by Sally Laity
How could it be Tuesday morning already? Mary Theresa peered at her alarm clock to determine if it had gone off at the set time. She had no idea when she’d dozed off, having watched hours pass by one after another. Kneading her temples, she padded to the bathroom to wash her face and freshen up. It took a light touch of makeup to cover the grayish circles below her eyes, but Mary hoped the evidence of yet another sleepless night would be less noticeable.
She should have simply told Estelle she wouldn’t be com-ing anymore. But now, her mother would be expecting her, have extra food planned and in the making. It vexed Mary to remember that on previous occasions with Estelle’s family she’d taken extra care to choose just the right dress, hoping to look especially nice for them. Or to be more truthful, for Nelson. But even as she acknowledged the fact, she could see the utter futility of such nonsense. What could she have been thinking?
“The problem is, when it comes to Nelson, you forget to think,” she lectured herself around her toothbrush. “You forget he deserves much better. Useless daydreams; they must stop.”
Yesterday’s clouds had been the prelude to another summer storm, and the steady rain which had battered the windows throughout the night would likely continue all day. Intending to choose an outfit that wouldn’t spot easily, Mary went to her closet and picked through the lot, finally selecting a charcoal gabardine skirt with a matching cardigan and a plain blouse. Dull enough to match the day and her mood, she mused. After throwing a small lunch together, she bagged it, picked up her purse and umbrella, and left for the trolley.
Amazingly, Estelle’s bright face and grin met her from the middle of the streetcar as Mary entered and paid the fare. Returning her friend’s smile, she went to join her. “Early today you are.”
“I got ready a little quicker than usual, I guess.” She grinned. “What a morning, huh? Looks like there’ll be no shady bench for lunchtime today.”
Mary opened her mouth to respond, but Estelle continued with scarcely a breath. “Hey, wait’ll you hear. Dad and a mechanic from our neighborhood rigged Nelse’s old car up with a hand clutch, so he can drive now. Isn’t that great?”
“Yes. Great.” Though she hadn’t started out the day with enthusiasm, somehow the good news about Nelson did raise Mary’s spirits a little.
“It would appear his old boss will take him back, too. So starting next week, big brother will be a working man again.”
“Happy for him I am.” But the words were barely out of her mouth before Estelle cut in once more.
“Yeah, he and Dad went out for some practice drives that day and the next. I think they were both amazed at how quickly Nelse picked up applying the clutch with his hand instead of his left foot.”
Having no idea what that even meant, Mary only smiled and diverted her attention to the rain-slick world outside the windows. Much as she yearned to know anything and everything about Nelson, she couldn’t afford to spend much time thinking about him. . .not when she planned to wangle her way out of having to see him again. The only thing she hadn’t figured out was how to tell Estelle. Mary didn’t dwell on the anguish she’d incur by letting their beautiful friendship cool. . .but far better to do it that way than to have the truth of her past deal the mortal wound to their relationship. And it would, eventually.
Soon enough, the girls arrived at the factory, took their stations, and threw themselves into their work. With the doors closed against the dampness, the cavernous interior of the place quickly grew sticky, and amplified the cacophony of noise from all the machines, as well. Mary did her best to ignore the discomfort and concentrate on making the quota back in her own corner.
Something about the stiffness of the new fabric and the way the shirt collars turned out reminded her of her late father, dressed ever so fastidiously, as befitted his position at the university. Mama had taken pride in starching and ironing Papa’s white dress shirts just so. And he’d had such plans for his offspring. Mary couldn’t help wondering what he would think of his daughter now, so far away from home, slaving away in such a wretched place. The thought brought a sad smile. But at least she was alive. Perhaps it would be enough for him to know she had escaped the horrors that had claimed the rest of their beloved family.
The lunch bell shattered Mary’s pensive thoughts. Clipping the threads on the piece she’d just finished, she turned off her machine and plucked her lunch and thermos from the bottom drawer. Instead of losing herself in remembrances of the past, she wished she’d have spent the time rehearsing what to say to Estelle. But it was too late now. She drew a fortifying breath and made the long walk to her friend’s station.
“Oh, Mare. Hi,” the bubbly brunette sang out as Mary approached. She tapped the machine beside her. “Gertie’s out with an infected finger, so you can sit here in your old spot while we eat. It’ll be like old times, almost.” She unwrapped the food she’d brought and laid it out.
With a nod, Mary tugged out the vacant chair and sank onto it, then reached into her own lunch sack.
“How’re those collars coming along?” Estelle teased. “Knowing you, every one that goes through your machine comes out perfect.”
“Not always,” Mary confessed. “One I hide sometimes.”
“I know just what you mean. I’ve had my bad moments, too. And by the end of the day I’m just anxious to get out of this place and forget about it for awhile.” She nibbled a celery stick. “If it weren’t for Tuesdays and knowing you’ll be coming home with me after work, I’d dread the entire week.”
Mary swallowed a chunk of her sandwich without chewing it and regretted it immediately. She grabbed for her tea to help wash it down.
“Is something wrong?” Estelle asked.
It seemed the ideal chance to start manufacturing the excuses she might need to build on later. “I. . .I. . . Not very good I am feeling.” It wasn’t exactly a lie, Mary reasoned. Doing this to her best friend inflicted more than a little guilt, and she felt positively awful about it.
Especially when she saw Estelle’s cheery demeanor collapse before her eyes.
“You’re sick? Oh, no. I kind of thought you looked a little tired on the trolley this morning.”
Nodding with just a touch more misery than she needed to, Mary wrapped the remainder of her uneaten lunch and tucked it into the bag.
“Well, Mom is really good at fixing what ails people. Maybe when we get home—”
“Please,” Mary fudged, “maybe tonight my home is better for me to go.”
Her friend’s lips sagged at the corners. “Oh, and I so count on your visits.” Then her lips softened and lifted with a forced smile. “Oh, well. If I must live without you one week when you’re not yourself, I guess I’ll get over it. After all, there’s always Sunday, right?”
“Yes,” Mary agreed, feeling like a skunk. “There is Sunday.”
Which gave her a couple days to come up with an excuse to bow out of that, too.
❧
Nelson steered onto a dead-end street to demonstrate how smoothly he could use the hand clutch during a perfect turnaround, then pulled back out onto the busy avenue, merging with the other Wednesday night traffic. The coupe purred like a kitten, and the breeze pouring in through the open windows felt balmy and wonderful. He grinned at Jonathan.
With a futile attempt to smooth his windblown sandy hair, Jon nodded. “Not bad, Buddy. Not bad at all. It’s great to see you tooling around again. I was about to give up trying to light a fire under you anymore.”
“Yeah, don’t remind me what a sap I’ve been. I’m trying to make up for it.”
“So what did it?” Jon probed. “Or maybe I should make that who. That pretty little Polish chick? Is she the reason for this new resolve?”
Nelson’s irritated glance caught his pal’s suggestive wink. “Why is it, whenever you come around, it’s Mary Theresa this, Mary Theresa that? I do have my own life, you know, and did even before she got here.”
“Well, pardon me,” Jon snapped back. “I used to
be able to kid around with you in the old days.” His tone gentled. “It’s just that you’ve started coming back to life lately, and as far as I know, she does happen to be the only new factor in the equation.”
Nelson shook his head in chagrin. “You’re right. I didn’t mean to fly off the handle. I’m being a jerk. And right after prayer meeting, too. Guess I should’ve paid more attention to that sermon.”
“So,” Jon began a little more cautiously, “are you saying she is or isn’t a factor in all this? She does have supper at your house every week, doesn’t she? And Stella says Mary’s started tagging along on Sunday morning with you guys, too. Are you telling me you’re not interested?”
Passing a slower vehicle which pulled out into the road, Nelson shrugged. “I don’t know. And that’s the truth.”
“What do you mean? We used to talk, Nelse. Open up.”
Conceding that his friend was right, Nelson tried to imagine putting his feelings into words when he still had to figure things out for himself. He inhaled a troubled breath and released it. But he really did need to talk to somebody, and who better than his best friend? He finally took the plunge. “I thought at first there might be some kind of. . .attraction there—”
“On your part, or hers?”
“Both,” Nelson admitted. “The first time Mary Theresa came home with Stella she seemed like a scared rabbit. But then she started warming up. She’s the one who came walking with me when I needed to get used to my peg, and all. And we’d talk a little. She’s. . .got a lot of problems, you know?”
Jonathan gave a thoughtful nod. “She came from overseas after the war, right? She must’ve seen a lot.”
“I’m sure she did. Mary doesn’t talk much about it, but I thought she was starting to open up with me.”
“Starting?”
“Yeah. Told me a couple little things I don’t think she’s even told Stella, or I’d have heard them already.” He smirked.
A chuckle burst from the passenger side, and Jon’s grin took awhile to disappear. “So what happened? Why’d you say you ‘thought’ she was opening up?”
Nelson grimaced. “Because all of a sudden she made a U-turn. Last time she came over, on Sunday, she gets this sudden headache. Then last night, when we all expected her to come for supper, she begged off, saying she was sick. Well, it’ll be Sunday again in a couple more days. If she gives Stella another convenient little excuse, it won’t take a genius to figure. It’s me she’s avoiding.”
Jon tipped his head, doubt written all over his face. “Not necessarily.”
“On the other hand,” Nelson continued, “it’s just as well. I’m heading back to Lawson’s come Monday morning. To my old job.”
“So I hear. That’s terrific.”
He nodded. “Figure I’ll have enough on my hands with getting back into that routine, keeping my car running, going to church. Guess I don’t need another complication right now. Later there’ll be plenty of time to find some gal willing to put up with me and—” He tapped his artificial leg and shrugged. “So for now. . .”
“Whatever you say, Buddy.” Jonathan clammed up and looked out his side window.
The sudden silence didn’t sit well with Nelson. He took a different tack. “So what’s with you and Sis? Gonna give her another shot?”
Jonathan winced. “Who knows? Think she’s ready?”
“Only one way to find out.”
“I suppose.”
Funny how much easier it seemed to give advice than to take it, Nelson mused. But something had definitely changed with Mary Theresa. Ever since they’d gone to church. Since he caught a glimpse of her tattoo. The way she kept it hidden, a person would think being thrown into a concentration camp was something to be ashamed of. Something that was her fault.
Or was it him. . .him and his leg? Maybe she thought it too painful a reminder of a time she’d prefer to forget.
Whichever it happened to be, Sunday would either be the beginning. . .or the end.
First, however, there was something he needed to do.
sixteen
Curled up on her couch with her fingers wrapped around a cup of hot tea, Mary lost herself in the quiet music playing on the radio. In a little while she’d run a bubble bath and soak away the weariness of the day, but for now it was enough to relax and clear her mind of all troubling thoughts regarding letting go of Estelle. . .and even sadder, Nelson. She’d grown so easily fond of his rich voice, of kindnesses so like his sister’s. Their sweet friendship was among her greatest treasures, and her visits to that loving home, the brightest spots in her world.
A few light taps sounded on the front door.
Startled, Mary almost spilled her tea as she jumped to her feet. She hadn’t heard anyone come up the steps. She set the half-empty cup on the lamp table and padded to answer the summons. “Who is outside?”
A pause. “It’s me. Nelson.”
Nelson! Mary swallowed her surprise, then unlocked and opened the door.
A sheepish grin met her in the dim lamplight spilling out the opening. “I hope it’s not too late. I happened to be passing your street and thought I’d drop by. I have something to give you.”
Words failed her. Should she invite him in? Was that proper? Or wise?
“May I come in? I promise I won’t stay long.”
“O–of course,” she stammered. Hoping she’d made the right choice, she stepped aside.
“Nice little place,” he said with a disarming smile as he glanced around the small living room with an expression of approval.
“Thank you. With decorating Estelle helped me.”
“Ah, yes, the famous shopping trip. She talked of nothing else for days.”
“I, too, had fun.”
He nodded.
“Some tea you would like? I am having.” Gesturing toward the couch and her own cup, she gave a questioning shrug.
“Sure. Thanks.” With that, he settled into the adjacent slipcovered chair.
Mary hastened to the kitchenette and took a second cup and saucer from her drainer. Once she’d poured the tea and added a few cookies to a plate, she brought them to her guest. “Are you taking sugar or cream?”
“Black is fine, thank you.”
Reclaiming her seat, Mary did her best to relax, despite the fact that her pulse insisted on doing silly things.
Nothing seemed to fluster Estelle’s brother. He raised the cup to his lips, his gaze riveted to her as an instrumental rendition of “Something To Remember You By” filled the silence.
She wished she’d turned the music down or even off. It lent a kind of intimacy to the moment she didn’t feel she had a right to.
“We’ve been missing you lately.”
“Yes, I–I’m sorry.” She fluttered a hand, a hapless substitute for an explanation.
“Anyway,” he went on, “I saw something in a bookstore near where I work and thought you might find it useful.” Reaching into an inner pocket of his jacket, he withdrew a gilt-edged book and leaned forward to hand it to her.
“Always gifts you are bringing,” Mary said softly, then gazed down at it. She gasped. “A Bible! In Polish!” Her mouth parted in shock as she looked up at him again, her heart swelling in response to yet another display of his thoughtfulness.
“I know it can’t be easy for you to muddle through King James’s English,” he said, his tone gentle. “Even we have problems understanding some of those old words. But I thought maybe if you could read in your own language, it might help you find clearer meaning to the verses.”
“Oh, Nelson,” she breathed. “Too kind, too generous you are. I will love this. How much you cannot know.”
With a gratified grin, he drained the remainder of the tea in his cup, then stood. “Well, that’s all I hoped. Maybe sometime we can talk over a few passages again. I enjoyed the questions you came up with. They made me think.”
Mary felt her cheeks warming under his scrutiny. “Maybe the day comes when I not b
other you with questions,” she murmured, grateful beyond words as she rose to her feet to walk him to the door.
Reaching the tiny entry, Nelson hesitated, his hand closing around the knob without turning it as his eyes made a leisurely perusal of her flushed face. “I hope we never reach that point, Mary Theresa. I really do.” Then with a last heart-stopping grin, he left.
Mary sagged against the closed door, fighting tears as she turned the lock after him. Such a loss he would be.
❧
If Mary Theresa imagined that disappointing Estelle had been tough to do on Tuesday, her dread of going to work on Friday about doubled that discomfort. She knew that with its arrival would come lunch with Estelle, as would the inevitable discussion leading to the Sunday service. Mary wracked her brain trying to fabricate a plausible way to evade spending time with the Thomases—after she’d practically promised to start going to church regularly with them. She hadn’t mentioned Nelson’s visit a few nights ago, and since Estelle hadn’t, either, Mary could only assume he hadn’t said anything himself. Which was fortunate.
Facing herself in the mirror, she practiced maintaining an even expression while mouthing a few pretexts. “Cramping I have. My cycle. . .” No, not that. “A big tooth in back is. . .” Mary shook her head in disgust. “How about the truth? I cannot come because your brother I lo—”
Even without finishing the word, the certitude of what she’d almost said shook her down to her toes. . .it wasn’t a fabrication. Despite all the noble plans she’d made to remain aloof from Nelson Thomas, to save him and his family from her wretched past, the unthinkable had happened. Mary had grown to love her best friend’s brother.
Now more than ever, she knew she could never return to Estelle’s home. What if her feelings somehow emblazoned themselves across her face or radiated from her eyes. . .or worse yet, came tripping out of her mouth? How humiliating it would be to reveal her whole heart, only to have it and her impossible dreams crushed forever. To see the affection that precious family had shown her turn to horror and loathing would be much more shattering than all the agonies she had endured at Ravensbruck.