Tessa McDermid - Family Stories

by Tessa McDermid

  "Thank you very much," she'd added. "Your furniture has made the apartment so homey."

  She kissed the top of Frank's forehead. "Tired?"

  He nodded. "The longest day ever. Not a single customer bought anything, Marian, but I swear everyone in town came to browse. I put shoes on little boys' feet al afternoon and helped three young guys try on suits.

  Must al be tired of their threadbare outfits and wanted to see what they could look like. I almost told one of

  'em to leave but Fred said anyone can come in. Never know who might buy."

  He rol ed his head and Marian rubbed his neck. He leaned back against her hands with a sigh.

  "Sure could've used you when I traveled the roads. Some nights, I could hardly sleep, I was so sore. Trying shoes on people is harder work, though."

  She continued to rub his neck. Supper would keep, and he was in a talkative mood. "Frank, what do you want to do? I mean, do you plan to sel shoes and suits your whole life?"

  "Not at al . I'm going to have my own business, first one shop and then two, and pretty soon, shops al over the country. Then you and I can just sit and watch the money fal in."

  He pul ed her around until she was sitting on his lap. "And we're going to make it happen before we're too old to enjoy it."

  He kissed her and started to unbutton her dress. "Supper wil get cold," she said but her words lacked conviction.

  He successful y unfastened the last button and slipped the dress from her shoulders. He nibbled one shoulder, sliding the strap of her slip down to her elbows. "I'm not hungry for food right now."

  Her slip was around her waist. He stood up, keeping her close to him, and quickly let the rest of her clothes fal to the floor. His own fol owed soon after.

  Supper was forgotten. The room darkened. The only sounds were the sounds of the night and a wife comforting a tired husband.

  She turned on her side and ran her fingers along Frank's face.

  She could barely make out his features in the narrow streams of moonlight filtering in. His eyes were closed, his breathing that of a sleeping man. But as her fingers came to his mouth, he gently bit them.

  "What about that supper?" he mumbled.

  "Not sure what's left of it." She trailed her fingers across his cheek. "I thought you weren't hungry for food."

  He pushed her off the bed, giving her bottom a swat. "That was before. Now I'm starving. Bring me some food."

  She bowed to him, aware that his eyes were on her naked body. "Of course, dear master."

  He rol ed over, burrowing his head into the pil ow. "Go, before I decide supper can wait again. And I think I'm going to need my nourishment."

  She laughed and walked the few steps into the kitchen area. Moments later, they sat in bed, legs crossed, feeding each other and sharing kisses with the food, the room lit by a single lamp.

  "What would your mother or my father say if they could see us?" She popped a piece of meat into Frank's mouth."Here we are, sitting naked in bed, eating supper. We are lost, my darling Frank."

  He washed the bite down with a swig of water. "As long as I'm lost with you."

  He looked at her, his gaze searching. Suddenly shy, she reached for her robe. His hand stil ed her movements.

  "What's the matter?"

  "I feel funny, sitting here with you, without any clothes on."

  He cleared the dishes and food off the bed and pul ed her close. "Marian Robertson, don't ever be embarrassed with me. You have a beautiful body. When I first met you, I could hardly sleep. You were al I thought about, your face, your eyes, your skin. And the reality's even more beautiful than I ever imagined."

  She trembled under his touch and at his words. Turning to him, she lifted her face and kissed his mouth. That tempting mouth that could say—and do—such exciting things. She rol ed onto her back, offering herself to this man who was her husband, urging him on, holding him close.

  Eventual y they drifted into sleep, and when she woke, she didn't know how much time passed. He slept beside her, one hand curled under his cheek, his dark hair tousled on the pil ow. She climbed out of bed and carried the dishes to the table. Coming back, she gazed at him. For a moment she was frightened at the enormity of what they'd done. They had pledged their lives in this marriage and yet, what did they real y know about each other?

  He shifted, his mouth opening slightly in his sleep. Her heart lurched with love. He loved her and she loved him. She felt complete, willing to trust him with every inch of her body. They'd been right to marry. She turned off the light, tucked the covers around him and crawled into her side of the bed, curling up next to her husband, settling down for the night.

  Frank was gone when she woke up. She stretched. The long day loomed ahead. The cleaning of their smal home took little time and she only had one meal to cook. After that first lunch, Frank general y stayed at the shop, using the extra minutes to make another sale.

  "I need more to do," she told Mrs. Sul ivan. The older woman had invited her over for lunch.

  "You can use that patch of garden behind the garage." Mrs. Sul ivan poured tea into wafer-thin cups. "Then you can have al the flowers you'd like without feeling guilty."

  Marian flushed. "I didn't think you'd notice."

  Mrs. Sul ivan chuckled. "I didn't. El ie saw you out the window." The young maid had let Marian into the house.

  "We both thought it was good that the flowers are being enjoyed. You could grow your own vegetables, too.

  Tools are in the back of the garage."

  "Thank you." Working in the dirt would give her a task for part of the day.

  Mrs. Sul ivan seemed to read her mind. "Gardening won't keep you busy al day, though. Why not come to my committee meeting? Even if you're pregnant, you won't have the baby for a number of months. You'll need something to do during that time."

  Marian jumped, her hands resting instinctively on her stomach. A baby?

  "We help women who've been deserted or were widowed by the Great War," Mrs. Sul ivan continued. "Even after almost fifteen years, some of these women barely make enough to feed and dress their families. We take in donations and mend clothing and try to assist as many of them as possible. Can you sew?"

  Marian's head was whirling by the time she went back to her apartment to fix supper. Mrs. Sul ivan had talked about child care, feeding and clothing families, teaching tiny children to read and write, working with elderly people, until Marian couldn't think anymore. She didn't want to work yet. She just wanted to be Frank's wife.

  Frank was exhausted when he came in. He sat on the top step, enjoying the light breeze, while she finished supper preparations. He was silent as they ate and after several attempts to make conversation, Marian stopped talking. She washed the dishes, then found that he was already asleep in bed.

  She turned off the lamp and crawled between the sheets. When she snuggled up to him, kissing his shoulder, she was answered by a gentle snore. Looking at his back in the pale light of the moon, thinking of how lonely she'd felt al day, she felt an urge to cry or shout. Stifling both, she turned over and went to sleep.

  A pattern quickly evolved. Frank was often gone when she woke up, slipping out quietly at first light. She joined Mrs. Sul ivan on the committee, patching clothes, baking bread and rol s that were taken to families throughout town, watching children while their mothers shopped or rested. Her own housework took only a few minutes each morning, and she discovered that Frank didn't mind what he ate in the evening, so long as it was fil ing.

  She was worried. They hadn't made love in three weeks. She'd hoped the weekends would be better, that he wouldn't be so tired, but he'd started working Saturdays. Working on commission didn't pay much and he was determined to buy their own house.

  "If I never see you, what does a house matter?" she asked him one night.

  His eyes were dark as he looked at her. "Marian, this is for both of us. I want your father to see that I can provide for you."

  "I don't care abou
t that. Don't I matter more than my father?" She'd written to her parents, informing them that she was married. Her mother had replied with a short note, thankful that she was a respectable woman, but disappointed in the manner of the wedding. Her father had not been mentioned at al .

  Frank didn't say anything. And when he tried to hug her, she turned away, unwilling to release her hurt feelings.

  The little house was quiet during those days. Laughter seldom echoed around the walls and Marian was eager to leave each morning.

  One bright September afternoon, she sat on the stoop, trying to catch any breeze that might blow away the unseasonably hot weather. The thick woolen child's dress she was mending would be warm in the upcoming winter, but now its weight added to the heat. She grateful y put the dress aside when Clara came into view.

  Clara picked up the tiny dress "Do you have news for us already?"

  Marian laughed and then sobered. Her lonely nights mocked her. "No, my landlady keeps me busy. I do mending for a committee she's on."

  "Oh, the Women for Women Group."

  Marian nodded. "Wel , don't tel Mother," Clara said. "She believes it's unhealthy. Al those women need, she says, is a husband."

  "I'm sure they'd like to have theirs back," Marian snapped. "Unfortunately, most of them died in the war or disappeared. And there aren't that many men around now. Not that a husband is a woman's answer to happiness."

  "Oh?" Clara's eyebrows went up.

  "I mean—" Marian stopped in consternation. "I mean, a woman has to be able to care for herself, not rely on a man..."

  "Are you al right?" Clara asked quietly.

  Marian paused. How could she tel Frank's unmarried sister the true problem? Even though Clara was older, Marian had more experience.

  "Frank doesn't talk to me much," Marian said. "He comes home from work, eats dinner, goes to sleep. He's too tired for anything."

  "Anything?" Clara echoed.

  Marian couldn't face Clara. She could feel that her skin was probably brick-red. She shifted on the step as a mosquito buzzed past her ear.

  "I may not be married, but I do know about men and women," Clara final y said.

  Marian turned to her sister-in-law. "I didn't mean to be rude, Clara. It's just that I'm not used to talking about this."

  El ie, Mrs. Sul ivan's maid, came out of the house and waved at them. She carried a basket of laundry to the line and began careful y pinning up towels and sheets. Children could be heard running down the al ey, home from school. Clara sat silent.

  Marian made a decision. She had to tel someone. And maybe Clara had some ideas. "I don't know what to do. I make supper before Frank comes home and I'm waiting when he walks in the door. He sits down, gobbles his food and practical y fal s into bed. Before I've even cleared the table and washed the dishes, he's asleep. And he wakes up and goes to work before dawn."

  "Don't do the dishes."

  Marian stared at her sister-in-law. "Leave them on the table?" The one night she'd done that, she had awakened the next morning, appal ed at the mess. Her mother had never left the dishes until morning and she was certain Mrs. Robertson was the same sort of housekeeper.

  Clara nodded. "What's more important, a clean house or your husband? What would happen if you got up in the morning and did the dishes then? Or got up after Frank went to sleep? Sounds as if your working in the kitchen doesn't bother him or wake him up."

  Marian could only frown, trying to readjust a lifetime of teaching. "But, Clara, if I don't do the dishes..."

  "What?" Clara interrupted. "Wil you be a loose woman if you leave the dishes to go to bed with your husband? I wouldn't say so. And I'm sure if you asked Frank, he'd agree with me."

  She couldn't imagine asking Frank. In the early days, they'd discussed so many things but except for his one speech about how much he desired her body, they'd never talked about lovemaking.

  Clara changed the subject then, asking about the committee's work. After she'd gone home, Marian continued to sit on the stoop, watching El ie take down the laundry, shaking each piece before neatly folding it and placing it in the basket. That simple, ordinary act snapped her to attention.

  She went into the apartment, the dress in the basket Mrs. Sul ivan had provided. She set the table and made a salad and sandwiches. She put tomorrow's breakfast plates in a stack by the sink. After Frank went to sleep, she'd get up and do the supper dishes. Then she'd place the breakfast ones on the table.

  Frank flopped onto the bed when he came in the door, his hand over his eyes. Marian bent down and slipped off his shoes, rubbing his feet. His hand dropped to her hair.

  "What a day, honey. But I did make two sales so we can pay the rent. I've also got some grocery money for you."

  He stretched and sat up, his hand stil tangled in her hair. "You are paying Dad for the groceries, aren't you?"

  "Of course." And it was true. Except for that first gift, she'd insisted on paying. "I know how you feel about charity."

  He held her against him. "It's not just charity, Marian. It's being beholden to them. We can take care of ourselves."

  Her evening was not going as planned. She didn't want to discuss his parents. She stood up. "Come on, let's eat supper. The salad wil wilt if we let it sit any longer."

  He didn't talk as they ate. She kept the silence fil ed by chatting about Clara's visit and listing several upcoming town activities. He responded with grunts and sighs.

  After supper, he closed the curtains and went into the bedroom alcove. He undressed, folding each item of clothing neatly before placing it on a wooden chair near the bed. Just like El ie folded the laundry, Marian noticed.

  She didn't move. She considered Clara's advice and tried to get up from her chair. The dishes waited on the table, taunting her. When she heard the creak of the bed, she put her head down and let the tears come.

  Frank was by her side instantly. "Marian, honey, what's the matter?"

  The tears flowed faster. He cradled her in his arms, her face pressed against his bare skin. The feel of his chest under her cheek made her sob in sadness and then exasperation. When his hand caressed her neck, she twisted away, putting several feet between them.

  "What's the matter?" Her voice wobbled, and she swallowed, determined to tel him exactly how she felt. "For the last three weeks, you've come home, eaten your supper and fal en into bed. Have you forgotten you're married? Don't you care about your wife? About me?"

  She was shouting, pacing around the room. She brushed at the tears stil fal ing, irritated by her lack of control.

  The urge to open the door and storm down the steps, into the street, away from these confusing emotions, was overwhelming.

  "Marian, I'm tired. I work al day." His voice was patient, like that of a parent consoling a child, which irritated her more.

  "Did your father just come home from work and col apse? Or even mine? How do you think we got here? Or your sisters?"

  His face creased in angry lines. "What are you talking about? I've never heard you talk like this."

  "You haven't heard me talk much at al , Frank. Not about anything important. I chatter away about mundane events of the day and you pretend to listen while you bolt down your supper. I'm not sure we should even have gotten married. We know hardly anything about each other."

  She couldn't breathe. She couldn't stop the angry words. It was as if a huge dam had burst inside her and al the aches and misery of the last few weeks were flooding out, threatening to drown them both. She wanted him to hold her, to dry her tears, to make the hurt go away.

  He was zipping his pants, his shirt already buttoned. "What are you doing?" she asked, frightened. When had he put on his clothes?

  "I need some air. I'm going for a walk."

  He left the room, the door clicking shut behind him. She stared at it, waiting for him to come back. But the door remained firmly closed and the night sounds crowded around her.

  She did the dishes, trying to ignore the ugly things she'd said.
But her words seemed to tumble around the room, as if they'd taken on a life of their own. She set the table for breakfast, ran a rag over the dustless furniture, straightened the cupboards. When she could stand the empty room no longer, she flung open the door and stepped outside.

  And almost tripped over Frank. She stopped inches away from him. He didn't raise his head and she kept stil , afraid her voice would crack or those hateful words would come spewing out again.

  "Marian, I'm sorry about what I said."

  She knelt beside him. Covering his face with kisses, she said, "Frank, I'm so sorry. I was mean. You had a hard day at work and I shouldn't have talked like that."

  He gathered her onto his lap, her feet dangling over the side of the steps. "No, honey, 1 should've been more considerate. You're here alone al day—and then I don't even talk to you at night."

  "It's not just the talking," she began shyly.

  He kissed her lips and let his mouth trail down the open neck of her blouse. "I've been a fool," he said huskily."

  Imagine wanting to sleep more than this."

  When he began to unbutton her blouse, she moaned. A light came on in the house across the way, and she wriggled in his arms but he held her fast. "We need to go in, Frank. What if Mrs. Sul ivan comes out?"

  "She'd see that Frank Robertson was making amends for his foolish behavior." He popped the last button out of its hole and pul ed the material apart.

  The evening breeze whisked over her breasts. "Frank!" She pushed out of his lap and stood up. Then, grinning, she reached down, tugging him to his feet. "Come on. It's late and you need to go to bed." Her hand in his, she led him into their apartment and shut the door.

  Chapter 8

  A new pattern began. Frank would come home from work and she'd be waiting for him. They would crawl into bed and make love. She would then get up and bring their supper to the bed, where they'd eat and talk about their day's activities. They were becoming friends.

  Days turned into weeks. Marian heard talk about trouble in the financial world but she didn't understand much of it. When Frank came home without a sale, Mrs. Sul ivan told them not to worry about the rent. Marian didn't.