Clara left after dinner to visit friends. Rebecca had homework and she vanished up to her room. The two couples sat in the living room, the conversation revolving around the shop and changes that Mr. Robertson planned now that Frank was home.
When the clock chimed nine, Frank stood up and reached down for Marian's hand. A familiar churning began in the pit of her stomach.
"Good night, Mom, Dad," Frank said. He bent down to kiss his mother's cheek.
"Good night," Marian echoed, fol owing him into the hal .
Her foot was on the bottom step when she heard his mother. "I don't like it, I tel you. Rebecca shouldn't hear those noises. She's too young."
Flame burned Marian's cheeks. Inside his room, Frank pul ed her against his chest but she pushed him away with her fists. "Frank, no."
"Yes." He brought her closer, trapping her fists between their bodies. "She wanted you to hear her. Are you going to let her stop me from doing this?" He kissed the tip of her ear. "Or this?" His lips slid down her throat, to the top of her blouse. "Or this?"
She moaned at the onslaught of sensation from his touch. "No," she agreed, her fingers uncurling and wrapping around his neck. "But we have to be quiet."
"Al right." And then his fingers were skimming silently across her skin, his breath whispering along her jaw, his touch saying louder than any words how precious she was to him, how much he cared. She melted into his arms, the world outside their room disappearing.
The next morning, she sat on the bed and watched him knot his tie. "We need our own place," she said.
"We wil . As soon as I save enough."
She walked over and smoothed his jacket over his shoulders. "Frank, do you want to walk downstairs every morning, knowing your mother and father heard us making love?"
"I thought we were pretty quiet. At least, I was."
Her skin heated. He'd been tender the night before, but she'd been unable to stay quiet, biting the pil ow to stop her moans from being carried throughout the house.
She swallowed at the memory, then narrowed her eyes at his smug grin. "I just don't think I can handle the embarrassment every day. Maybe we should sleep apart until we have our own place. I could move back in with Rebecca. "Your mother would be thril ed, she added silently.
His eyes widened. She knew she'd never be able to make good on her threat but it was satisfying to see his grin disappear.
"Marian, you wouldn't."
She stood on tiptoe and kissed his chin. "No. But I would like our own place. I'll check the paper while you're at work."
She asked Clara about the area while they cleaned the living room. Clara mentioned that a friend of hers had recently vacated a smal garage apartment. "I think it's stil empty," she added. Marian kissed her cheek and ran al the way over to look at the place.
A few hours later, she was sitting on the front stoop, waiting impatiently for Frank to come home. Sounds of supper preparation could be heard from the kitchen. His mother had made several pointed remarks about not running a boardinghouse but Clara and Rebecca had soothed her by agreeing to cook the evening meal.
When Marian final y heard Frank's whistle, she jumped up and raced down the sidewalk to meet him.
"Guess what happened today?" she asked at the same time as he said, "You won't believe what happened."
She stopped and caught his arm. "You go first."
"No, you."
"Frank..."she started, then laughed. "Clara told me about this darling little apartment. I went to see it and talked to the landlady. It's available if we want it, the rent is reasonable, and we can move in right away. She said we can have two days to make a decision but, Frank, it's perfect! We don't need two days."
"You found a place?"
She nodded. "Now you."
"I have a new job."
She stared at him. "A new job? But what—what about—?"
He laughed, pul ing her into his arms and swinging her around. "Dad and I agreed he doesn't have enough work to keep me busy. And I didn't want to take money from Mom and the girls. Joe Wilson needed help and he hired me. I already sold a suit and two pairs of shoes today."
She slipped her arm through his. "So we both had a productive day. Come on, Mr. Robertson, let's go have supper and tel your family."
"Tel my parents? Right now?"
She nodded, bubbling over with happiness. Her handsome husband was home, he had a job that would suit his temperament better, he'd see the apartment was perfect for newlyweds...
She pecked him on the cheek, wishing they could run off right then and be alone. "You'll love the apartment.
Mrs. Sul ivan will be a wonderful landlady and I can fix up the room so it's ours...."
Her voice trailed off at the look on his face. "What's the matter, Frank?"
"Let's not tel them yet. At least about the apartment. Nothing's settled and she'll be upset enough about me not working at the store. And if we don't end up moving..."
Some of her excitement melted away. "I see." She dropped her hand from his arm and moved away a step.
"You need to make a choice, Frank Robertson—your mother or me."
"Marian!"
She shook her head, refusing to be moved by the pleading in his tone or the desire in his eyes. She refused to be in the middle like this. She was his wife, and his al egiance should be to her. She'd given up her family for him. She deserved nothing less from her husband.
His chest rose and fel , and she waited silently. He held out his hand to her. "Al right, we'l tel Mom. But couldn't we look at the place first? Make sure it suits us both?"
A little ache grew in her stomach at his distrust, but she nodded. He was wil ing to compromise. She could do the same.
"Now, come on," he said. "Let's eat. I'm starved."
After supper, they helped wash up the dishes, then left by the back door—for a walk, he told his family. After meeting their prospective landlady and being shown the smal space, he agreed it would suit their current needs. Marian skipped beside him as they returned to the house, chattering about the changes she'd make.
"And it won't cost much at al ," she assured him when he reminded her that they had little money."I promise. I'll be creative and frugal. You'll see. We'l be fine."
A flicker of apprehension coursed through her when they entered the living room. His mother and Clara were mending while his father read to them. Rebecca lay on her stomach in front of the fire, a sketch pad in front of her.
"You're back." She jumped up and gave them both a big hug. "Where did you go?" Rebecca took Frank's hand, pul ing him into the room. He sat down on the sofa and she squeezed in next to him, leaving room for Marian on his other side.
Marian's courage returned when he gave her a slight nudge with his leg. This had been her idea and her find.
She should break the news. "We looked at an apartment today," she said quietly.
She glanced at Clara. Her head was bowed over the sock she was darning. Mr. Robertson had his book open in his lap but Marian didn't think he was reading. Frank's mother snipped off a piece of thread and Marian flinched.
"Did you find one?" Rebecca asked.
She turned to his sister with a grateful smile. "We did."
"A nice one," Frank offered. "We can move in anytime."
"I suggest you move now."
The venom in Mrs. Robertson's voice squeezed Marian's heart. Frank laid his hand on hers. "Mom, you don't mean that." Marian could hear the steel in his voice.
"I do." His mother stood up, snapping the shirt she'd been mending and folding it with quick, angry jerks. "I'm sure you'll both be much happier."
"Now, Mother..."
Mrs. Robertson rounded on her husband. "She doesn't want to be here. Let them go. He's lost to us, anyway, now that they're married."
Marian rose stiffly to her feet, willing her legs to keep her upright."I'm sorry you feel that way, Mrs. Robertson.
We'll leave tonight. And thank you for your hospitality. Once we're sett
led, I hope you'll visit us and let us repay your kindness."
She walked out of the room, her head held high. She didn't break down when she went into Frank's old room and began tossing clothes and toiletries into their suitcases. She didn't shed a tear when Clara raced up the stairs and thrust a set of bedding into her arms. "We'll see you at church," she whispered. Marian didn't show by so much as a blink that she was embarrassed when Mrs. Sul ivan came to her door in a bathrobe and handed them a key.
Not until they were alone in the tiny room did she give her emotions ful rein. She flung the bundle of sheets at the wal . "How dare she treat me like that!" Her hands bal ed into fists and she stormed around the room, kicking at the single chair, and pounding on the little dresser.
"Marian!" Frank grabbed her shoulders and jerked her to a stop.
"Your mother hates me, Frank." Her chest heaved with hurt, and she could feel her throat burning. Angry tears erupted from her eyes. She would not cry, she told herself. She would not give that woman the satisfaction.
"And her son loves you." Frank brushed his lips over her flushed cheeks. "Marian, we're in our own place now.
Maybe a little sooner than we planned but we're here."
His caresses were erasing the anger, replacing it with a shimmering desire. He slid his hands down her arms and pried her fingers apart, bringing her hand to his mouth and gently nibbling each finger. She gasped as need shot through her.
"Frank," she whispered.
"Hmm?"
"I love you."
He raised his head and grinned. "That works out fine for me, Mrs. Robertson. Because I love you, too. And right now, I have a powerful need to show you how much."
*****
Summer 2004
"Did you find any pictures of Grandpa Frank's side of the family?" Preston spun a picture on the end of his finger until Hannah snatched it away from him.
"Don't do that! Do you realize you're touching history here?" She settled the picture on the stack she was sorting on her bed.
Her room was layered with pictures. Photo albums from the back bedroom, boxes of pictures from the attic.
Once their grandmother had given in about the attic, Hannah had forced Preston to go back upstairs with her and they'd spent the entire afternoon carting down boxes.
"Grandma won't have a party if G.G. says no," Preston said. He'd wandered over to the window and sat on the padded seat.
"Wel , I'm not giving up. Not yet." Even after her visit, she couldn't drop the idea of a party. "Come on, Preston, they've been married for seventy-five years! Shouldn't they celebrate?"
He shrugged. "Maybe. But they don't have to. I mean, they know they've been married that long. Why do they need a party?"
Hannah peered at him over the top of the pictures she was holding, caught by the logic of what he was saying, which was remarkably similar to Grandpa Frank's. "Okay," she agreed. "Maybe they don't need a party. But it would be good for the rest of us."
"Why?"
She dropped the pictures she was holding on the bed and turned so she could face him better. He wasn't the audience she had to convince but he would do for practice. And sometimes, she hated to admit, he did come up with some good ideas.
"Think about the world, Preston. Who stays married for very long anymore? G.G. and Grandpa Frank are an inspiration, a reminder that people can make a vow before God and family and keep it. Pretty impressive, isn't it?"
"Yeah." He had the cord of her curtain curled around his hand, and the curtain was hiding and then revealing the bright sunshine. "But I stil don't see why we need a party or what you're doing with al these pictures."
That part she couldn't real y explain, even to herself. She just felt compel ed to go through the pictures that had been taken over the generations, to learn more about these two people who'd met al those years ago. Details of their story had been snapped throughout the decades, and each image she found gave her a new understanding of their lives—and their love.
A photo on one of the piles caught her eye and she picked it up. "Here, this is Grandpa Frank and his two sisters. The older one is Clara and the other one's Rebecca."
He studied the picture, then shook his head. "Okay, now I'm getting worried. You have way too much information about them. I mean, I didn't even know Grandpa Frank had sisters."
She stared at him. "Did you think he was an only child like G.G.? He had two sisters. Clara was older and married Sam. They moved to the east coast sometime after Grandpa Frank left Davenport, and they had some kids of their own. Grandma used to get Christmas cards from them. Mom probably did, too."
Preston lifted his hands. "I don't need al the details."
"You would like to know about Aunt Rebecca." She tapped the picture she was holding. A young girl with pigtails grinned at them, her bright expression a contrast to the more somber expressions of her brother and sister.
"What?" The word was long and drawn out.
"She married a restaurant owner. They stayed in Davenport for a few years and then he decided to move to California. Hol ywood. His restaurant was very popular with movie stars in the forties and fifties. Aunt Becca, as they cal ed her, was the hostess and everyone loved to see her."
He squinted at the picture. "This aunt?"
Hannah nodded. "Yup. Somewhere there's a picture of her al dressed up. She's wearing a ful -length fur coat, before everyone said fur was wrong. And she used to wear the highest heels you ever saw."
"Did you meet her?"
Hannah shook her head. "No. Just heard stories about her. Mom and her cousin Marcia were talking once.
Aunt Becca died young, probably from lung cancer, only nobody's ever said that to me. She smoked a lot, something else people used to do without knowing how bad it was." G.G. smoked at one time; Hannah knew this from the snapshots, but she'd never seen her smoke.
"Hmm. "Preston held the picture in his hand. "Did she have kids?"
Hannah grinned at his interest. "They adopted two boys. I have no idea where they are now. They'd be Grandmas cousins, so maybe she hears from them. One was a general in the army, with a bunch of stars. I'm not sure about the other guy."
"A general?"
She nodded. "Yeah, probably top-secret special clearance and al that other government stuff." Her brother was interested in the various branches of the service. His room was ful of books about soldiers and their deeds.
If only there was a book to explain G.G.'s reluctance.
"Maybe I'll ask Grandma about him," Preston was saying.
"You could. She likes to talk about the family."
Preston put the picture back on the stack. "Hey, Hannah, why don't you go to the pool. Go make a fool of yourself over that lifeguard you said was so cute."
"I can do that anytime. I only get two weeks every summer to look at Grandma's stuff." Her mother, Kate, who was a teacher, shared stories whenever she could, but her life was so busy, she barely had time to keep up with her classroom activities during the school year, let alone delve into family history. And in the summer, she liked to travel with their dad.
Preston hopped off the window seat and headed for the door. "Wel , I'm going outside. And I might just go to the pool."
"You do that, Preston. Oh, and if the lifeguard on duty is a girl, don't act like too much of a fool."
He stuck out his tongue and she laughed.
The door shut behind him and she sank onto the floor, gathering the photo albums closer.
**********
Frank And Marian’s Story
Chapter 7
August 1929
By the time Frank came home for lunch that first day, Marian had succeeded in cleaning and organizing the tiny apartment. A flowered scarf draped over the top of the worn dresser hid most of the scratches. She'd arranged their combs and brushes side by side. Placing their toiletries together had seemed so intimate, and she'd flushed at the idea of being alone with Frank now, for al time.
Their clothes were neatly hung
in the wide wardrobe. She had picked a few flowers from the back of the garage, certain that Mrs. Sul ivan wouldn't miss them at al . Sitting in a can she'd covered with a piece of tinfoil, they brightened the round table that would serve for their meals.
The door opened and Frank entered, the noon sun silhouetting him in the doorway. "My, this is a pleasant sight for a man. To come into his house and find a pretty woman waiting for him."
He shrugged out of his suit coat. "You are pleased, Frank?" she asked. "We were right to move here?"
He kissed her. "Yes. Now, let's eat the sandwiches I brought home. I have to get back before long."
She showed him the cupboard under the sink where they could store their dry goods. "And we can squeeze an icebox in that corner once we buy one. I don't mind shopping every day until then. I'll have something to do."
She walked back with him after lunch, first careful y locking the apartment door. At the shop, he leaned down to kiss her but she jumped nimbly away. "Too many people, Frank," she murmured.
He laughed and patted her cheek. "I didn't know I'd married such a prude."
She pouted. "We're married now, Frank. We can't be making a scene in public."
A week after their move, she ventured into his father's grocery store. Rebecca and Clara were stocking shelves. Rebecca immediately ran over to Marian, hugging her around the waist.
"Leave her be," Clara said, pushing Rebecca away with an apologetic glance at Marian. "She's only been gone a week."
"Rebecca, go in the back room and sort those boxes that came in." Mr. Robertson's voice was harsh, and Marian's heart sank. She didn't want him angry with her, too.
But his smile was warm when he turned to her. "Settling in al right?"
She nodded. "We want you and Mrs. Robertson to come for supper soon."
"We'll let you have a few more weeks to settle in," he said. "Let me get you some groceries for now."
He wouldn't take her money. "No, Marian. You don't have to tel Frank, though." He gave her a big wink. "Our secret."
That night, Frank dropped into the easy chair Mrs. Sul ivan had unearthed in the attic. She'd sent furniture over to the smal apartment until Marian had reminded her the place wasn't that big.
Tessa McDermid - Family Stories Page 8