Seasons of the Heart

by Cynthia Freeman

  Phillip put his arms around her and whispered, “You’ve made me the happiest man in the world.”

  “Oh, Phillip. I hope I always will.”

  Gently disengaging her embrace, he warned himself to go slowly.

  “How about some champagne?”

  For the life of her, Ann couldn’t explain why she suddenly felt rejected, but she just smiled and said, “I’d love some, darling,” hoping that the hurt did not show.

  “This is to you, sweetheart,” he said, touching his glass to hers. “I hope that our lives will always be as happy as this night.”

  Ann sipped her champagne, then went into the bathroom to change into her new white chiffon peignoir. Seeing her, Phillip realized what a fool he had been not to have married her six months ago.

  Ann slipped under the covers and nervously watched as Phillip switched off the bedside lamp and took her very gently into his arms. He had waited so long that he was having trouble controlling his passion. Yet, knowing this was the first time for Ann, he waited until he felt that she was ready to receive him.

  But when the ultimate moment came, she found it shockingly unlike her fantasies. No one had ever fully described the act of love, certainly not Stella, and not even Ruthie, who had extolled the joys of married life without providing any intimate details.

  So, after Phillip had spent himself, the best Ann could do was pretend she had enjoyed it as much as he. Resting her head on his shoulder, feeling his arms around her, she realized that the thing she loved most was the closeness and warmth of his embrace. For her, that was better than the actual passion.

  Three days later, Phillip carried her over the threshold of their apartment on Beach Street. Putting her down, he said, “I love you more every day.” Ann blinked back her tears. Marriage was everything she’d hoped.

  That afternoon they went shopping, and Ann found the five-and-dime on Chestnut Street a source of treasures. Her father’s wedding gift of Wedgwood china had been stored away, as had been the set of silver from the Coulters. They would be used only for company. Now, she carefully selected a set of crockery with blue forget-me-nots on a white background and picked a set of cutlery for four as well as a saucepan, a frying pan, a small blue agate roaster, and a coffeepot.

  On the way home they shopped for groceries at the Rossi Market and served dinner by candlelight. That night they fell asleep in each other’s arms.

  The next evening was not so relaxed. Ann invited Phillip’s parents to dinner, and everything that could possibly go wrong with the meal did. After the Coulters left, she could barely sleep, and the next morning, as soon as Phillip left for work, she called Ruthie.

  “Oh, God,” she wailed. “Everything went wrong. The chicken was overcooked, the carrots were hard, the potatoes were watery. And I know it will be just as bad the next time. Phillip’s mother makes me feel so unsure of myself. She doesn’t like me. And the funniest thing is that she doesn’t say anything that I can put my finger on.”

  “Well, don’t worry about it too much,” Ruthie said when Ann paused for breath. “She’ll get over it. After all, you stole her little boy.”

  “Yes, I suppose—but it doesn’t make it any easier, and she wants us to spend every Sunday with them. I’ve told Phillip that I think we should, but he told me no, Sunday is our day. So I guess she’ll have something else to hold against me.”

  “Just don’t let it interfere with your relationship with Phillip.”

  “I won’t,” said Ann, but when she hung up she felt much less confident.

  Still, her days soon fell into a pleasant pattern. Phillip might be bored by his job, where he was progressing less rapidly than he had hoped, but if his days were dull, Ann’s were not. She had quit her job at Magnin’s and busied herself keeping their tiny apartment spotless, finding inexpensive decorations, and searching out recipes. Sometimes she would spend hours in the kitchen, and the results would be disastrous: the soufflé fell, the meat loaf would be rock hard; and many times she would have to feed them to Mrs. DiVincenzo’s dog and run up to Lucca’s Delicatessen for a last-minute replacement. But when it turned out well, she could hardly wait for Phillip to come home from the office. Everything seemed to take on new meaning, even such chores as washing and ironing.

  She was particularly happy the night they celebrated their first month’s anniversary. She fell asleep certain there were no clouds on the horizon.

  At 4:00 A.M. the phone rang and she heard Phillip mutter a sleepy “hello” into the receiver.

  He listened briefly and then sat staring at the receiver. “What’s wrong?” Ann asked, turning on the light.

  He hung up and took Ann in his arms. Holding her very tight, he said, “Sweetheart, there’s no easy way to tell you this, but that was Stella. Your father died about an hour ago.”

  Ann was too stunned to react, but when the shock wore off, she wept uncontrollably. “There must be a mistake! There must be! He can’t be gone. I just spoke to him today!”

  All Phillip could do was to hold her gently until she ran out of tears.

  Chapter Ten

  THE NEXT MORNING, AS Stella sat watching her stepdaughter and her stepdaughter’s husband as they planned the funeral, she looked at Phillip for the first time. He was the spitting image of Roger. Ironically, she realized she might as well have gone to the wedding, as there would be no way to keep the Coulters from the funeral. As usual the last laugh was on her.

  “How did it happen?” Ann asked, bringing her stepmother back to the present.

  “Well, as you know, your father had a bad heart.” Watching Ann’s grief, she realized that all the anger she’d felt toward the girl in the past was spent. Suddenly the years of hatred seemed meaningless. She was almost glad Ann had found someone with whom to share her life. When Ann asked if her stepmother and Ben had been fighting, Stella didn’t react with her usual temper.

  “No—not that things were ever very good between us. There seemed to be very little to fight about since you left.”

  Ann merely nodded.

  “Well, to answer your question, your father went to bed about nine o’clock, and at eleven I was ready to go to my room when I realized that his light was still on. I went in and turned it off. He seemed to be sleeping peacefully.

  Stella sighed. “About an hour later, I heard a thud and got out of bed. Your father was lying on the bathroom floor.”

  Ann began to cry quietly. “Was he dead?”

  “I felt for his pulse, but there was nothing. I called an ambulance, but by the time they got there, there was nothing they could do. He was gone.”

  A myriad of thoughts ran through Ann’s head. She wanted to scream, He’s dead because of you, not because of his heart! But what would that accomplish? It wouldn’t bring her father back to life.

  Slowly, Ann got up. It had taken Ben’s death for Stella to allow Phillip into the house, but now her argument with her stepmother no longer seemed important to her either.

  At the door, Stella looked at Ann for a long moment. “I’m sorry, Ann … truly I am.”

  The sad group that gathered at the grave site was almost identical to the guests at Ann’s wedding, only this time Stella was present and Ben no longer the happy father of the bride, but the cold focus of the ceremony. Stella watched Phillip put an arm around Ann as if to shelter her from the pain. Her eyes drifted past her stepdaughter to Eva Coulter. All Stella’s fears about meeting the woman had evaporated like mist the moment they had met on the chapel steps. While Stella would have recognized Roger’s sister anywhere, Eva had no idea who Stella was. Despite financial reverses, Eva was as regal and lovely as she had been twenty years earlier. But time had not been as kind to Stella. Her continued bitterness had narrowed her eyes and tightened her lips in a hard expression that bore little resemblance to the girl who had loved Roger. Anyway, Stella thought sorrowfully, who remembered a little chit one had only met doing alterations? What a waste. Roger’s life. Hers. Her futile jealousy of Ann.
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  She looked up as the rabbi finished chanting Kaddish, and Ann pulled up a handful of earth to toss into the grave. It was too late to tell her she regretted her cruelty during Ann’s engagement, but she touched her hand, hoping her stepdaughter would someday understand.

  As she left the cemetery her eye caught Eva’s. For a second it seemed to Stella that there was recognition in that fleeting glance, but then Mrs. Coulter got into her car without speaking. Stella silently stepped into the next limousine and Ben was left to rest in peace at last.

  Chapter Eleven

  ANN SPENT THE NEXT month in quiet despair. She clung to Phillip silently, unable to share her grief. She needed his closeness, but inexplicably she was unable to let him make love to her. Somehow she felt that she would not be honoring her father if she allowed herself to take pleasure in anything.

  Many times Ann would wake at night crying bitterly. Phillip would comfort her, but each time he tried to draw her closer she would turn away.

  He was incredibly kind and supportive. Before he left for work, he would bring her breakfast on a tray. Three or four times a day he called from the office, and almost every night he brought her a bunch of violets. When he decided she wasn’t eating enough, he began to bring home boxes of candy, hoping to tempt her appetite.

  Finally his patience paid off. One weekend he took her up north to the Sonoma Mission Inn. The inn was terribly run down and it rained all weekend, but that night Ann opened her heart and her body to her husband once again.

  Phillip blossomed under Ann’s renewed attention. He worked harder at his job and was almost ready to ask for a raise when they woke one Sunday to discover that the lives of all Americans had been permanently disrupted.

  Ann was making waffles for a late breakfast when he came into the kitchen.

  “These are delicious,” he said, laughing and snagging a piece before she could serve him. “They’re even better than my mother’s.”

  Ann feigned a scowl. “Well, I’m glad I can do something better than she can.”

  “You do everything better,” Phillip said, turning on the radio.

  And that was when they learned the Japanese had attacked Pearl Harbor.

  Ann took off her apron and walked into the living room. Phillip sat immobile, his face drained of all color.

  “Darling, Honolulu is a million miles from San Francisco.”

  Phillip looked at Ann’s puzzled eyes. “Hawaii is a U.S. territory. This means that we are at war.”

  Ann felt as though she were going to faint. She held on to the chair so tightly that her knuckles turned white.

  “Phillip, what will this mean to us?”

  “I’ll either have to enlist or I’ll be drafted. It makes more sense to enlist because then I can apply for officers’ training.”

  Ann’s heart almost stopped beating. Her world was falling apart. She had just buried her father; now Phillip was going to leave her, too.

  “You can’t!” she cried despairingly. “We’ve just gotten married. I’ll be alone!”

  “But, darling—I have no choice!” Even though it was the truth, Phillip felt as if he were abandoning Ann. She looked so vulnerable as she sat on the sofa, weeping. Quickly he got up, gathered her into his arms, and gently carried her into the bedroom. He lay there, Ann cradled in his arms, brushing her lovely dark hair back from her forehead. She was so beautiful, so infinitely precious to him. But once again he was powerless to protect her….

  The next morning Phillip stood on the corner of Leavenworth and Bush and watched the men going into the recruiting office. He sighed, realizing that history had twice irrevocably changed the course of his life. First the Depression and now the war. What good did it do to plan? he wondered. He had just begun to feel that life had meaning again, that he might even achieve success as a lawyer, when his world exploded in his face.

  Lighting a cigarette, he forced himself to shut off his self-pity. After all, millions of young men were going through the same torment. Squaring his shoulders, he walked across the street.

  When he came out, he felt that he had made the best of a bad deal. He was a second lieutenant in the Judge Advocate General’s corps. He didn’t know to whom he would be assigned, or even to which theater, but wherever he went he would be safer than in the infantry.

  Ironically, after boot camp, Phillip would receive the rest of his military instruction on the University of California law campus—the very place from which he had graduated. He would be an hour away from Ann, but would not be permitted to see her even for that length of time. The best he could hope for would be a week or two of leave before being shipped out.

  That morning it had taken all of Ann’s strength to say goodbye to him without bursting into tears. At breakfast she had kept the conversation going with trivialities and had refused to turn on the radio for any reason whatsoever. Phillip had kissed her goodbye as if he were just going to the office. Ann held up until the front door had firmly closed behind him. Then she collapsed on the bed, sobbing.

  It was nearly four that afternoon when Ann was finally able to pull herself together. Sitting up, she stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her face bore the same haunted look it had the day her father died. She couldn’t let Phillip see her this way. Quickly, she went to the bathroom and showered.

  After she had slipped into a blue silk dress, she appraised herself. Maybe a little more rouge might draw attention away from the dark circles under her eyes.

  She went into the kitchen and turned on the oven. Taking out a small chicken from the ice box, she prepared it for baking. She had just put it into the oven when she heard Phillip’s key in the latch. For a moment she panicked, trying to catch her breath. Then she took off the apron, patted her hair, and went into the hall to greet him.

  “Hello, darling,” she said, leading him into the living room. “What can I get you? A drink?”

  “That would be great, sweetheart,” Phillip replied. He sank onto the sofa while Ann poured him a scotch and soda.

  “How was your day?” Phillip asked cautiously.

  “Oh, I took a nap. I guess I was tired.” She paused. “How about you?” Her voice was even but her eyes were clouded with apprehension.

  “Long day … I’m sorry I’m late.”

  “That’s okay. I just put the chicken in, so it will be awhile until dinner.”

  An awkward silence fell between them. Then, after what seemed like an eternity, Phillip said, “How do you like being married to a second lieutenant?” There—it was out in the open. Phillip laughed, hoping to erase the stricken look on Ann’s face. “I just might make this my life’s work. My base pay will be four hundred fifty dollars a month.”

  But Ann couldn’t smile. “I think I’d better go look at the chicken.”

  Sensing that she was unable to deal with all the implications of his leaving, Phillip said nothing more about the war that evening. But as the days passed and Ann asked no questions, Phillip realized that she was pretending that nothing was going to change.

  Friday, after work, Phillip picked up his uniform. He took it home and tried it on, unexpectedly feeling a surge of pride. Straightening his shoulders, he walked into the living room, where Ann was reading a magazine. At the sight of him, she jumped up. “Phillip!” Why couldn’t you have waited? she wanted to shout. How could you do this to me? But she bit back the words. It wasn’t Phillip who had done this to her—it was the world.

  For the next two days she steeled herself for the moment of Phillip’s leaving, and by Monday morning she felt strangely calm. Their separation had an air of unreality. Phillip would be so close, but he could not come home, and apparently he would be lucky to even call. But at least for the next few weeks he would be safe, and Ann was grateful for that much.

  Time passed faster than she could have believed. Phillip returned from basic training just one day before his orders arrived. They were brief and to the point: six days later he was to report at the Ferry Building on Market S
treet.

  They had so little time left—less than a week! They were determined to savor those last precious days as though nothing threatened their lives together.

  Ann cooked all his favorite dishes, wore her prettiest dresses, and joined him in bed with passion equal to his. They avoided talking about the war and spoke instead of their plans for when Phillip came home. What kind of house they would buy, how many children they would have. Four? Five? Okay, five.

  On the final Saturday, Ann fussed endlessly over dinner, wanting everything to be perfect. Precisely at seven o’clock, Kenny and Ruthie arrived, followed by the Coulters. For once there was no tension between Ann and Eva. Ann forced herself to smile as her mother-in-law talked endlessly of how adorable Phillip had been as a child.

  Eva insisted on describing the rainy day when four-year-old Phillip had been caught wading in the fish pond without his rubber boots. Eva had thrown open the window, shouting for him to come inside before he caught his death of cold. She had been furious until he had innocently opened his slicker, baring a swimsuit.

  “It’s just swimming, Mummy,” he had called and she had burst out laughing.

  Now, a hard lump caught in Eva’s throat. What was going to happen to her baby? Where would they send him? Tears welled up in her eyes, but she blinked them back, and even tried to include Ann in the conversation.

  Ruthie and Kenny had the most cheerful news of the evening. Ruthie was expecting a baby, and even though Kenny was leaving the following week for England, she could not suppress her excitement. Phillip poured brandy and toasted the infant’s safe birth.

  Looking at him laughing and joking with Kenny, Ann’s heart swelled with pride. Her handsome husband was so strong, so good. Surely God would spare him. Forgetting that there was anyone else in the room, she lifted her glass. “To you, darling. No man has ever had a wife who loved him more than I love you.”