The Stolen Marriage

by Diane Chamberlain

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  In memory of Lydia Lee Green, fellow author and loving friend who battled polio as a child and went on to do so much and be so kind

  JUNE 1944

  PROLOGUE

  Hickory, North Carolina

  It’s a terrible feeling, being despised. From the moment I set foot in Hickory, I felt the suspicion, distrust, and outright hostility of most of the people I met. Even my new sister-in-law regarded me with disdain. When Henry told me Lucy was just a few years younger than me, I thought, How wonderful! We can be friends. But we were not anywhere close to being friends.

  I was making my bed one bright June morning when I heard footsteps in the hall outside the room I shared with Henry. Lucy pushed open the door, walking into the room without knocking, and I tightened the sash of my robe. Neither Henry nor I was happy about living with his mother and sister. In a month or so, we would move into our own home. I hoped that would make things better. Our marriage. My relationship with my mother-in-law, Ruth. My heavy heart. I hadn’t been happy in so long. I doubted a new house was going to fix what was wrong with me.

  Lucy flopped down on Henry’s bed in her coral linen blouse and tan capris. She held a long white envelope, thick with its contents, in her hand.

  “Can you drive me to Adora’s house in the Buick?” she asked, holding the envelope in the air. “I want to drop off the money for the headstone.”

  “I thought your mother was going to take the money to her,” I said as I tucked the chenille bedspread beneath my pillow. Adora was Ruth’s former maid, and her little grandson was one of the first victims of the polio epidemic sweeping through Catawba County.

  “She asked me to do it.” Lucy patted her hair as if making sure every strand was in place. She was a pretty girl, her dark blond hair perfectly coiffed in a wavy bob. Her blue eyes lit up when she smiled, although I rarely saw that smile directed at me. “Mama doesn’t like going to Colored Town,” she continued. “But the cab drivers don’t like going there either, and we have that car sitting right here in the garage. Please?”

  I was surprised by the request. Lucy never made a secret of her disdain for me. Plus, gas was rationed. We didn’t drive anywhere unless it was absolutely necessary, and we certainly never drove the Buick. It hadn’t been out of the garage in the five months I’d lived in Hickory. Henry had told me right from the start that I wouldn’t be driving as long as the war was going on. I knew how to drive, but the Buick needed new tires and with rubber being rationed it would be a while, if ever, before Henry would be able to get them.

  “I’m sorry, Lucy,” I said, straightening up from making the bed. “You know Henry said I can’t use the car.”

  “That’s ridiculous.” She studied her nails. They were painted coral and perfectly matched her short-sleeved blouse. “The car’s sitting right there,” she argued. “It still has gas in it. So its tires are old? It’s not like Adora lives on the moon. We’ll make it to her house and back with no problem.”

  “Henry said—”

  “You’re so afraid to do anything on your own!” she interrupted me, those blue eyes darkening. “And why do you still insist on calling him ‘Henry’? He’s Hank. Henry sounds ridiculous.”

  “He introduced himself to me as Henry, so he’ll always be—”

  “He was putting on airs. Come on,” she pleaded. “Please take me. Please?”

  I sat down on the dressing-table bench, facing her. “Maybe we could mail the money.” I motioned to the envelope. “Adora’s family is still under quarantine, aren’t they? You won’t even be able to go into the house.”

  “I’m not mailing thirty-eight dollars!” she snapped. “I’ll just leave it on their porch for them.”

  Maybe I should do it. This was a chance to forge a relationship with my sister-in-law. All my attempts at friendship with her had failed, but maybe with only the two of us in the car, I’d stand a chance. We could chat as we drove. We could stop someplace for a milkshake on the way home.

  “All right,” I said. “Now?”

  “If you can bring yourself to get dressed.” She nodded toward my robe.

  “Of course.” I wouldn’t be ruffled by her sarcasm. “I’ll just be a minute.”

  Once Lucy left the room, I began dressing. Stockings, girdle, slip, a yellow skirt and white blouse. I missed the dungarees and scuffed saddle shoes I used to wear before marrying Henry, but those casual clothes would never do now.

  Lucy was waiting for me next to the detached garage that stood behind the house. I couldn’t help the jittery nerves I felt as I opened the double garage doors and approached the driver’s side of the car. I was disobeying my husband. I hoped he never had to know. When Henry was angry, I was never sure if he would yell or simply fall silent. Either way, he would be upset to know what I was doing right now.

  I opened the car door and slid onto the mohair bench seat, while Lucy got in on the passenger side. She was holding a second envelope, this one large and tan, and it bore a white address label. I’d seen those manila envelopes with their white labels around the house from time to time and thought they had something to do with Henry’s furniture factory. I was too focused on the car to ask Lucy why she was bringing this one along.

  The Buick came to life instantly when I turned the key in the ignition and pressed the starter. I’d worried Henry might have siphoned the gas out of the tank for the Cadillac, but that didn’t seem to be the case. I felt rusty as I explored the dashboard and pedals and gear shift. Lucy seemed to scrutinize my every move, unnerving me. She would report back to her friends. My moronic sister-in-law couldn’t figure out how to drive the Buick, she’d say, and her friends would agree that I was the most insufferable creature in all of Hickory, the girl who had tricked Henry Kraft into marrying her.

  “Make sure you put it in ‘reverse’ and not ‘drive,’” Lucy said.

  How stupid do you think I am? I thought, but I said nothing and my hand trembled slightly as I shifted into reverse, my foot pressing hard on the clutch. I backed slowly out of the garage and down the long driveway.

  “Turn north when we get out to the street,” Lucy commanded.

  “North?” I asked. “That’s the wrong direction.”

  “We need to make another stop.” She held up the manila envelope. “I have to drop this off at someone’s house.”

  I stopped the car before it reached the street. “Where does this someone live?” I asked.

  She hesitated. “Just on the other side of the river. We’ll go out 321.”

  I laughed. “No, we will not go out 321,” I said. “You said we’d go to Adora’s. Period. We shouldn’t be in this car to begin with.”

  “It’s five minutes away, Tess. We drive to this fellow’s house. Leave the envelope in his mailbox and then drive to Adora’s. Adds ten minutes total to the trip. What’s the big deal?”

  I looked down at the gas gauge. We were fine as far as gas we
nt. What was the big deal?

  “What’s so important that it can’t simply be mailed?” I asked, motioning toward the envelope in her hands.

  “It’s some boring business document Hank wants this man to have and it’ll take too long to mail it. He hasn’t had time to get it to him himself. Hank’ll be pleased we delivered it.”

  The day was bright and warm and I wanted to please her. To do something right in her eyes.

  “All right,” I said, against my better judgment. I backed the car out of the driveway and headed north along our hilly tree-lined street. Driving, I felt the sudden thrill of freedom. We rolled down our windows and the warm air filled the car.

  “Hank should let you use this car all the time,” Lucy said as I turned a corner. “He’s so stingy.”

  “He’s not stingy,” I said, thinking I should defend my husband. “He’s really a fine man.”

  I felt her staring at me and I glanced at her. “What?” I said.

  “You don’t know Hank at all,” she said.

  “What do you mean?”

  She played with the clasp on the manila envelope. “There are things about my brother … You have no idea, Tess,” she said. “You’re so naïve. He’s using you, you know. I suppose that’s fitting. You used him, so he uses you.”

  My hands tightened on the steering wheel. She was tapping into a fear that haunted me when I was at my weakest. I would tell myself that Henry was a good man. On my darkest days, I reminded myself that as miserable as I was, I would have been worse off without him. I’d learned to ignore his moodiness. I’d learned to accept his explanations when he came home late at night from work—and on the few occasions when he didn’t come home at all.

  “I don’t understand,” I said. “How is he using me?” I ignored the dig about me using him. It was an argument I would never win.

  “Never mind,” she said. “Let’s just drive.”

  “No, really, Lucy,” I said, downshifting as we approached a stop sign. “You can’t start a conversation like that and then…”

  “You don’t really know him, that’s all.” Her voice had a tight, sinister edge to it. “He’s not who you think he is.”

  I laughed uncomfortably. “So mysterious!” I said. We’d reached 321 and I turned onto the wider road in the direction of the river. “I’ll have to ask him to tell me all his deep, dark secrets.”

  “Do not tell him I said anything.” She leaned her head closer to the open window, the breeze blowing her hair around her head. “Let’s just shut up about it, all right?”

  “Fine,” I said.

  We drove for a few minutes in silence. I saw the broad river ahead of us, the sun reflecting off its glassy surface. We were nearing the long bridge when an explosive sound suddenly filled the car and we veered abruptly to the right. I yelped, pressing the brake hard, but the car was no longer in contact with the road. It sailed over the grassy shoulder and down a steep slope, straight toward the river. Lucy screamed, her hands on the dashboard. One of the tires blew, I thought. Maybe more than one? We seemed airborne for the longest time and I grabbed wildly for the steering wheel as it spun out of my control. My foot still pounded the brake, but it did nothing to slow us down as we catapulted toward that blinding sheet of glassy water. I let out my own scream as I glanced at Lucy. She looked stunned, a trickle of blood running from her forehead and down her cheek, her lips forming some sort of prayer.

  The Buick hit the water nose first and it felt as though we’d crashed into a wall of concrete rather than a river. The car instantly began to sink, chilly water rushing through our open windows, spilling onto my lap, pooling on the floor of the car. It rose quickly up my calves. My thighs.

  “Let me out! Let me out!” Lucy screamed, her arms flailing.

  My heart felt like a drum in my chest as I tried to open my car door, but the pressure of the water was far too great. “Climb out!” I shouted to Lucy. She was frantically rolling her window up in a futile attempt to keep the river from pouring into the car. “Don’t roll it up!” I shouted. “You need to get out that way!”

  She seemed dazed, that prayer or whatever it was still on her lips. The water had quickly risen to my chin and I filled with terror at the thought of it covering my head, stealing my breath. Maneuvering my body onto the seat from beneath the steering wheel, I grabbed the door frame and fought the current of water as I pulled myself through the open window. I gasped for air and realized I’d been holding my breath even though my nose had never been underwater.

  The roof of the car was still above the surface of the river. I held on to it as I pulled myself around the car to the passenger side. Reaching blindly into the water, I tried to grab the door handle. Drawing in a breath, I pulled myself below the water’s surface. Lucy was on the other side of the window, her head tipped back as she struggled to keep her nose above the rapidly rising water. I knocked ineffectually on the glass, trying to pantomime that she needed to roll her window down. She didn’t seem to understand me and I watched the level of the water quickly reach her nose and pull her under. Her blue eyes were wide with terror, beseeching me to save her, her hand pressed flat against the window. I rose to the surface of the water, gasping for breath for real this time, and paddled as quickly as I could over to the driver’s side of the car. I would have to go back in through the open window and somehow pull her out. I filled my lungs with air and dove under the water and through the window. My legs still outside the car, I grabbed Lucy’s shoulder with one hand, her hair with another. I tugged and only then realized her legs were pinned beneath the dashboard. She turned her terrified face toward me and I watched in helpless horror as the life left her eyes. I was frozen for a moment, my brain numb with fear before I became aware that my lungs were about to burst. In a panic, I retreated through the window, one thought in my mind: Air. I need air.

  And then I had no thoughts at all.

  PART ONE

  AUGUST 1943

  1

  Little Italy, Baltimore, Maryland

  “A big piece for the doctor,” my mother said as she passed the plate to Vincent across our cramped dining room table. She held the plate in her left hand—her right hand was still a bit weak from the small stroke she’d suffered a few years ago—and the plate sagged under the weight of a slice of her Italian crème cake. She’d been stockpiling our rationed sugar for weeks to make that cake.

  “Thanks, Mom.” Vincent smiled at my mother. He’d called her Mom for as long as I could remember, something that pleased my mother no end. She adored him as much as I did. He was the son she’d never had. I called Vincent’s parents, who now sat across the table from me, Mimi and Pop. The Russos lived next door to us in our Little Italy neighborhood. Our identical brick row houses had identical marble stoops and when I was very small and playing on the sidewalk, I had to concentrate hard to remember which house was mine and which was Vincent’s. Our houses were nearly identical inside as well, the rooms filled with crucifixes, statues of Mary, and framed paintings of Jesus’s sacred heart, as well as with the scent of tomato gravy and sweet sausage.

  On this day, we were celebrating both my twenty-third birthday and the completion of Vincent’s hospital residency at Johns Hopkins. I’d known Vincent from the time I was in the cradle, and I’d loved him madly since I was a teenager but I had to admit that even I felt a new attraction to him the first time I saw him in his white coat, Vincent Russo M.D. emblazoned on the pocket, a stethoscope slung around his neck. That white coat set off his dark good looks: his thick hair with the slight widow’s peak. His wide white smile. His nearly straight nose, just a hint of the aquiline shape that was so prominent in his father’s face. We’d been engaged for the last year, and in May, I would become his bride. We’d been planning our future together for a very long time. We knew where we would live: a younger, fresher part of Little Italy, close but not too close to our parents. We would have four children. Both of us had grown up as only children—a rarity in an Italian neigh
borhood—and we most definitely did not want that lonely existence for a child of ours. With only the rhythm method to rely on, we knew we might end up with many more than four, but that was fine. We fantasized that someday he would have his own pediatric practice and I would be his nurse. In a few months, I’d graduate from nursing school, take my licensing exam, and finally be able to call myself a registered nurse, a career I’d longed for since I was ten years old when my mother developed diabetes and a nurse taught me how to administer her insulin shots. Mom had been perfectly capable of giving herself her own injections, but she’d wanted to plant that seed in me, guiding me toward the career she hoped I’d pick. It worked. Nursing was my passion. How I’d handle being both a nurse and a mother to four-plus children, I didn’t know, but I was excited to find out.

  “Have you decided on your dress yet, Theresa?” Mimi asked as she swallowed a piece of cake. Like her husband, she had a soft, slight Italian accent. Theirs had been an arranged marriage of sorts. When Pop came over as a teenager from Sicily, he knew the daughter of an old family friend had arrived the year before and was waiting for him. I couldn’t imagine marrying someone I barely knew, yet they were devoted to each other. My parents, on the other hand, had been born and raised in Little Italy and met at a dance. My father died when I was four and I barely remembered him. Mimi and Pop had taken my mother and me under their generous wings after his death.

  “I can’t decide between the two dresses we loved,” I said, “but it’s still so early.” Mimi and my mother had been with me when I tried on the dresses. If I picked one out now, I’d have to be careful not to gain an ounce before May. I wanted Gina Farinola, my closest girlfriend, to go with me to help me make the final decision. Then we needed to find a maid-of-honor dress for her.

  “You can’t go wrong with either of them,” Mimi said.

  “I like the one with the little rosettes, Tess,” Mom said. She leaned across the table to tuck a strand of my hair behind my ear. I’d inherited her thick, unruly, nearly black hair, the only difference being that her hair was now streaked with silver.

 
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