Breeding Like Rabbits

by Ardyce C. Whalen

  The first thing Britt did was turn on the radio. Mel Tormé, the Velvet Fog, was singing “Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered.”

  Britt really liked that song. “Isn’t that song just the greatest?”

  “I wouldn’t say that. The guy just sounds mixed up. I like his singing, but his ‘Blue Moon,’ now there’s a song.”

  “My sister, Hannah’s, favorite is ‘Harbor Lights.’ I hope they play that next.”

  Listening to the disc jockey spin those 45s kept them entertained with a minimum of talk until they reached Britt’s house. I sure wasted my time reading the newspaper; those subjects would have fallen flat. I didn’t read the sports page. That was probably a mistake.

  Thinking about her date with Steve, she decided that it wasn’t too bad—they both liked the singing of Mel Tormé. They had something in common. Maybe they had something going, even if he didn’t try to kiss her good night. Britt wrote him a note, telling him how much she liked the movie and how much she liked being with him and talking about music. She walked up to him in study hall and gave him the note. It must have scared him off. He never called her again.

  She moped around the house for almost two weeks. Her father couldn’t stand it. “If you’re going to be so down in the dumps when you go out with someone other than Andy, just go with Andy!”

  She felt a tap-tapping on her right shoulder. Britt turned around and looked into eyes bluer than any eyes she’d ever seen—bluer than her dad’s.

  With a shy smile, he said, “May I borrow a pencil?”

  “Um, yeah.” She smiled back at him and handed him a pencil while thanking her lucky stars that she had an extra one.

  Class over, he smiled that smile again, the one that made her heart beat faster, and returned her pencil with a “Thank you.”

  Britt smiled back. “You’re welcome.” He’s polite; I like that in a man.

  Three weeks later, after class, he asked her to take in a movie with him.

  “I’d love to.” What took you so long?

  They saw each other regularly after that. The night they went to a baseball game, he really opened up. His father was a judge, strict on the bench and strict at home. Whenever Jesse got in trouble, he went to his mother, who understood him. He broke his leg climbing over someone’s fence to swim in their pool. He was hospitalized and almost became addicted to morphine. Jesse didn’t know what his mother told his father, but it must have been good; he was not punished. Maybe his father thought that a broken leg was punishment enough. Out of the blue, he then asked Britt a strange question:

  “How much do you weigh?”

  Off guard, she said, “One hundred and twenty pounds. Why?” Do I look fat or something? I thought I looked really nice tonight: my new red, short-sleeved, V-neck T-shirt, tight but not too tight, and my black jeans.

  “That’s what my mother weighs!”

  Alarm bells rang. Is he a mama’s boy? He looked so pleased that his mother and I were the same weight. I’ve heard that a man who loves and respects his mother will love and respect his wife: this is good. But could it be too good? Would he take his mother’s side if we married and I disagreed with my mother-in-law? Not good.

  A week later, he took her aside after class and said he’d enlisted in the army and would leave as soon as the semester was over. She couldn’t believe it! How could he leave just like that when they were having so much fun getting to know one another? She felt abandoned, thrown away.

  And that’s how she was still feeling when she left the drive-in after work to go to Andy’s party. When Andy told her he had enlisted in the navy, she flipped out—she felt he was abandoning her too, just like Jesse had. It was too much. Britt opened the airmail envelope with trembling hands and pulled out the letter:

  Dear Britt,

  I’m sorry I sprang my enlistment on you like that without any explanation, and then I just left. It was a rotten thing to do, but I did have a reason. My father found out that I broke my leg trying to climb a fence to swim in a stranger’s pool—it was a very nice pool. Four beers must have clouded my judgment. But what kind of father doesn’t even ask his son how he broke his leg? It took him seven months to look into it—seven months! And he only did so because a man complained about a kid trying to climb his fence and swim in his pool, but the kid broke his leg when he fell. So now I’m “irresponsible and childish,” and I need “to learn how to be a man by supporting myself.” Until I prove I’m a “man,” he will not pay for my college education. What better way to prove you’re a man than by being a soldier? And I’d get a place to stay and food to eat. So I enlisted. I didn’t think they’d call me up so soon.

  I was angry at my father, and I acted in haste. I’m sorry I left just when we were getting to know each other. If I close my eyes, I can see you now—you’re so beautiful. And I’m so lonely. I wish I were sitting in back of you in class right now. I’d tap you on the shoulder so you’d turn around, and I’d look into your green eyes, and then I’d notice your full red lips. I think I’d kiss you right there in class.

  Please write to me. Take some time out of your studies and write to me. We can continue to get to know each other by mail. Many couples have done that when apart. Please.

  I miss you,

  Jesse

  He thought she’d gone back to school! He didn’t know she was married. Tears started to form; she wiped them away. I thought he didn’t care for me, that he’d enlisted as an easy way of breaking up with me. By marrying Andy, I’ve slammed the door on any opportunity to ever again be with Jesse. She blinked back the tears—she didn’t want her mother to see them. Britt then carefully inserted the letter back into the envelope.

  “Who’s the letter from, Britt? You seem upset.”

  “Just a college friend who thought I’d be back in class by now. It’s a friend I’ll miss.” Britt reached under the kitchen sink and pulled out the trash basket, dropping her letter in it. “Mom, I’m going out to burn the trash.” But not all in the basket is trash. I’ll remember your letter, Jesse, forever.

  The next day, Britt boarded the train for the East Coast. She took along yarns in her favorite colors and her crochet hook, all stashed in a carry-on with toiletries and a couple of books, The President’s Lady and The Cather in the Rye. Her black trunk, carrying some personal things as well as household items, could be sent when her parents had an address for her and Andy.

  CHAPTER

  6

  Britt had plenty of time to brood over the letter, for the next day she was on her way out east, and train travel can be tedious. She’d brought a good book but found it hard to concentrate—why didn’t Jesse write her sooner? Now it was too late. She took out her crochet hook and began the center of a granny square for a throw pillow cover. The thing about crocheting was that she was good at it and really didn’t have to think much while doing it—she could probably crochet with her eyes shut—so she had time to think about Jesse, his letter, and about Andy.

  Britt knew that she was too impulsive. Her mother always said, “Look before you leap,” but she seldom did. She had expected Andy to break up with her when she said she didn’t want to not know where their relationship was headed during his four-year enlistment. He suggested that she just wanted to go out with other guys and followed that statement with a totally out of the blue suggestion: marriage! Maybe Jackie, her old boss, was right when she said they were too young—too young to know what love was, let alone marriage. Britt knew that she liked Andy and that he liked her—they wouldn’t have gone together for four years if that were not true. Is “liking” strong enough to build a marriage on? Because if loving someone means putting the welfare and desires of the other person above your own, maybe she didn’t love Andy. Was she only thinking of herself when she agreed to marry him? Marriage would free her from having to find out who she was and what she wanted to do with her life. Had she been not only
cowardly but selfish?

  Britt couldn’t stand thinking anymore. She left her coach car seat and made her way to the dome car of the train. She needed distraction, and from what she had read about dome cars, you climbed up some steps to reach the domed section, and from there you could see in every direction. It was true—no matter which way she looked, she saw a landscape rolling by. Britt felt the swaying of the train whenever they rounded a curve. She was surprised she could see so far. She looked out the back—how fast those tracks were receding! It was alarming—they must be traveling at over a hundred miles an hour. She wished she could sort out her problems, her tangled emotions at that speed.

  The dome car was exciting for about an hour and a half—time to head back to coach and try to think things out again. Jesse’s letter—it had rocked her. She was just getting to know him. She liked him, and he liked her, but she wondered if he really did. Maybe he liked her because she weighed the same as his mother. She didn’t know him well enough; now she never would. She couldn’t stand the thought that she may have missed out because she’d been too impulsive—that she’d messed up. Jesse was a Lutheran. That would have pleased her parents, but she’d already become a Catholic even before she started going out with him. Britt never told him this. With her last name “Anderson,” she was sure he would have assumed she was Protestant. She was not only a Catholic now; she was a married Catholic.

  I will be a good wife. I promised before God to be a good wife. I take promises seriously—if you make a promise, you keep it. When I was thirteen and had just had my appendix removed, Mother promised me that I could get a dog. She promised but did not keep her promise. I was disappointed. Of course I was disappointed that I couldn’t get a dog, but I was more disappointed in her. She’d broken a promise. People say, “I promise,” too often and without thinking. I don’t. I will keep my promise to Andy, to love him until death, and when children come, I will be the best mother I can be. Mother—that’s an identity for you. But couldn’t the results have been the same had Jesse and I married? Something I’ll never know. Something I do know: I’m starving.

  Britt found the dining car. One end of it was split into a galley, or kitchen, off limits to passengers. A corridor ran parallel to the galley and opened to the main part of the car, which held tables and chairs. The whole thing was one long restaurant, tastefully decorated in the art deco style, traditional mixed with bright splashes of color. It cheered her, and she needed that. Britt ordered a grilled cheese sandwich with bean soup, comfort food. She ate her lunch and listened to the hypnotic clickety-clack of the train as it sped across the country.

  Soon she would be in Bridgeport, Connecticut, where Andy’s aunt and uncle lived. Britt would stay with them until Andy’s leave, at which time he’d drive to Bridgeport, visit with his aunt and uncle, and then take Britt back to Newport with him. They had a car again! Their ’48 Ford was totaled when they’d been hit by the snowplow. He’d been so proud to be the owner of a car. All those years of growing up and having to beg other people for rides made having his own car one of Andy’s top priorities. She was happy that he’d bought another, and if he was going overseas soon, she would not have to beg for rides either.

  Before this train ride ended, Britt decided to check out the lounge car; she’d heard it was luxurious. It was. It was beautiful too, with bright-colored fabrics in geometric designs. The walls were stainless steel with a few art deco wall decorations. Public seating—benches or swiveling armchairs—invited people to relax. It also boasted a small bar. The best thing was the space; people could move around, talk, eat, drink, and enjoy the scenery. Britt didn’t stay in the lounge car very long. She was alone, and all the people socializing just made her feel lonely.

  It took her two full days and nights to reach Bridgeport, Connecticut. Her sore muscles and aching head were minor compared to her bone tiredness. She could have slept in a sleeping car, or Pullman, but it was too expensive. She managed to take short naps in coach by scrunching herself into a fetal position when she felt her eyes getting heavy and strained from too much crocheting and reading. What she needed most was a bath and then at least twelve hours of sleep.

  Uncle Fritz, a large, bearded man, met her train. “Britt?”

  “Yes. You must be Andy’s uncle!”

  He gave her a bear hug and picked up her suitcase. On the drive to their apartment, he filled her in on what to expect.

  “Jean, your aunt Jean, is a nurse, and she won’t be home yet. She works the 3:00 to 11:00 p.m. shift at the hospital. You’ll meet her tomorrow. Our daughter, Ellen, is home. You’ll share her bedroom while you’re here.

  “We own the apartment building. We used to live on the first floor, but Jean thought everything got too dusty down there—she hates dusting—so we moved to the second floor, and she was right. The place stays cleaner now.”

  When they entered the foyer, Britt was surprised to see that the building had an elevator. Here she’d been thinking that they’d feel differently about living on the second floor when they got older, but if they had an elevator? Maybe not.

  They stepped off the elevator and entered the living room of the two-bedroom, two-bath apartment. It was lovely. A three-seat, overstuffed, sea-green sofa dominated the far wall. Over it hung a large, framed mirror. Throw pillows, in lavender and peach, casually placed on the sofa, added to the feeling of ease and hospitality. An overstuffed chair, slipcovered in a peach and sea-green floral print, filled the space to the right of the sofa. A rust-colored area rug covered the oak hardwood floor. Light peach walls combined with limed oak woodwork and a cabinet radio, also in limed oak, gave a cozy yet airy feeling to the room.

  “Ellen! Come and meet your cousin, Andy’s wife!”

  Twelve-year-old Ellen, with a mop of curly black hair, ran into the living room, ducked her head, eyes looking up, and checked out the newcomer. “Hello. I’m almost as big as you are. Would you like to hear some music?”

  Britt smiled. “Maybe later, but now I’m just too tired. Your dad said that we’ll be roommates. Thank you so much for letting me share your room, Ellen.”

  Britt peeked into the master bedroom as they passed it on the way to Ellen’s room where she’d be sleeping. White chenille bedspreads covered twin beds separated by a night table. The room was painted a light aqua. Andy and I will not sleep in twin beds; we’ll have a double bed. It was good enough for my parents and for his; it will be great for us. They entered Ellen’s room. It too had twin beds. This time, the matching chenille spreads sported flowers—roses with green leaves against a white background.

  Fritz lowered Britt’s suitcases to the floor. “Your home away from home. You’ll be comfortable here, and Ellen’s used to sharing her room. Because she’s an only child, we encourage her to have friends sleep over on weekends. They listen to music and talk. She likes the new music. Rock and roll, they call it. We’ve held off getting a television because we don’t want her to neglect her schoolwork. We want her to get into a good college when she graduates.”

  Britt yawned. “Thank you, Uncle Fritz. If you don’t mind, I’ll unpack a bit and just lie down for a while. I’m pretty tired.” Stuffed animals covered half the surface of one bed. Just like Hannah’s bed. Britt chose the other one and began to unpack a few things.

  Britt stayed with Andy’s aunt and uncle for a week. During that time, she and Ellen would head for the beach right after breakfast. They put their swimsuits on before they left, covering them with shorts and a top. Britt packed a light lunch of snacks for them before they caught the bus to the beach for swimming and sunbathing. Britt’s Swedish skin got sunburned, and she had to go braless for a couple of days. Noxema helped heal and cool her down. Luckily, she’d brought a shirt with two pockets in just the right places, so she could go braless and still be decent. Ellen, with her olive skin and brown eyes, browned beautifully and looked like a gorgeous Indian princess.

  Aunt Jean slep
t until almost ten in the morning. When Ellen and Britt returned from the beach at about twelve thirty, she and Aunt Jean would talk, woman to woman. “How did you and Andy start dating?” was Aunt Jean’s first question.

  “We met at the roller-skating rink. He was so cute in his white stocking cap. When he asked me to be his skating partner, I couldn’t resist. My father would drive into town Friday nights to check on things at his potato house and play a few hands of Smear at the pool hall. He’d bring Hannah and me along and drop us off at the skating rink. It was great fun skating to the music with so many others.”

  “Fritz and I met at the World’s Fair in Chicago, in the beer garden. It was love at first sight. We married after three weeks and have never been sorry. We say the Lord’s Prayer together on our knees every night—maybe that’s the secret to a happy marriage.”

  Britt wasn’t sure about that, but it couldn’t hurt if she and Andy picked up the habit. “You were Catholic, and he was German Lutheran. Did your parents get upset when you switched your religion?”

  “Not really. They probably wished that I hadn’t, but two of my brothers had changed religion before me. Both had married Lutheran women—they paved the way for me. Here, Britt, have a cookie. You should always eat something with your coffee; it dilutes the acid and is better for your stomach.”

  “You and Uncle Fritz get along so well. I can see that you like each other as well as love each other. Don’t you ever fight?”

  “Oh yes but not very often. I remember when I wanted to go back to work after Ellen was born. I’m a registered nurse, and I just couldn’t see why I should waste my education. He didn’t want me to work at all. He thought any man that let his wife work was telling the world that he wasn’t a good provider. It was pretty quiet around here for a while, broken by some yelling, but we finally compromised. I’d stay home until Ellen started school, and then I’d go to work. It was the best way.”