, Robert P. Donnelly, do solemnly swear that I will bear true faith and
allegiance to the United States of America and the Commonwealth of
Massachusetts and will support the constitutions and laws thereof…. I
will faithfully and impartially discharge and perform all the duties
incumbent on me as a police officer of the city of Boston … So help me God.
EXCERPTED FROM 1940’S CITY OF BOSTON POLICE OATH
AS PLEDGED BY OFFICER ROBERT P. DONNELLY AT THE BEGINNING OF
HIS LAW ENFORCEMENT CAREER
Bob’s brother-in-law, Officer John King, liked to kid about the policemen’s long, double-breasted winter coats being “so God Almighty heavy, all we had to do to apprehend a criminal was throw one on him.”
BOB ALWAYS HAD HIS EYE on the brass ring and possessed a determined reach to grab hold of it. His making detective didn’t surprise anyone, least of all his wife. After diligently taking night classes for the last couple of years, and striving to meet BPD requirements for the next step in his law enforcement career, Officer Donnelly’s promotion brought him to Boston Police Headquarters, at 154 Berkeley Street, where the new job called for “plain clothes.” His patrolman’s uniform—long, weighty, winter coat and all—was straightaway stored in a large box between layers of tissue paper with a generous sprinkling of mothballs.
Rita gratefully tucked the last two pieces of tissue on top. Thank God he’s off the beat. Maybe he’ll settle down now.
Bob closed the lid. God willing it will stay there. One new detective found himself back on the beat for perceived disrespect. “All I said was, ‘Imagine me, Ed Doherty, one-hundred-percent Galway, bein’ stuck in Easta Bost’.” A senior officer named Campesi overheard his careless comment.
Bob and Rita scrambled to town the weekend before his first day and purchased two suits, three dress shirts, three ties that were on sale, a half-dozen socks, a pair of “decent-looking shoes,” and one soft hat—all with the help of their Filene’s charge account, and all of it upstairs.
They enjoyed every minute. The first time Bob stepped out of the dressing room, Rita smiled and said, “Detective, you’re looking very sharp.” And here’s to new beginnings.
Rita didn’t want the salesman’s help, other than eventually having “Dapper Dan” measure trousers that needed to be hemmed that day.
“We’d really appreciate it, and I don’t mind paying extra. My husband just got a promotion and starts his new job on Monday.”
It was commonplace for men’s suit pants to wear out much sooner than their matching jackets, and savvy designers came up with a practical solution.
Bob’s new suits had two pair of slacks each.
The previously miffed salesman couldn’t resist the attentive wife’s proud plea and assured her all would be ready in a couple of hours.
That afternoon, the native Bostonian couple toured their city like out-of-towners. They strolled through the Common, visited the Public Garden (still a few weeks too early for flowers, but walking across the exquisite, small suspension bridge was a must) and had lunch at a reasonably priced restaurant on Bob’s beat, where the waiter said, “Officer Donnelly, I hardly recognized you out of uniform. This must be Mrs. Donnelly. It’s a pleasure.”
He handed them each a menu and leaned in as if he was about to reveal a secret. “We’ve got a great navy bean soup, if you’re interested, and broiled fresh scrod with buttered beets and potato croquette a la carte. Take your time. I’ll be back with water.”
Bob stood up. “Excuse me for a minute, hon, I need to visit the men’s room.”
The restaurant was packed, and Rita found the clientele fascinating as she discretely observed: a beret-donned elderly gentleman engrossed in reading a book while attempting to eat without looking, with rather calamitous results which he nonchalantly attended to absent a glance; a refined, middle-aged couple at a table for two, eating bowls of soup and staring into each other’s eyes like newlyweds; and seated in a cozy booth, what appeared to be a mother-daughter afternoon out, with two of each happily talking non-stop, prompting Rita to pleasantly recall that same kind of joy with her own mother over simple, long-ago lunches at home on E. 8th Street in Southie. Rita Margaret, you’re thin as a rail. Go on now. Take another roll and put plenty of butter on it. I’ll not have the neighbors thinkin’ I don’t give me darlin’ daughter enough to eat.
When Bob returned, all the other customers faded into the background, and the couple fell into a world of their own, talking about nothing other than the immediate.
“We couldn’t have asked for better weather.”
They excitedly discussed what they’d purchased. “I’ll wear the charcoal-gray suit on Monday,” Bob said.
Rita suggested which ties would work best with the few dress clothes Bob already owned. “The striped burgundy would go well with your navy suit. Don’t you think it’s good for another year?”
“Just so the pants aren’t shiny, Rita.”
“Of course not. Do you think I’d let you go out the door looking less than presentable? God in heaven, I thought I was particular.”
“Sorry, Rit, I just want to start off on the right foot.”
“From flat foot to right foot.” Her dimples showed.
“Very amusing.” The brand new detective nervously drummed his fingers on the table, an uneasy habit Rita disliked.
“For God’s sake, Bob, relax. I’m pretty sure they aren’t sending patrolmen to police headquarters for the fun of it. Honey, you’ve worked hard t
o get here. Let’s enjoy it.”
He took her hand and cherished the dainty fairness of it against his huge, ruddy palm. “What would I do without you?”
Later, over desserts of warm gingerbread with whipped cream and a chocolate éclair, Mr. and Mrs. Donnelly quietly declared their love for each other after Bob confessed, “I know I’ve been out of line too many times, honey, but honest to God, I love you so much.”
Rita’s stomach tightened. You’re telling me. Her reply was an honest, “Yes, you have.”
“It’s never going to happen again, Rita.” He cut into the éclair.
Rita had reserved the resplendent red coat for “special occasions only” out of concern it would wear out, "God forbid," if worn too often. That simply wouldn’t do because in the deepest, dearest, safest place of Rita Margaret King Donnelly’s heart, every button and fiber of the red coat, even the never used R-monogrammed hankie in its right pocket, forever held her mother and sisters’ love, and she wanted to hold on to it for as long as she could.
Rita slowly pressed her fork through the whipped cream to the aromatic gingerbread and ate the small bite. Holy Mary. ‘Out of line’ and ‘I love you so much’ in the same sentence. She took a slow sip of tea and said, “I know you love me. I love you too.” But one more time, and I’m out the door.
Bob wanted to drop by Station 3 to say hello. They doubled back to the State House and stopped to admire its gleaming gold dome. “This is a hell of a city, isn’t it Rit?” They continued on to Joy Street.
Rita was elated to catch a glimpse of Beacon Hill interiors through uncovered windows when she could. “Honey, look.”
Detective Donnelly and his wife were barely through the station’s doors when Officer Red Driscoll, an affable bachelor, took a look at Rita, her pretty face gently blushed from the walk, eyes sparkling with contentment, and said, “God Almighty Bob, what’d ya do, rob a bank? Your better half is lookin’ mighty grand in that red coat!”
The Red Coat Page 40