The Stolen Marriage

by Diane Chamberlain

  He raised his book a couple of inches in the air. “Ready to read?” he asked.

  I nodded, slipping under the covers, and lifting A Tree Grows in Brooklyn from my side of the night table. Finish it, my mother had told me. Tonight, I would.

  26

  February 17, 1944

  Dear Gina,

  I was so happy to hear from you and to learn that Mac is well and safe, even if he’s not writing you the newsy letters you’d prefer. He’s wise. I doubt any news he has from over there is news you would really want to hear. Yes, your life does sound a tad routine, but you are fortunate. Mine is anything but.

  Thank you for asking about my little one. No, he hasn’t yet moved, but I think that’s normal, and he’s definitely growing. When I take my girdle off at night, it’s a great relief! I do love him. He and I are in this crazy mess of a life together.

  Yesterday, Henry and I went once again to see the house he’s having built for us. Oh, Gina, I do hope you get to visit us there. It’s going to be truly lovely. It’s going up so quickly now! The exterior walls are in place and I can see how enormous it’s going to be. Plenty of room for Auntie Gina! It’s set far back from the street and surrounded by trees on three sides. Although right now the front yard is nothing more than a sea of dirt and mud, I can picture how it will look covered in grass. A perfect place for my little one to play.

  We walked around inside. Right now there are only beams and posts and the wonderful scent of wood, but with a little imagination I could see what it will be like. We went through room after room. The second story is not yet up, but Henry pointed out where the rooms would be and we figured out which one will be the nursery.

  No, we are still not “close,” as you put it. Quite honestly, that’s all right with me for now. I’m certain it must be the baby and once he or she is born, Henry will again become the passionate man he was in the hotel in Washington. I hope so, because I don’t want my son or daughter to be an only child as I was.

  I think Henry is a good man but he definitely thinks he’s the boss in our household. He even bosses his mother around, and that is not an easy thing to do! He doesn’t want me to be a nurse (or have any sort of occupation at all, actually), but without him knowing, I’ve applied to take the licensing exam. I’m not going to tell him until I receive the notification that I can take it (I hope I’m the one to get the mail that day!). I’ve worked hard for this and I’m going to get that license!

  And now, dear friend, I hesitate to tell you something I did, but if I can’t tell you, who can I tell? You are going to think I’ve lost my mind, but I’ve been in touch with my mother! I visited a medium. Now, I don’t believe in mediums or psychics or spiritualists any more than you do … or at least I didn’t. But on a whim, I went to see him and, Gina, I can’t explain how, but he knew my mother’s name. He spoke to her and told me she’s fine. I know this sounds crazy, but whether he is a charlatan or not, he made me feel better. He’s the nicest person I’ve met since moving to Hickory. I’d forgotten how wonderful it feels to be treated with kindness. Are you ready to send the men in the white coats for me? Some days I DO wonder if I’m losing my mind here. I am definitely losing the tough, self-confident girl I’ve always fancied myself to be. I hope that girl comes back soon.

  Here is the next thing that will have you sending the men in the white coats after me: I think I’m being followed. I realized that I had no stamps for this letter, so I went downstairs to the library to see if Henry might have some in his desk. I’ve never looked in his desk before and I felt a little devilish peering in the various drawers, but none of them was locked, so fair game. I hadn’t realized what an orderly man I married! All his files are neatly labeled. Unpaid bills are carefully clipped together. Business cards are neatly stacked. The wide middle drawer held several large empty manila envelopes, each of them bearing a blank white address label perfectly centered, as if he’d taken careful measurements before gluing the label in place. But no stamps anywhere and I knew I would have to go into town to the post office.

  Henry usually insists I take a cab wherever I go, but today was very warm here for February and I decided to walk into town. It’s not terribly far. I’d barely left the house when I became aware of a police car slowly passing me on the street, driving in the same direction I was walking. I didn’t think much of it. Oakwood is a wealthy neighborhood and I supposed the police keep a careful eye on it. But two blocks later, the car passed me again at a snail’s pace. For a while, it actually seemed to drive at the same pace I was walking. I was nearly to town when it crept by me for a third time. This time, I got a good look at the policeman behind the wheel. He was young, probably about my age, with short, sandy-colored hair beneath his police hat. When our eyes met, he sped up. It was quite disconcerting! I’d reached the post office by then and went inside to buy stamps for both Henry and myself.

  Walking home, I found myself watching for the police car, but the officer must have moved on to another part of town and I had a good laugh over my paranoia. Why would a police car be following me? Still, I can’t shake the feeling that it was.

  I know you’re thinking that Hickory is making me lose my mind. I wonder that myself sometimes. You are right, though. I am lucky to have married Henry. When I feel sad or lonely in this marriage, I will remind myself that I’m married to an excellent provider. Our child will grow up in a beautiful house and he or she will want for nothing. My sweet baby will have a happy life and that’s what’s most important.

  I pray for you and Mac every night, Gina. I follow the news each day and hope the Allies are planning something big. Maybe something that will finally put an end to this terrible war. I pray that Mac remains safe through it all and comes home to you very soon.

  With love,

  Tess

  27

  The night after I wrote the letter to Gina, Henry didn’t come home. I had gone to bed while he remained reading in the upstairs parlor, a pattern we’d quickly fallen into. When I woke up at three in the morning, I could see that his bed hadn’t been slept in. Concerned, I put on my robe and slippers and quietly walked to the parlor, expecting to find him asleep in his reading chair, but the room was dark and empty. I padded downstairs and peered into the library, but it too was dark, and when I flipped on the light, I saw that the ashes in the fireplace looked gray and cold. I wandered through the living room, the dining room, the hallway, moving quietly past Ruth’s bedroom so I wouldn’t wake her. The house was ghostly quiet. From the window in the kitchen, I looked into the backyard, silvery with moonlight. Hattie’s little cottage was dark, as was the garage. Wrapping my robe more tightly around my body, I slipped out the back door and down the steps, making my way carefully along the walk as I headed toward the garage. When I reached the building, I peered through the side window. The Buick was there, the one with the worn tires, but Henry’s Cadillac was gone. I saw my frown reflected in the window. Where was he? Where would he go in the middle of the night? Should I be worried?

  I shivered as I walked back to the house. Once inside, I stood in the kitchen hugging myself to warm up. Back upstairs, I hesitated in the hall outside Lucy’s room before knocking lightly on her door. I waited a moment, unsure if I should knock again.

  “Who is it?” She sounded as though she were speaking into her pillow.

  “It’s me. Tess. May I come in?”

  There was the rustle of sheets and in a moment she opened the door, a pink tulle hairnet covering her blond pincurls.

  “What’s going on?” she asked.

  “Henry’s gone,” I said. “I mean, he never came to bed and now his car is gone.” I glanced down the hallway toward the window that overlooked the backyard. “Should I be concerned?” I asked.

  She turned her head away from me, an odd smile on her face. “That’s just Hank,” she said. “He doesn’t need much sleep. He goes to the factory at night sometimes.” She looked at me squarely now. “He likes to work there when there’s no one ar
ound. He says he gets a lot done then.”

  “But it’s three A.M.,” I said. “He’ll be exhausted in the morning.”

  “That’s his problem,” she said, already backing into her room. “He lives his life and I live mine.” She closed the door without saying good night. I stood there a moment, staring at her door, before walking back to the bedroom I still thought of as “Henry’s” rather than “ours.”

  It took me a while to fall asleep. When I awakened at six, Henry was sound asleep in his bed, his breathing soft and even. I got up quietly. He could sleep another hour before he absolutely needed to get up, but as I headed for the closet, I heard the creak of bedsprings.

  “Good morning,” he said.

  I turned to face him, holding my robe tight around my body. “I woke up in the middle of the night and you were gone,” I said. “I didn’t know where you were.”

  “At the factory,” he said. “Working on the books.”

  “Well, the next time, could you tell me you’re going, please? So I don’t worry?”

  He smiled. “I’m not used to having anyone worry about me,” he said.

  “You’ll tell me then?”

  “The problem is, I don’t usually know I’m going until I make the decision. And by the time I did last night, you were asleep. I didn’t want to wake—”

  “You could leave me a note.”

  He looked at me blankly for a moment, then nodded. “Fair enough,” he said. “Next time I’ll leave a note.”

  I sat down on the edge of the pineapple bed. “Isn’t it spooky there at night, that big empty building?” I shuddered. I’d seen the factory at night from the road. The long two-story brick building was ominous looking, all its many windows like dark eyes staring out into the night.

  He laughed. “I’ve been in that building all times of day and night my whole life,” he said. “I know every inch of it. And Zeke lives there, so it’s never completely empty.”

  “Zeke actually lives at the factory? How come?”

  Henry shrugged. “He’s part maintenance man, part guard, I guess you’d call him. I like having someone there all the time to keep an eye on things. He could get an apartment somewhere, but this works out well for us both.”

  “Could I see the factory?” I asked. “I’d like to see where you work.”

  “You’ve seen it,” he said. “You’ve been to my office.”

  “I mean the whole place. It must be fascinating.”

  “Fascinating?” He chuckled. “Sure, I’ll take you around this Sunday. Better to do it when the building is empty.”

  “Wonderful,” I said, getting to my feet. I headed toward the closet for my clothes.

  “You don’t need to worry, Tess,” he said, and I turned to look at him. “I don’t want you to have to worry about anything. I want you to be happy here. Happy and content.”

  For some reason, his words choked me up. There was so much I wanted to say. Are you ever going to make love to me? Will you at least kiss me? Your mother and sister—can you change their attitude toward me? I remembered the new house where we would soon be living together with our child. Things would be different then. Things would be good.

  “I am happy,” I lied. “Everything is fine.”

  28

  After church that Sunday, I met Violet’s father, Byron Dare, the district attorney prosecuting Henry’s friend Gaston. He was a pompous, handsome man with a full head of white hair and a syrupy Southern accent that set my teeth on edge.

  He approached us on the sidewalk in front of the church as we were heading toward the car. He stepped directly in front of us, blocking our path.

  “I’ve been too riled up to speak to you before now, Hank,” he said to Henry. “You broke my little girl’s heart. You toyed with her all these years. You—”

  “Now is not the time, sir,” Henry said, his hand reliably at my elbow. “You haven’t met my wife, Tess. Tess, this is Hickory’s fine district attorney, Byron Dare.”

  The man didn’t so much as glance in my direction. “Is it the Joyner case?” he asked. “Was that why you cooled toward my Violet?”

  “Of course not,” Henry said.

  “I know Gaston Joyner is a longtime buddy of yours, but I’m just doing my job,” Byron Dare continued. “You shouldn’t hold that against Violet.”

  “It has nothing to do with your job,” Henry said, “and Violet will be fine. Now, if you’ll excuse us. Mama and Lucy are waiting for us in the car.” He tugged me away before the man could say anything else.

  “I’m sorry about that,” he said to me as we walked away. There were red blotches high on his cheeks and I knew he was angry.

  “It was like I was invisible,” I said, as we neared the Cadillac.

  “He’s a monumental jackass,” Henry said, opening the car’s rear door for me. I always insisted Ruth ride in the front seat when she was with us. “He thinks he’s more important than everyone else.”

  “What took you so long?” Lucy asked. “We’ve been waiting ages.”

  “Mr. Dare wanted to talk to Henry,” I answered, as Henry slid into the driver’s seat.

  Lucy laughed. “Oh, I bet he did,” she said.

  “I’m going to give Tess a tour of the factory this afternoon,” Henry said, most likely to change the subject.

  “How thrilling,” Lucy said sarcastically.

  “I’m looking forward to it,” I said.

  “And well you should,” Ruth said. “That factory’s been the Kraft family’s bread and butter for many years.”

  I barely heard her. Coming toward us on the other side of the street was a police car and I leaned forward to try to make out the driver’s face. Henry gave a little toot of the car horn and waved, and as we passed the car I got a clear look at the driver. It was definitely the same young officer I’d suspected of following me on my way to town the other day.

  “Do you know that policeman?” I asked Henry. “When I walked to town the other day, he kept driving past me, over and over again.”

  “It’s Teddy Wright,” Lucy said. “I’ve known him forever. Everybody knows everybody in Hickory.”

  “I felt like he was following me,” I said. “It was the strangest thing.”

  I saw Lucy and Henry exchange a look in the rearview mirror. I was certain it wasn’t my imagination.

  “He was probably just on patrol,” Henry said. “Keeping an eye on things.”

  “On another subject, girls.” Ruth turned to look over the seat at us as Henry started the car. “The box supper is Saturday night at the Presbyterian church. Hank, can you bring us three of your small boxes to fill and decorate?”

  “Sure,” he said.

  “What’s a box supper?” I asked.

  “It’s an event to sell war bonds,” Henry said.

  “We decorate and fill our boxes with enough food for two people and then they get auctioned off,” Lucy said. “The highest bidder for each box gets that amount in war bonds and stamps plus our box of food.”

  “Home-cooked food,” Ruth added. “A full meal for two people.”

  “So, we actually get to cook something ourselves?” I asked, pleased by the thought. Since my arrival in Hickory, I hadn’t so much as boiled an egg. Hattie took care of everything.

  “Yes, indeed we do,” Ruth said. “So put your thinking cap on and decide what you’d like to make. I’ll go into town tomorrow and purchase ribbons and sequins and whatever else we might need to decorate our boxes.”

  “Could I do that shopping for you, Miss Ruth?” I asked. I relished any opportunity to get out of the house.

  “If you’d like to, of course you may.” Ruth seemed pleased by my enthusiastic response. She very nearly smiled at me over the top of the seat and I wondered if there might be hope for our relationship after all.

  29

  Like most people I’d met in Hickory, Zeke Johnson didn’t seem to think much of me. I knew it from the moment Henry and I reached the second story of the fa
ctory and spotted him there, opening the door to the room next to Henry’s office. He was dressed in a suit and tie and he looked from Henry to me and back again, his face registering surprise. I had a clear view past him into the room. A double bed was against one wall. It was the same pineapple style as my twin bed in Henry’s room at home. There was a dresser topped by a huge framed mirror, a black and tan oriental rug on the floor and a sofa and coffee table. There were even pictures on the wall. Was this Zeke’s room? When Henry had told me Zeke lived in the factory, I’d pictured him sleeping on a cot. Not living in such luxury. But it was a furniture factory, after all. No wonder his room was filled with lovely things.

  “Here on a Sunday?” Zeke asked Henry.

  “I thought it was time I gave Tess a tour of the place,” Henry said. “Are you just coming from church?”

  Zeke nodded. “And dinner at Mama’s.” He was speaking to Henry, but his gaze was on me. “Glad you’re here, Hank,” he said. “I was going to call you. We got a problem with the boiler again. One of the valves is failing, plus I’m not sure how long the igniter’s going to last.”

  I was surprised he called him Hank instead of Mr. Henry or Mr. Hank. It seemed overly familiar for a maintenance man, but I remembered they’d grown up together. I pictured them as kids, sliding down the stairs on a mattress with Zeke’s sister Honor. Getting a whipping for it, in Zeke’s case, at least.

  “You’d better show me,” Henry said. “Come on, Tess.” He rested his hand softly on my back and the three of us headed down the stairs again. “We’ll start your tour with the most glamorous part of the factory.” He laughed as we walked down a dark corridor, Zeke a few steps ahead of us. “The boiler room.”

  At the end of the corridor, Zeke pushed open a thick, heavy metal door.

  “The boiler room has to be separated from the rest of the building by a fire wall,” Henry explained. “Fire in a furniture factory is not something you ever want to see.”

  We stepped into a small room filled with a huge furnace. Pipes and ducts in all shapes and sizes crisscrossed below the ceiling and down one wall. The air was warm and damp and the smell of oil and metal stung my nostrils.