“You have no objection?” I sputtered. “Believe me, Pop, if I move back to Kerryville—”
“If?” Helen exclaimed. “What do you mean, if?”
Suddenly everyone started talking at once.
“But, sweetheart, we talked about this—”
“Why wouldn’t you be coming back?”
“You’ve gotta come back, sis. I can’t run the store all by myself.”
“Enough.” Pop held up his hand, effectively declaring a cease-fire. “I’m sure Marjorie will do whatever it is she needs to do.” A strained silence fell over the table while he dabbed his mouth with a napkin. “Please excuse us, Miss Rodgers,” he continued. “Obviously we have a few family issues to sort out, but it’s not worth upsetting our digestion over. Delicious dinner, Frances.”
Obediently we picked up our forks. When the interminable meal had ended, I volunteered Richard and myself for clean-up duty and shooed everyone else out of the kitchen. When we were alone, I tied on an apron and filled the sink with hot soapy water as Richard cleared the table.
“What got into you back there?” I stage-whispered. “If anyone is going to tell Pop I’m quitting, it needs to be me. Nothing has been set in stone yet.”
“Nothing? What about our marriage? Is that still open for discussion, too?”
“Now that you’ve brought it up. . .” I took a deep breath. “Listen, Richard. I think it’s time we both admitted this simply isn’t going to work out.”
“Of course it isn’t,” he said firmly. My mouth fell open.
“What?” I shut off the tap.
“I’m glad you’re finally seeing it too,” he continued. “It’s not working out, this Chicago business, with you living so far away. That’s why you need to quit your art class and your job at Field’s and move home.”
I sighed. “That’s not what I meant. I meant us. We’re not working out.”
“Us?”
“Yes.”
His head flinched back slightly. “Why do you say that?”
“Well, for one thing, we don’t have much in common.” I absentmindedly rubbed at a plate. Keeping my hands busy helped quell my nervousness. “You don’t share any of my interests.”
“What interests are those?”
The fact that he had to ask spoke volumes, but I pressed on.
“Like the movies, for instance. When is the last time you went to the movies with me?”
“I don’t enjoy the movies,” he said. “They bore me, and I think they’re a waste of time. “
“I know that, but I like them. So instead of trying to talk me out of going to the Orpheum, maybe if you came with me once in a while, you might even surprise yourself by enjoying one or two. I don’t mean all the time, just now and then. And if you don’t want to come, then fine, but don’t try to stop me from going.”
I expected him to argue, but he didn’t say anything, just continued calmly wiping the dishes. He didn’t look angry or upset, either. To my amazement, he seemed to be thoughtfully listening to what I was saying.
“Is that what this is about?” he said. “Movies?”
“Not just movies. There’s my art class. You know I love art, and you know I want to finish this class. But because you don’t see the value in it, you keep pressuring me to drop out. You treat it as if it doesn’t even matter, just because you don’t happen to share my interest in art.”
“I see.”
“And my job at Field’s.” I warmed to my topic. “You don’t respect what I do there at all. And then there’s the children.”
He blinked rapidly. “What children?”
“At the settlement house, Richard. Where I’ve been volunteering. We’re doing a big concert in the park on the Fourth of July. Remember, I told you all about it.”
“Yes, I suppose you did.” He cleared his throat. Quietly he stacked the clean plates on the drain board. When he finally spoke, his voice was calm. “I think I see what you mean, Marjorie. You’re saying I don’t care about the things you care about. You think we’re a mismatch.”
“Oh, Richard,” I said, tears stinging my eyes. “I don’t think so. I know so.”
Reaching into the dishwater, he lifted out both my hands and turned me to face him. “Sweetheart. I’m sorry I seem so uncaring. I get so caught up in my work at the hospital that I—I guess I forget you have a life to live, too.”
What? No argument? No reasoned explanation about how he’s right and I’m wrong?
“Oh, Richard. I know you work hard, and I’m sorry. I just—” Say it, Marjorie. Say it. “You see, I just—we’re not—”
“You don’t have to say anything, Marjorie,” he said, looking deeply into my watery eyes. “I get it.”
“You do?”
“Yes.” His voice sounded thick. “You think we’re too different to make a good marriage. You think we’re making a big mistake.”
I exhaled in a rush. “Oh, Richard. You do understand.”
“Of course I do. I should have seen it coming.” His shoulders slumped a little. “I guess I just didn’t want to see it.”
I scrutinized his face. So that’s it? No dramatic scenes? No recriminations or rash promises to make everything better?
His expression, though otherwise unreadable, bore no trace of anger. Now that the issue seemed settled, my heart softened. Or was it breaking?
I struggled to speak. “Oh, Richard, I’m sorry.”
“No need to be sorry, sweetheart. Much as it pains me to admit it, you’re absolutely right.”
“I am?”
I practically slumped with relief. He was being so reasonable about the whole thing. A true gentleman.
I worked up a wobbly smile. “Thank you, Richard. Thank you for understanding. I think in time we’ll see this is the right decision, for both of us.”
We stood there next to the sink, looking at each other.
“So that’s it?” he said.
“So that’s it.” A strange blend of relief and sorrow washed over me. He would always hold a special place in my heart, and I prayed that one day, only fond memories would remain.
He released my hands and drew in a deep breath. “Well, that’s settled. I guess we should tell your family.”
“Do we have to tell them? Right now?”
All at once, I shuddered at the thought of Frances’s reaction. I had hoped to break the news quietly at some other time, like, say, several years from now.
“No time like the present.” He called out, “Frances! Melvin! Will you come into the kitchen, please?”
My parents appeared in the doorway. My heart appeared in my tonsils.
“Marjorie and I have been talking,” he announced, “and we think it’s best for all concerned if I move to Chicago.”
What?
I wheeled around and gasped, “Move to Chicago! That’s not—that’s not—!” My brain couldn’t get my mouth to form the words fast enough.
At the same time, my father was saying, “Well, this is a surprise,” and Frances was screeching, “What are you talking about? And give up your job at the hospital?” and Helen was shouting from another room, “What’s going on in there?”
Richard beamed, obviously pleased with himself. “Marjorie was telling me how much she loves her new life in the city, and that I haven’t appreciated how much she enjoys it. She’s right, I haven’t. So I got to thinking, why not? I can get a position at one of the city hospitals, say, Northwestern or Michael Reese or—”
My stomach rolled. “No, Richard. That’s not what I—”
He patted my shoulder. “Now, Marjorie. No arguments. You know this is what you want. I’ve made up my mind. Even better, I’m going to come to Chicago for the Fourth of July.”
“What?”
“To prove to you I do care about the things you care about, I’m going to come to hear your little concert in the park. Afterward I can stick around for a day or two, maybe schedule some interviews. I can stay with my great-aunt. I owe her
a visit anyway.”
“Well, I certainly didn’t see this coming,” my father said. He wasn’t the only one.
How could we have misunderstood each other so terribly? I collapsed onto a chair and struggled to catch my breath.
“Look at that,” Pop said. “Now you’ve made her cry, she’s so happy.”
Frances sputtered, “But what about—”
“Come, Frances. Let’s leave the lovebirds alone.” He ushered her out of the kitchen.
Richard rested his hand on my shaking shoulder.
“You must always feel you can come to me with whatever’s bothering you,” he said. “I know I’m preoccupied sometimes, but I don’t mean to be a boor. I do love you, you know.”
I needed to set things straight, but I couldn’t think clearly. I could barely think at all.
“Don’t cry, Marjorie. It will be all right. You’ll see. I know I’ve behaved foolishly, but you won’t regret giving me another chance. This is just the beginning of a wonderful new life together.” Calmly he walked over to the sink and picked up the dishrag.
All at once I understood. He hadn’t heard me. He never heard me, not really. He was never going to hear me. He simply decided what he wanted to hear, and that’s what he heard. And that was never going to change. My entire being sagged. Suddenly it all seemed so clear. What had I been waffling about?
“Gosh, Marjorie,” he said, polishing a serving bowl. “I wish I’d realized sooner what was bothering you. It would have saved me a whole lot of worrying. I knew you were acting distant, but I didn’t know why.” He chuckled. “And here I was thinking that you might have met somebody else.”
In a barely audible voice I said, “I have.”
“Hm?”
I got to my feet and said, a little more loudly, “I have, Richard. I have met someone else. Or rather, gotten reacquainted.”
He stared at me. His face reddened, then paled. “Who is it?”
“Myself. The woman I think God made me to be.”
“This makes no sense,” he muttered.
“It makes perfect sense. Hear me. I don’t want you to move to Chicago. And I don’t want to move back here.” Gently I removed the ring from my left hand and laid it on the table between us.
In the end, I was surprised at just how easily it slipped off my finger.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
That night I slept better than I had in weeks. Early in the morning, Charlie and Helen drove us to the train station.
“What do you mean, you’re not staying for the Fourth of July?” Helen wailed as we waited on the platform. Dot and Charlie were holding their own low-pitched conversation in the shadow of the depot. “What about the fireworks? And the band concert in Kerryville Park? You’re going to miss everything.”
“They have fireworks in Chicago, too, silly,” I said. “Good ones, I’ve heard. Besides, I’m helping out with a special program at the settlement house where I volunteer.”
She tugged on the end of her braid. “I still don’t get what that is.”
“It’s a place in the city where people can come and—well, get settled,” I said. “People who are new to this country, who are poor and might need help learning the language, or being trained for jobs, or learning how to cook and sew—all sorts of things.” I realized Helen had never seen an impoverished immigrant neighborhood in her life, just as I hadn’t until recently.” We’d led sheltered lives.
“Is that what you do there?” Helen said. “Teach cooking and sewing?”
“No, I’m just helping out with this one event, with costumes and things. It’s important that I be there.”
“Oh.”
“But Marjorie and I have a surprise for you,” Dot said as she joined us.
“What surprise?” Helen jutted her chin. She hadn’t been too keen on most of my recent surprises.
Dot placed a gloved hand on Helen’s arm. “We were thinking you could come to Chicago for the Fourth. We’ll watch the fireworks together, and you can stay with us at our apartment. Would you like that?”
“Me, come to Chicago? Boy, would I ever!” Helen shouted over the noise of the train chugging into the station.
“Maybe we can even go shopping on State Street. We’ll look for a new dress for school.”
I glanced sharply at Dot. It was a fine thing to offer for “us” to take Helen shopping when she never seemed to have an extra nickel to her name. But I let it go.
“You can help me with the children,” I added. “And see the settlement house for yourself.”
Helen’s eyes danced with excitement. “Gee, that’d be swell.”
“I left money for a train ticket with Frances,” I called back as we boarded. “I’ve already cleared it with her, so be sure to thank her politely. And it wouldn’t hurt to be especially helpful around the house.”
Waving to her and Charlie through the grimy window, I suddenly couldn’t wait to get back to Chicago. Helen had given me a new idea to consider. Maybe the settlement house could use a sewing teacher. I’d mention the idea to Ruthie. But first we had to make it through the Fourth of July.
I also ached to see Peter. Things between us had ended on a sour note after the reception at the country club. I longed to make things right—and to set in motion my plan to convince him to stop his bootlegging activities. But on my first day back at work, I spotted him sitting at a corner table in the employee dining room, canoodling with that snooty redhead. Well, maybe not canoodling, exactly, but certainly speaking tête-à-tête. Why would he even consider giving up bootlegging for me when he had someone so stunning to cozy up to?
Dot followed my gaze. “Wipe that moony look off your face, doll.”
“I’m not mooning.”
“Yes, you are. Need I remind you, you brushed him off? What’s he supposed to do now, become a monk?”
I sipped my chocolate milk without tasting it. “Who is she, exactly?”
“Stella Davenport. Fine Jewelry.”
I sighed. “It figures.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
But Stella—I dimly remembered from high-school Latin class—meant “star.” Why couldn’t she be named something ordinary, like Mary or Gladys?
At that moment, Stella laughed and touched Peter’s arm. I forced myself to look away.
Stella, Stella, stole my fella.
Saving him from a life of crime was going to be harder than I thought.
Helen arrived on July third. Leaping off the train at Union Station, she nearly knocked the wind out of me, chattering ninety miles an hour. “Can I get my hair bobbed while I’m here? Yours looks so adorable. Frances says I’m not old enough, but she can’t do anything about it if I come home with it already bobbed. And rouge.”
“No rouge. How was the train ride? Were you nervous, riding all by yourself?”
“Fine. I’m not a baby, you know. Besides, Frances asked the conductor to look out for me. He was ever so nice. He said he’d never heard somebody talk quite as much as I do. Is that popcorn? Let’s get some. I’ve never seen so many people. Oh! Will you look at that? Just look!”
The sight of the skyscrapers rendered her uncharacteristically speechless as we exited the station. I seized the moment to explain the evening’s activities.
“First we’ll drop off your things at home, but then we have to leave right away for the settlement house. Tomorrow’s our big performance. Tonight’s the dress rehearsal and there’s so much to do. You can help us get everything ready to go.”
Helen found her tongue. “Can I? It will be so much fun. I can’t wait to meet everybody. Oh! Are we going to take the Elevated?”
Dot wasn’t home when we stopped in at the apartment. I showed Helen where to stash her belongings and change clothes. I changed into my oldest skirt and blouse, as if suiting up for battle. I’d learned the hard way that the settlement house was no place for delicate clothes; best to wear a sturdy outfit that could be yanked on, spilled on, and wrap
ped into enthusiastic, sticky-fingered hugs without harm.
When I returned to the front room, Helen was peering at the photographs of Dot and her friends that lined the bookshelf.
“She’s so photogenic,” she sighed. “She looks just like Louise Brooks. I wish I could look like that.”
“You look fine.” I flung open the door. “Come on, we have to go.”
At the settlement house, I made a point of introducing Helen to young Gabriella. As I expected, they hit it off right away, and both were a big help in corralling the younger children.
Pandemonium reigned. The children forgot the words to the songs, squirmed and scuffled, and attacked each other with swords fashioned from the small American flags they’d been given to carry.
“Please, children. Treat the Stars and Stripes with dignity,” I pleaded, to no avail.
“You know the saying,” said Annamarie as she helped me make last-minute adjustments to little colonial-style vests and pinafores. “Bad dress rehearsal, good performance.”
“Who said that?” I said around a mouthful of pins.
“I don’t know,” she admitted, “but I hope he was a prophet.”
“Hey, where’s Joe? We could use the voice of masculine authority.”
The expression in her dark eyes clouded. “There was some trouble in the neighborhood last night. Some sort of liquor raid. Three of the local boys got arrested. Joe’s down at the station now, talking to the police on their behalf.” She shook her head. “That’s always the way it goes. The gang leaders make all the big money and let the naive young boys take the fall. Those gangsters get away with murder—literally.”
When Joe eventually showed up, his presence had a miraculous effect on the children in the choir, especially the boys. With breathtaking speed they whipped into shape, even holding their flags with all the dignity of a Marine color-guard regiment, and at last Ruthie was able to successfully run the choir through its paces. Their clear, sweet harmonies made my heart swell. As I watched their fresh, innocent faces, I was sickened by the thought of even a single one of them being lured by thugs into a life of crime. But for too many of them, the bleak gates of reform school or prison, or worse, loomed large. I thanked God for people like Ruthie and Joe, who dedicated their lives to rewriting the endings of so many stories.
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