Tessa McDermid - Family Stories

by Tessa McDermid

  The door clicked shut behind them. "Joseph, what's going on?" Her mother stood in front of them, her hands on her hips. "The door was open and several people were outside, staring at the house. What are you shouting about?" "Ask her."

  Her mother helped Marian to her feet, exclaiming at the mark on her cheek. She glanced at the man slouched in a chair, then back at Marian. "Wel ?"

  "I don't know, Mother." She felt the greatest desire to throw herself into her mother's arms and cry. Where was Frank? Why was her father so angry? He'd never hit her before.

  "One of you knows something and I expect an answer."

  Marian's eyes widened at the vehemence in her usual y quiet mother's voice. "It's Frank," she murmured.

  Her mother urged her onto the sofa. "Frank? That boy who works for Bates? What about him?"

  "He came to see Father—"

  "He asked for your daughter's hand in marriage," her father snapped. "As if he deserved to even walk on the same path as her."

  "Daddy, that's not true! Frank's a good man, you know that. Everyone in town likes him. Why, the Bateses think he's wonderful!" Especially Sarah Bates. She didn't add how much the younger daughter's compliments had worried her over the past few days.

  "And what did you say, Joseph?" Her mother sat down next to her and Marian snuggled in her mother's arms.

  "I told him to leave my house and that if he's smart, he'll get out of town."

  "Daddy, no!"

  Marian sat up but her mother tugged her back down, hands gentle on her arms. "Joseph, why would you do such a thing?"

  Her father's chin jutted out as he stared at them. "To protect my only daughter. What would you do, Elizabeth, give them your blessing?"

  "I would talk to the young man and let him visit. If they did truly love each other—" she silenced Marian with a pinch on her arm "—I'd accept my daughter's choice."

  "You're a fool then." He lumbered to his feet, his actions those of a much older man, and reached for Marian.

  She shrank against her mother, evading his fingers. He grunted, grabbing her arm, hauling her to her feet.

  "You wil go to your room, Marian, and stay there Your mother and I will talk about what's to be done."

  "But, Daddy!"

  "Go, Marian," her mother said. At the sight of her reassuring smile, Marian shuffled out of the room and up the stairs.

  She sat on the edge of her bed. Where was Frank? If she could believe her father, he was on his way out of town. But how could he leave her?

  A tear trickled down her cheek and she dashed it away angrily. She didn't have time to cry. Her father had banished the only man she could ever love. She jumped up and flung open her bedroom door.

  She was halfway down the stairs when her father thundered out of the parlor. "I told you to go to your room, young lady!"

  "But, Daddy..."

  "And stop that sniveling." Clutching her arm, he dragged her back up the stairs and thrust her into the room with a jerk that sent her tumbling to the floor. Before she could stand up, the key turned in the lock.

  She dashed across the room, pounding on the door. "You can't lock me in here! This isn't the dark ages!

  Daddy!"

  "I can't trust you, Marian. I had no idea you were seeing that man behind my back."

  She sat on the floor, resting her head against the door, as his footsteps faded away. Now she couldn't stop the tears. Her father had never shouted at her or hit her before. And to lock her in her room...

  She didn't know how long she sat there. Brushing away the tears, she crossed the room and knelt by the open window. The sun had set hours before and stars twinkled in the sky above her. A breeze blew across her cheeks, erasing the heat of her crying. Her chin on her palms, she stared sightlessly outside.

  "Marian?"

  She leaned out the window. "Frank? Where are you?" she whispered.

  "I'm in the trees at the edge of your yard. Did your father lock you in your room?"

  She nodded, her earlier indignation returning. "He said he couldn't trust me."

  She heard his chuckle over the cicadas. "Can he trust you?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "I'm leaving town, Marian. He threatened me and I've decided I've had enough of Winston. Are you game?"

  Her heart lurched. He was leaving. But wait—what else had he said? She leaned farther over the ledge, hanging on to the sil with her fingertips. "What did you say?"

  "Do you want to go with me?"

  "How can I? My father hates you."

  "I'm not asking your father's permission."

  She sagged against the window, the implications of his statement suddenly clear. If she left with him, she would forfeit her father's blessing. The whole town would know what she'd done.

  And if she didn't? Frank would go away and his pride would keep him away. It wouldn't be long before some other woman convinced him to get married and then he'd be lost to her forever.

  "Al right, Frank, what do I have to do?"

  She heard a long sigh from the shadows and knew he hadn't been certain of her answer. A feeling of power fluttered through her. Initial y this man hadn't even wanted to get involved with her. Now he was risking everything.

  But he hasn't said anything about marriage, a tiny voice nagged her.

  Why else would he take me with him? she told herself. He had to be planning marriage.

  She listened careful y, barely breathing when he paused, both of them attentive to the voices down the road.

  He would be back at midnight with a ladder. They'd catch a freight train that usual y passed through the edge of town around 1:00 a.m. and be far from Winston hours before daybreak.

  Her heart was beating so hard by the time the clock showed midnight that she was afraid her parents would hear. They'd come up the stairs hours earlier, separately. Her father had gone into the guest room next to hers. He was usual y a heavy sleeper but his tossing and turning signaled that he was as upset by the night's events as she was. When the iron bed final y stopped squeaking, she swallowed a tiny part of her worry.

  A light scrape against the wal of the house announced Frank's arrival. She flew to the window on silent feet, her hands grasping the top of the ladder. His head appeared in the window a few seconds later.

  "Ready?" he asked in a throaty whisper.

  She nodded, afraid to speak. He took both her bags without a word and headed back down. She fol owed him, her hands clamped to the side of the ladder, her feet slowly reaching for each rung.

  Near the bottom, he grabbed her around the waist and lifted her to the ground, pressing a brief kiss to her lips before releasing her. At the feel of solid ground, she let out a long sigh and realized she'd been holding her breath.

  "I need to put the ladder back in the widow's shed, get my bag and then we'l be out of here." He picked up her suitcases, tucking the ladder under his arm. He began walking toward the back of her house.

  She tugged at his hand and he stopped. "What, Marian? We don't have much time."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Sure?"

  She could hardly see his eyes in the dark. Clouds covered the few stars that had shone earlier. Only two streetlights il uminated the vil age, their glow hidden from the parsonage by the huge oak tree.

  He put her bags on the ground and slid his free hand around her waist, pul ing her into the warmth of his body.

  "Marian, I want you to go with me. I'm going home, to my family. We'l get married there and start a new life together."

  A sigh of relief escaped her lips just before he kissed her. He did want to marry her. He was taking her to meet his family and get married.

  She bent down to pick up both of her bags. "Then let's go. We have a train to catch."

  They sat in the empty freight train compartment al night while the train rattled its way north. He told her about his family, about his two sisters and his mother. She listened, cradled against his chest, his heart thudding steadily under her ear. She wanted
the trip to never end.

  He didn't mention his father and she final y asked about him as they rol ed through another quiet town, the faint pink of dawn visible behind the rooftops."We didn't get along too well," Frank said. "I got tired of being told I was no good and I left."

  She folded her fingers around his hand. "Wil he be upset that you're back?"

  He linked his fingers with hers. "My mom's last letter said he wanted me home."

  "Then it should be a happy homecoming."

  He lowered his head and nipped her fingers with his teeth. She giggled and tried to pul out of his grasp but he wouldn't let her. "And when they see my beautiful fiancée, they'll be even happier."

  Her eyes wide, she bent her head, meeting his kiss with one of her own. When he moved away from her a long moment later, she could hardly breathe and settled against his chest .with a shuddering sigh.

  They arrived outside Davenport in the late morning. Frank tossed their bags onto the ground and jumped down first, holding out his arms for her. She laughed and then jumped, her own arms wide. She landed on his chest and they both fel to the ground, rol ing over and over and laughing as the train disappeared around the bend.

  Near a row of white houses, Frank stopped talking. An older woman was sweeping the porch of a neat house halfway down the block. As they came closer, she dropped the broom, grasping her skirts with both hands while she ran toward them.

  Marian held back, watching Frank's reunion with his mother. Tears blurred her vision.

  "Oh, Frank, Frank, my darling boy, you've come home." His mother threw her arms around his neck, pul ing his head down to hers.

  "Ma, you're embarrassing me."

  "After al these years, you can stand a little embarrassment." She kissed him again, then pushed him away, stil clinging to his shoulders. "You're al grown up, Frank. Look at you."

  He grinned. "You didn't think I'd stop growing just because I didn't have your cooking anymore?"

  His mother laughed and moved to link her arm with his, but he reached his hand toward Marian. She skipped forward quickly, setting down her bags. "Mom, this is Marian. She's going to marry me as soon as we can make the arrangements."

  Mrs. Robertson stepped back from Frank, a hand at her throat. "Marry you? But who is she?"

  A tiny shiver went through Marian. His mother's words echoed those of her father.

  Frank wrapped his arm around Marian's shoulders. "She's the woman I love," he said in a firm voice.

  His arm supporting her, Marian extended her hand. "I'm pleased to meet you, Mrs. Robertson. Frank has told me a lot about you."

  "It would've been nice to hear about you," Mrs. Robertson muttered but she shook Marian's hand.

  "Frank! Frank! It real y is you." A slender young woman, almost as tal as Frank, hurried down the steps.

  "Clara!" Frank seized his older sister by the waist and spun her around, her skirt flaring.

  A smal er girl clattered down the steps, jerking to a halt in front of the spinning couple. When Clara laughingly pushed out of his arms, Frank smiled at the girl and tweaked one of her pigtails.

  "You're not little Rebecca, are you?" he asked.

  She stretched herself to her ful height. "I'm the tal est girl in my class."

  "I bet you are. And one of the prettiest, too, no doubt."

  She grinned, revealing a gap in her teeth, and then leaped into Frank's embrace. Her resounding smack on his lips earned her a sharp reprimand from her mother. "Rebecca, in the middle of the street!"

  Frank loosened her hold around his neck and set her on the ground. "Now, Mama, they're just happy to see me. You kissed me in the street," he reminded her.

  "Wel , come inside now," she said, a dul red staining her cheeks. She clutched her broom with one hand and decorously held her long skirt with the other, leading the way up the steps.

  Marian fol owed Frank and Rebecca, conscious of Clara beside her. "She sounds meaner than she is," Clara whispered.

  Marian gave Frank's older sister a right little smile. Clara was three years older than Frank, but her comment seemed naive. Mrs. Robertson was not pleased with Frank's announcement about the coming wedding "I'm sure it's just the shock of seeing Frank again after al these years," Marian said careful y.

  "I'm so glad he's home. We've missed him so much."

  Clara held the door open for Marian. Ahead, Rebecca chattered with Frank, her smal hand clasped in his bigger one. Marian felt a tiny pang at being left out, then reminded herself that it was only right he spend some time getting reacquainted with the family. After al , she was the one marrying him.

  The narrow room at the front of the house was smal er than the parlor in Marian's home but furnished in the same somber style. She wondered if Mrs. Robertson or Clara had made the crocheted antimacassar on the back of the horsehair sofa. She hoped it was Clara's doing. She'd never mastered the intricate steps when her mother had tried to teach her. Maybe Clara could show her how to crochet and she could make decorations for her own house.

  "Marian, honey, Mama asked you a question."

  Her daydreaming brought to an abrupt end, she blinked and smiled at Frank. The slight pucker between his eyes disappeared when he returned her smile. She shifted on the hard seat until she faced Mrs.

  Robertson. "I'm sorry. I'm a little tired from the trip. What did you ask?"

  "Frank said you're getting married here," his mother said. "Why not at your parents' house?"

  Marian hesitated, wondering how much Frank had already shared with his mother. Why hadn't she been listening instead of dreaming about her own home? Now his mother would think she was a fool, not worthy of her son.

  She straightened her back, smoothing down her skirt with a careful gesture. "My father refused to let me marry Frank. He thought Frank wasn't good enough for me." She paused, letting her words sink in. "Frank couldn't stay in Winston anymore, but we didn't want to be parted. He was sure you wouldn't turn us away, that you wouldn't want to lose him, the way my father lost me."

  The older woman's gray eyes met hers, and Marian held her breath, aware that this woman could stil cast them out. And then what? Would Frank trade his family for her love?

  "You've had a long trip." His mother stood up. "Clara, help me in the kitchen. Your brother and his fiancée must be hungry. We'l start the wedding preparations tomorrow."

  Rebecca fol owed them out of the room. Once they were alone, Frank closed his arms around her and she col apsed against his chest. "Oh, Frank, I'm sorry. I meant to behave and here I've been rude to your mother the first hour we're in her house."

  He kissed the top of her head. "You were perfect. She may not act like it, but she appreciates gumption."

  His kisses roamed down the side of her cheek and ended at the corner of her mouth. "If you'd been someone mousy and quiet, someone she could walk al over, you wouldn't have been worth two minutes of her time." His kiss trapped her words.

  "Ahem."

  Frank slowly raised his head, and Marian lifted dazed eyes. Clara stood in the doorway, a tray of coffee and sliced cake in her hands. "Mother's right behind me," she warned.

  Marian scooted away from Frank and pushed several stray curls behind her ears before folding her hands in her lap. When Mrs. Robertson entered the room, Marian was quietly conversing with Clara about the cake recipe and asking for help with her crocheting instructions. Frank lounged against the fireplace, a cup of coffee in his hand.

  "It'll take at least a month for the wedding preparations," Mrs. Robertson said as she sat down.

  "A month?" Frank moved away from the mantel and sat across from his mother. "But I thought we'd just have a simple wedding here, in the parlor."

  "Even a simple wedding takes time, Frank. We need gowns, flower arrangements, a minister, your license."

  A door opened down the hal way. Rebecca bounded to her feet. "It's Daddy! I get to tel him Frank's back!"

  The man she pul ed into the room was an older version of Frank. He nodded at his
son, received a curt nod in return, then stopped in front of Marian, Rebecca stil hanging on to his arm.

  "Rebecca says you're going to marry this son of mine."

  "Yes, sir. It's kind of sudden, but when he asked me, I couldn't say no."

  Mr. Robertson smiled at her. "Frank always was a smooth talker." He grinned, one corner of his mouth slanting upward much as Frank's did.

  Marian couldn't keep from smiling at him. "But that's not the only reason I'm marrying Frank. I love him."

  Mr. Robertson studied her for a moment, then bent down, giving her a quick hug. "Frank, I'd hang on to her if I were you." He crossed the room in two long strides and clapped his son on the shoulder. "Good to have you home, son. We've missed you."

  Her eyes moist, Marian blinked. Mr. Robertson perched on the edge of the sofa, his long legs stretched out in front of him. Mrs. Robertson had been quiet during her husband's arrival but now she hovered over the two men, refil ing their coffee cups and urging them to try the cake.

  "Mama does love her men," Clara whispered.

  Marian nodded, sipping her coffee. His mother had accepted the wedding. But would she accept her new daughter-in-law as easily?

  Chapter 5

  Davenport, Iowa

  August 1929

  Supper was a quiet affair. Rebecca chattered until her mother hushed her. Mr. Robertson ate hurriedly, almost shoveling the roast and potatoes into his mouth. He mopped up the gravy with a piece of bread and, once the plate was scraped clean, pushed it away from him before settling back in his chair.

  Clara brought in an apple pie, slicing it at the table and serving her father and Frank first. The men matter most in this family, Marian realized. She tucked the thought away. Her parents had always catered to her needs, but their family was unusual. When they were married, taking care of Frank would be her first priority.

  After dinner, Mr. Robertson disappeared into a back room. "His study," Rebecca whispered.

  Marian glanced down the hal way. She and Frank's sisters were washing the dishes. Mrs. Robertson had gone into the parlor with Frank and she could hear the murmur of their voices through the partial y open door. "He smokes a cigar and reads the paper," Clara explained. "We never interrupt him when he's in there."