by Ames Sheldon
Then she’s next to Ron, facing the minister, a friend of the family who speaks slowly in his deep voice. This helps to calm her, too. Ron places the wedding band on her finger and kisses her and then, as the musicians start playing the Brandenburg Concerto No. 5 in D Major, they’re flying back down the aisle, hand in hand, while the photographer takes hurried shots.
Before they’re surrounded, Ron puts his arms around Harriet and draws her close. “In just a few more hours, I’m going to ravish you.”
She wants to melt against him, but not here, not yet. She leans back far enough to tap him on the chest with her bouquet. “I can’t wait!”
They kiss for several long moments. His lips are so warm.
Abba stands nearby, waiting. Once they disengage, Abba seizes Ron’s hand. “I like your bowtie, Ron—very dapper.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Sutton.” He ducks his head in a little bow. “I aim to please.”
“I’d like to give you two a piece of property so you can build your own home nearby. Would that suit you?”
Smoothly, Ron grasps Abba’s arm. “If you aren’t the most generous lady I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing!” He kisses her on the cheek.
Amazed by her grandmother’s largesse, Harriet says, “I don’t know what to say, Abba.” She’s not sure they’d actually want to live near her parents.
“Well, think about it.”
Nat approaches the newlyweds. Her brother is even taller than the last time Harriet saw him. “Congratulations, you two! Isn’t that what one is supposed to say? And such nice music!”
“Bach was one of the things I insisted on.”
“Ron’s a great guy, Harry. I’m glad for you.” Nat grins.
“How are you, brother? We haven’t had any time to talk since you got home. You’re in a jazz group in Minneapolis now, aren’t you?”
“It’s so much fun!” Then his smile collapses. “If only Eddie were here.”
“I know.” Her shoulders slump. She stares at the crowd of boisterous people swirling around greeting friends, hoisting drinks, laughing, and eating. Then she hears her father speaking her name.
She edges closer. A drink in his hand, George looks relaxed and happy now as he speaks to his brother, Robert. Holding a glass of champagne, Abba stands between her sons. George says, “Harriet has managed to invent a coating for fruit that will open up a whole new line of business for us.”
Her father is bragging about her!
Nearby Ron’s father, Colin, says, “I can’t believe those damned Soviets closed down the roads and rails so there’s no entering Berlin from the West. How are we going to get food and coal to the people there?”
“I’ve heard the allies are organizing an airlift.”
“It’s only right that Germany and Japan were refused permission to participate in the Summer Olympics this year—the Austerity Olympics.”
Dottie walks toward the house, and it looks like she’s crying, so Harriet finds Ron and tells him to go after his sister.
Then Susan, still wearing her straw hat, comes up to Harriet. A pretty young woman with light brown hair and green eyes the same shade as her dress, Susan resembles her father, Uncle Drew, more than Aunt Jessica. “I was honored to be your maid of honor, Harriet. Thank you for choosing me.”
“I’m happy you could be here. I didn’t know whether you had a job that would make it difficult for you to come.”
“I only graduated in June! I’m still looking around.”
“Does Smith help you find a position?”
“I haven’t asked the college for suggestions. I might work for my father.”
“At his newspaper?”
“I think it’d be interesting. I like to write.”
“Well, I can tell you it’s a little tricky working for one’s father. People might resent you.”
Nearby Eleanor is talking to her sister, Jessica, who’s wearing a fond smile. “And then Abigail had the nerve to say the men shouldn’t be wearing seersucker. She drives me nuts!”
“Ellie, your mother-in-law simply wants to be included.”
“You’re right—of course you’re right, Jessie. I don’t know what I’d do without you to straighten me out.” Eleanor glances at her wristwatch and then over at Harriet. “Time to cut the cake, dearie.”
Harriet’s next image is of handing Ron a piece of cake, which he pops into his mouth without spilling a crumb. She takes a small bite out of the piece he offers her, and that’s enough—she’s too excited to eat.
Then she’s up in her bedroom changing into her going-away outfit while Eleanor hangs up the wedding gown. Once Harriet is dressed, she sits down on the bed. Her mother exits. Harriet sticks her nose into her bouquet. The white lilies smell almost peppery. Eleanor returns, holding a book. She sits down next to Harriet and hands her a copy of Tales of the South Pacific by James Michener.
Eleanor looks exhausted.
“Are you all right, Mother?”
“I’m a little tired. I got you something to read when you’re on Martha’s Vineyard.”
“I don’t think I’ll be able to get through such a big book.” Harriet hopes she and Ron will spend most of their honeymoon in bed, not reading. “I appreciate the thought, though.”
“Take it. You never know, it might rain the whole time you’re there.”
“Thank you for everything you did to make this such a perfect day.” She puts her arms around her mother and squeezes.
“I just want you to be happy, Harriet.”
“I am very happy.”
Her last image from the wedding is of launching her bouquet into the air, of the startled look on Susan’s face as she catches it, and then of running down the stairs, hand in hand with Ron. As she glances back, she sees that her mother looks bereft. Then her father puts his arm around Eleanor, who hides her face in his shoulder while he pulls her close. Harriet’s glad to see that embrace: she may be leaving home, but at least her parents have each other.
Once they reach the hotel in Connecticut where they’ll spend their wedding night, she’s suddenly nervous. Putting on the new cream-colored silk negligee her mother gave her, which makes her feel sexy, helps. Ron is lying on the bed in his undershorts, having pulled back the bedding. She joins him. This is the first time they’ve ever been able to stretch out on a bed together. When he rolls on top of her, she hugs him tightly.
“You do realize I’m a virgin, don’t you?” she says.
“I’ll be gentle,” he replies.
That’s all she needs to hear. She relaxes, trusting that he knows what he’s doing.
Before long he removes her negligee and his shorts. Then he kisses her eyelids and her lips and her neck and her breasts and all the way down to her toes. She’s so excited and wet that she thinks penetration will be easy, but he has to push hard to get all the way in. That hurts. The pain is fleeting, though, and he’s so happy that she doesn’t mind the discomfort.
The next night when they make love, she feels a little sore, but it isn’t long before she’s just as avid about going to bed as he is.
They have a wonderful time honeymooning on Martha’s Vineyard, playing fierce rounds of tennis, lying on the sand, and swimming. The sight of Ron in bathing trunks, with his nice flat stomach and tight butt, does something wonderful to her insides—she loves to press herself against him. Ron turns out to be a very attentive lover who quickly learns how to drive her over the edge.
The only flaw appears their last night, when Ron becomes so drunk he can hardly walk back to their room.
Now her lab coat no longer fits—it keeps riding up over her belly—and she tries to tug it down while the engineers, technicians, and sales manager surrounding her harass her with questions.
“If the fungicide works on oranges, what about lemons or limes or grapefruit? How about pears or grapes?”
“Is immersion the only way to apply the fungicide, or can the stuff be sprayed successfully?”
“How long doe
s a batch of the fungicide last? Does it need to be applied as soon as you make it?”
“Will the fungicide keep if it’s refrigerated? What if it’s heated?”
She says, “I don’t know what will happen if you heat the fungicide. That would probably destroy it.”
“Does it rub off after a while?”
“Would you use a different strength of the fungicide on fruit with a thinner skin than an orange?”
“What’s the lifespan of a product you’ve treated?”
Getting flustered, Harriet replies, “I don’t know! We have a lot of questions to answer—we still have many tests to run. I need your help.” Shouldn’t they figure these things out for themselves? She did the tough work of inventing the fungicide, and now it’s up to them to implement mass production and sales.
“How ripe are the fruits you start with?”
“I’ve been buying apples and oranges at the grocery store, so they’re pretty ripe. We should find farmers to supply us as soon as they’re picked.”
“In our sales materials can we call this an ‘edible’ treatment to enhance the shelf life of foods?”
Mark, who has been assigned to the fungicide team, says, “Guys, let’s break for lunch. We can get back to this afterward.”
Gratefully, Harriet smiles at Mark. He’s turned out to be her best friend at the company. She’s relieved that she no longer has to report to Dr. Bryne, who left the company after George restructured upper management.
Too nauseated to eat, she sits back on her stool. She’s curious now. What will heat do to her concoction? She leans forward and takes a test tube of the fungicide in one hand, then reaches for the Bunsen burner, but she can’t quite get there because her stomach’s in the way. Standing, she reaches over farther. Once the burner’s on, she holds the test tube above it. Her stomach lurches. Is she going to throw up again? She feels so strange these days she hardly knows herself.
Taking a deep breath, she leans a little closer so the fungicide will start to boil. Suddenly the flame catches her hair, sizzling as it moves up the strands. Panic grips her. Immediately dropping the test tube onto the bench, she uses both hands to slap out the fire. The scent of singed hair is sickening. She turns off the burner and runs for the bathroom, her heart hammering.
After retching into the toilet, she moves to the sink so she can examine herself in the mirror. She lost only a little bit of the hair that hangs at her right shoulder. Swallowing hard, she moves back to the stall and sits. Placing her hands on her face, she bows her head and rocks in place while tears drip through her fingers. That was so close!
Eventually, she starts to think maybe it’s time for her to leave Sutton Chemical. She doesn’t want to give up working, but she’s starting to realize that taking a product to market is not what motivates her. It was the experimenting that she enjoyed so much at Madison and in her first year at Sutton. Her father and Ron expect her to stop working once the baby is born—but maybe she should quit before then. The thought is strangely seductive. She’s ashamed to think like this, but she’s terribly tired now and awfully distracted by the changes going on inside her body. These days she spends most of each weekend resting, absorbed by the baby’s movements, dreaming about who he or she will be.
She and Ron weren’t using any form of birth control, but they certainly didn’t expect her to become pregnant so quickly. Now when they’re home together, she doesn’t drink alcohol because she’s nauseated much of the time, so Ron drinks alone while she sits by his side planning the house they’re building on the land Abba gave them. She’d better talk with him about the possibility of leaving Sutton before the baby is born. Maybe a break would be wise. At the same time, she’s very much afraid that this could be the end of her career as a chemist.
What should she do?
May 1949
WESTERN UNION
ELIZABETH NJ 450P MAY 20 1949
MR. NATHANIEL SUTTON
747 SE 4th STREET MINNEAPOLIS, MIN
BABY GIRL BORN THIS MORNING HARRIET AND BABY
WELL PLEASE CALL HOME COLLECT LOVE MOTHER
May 31
My dear Nat,
Thank you for telephoning the other day so we could talk about the exciting news. Harriet and Ron have decided to name the baby Henrietta, which is a mouthful, but I think it’s rather nice. Mother and daughter seem to be getting along fine. When I had each of you, my mother moved in with us for two weeks, but Harriet doesn’t want that. She says we live close enough to see each other whenever necessary. Your sister is so independent she doesn’t want any help with the baby. At least not yet. I know I can be overbearing, and Harriet told me she doesn’t appreciate unsolicited advice—she wants to figure things out for herself—so I bite my tongue when I visit.
Your father and I are very pleased that you are taking a full course load at the University of Minnesota. You surprised me when you said you wanted to major in biology and minor in music, but after you explained what good teachers the professors in the biology department are, it made sense. I wish I had a better idea of what my major will be—I’ll need to figure that out if I’m ever going to graduate, and I do want to obtain a bachelor’s degree one of these years.
Here’s an idea: How about we race each other to the finish line? If you get your degree first, I’ll give you $1,000. If I get there first, you would owe me a bouquet of fresh carnations—salmon colored to go with the new wallpaper in the dining room. What do you say?
Love,
Mother
WESTERN UNION
ELIZABETH NJ 1105A JANUARY 23 1951
MR. NATHANIEL SUTTON
747 SE 4th STREET MINNEAPOLIS, MIN
BABY BOY BORN 4 AM TODAY HARRIET AND SON FINE
MOTHER
March 1951
Carrying baby Joey in her arms, Harriet follows her mother and little Retta into her parents’ parlor, where the curtains are closed, the lamps are lit, and logs crackle in the fireplace. Retta, who has been walking for nearly a year now, is wearing the lovely smocked dress Eleanor bought for her. She holds her grandmother’s hand tightly.
Harriet sinks onto the couch. “This is cozy, Mother.” She unwraps the blanket around Joey and sets him on her lap facing the warmth of the fire.
Retta sits on the floor nearby.
Eleanor says, “I’ll go get some drinks. Would you like a glass of milk, Retta, or perhaps some Ovaltine?”
Retta shakes her head, her curls bouncing with the movement.
“Will you join me for a cocktail, Harriet?”
“I’ll have one. Maybe it’ll help Joey sleep a little longer tonight.”
While her mother is out of the room, she lifts up her blouse and starts to nurse. As she gazes down at Joey, she feels as if she could melt with love for her son.
Eleanor sets Harriet’s glass on a side table and takes an adjacent chair. “I’m glad you feel comfortable feeding Joey in front of me. When I nursed you and the boys, it was always in the privacy of my bedroom.”
Was this a criticism? Her eyes still on Joey, she replies, “I wouldn’t nurse in front of Father.” Then she looks up. “You’ve done something different with your hair, Mother. I like it.”
Patting the sides of her head, Eleanor says, “I got Stella to give me a new look. Trying to cheer myself up a little.”
“What’s wrong, Mummy?”
“Oh, Harriet, I’m a little blue. Nothing’s much fun anymore, and I don’t seem to have any energy. I guess it’s this long dark winter. But never mind.”
She doesn’t like the sound of this. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“No, it’s boring.” Her mother raises her glass and drinks.
“Then tell me about your coursework. I bet that’s interesting.”
“It is, but the class I’m taking now on the development of human behavior during childhood, adolescence, and aging is much more theoretical than I expected. I want to understand what it takes to motivate people to make changes in their
lives.”
“Hmm,” she says, placing Joey against her shoulder and lightly tapping his back until a loud burp erupts. Then he spits up a little.
“May I hold him?” her mother asks.
It’s a little hard for her to let go, but of course she wants her mother to get close to Joey. Then both women notice that Retta is fidgeting.
Eleanor points. “See that doll over on the shelf, Retta? You can play with her if you want.”
Retta trots over to the shelf while Harriet rises to pass the baby to Eleanor. Her mother draws the baby to her chest. Harriet drapes an old diaper over her shoulder.
She resumes her seat, crosses her legs, and picks up her drink. Retta brings the doll over and sits at her feet.
“What do you like about psychology, Mother?”
“It’s the science that can help us understand ourselves better.”
“Can you really call it a science? It’s not like chemistry or biology.”
“I want to find something that will really engage me.”
Hoping to be helpful, she says, “What about becoming a full-fledged nurse? You could do that—it’s not too late. You loved your work at Halloran.”
Her mother replies angrily, “I told you before, I’m not going to embark on a career at this age!” She gulps her Manhattan. “Enough about me, Harriet. Tell me, how do you enjoy being home with your children?”
She takes a sip of her own drink. “It’s much more fun than I expected. I enjoy watching Retta’s physical abilities develop, and I love to observe her mind at work. Joey’s sweet and smiley. Plus, I’ve learned how much fun cooking can be.”
“I suppose cooking is somewhat similar to making solutions in the lab.”