“Good evening, Mrs. Kraft,” he said.
“Hello, Teddy.” I heard the chill in my voice.
“Is Hank home?”
“No, he’s not.”
“Is he at the factory?”
“I don’t know where he is tonight,” I said. I knew he was at the factory, but I felt obstinate. I didn’t feel like helping Teddy out. “Can I take a message for him?”
He looked past me as though he thought I might be lying. “You got a pen and paper? I can write it for him. And an envelope.”
I hesitated before asking him in. “Follow me,” I said as I headed toward the library.
He hung back in the doorway of the library, taking in the walls of books as I opened the desk drawer where Henry kept his stationery. I pulled out a sheet of paper and an envelope and invited him to sit at the desk.
I waited as he perched on the edge of the chair and jotted a note. He sealed it in the envelope and wrote “Hank Kraft” on the front, underlining the name several times to drive the point home that the note was for Henry and no one else.
“You got some of that sealing wax?” he asked.
“Sealing wax?” I repeated. “No. Sorry.”
“This is for his eyes only,” he said, handing the envelope to me.
“Of course,” I said, then added, “You still don’t think much of me, do you?”
“I know you saved that baby,” he said. “That’s one point in your favor.”
I didn’t know what to say to that.
“Just be sure you give that envelope to Hank right quick,” he said, and he let himself out of the house. From the library, I watched him get into his police car. He turned the car around in our driveway and took off toward town.
I looked at the envelope in my hand. What was so important? I wondered. And why couldn’t Teddy just tell me his message and let me pass it along to Henry myself? My curiosity got the better of me and I knew I was going to read the note. I could steam the envelope open over a teakettle, although I wondered if that worked in real life as well as in fiction. I was certain to ruin the envelope, at the very least. So I would open the note the usual way and then put it in a new envelope. Simple. I used the letter opener on Henry’s blotter to slice the envelope, then pulled out the sheet of paper, flattening it on the desk. I lit a cigarette, then sat down to read the note.
Hank, the chief got some questions about you from the OPA today. The chief was in the dark, I could tell. I don’t think they know anything about Lucy helping. I didn’t let on, just listened and acted like I don’t know anything. They might have been talking about getting a search warrant. The chief told them they were barking up the wrong tree. Just wanted to let you know. I’ll keep my ears open. Teddy
I must have stared at the note for five full minutes as I tried to make sense of it. What was the OPA? Did it have something to do with the factory? And what had Lucy been helping with?
I put the note in a new envelope and simply left Henry’s name off the front. Suddenly exhausted, I climbed the stairs, quickly washed and changed into my nightgown, then fell into bed, leaving the note on the nightstand. I heard the front door open a while later and listened to the footsteps downstairs long enough to know it was Ruth and not Henry. I rolled onto my side and the moonlight reflected off the mirror of the armoire. I sat up with a gasp. Did the money in the armoire have something to do with Teddy’s note?
I got out of bed quietly, not wanting Ruth to hear the creaking of the floorboards, and turned on the night table lamp. I opened the beautiful carved mirrored door of the armoire and was greeted by the soap-and-pipe scent of Henry’s clothes. I spotted the leather tab on one side of the false bottom and lifted it gingerly. The bundled money was still there. As a matter of fact, I was certain there was quite a bit more of it than there had been. On top of the bundles lay three large manila envelopes, identical to the envelope Lucy had wanted to deliver to someone across the river and the empty envelopes I’d seen in his desk drawer.
Each of the envelopes had a white label affixed to the front, and each label had two or three letters on it. Initials? I lifted the top envelope and sat down on the edge of the bed, listening for Henry’s car in the driveway. This label bore the initials R.T.D., written in Henry’s hand. I turned it over and saw that it was only closed with a clasp. I pinched the two sides of the clasp together, lifted the flap, and slipped my hand inside to withdraw the contents. Gasoline rationing coupons, three booklets of them. Class C. And a red Class C sticker for a car. I knew what Class C stickers were. Most people had A stickers, allowing them three gallons of gasoline a week. Some people, traveling salesmen for instance, had B stickers entitling them to eight gallons a week. Class C was reserved for doctors, the police, and anyone else who shouldn’t have their gasoline limited. I stared at the coupons. Where had Henry gotten these and what was he doing with them? He’d told me something about factory truck drivers being entitled to more gas. Maybe that was it? Maybe R.T.D. was one of Kraft Fine Furniture’s truck drivers? And what exactly was Teddy warning Henry about? My head hurt from trying to figure it out. There was only one person who could explain it all to me, and I was married to him.
* * *
It must have been close to three in the morning by the time I finally fell asleep and Henry still wasn’t home. I’d lain awake, feeling alternately angry at him and worried about him. When I woke at six-thirty, he was getting out of his bed, running his fingers through his hair. I was instantly awake and I sat up in bed and reached for the envelope from Teddy on the nightstand.
“Teddy dropped this off for you last night,” I said, holding it out to him.
Henry frowned as he took the envelope from me. “Teddy Wright?” he asked. “From the police?”
“Yes.”
I watched him tear open the envelope. His frown deepened as he read the note. He folded it up again and put it back in the envelope.
“What is it?” I asked innocently.
He shook his head, getting to his feet. “Nothing important,” he said. “I can drop you off at the hospital this morning, but then I’d better get back to the factory.”
“Is it something personal in the note or police business?” I prompted. “Teddy seemed pretty anxious for you to get it.”
“I told you, it’s nothing.” He folded the envelope and slipped it in the pocket of his pajama top as he walked toward the door. “I’ll use the shower first, if you don’t mind.”
“I know about the armoire.” I blurted the words out and he turned to me.
“What are you talking about? What about the armoire?”
“The money. I saw it weeks ago. I saw that leather tab and thought something had gotten stuck in the crevice between the floor and the back of the armoire. I pulled on the tab and the bottom came up and I saw the money.” I stopped briefly for breath. “Why do you have it stashed away like that?”
He said nothing for so long that I was sure he was going to simply turn away from me without an explanation. That was so like Henry whenever I asked a question he didn’t want to answer. Instead, he sighed and sat down on the bed again. Our beds were so close together that our knees nearly touched.
“Look,” he said. “I believe in having a nest egg. You know what happened in ’29, when the stock market crashed? That affected my father and a million men like him. I just feel better having some of my money in cash here at home.”
“What’s in those manila envelopes on top of the cash?” I asked.
He gave me a tired look. “This is business, Tess,” he said. “It doesn’t concern you and please don’t worry about it. It has nothing to do with the police or the note from Teddy and you’re just going to work yourself into a tizzy. Trust me, all right?” He gave me a completely sincere look, so sincere that I nearly believed him. But I was utterly perplexed. He was a wealthy man. He had no need I could think of for this extra cash. Our new house was already paid for and there was plenty of money for furnishings and décor.
; He leaned toward me and touched my cheek tenderly. “I’m sorry you’ve been worrying about this,” he said. “There’s no need to. Everything is fine.”
73
Henry and I ate dinner with Ruth that night and she was full of questions about Life magazine’s visit to the hospital, which had taken place that day. It was one of the more animated meals the three of us had had together. I might have enjoyed it if not for the fact that I was so filled with longing for Vincent I could barely eat.
The reporter and the photographers from Life had been low-key and respectful, although it seemed as though every time I turned around, one of them was standing behind me. They took pictures in the wards and on the grounds, the reporter marveling over what had been accomplished in such a short time. After the first couple of hours of having them around, the staff began to relax and we barely noticed the click of the camera and the pop of the flashbulbs. I knew I was in a few pictures, although whether any of them would be used in the article was anyone’s guess. I did wonder about the photographs taken in the admissions tent in the afternoon, when Vincent and I had been working together. I wore my surgical cap, mask, and gown, and even though my eyes were the only part of me that was visible, did they give me away? Was it obvious how in love I was with the doctor by my side?
After dinner, I wasn’t surprised when Henry said he was going back to the factory. “I’ve spent too much time at the hospital,” he said. “Everything at the factory is going to seed. The phone’s still not working properly. The boiler’s giving Zeke fits and he ordered a new igniter for it. We’re so short staffed, we’re way behind on our orders.”
I went to bed around nine, which was early for me. I wanted time alone to remember how it felt to work with Vincent in the admissions tent. When I was near him, his presence felt like something tangible, something I could put in a little box and carry around with me. A few times during the day, I caught him looking at me and each time our eyes met, he would smile. A couple of times, he touched my arm. My shoulder. This was all I could ever have of him, these stolen touches. Was he thinking about me right now? Was he too aching with the knowledge that we could never be together?
* * *
I’d drifted off to sleep when I was awakened by the ringing of the telephone. I got out of bed, pulled on my robe, and headed downstairs, wondering who would be calling us this late. The hallway was dark as I walked toward the kitchen, and I heard no sound from Ruth’s room as I passed her door.
In the kitchen, I picked up the receiver. “Hello?”
“Tess? This is Susannah Bowman.”
“Hello, Susannah,” I said, perplexed by the hour of the call. Susannah was the nighttime nursing supervisor at the hospital.
“We’re in a bind,” she said. “Three night nurses are out sick, and five new patients are checking in. I know you worked a full day today, but is there a chance you could come back for a few hours?”
“Of course,” I said, without hesitating. I was worried about those sick nurses though. I hoped none of them had polio symptoms. “I’ll get there as soon as I can,” I told her.
“Hurry, honey,” Susannah said. “We’re desperate.”
I got off the phone with Susannah, then dialed the number for the factory to see if Henry could give me a ride to the hospital, but there was no ringing on the other end of the line. Just dead air. I remembered: the phone at the factory still wasn’t working. I’d call a taxi to take me to the hospital. I could ask the driver to stop for a moment at the factory so I could let Henry know where I was going.
Upstairs, I quickly pulled on my uniform and stockings, taking only a few seconds to run a comb through my wild hair and pin it up in a bun. The taxi honked its horn out front as I made my way downstairs, and by the time I settled myself into the backseat I was winded.
“I need to go out to the polio hospital,” I said, “but first we have to stop at the Kraft Furniture factory.”
“The factory at this hour?” The driver looked at me in his rearview mirror. I couldn’t make out his face well in the darkness, but the tone of his voice told me he thought I was a bit crazy.
“Yes,” I said. “My husband is working there late tonight.”
Neither of us spoke on the drive to the factory and I used the time to catch my breath after racing around to get ready.
“Don’t look like nobody’s home, ma’am,” the driver said as we pulled up in front of the factory.
He was right. From where I sat, the enormous factory looked completely dark, but the small parking lot was illuminated by a street lamp, and I could see Henry’s car parked next to Zeke’s truck.
“He’s here,” I said, reaching for the door handle. “I’ll just be a few minutes.”
The front door was unlocked, as I expected it to be, and I walked into the foyer. The darkness felt overwhelming to me and I had to feel my way to the door that led to the stairwell. At the top of the stairs, I walked into the hall. There was no light coming through the crack at the bottom of Henry’s office door, and I guessed he was somewhere else in the factory. How would I find him? Zeke’s room was on my right, and a faint light came from beneath his door. He would probably know where Henry was.
I knocked on Zeke’s door. At first there was no response and I worried I was waking him up. I knocked a bit more assertively.
“Yes?” It was Henry’s voice, and I imagined Zeke was letting him nap on his sofa.
“It’s me, Henry,” I said, pushing open the door. The light from a lamp on the dresser illuminated the room with a soft glow and it took my eyes half a second to understand what I was seeing. They were covered only by a sheet in Zeke’s bed, white and brown skin, arms wrapped around each other. Henry and Honor.
74
Honor sat up quickly, gasping. Turning away from me, she held the sheet to her chest, her free hand over her cheek as she tried to hide her face. As though I might possibly not recognize her. Henry stared at me, speechless, his face a pale blank slate. I shut my eyes, willing the scene in front of me to go away. Backing out of the room, I shut the door quietly. I stood in the hall, my heart pounding and my fists clenched at my sides. My fury was matched only by my humiliation. All those nights Henry came home late—or didn’t come home at all. His inability—or unwillingness—to make love to me. To kiss me or even touch me. When all the while he’d been sleeping with Honor? I felt so foolish for how I’d helped her see Jilly in the hospital. How kind I’d been to her, when all the while, she must have been laughing at me behind my back.
I turned and ran to the stairwell and pounded down the steps to the foyer. Pushing open the exterior door, I ran out into the dark night heading toward the taxi, my steps fueled by my anger. I had to get away from the scene in Zeke’s room.
“Tess!” Henry called from behind me.
I ignored him and kept running. I heard his footsteps, rapid, growing closer. In a moment, he grabbed my arm.
“Wait!” he said as I twisted away from him. He caught my arm again and this time I turned to face him. I tried to hit him, stupidly, ineffectually, both my arms flailing at him, my handbag jerking through the air. He grabbed my wrists, holding them at my sides.
“I hate you!” I shouted, not caring if the taxi driver could hear me. Not caring if anyone could hear. “I hate everything about you!”
“Tess, please,” he said, his voice annoyingly calm. “Please come back inside. We need to talk. We—”
“I’m not going back in there!” I pulled my wrists free of his grasp. “I’m going to the hospital,” I said, reaching for the door of the taxi. “They’re down three nurses.” I tried to yank the door open, but Henry leaned his weight against it.
“I’ll take you,” he said, then repeated, “We need to talk, Tess.”
I hesitated, my heart still pounding with fury. There was only one thing we needed to talk about as far as I was concerned: divorce.
“Pay the driver,” I said, turning around, and I headed for the parking lot and his car.
>
* * *
He caught up with me in the parking lot as I reached the passenger side door of his car. Leaning past me, he opened the door for me, and without a word, I slid onto the seat.
He got in on the driver’s side and put the key in the ignition, but before he turned it, he looked over at me. The overhead light in the parking lot caught his pallor. The skin around his sad eyes looked bruised. “I’m sorry,” he said.
“Just drive,” I said.
He turned the key and headed for the exit of the parking lot.
“I sometimes thought you might be having an affair,” I said, as he pulled onto the empty street, “but Honor?”
“I know it must be a shock,” he said, “but—”
“You’ve been using me.” I tightened my fists around the strap of my handbag. “No one would suspect you of a relationship with Honor if you were married.”
He looked through the windshield into the darkness ahead of us. “I also wanted to give your baby … our baby … a name,” he said. “I admit it though. When you walked into my office that day, I felt like my prayers had been answered.”
“How does Violet fit into the picture?” I asked.
He concentrated on turning the corner and I thought he was glad to be able to put off answering the question for a moment. “I would have married her if you hadn’t come along,” he admitted finally. “I was getting up the nerve to propose to her, although I was frankly dreading it. I knew she’d want a big wedding. All the hoopla that went with getting married. It would have been such a charade.”
“She would have been your cover then instead of me.”
He drew in a breath. Let it out. “Yes,” he said finally.
The Stolen Marriage Page 32