The Stolen Marriage

by Diane Chamberlain

  “That was always your intention,” I snapped. “To marry someone—anyone—to prevent people from knowing about you and Honor.”

  “I suppose.” He turned another corner. “But also, I needed a wife,” he said. “It’s hard to get by in this town as a single man. It looks … odd. And the woman I love, I could never marry.”

  “I’m a human being, Henry,” I said. “You can’t use someone this way because you happen to need a wife. It’s just wrong.”

  He didn’t respond. His eyes were fixed on the road.

  “How long have you and Honor…?” I let the sentence trail off.

  “Nearly my whole life,” he said. “I told you that she and Zeke and I were good friends when we were children, and then when we got to be teenagers, I started seeing her differently. I thought she was so beautiful.” He looked ahead of us into the dark night again and his voice had taken on an almost dreamy quality. “We always knew we were playing with fire, but … I love her, Tess.” He glanced at me. “The way you love that doctor. I love her and I can’t have her.”

  His comparison to my relationship with Vincent made my heart contract. “What about the man who fathered her children? Del?” I asked.

  He seemed to focus hard on the street ahead of us. “Del is Honor’s cover,” he said finally. “And she’s his. Del is not interested in women.”

  “You mean, women other than Honor? Or do you mean…” I began to understand. “Is he a homosexual?”

  He nodded.

  “But he had children with her!”

  “No,” he said. “He didn’t.”

  I frowned, then suddenly remembered Henry sitting with Jilly in the hospital. I thought it was so kind of him, his tender interaction with Honor’s daughter. I pressed my hands to my cheeks, stunned. “Jilly is yours?” I whispered.

  He nodded. “Yes,” he said softly.

  “Both of them? Butchie too?”

  He nodded slowly. “Yes. He was my son,” he said, his voice breaking on the word “son.” “Though of course I could never acknowledge him as such.”

  For a moment, I forgot my own pain, his was so palpable. I felt the depth of his dilemma. To love someone you couldn’t possibly marry. To have children you could never acknowledge. Children you could never safely love except in private. To lose one of those children and be unable to publicly grieve for him. I touched his shoulder.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. In the soft light from a street lamp, I saw the glistening of tears on his cheeks.

  “Butchie’s real name was Walter,” he said.

  A chill ran up my spine. “My God,” I said.

  “It has to be a coincidence.”

  “Not a coincidence,” I said. “Reverend Sam has a gift. I don’t understand it, but you can’t deny it.”

  “It was such a shock when he said his name.”

  “Who knows about you and Honor?” I asked. “I assume Zeke knows. Where was he tonight?”

  “Asleep on the couch in my office.” He turned onto the dark, rutted road that would take us through the woods to the hospital. “And yes, he knows,” he said. “Lucy knew, and Del, of course.”

  I thought of how loving Lucy had been to that whole family. The children were her niece and nephew.

  “Gaston.” Henry sighed. “He knew. And Adora. Poor Adora.”

  We bounced over something—a rut or a tree root—and I put my hand on the dashboard to steady myself. “What about your mother?” I asked.

  “Good Lord, no,” he said, as he pulled into the clearing near the ever-expanding hospital. He parked between a couple of other cars, but didn’t turn off the engine. “My mother thinks I’m queer, Tess,” he said, turning toward me. “Haven’t you figured that out? That’s why she insists we stay married. She can prove to all her friends that I’m some sort of he-man if I’m married. Of course, she was hoping I’d marry Violet, but I’m twenty-eight years old. She’d accept anyone as my wife at this point.”

  “My God,” I said. This was all too much to take in.

  Henry nodded toward the hospital. “Go on in,” he said. “I need to get back to the factory. I just ran out on Honor. She’s got to be terrified.”

  And well she should be, I thought, as I got out of the car. For the first time in my miserable marriage, I had the upper hand. I had the power to ruin Henry’s life. Honor’s life. And Ruth’s. I would do whatever it took to get out of this marriage. Would Vincent still want me once I was a divorcee? I wasn’t sure. Right then, all I knew was that I wanted my life back.

  75

  The new patients at the hospital absorbed all my time and attention for the next few hours, and I was glad of the distraction from my own life. I spent most of the night in the damp and musty basement ward that had been opened for the colored patients, and I was glad once again that Jilly had been able to go home. Jilly. Henry’s daughter. She would probably never be able to know who her real father was. I put the thought out of my mind and focused on my work.

  I didn’t get home until dawn. Henry’s bed was still neatly made and I knew he hadn’t come home at all during the night. Exhausted, I climbed into my own bed and fell into a deep sleep. I woke up around noon, glad to discover that Ruth was out and I wouldn’t have to make conversation with her over lunch. I had no appetite, but forced myself to eat the grilled cheese sandwich Hattie made for me before I called a taxi to take me back to the hospital.

  When the taxi dropped me off near one of the new wards that were under construction, I spotted Henry installing a screen in one of the windows. He walked quickly toward the taxi, pulling his wallet from his pants pocket, and he paid for the taxi before I even had my handbag open. I had the feeling he was going to do all he could to keep me happy and my mouth shut.

  “Are you all right?” he asked quietly. I saw the anxiety in his face. The tight muscles around his jaw. The plea in his eyes.

  “We can talk later,” I said, walking past him toward the main building. In spite of my anger, I felt sorry for him, yet I wanted to make him worry. Make him stew over what I might do. I liked my new power. I only had to decide how to use it.

  * * *

  That night, we lay in our separate beds staring at the moonlight on the ceiling, talking. He told me what it had been like, falling in love with Honor when he was a teenager, and the terror that came with emotions that should have been joyful and pure.

  “We weren’t lovers back then, of course,” he said. “We were just two kids who couldn’t wait to see each other when we got home from our schools. Even though she lived in the cottage with Adora and Zeke, right here on our property, my mother kept an eagle eye on us once I was thirteen or fourteen. Back then, the woods over by the church hadn’t been developed yet, so we’d go there. We’d walk over separately, of course, being careful no one could see us. She’d bring some of Adora’s cookies.” I heard the smile in his voice as he reminisced. “It didn’t matter what time of year it was, we’d meet. And all we did for years, it seemed, was talk. We imagined a future that could never be.” His voice had grown wistful.

  “When did you finally…?” I let my voice trail off.

  “Not till I was in college. I lived at home … I intentionally went to Lenoir-Rhyne so I could stay home. My parents thought it was so I could help out at the factory. Learn the business. But it was about Honor. It was always about Honor.” He stopped speaking for a moment, sounding choked up, and I wondered what he was seeing in his imagination. I was surprised that I didn’t feel anger toward him as I listened. I thought I should. I wanted to. But instead, I felt sympathy for him.

  “She was still in high school,” he continued. “Her senior year. Still living in the cottage with Adora. My father had built that room at the factory for nights when he needed to work late. It wasn’t as nice as it is now. Just a bed and a couch back then. But I had a key to the factory and Honor would tell Adora she was going to a friend’s, and we’d meet there. It was fine until Butchie was conceived. That’s when reality hit us
hard and we knew we had to find a way to explain her having a baby. She’d known Del since they were kids and he was only too happy to act like the baby was his.” Henry laughed softly. “Shocked everybody who knew him, that’s for sure. Everyone suspected Del was queer from the time he was a little boy.” He was quiet for a long moment, and I waited. “It’s been hard, Tess,” he said finally. “Hard and bittersweet. I know you don’t approve of colored and white together. I know Gaston and Loretta’s situation bothered you, but I can’t help how I feel about her. And I love our children. The money in the armoire? It’s for them. I had to sneak around to visit my own son and daughter, not to mention the woman I love. You know what would have happened to us if we’d ever been found out. What would still happen. Prison for who knows how long. I would lose the factory. I’d lose everything. Butchie and Jilly—Jilly, now—would be ostracized.” He shifted on the bed. “I know you think you’re trapped, Tess,” he said. “But I’ve been trapped my whole adult life.”

  I was quiet. For the first time, I had a real window into my husband’s world. I tried to imagine what it had been like for him and Honor all those years. What it was still like.

  “What did she say when you told her you’d gotten another woman pregnant?” I asked.

  He groaned. “She was furious, of course,” he said. “I’d never done anything like that before. Never had relations with another woman. I’m not much of a drinker—you know that by now. And that fellow Roger kept the alcohol coming. It’s no excuse…” He rubbed his chin with his good right hand. “I was so disgusted with myself about it—so hard on myself—that eventually Honor forgave me.” He looked over at me. I could just make out his eyes in the darkness. “She was grateful to you for the way you helped her when Jilly was sick,” he said. “And she felt guilty about it, but her need to be close to Jilly trumped her guilt about keeping you in the dark. I hope you can understand that.”

  “Yes,” I said. I really could. I’d seen her as a mother, nothing more or less than that. The sort of devoted mother I would have been if only I’d been given the chance.

  “She’s frightened right now, not knowing what you’ll do,” he said. “Frankly, so am I.”

  I hesitated, once again feeling Honor and Henry’s future in my hands. I could so easily hurt them. Devastate them. But I knew I never would. “Tell her she’s safe,” I said finally. “I wouldn’t hurt you that way. I wouldn’t hurt either of you.”

  He let out his breath. “Thank you.”

  “Did you think about doing what Gaston did?” I asked. “Moving to Washington State or someplace where you could legally marry?”

  “Yes, I’ve thought of it,” he said, “but Adora is here, and Zeke and my mother. And our friends and my family’s factory.” He sighed. “It’s not fair.”

  I’d thought his friend Gaston had been foolish for falling in love with a colored girl in the first place. Hearing about Henry and Honor though … They couldn’t put a stop to those feelings any more than Vincent and I could.

  “Your story reminds me of mine with Vincent,” I said. “We started out as kids together. Just friends. Then it turned into something more. Much more. Only we never had to hide our feelings. I can’t imagine what that was like.”

  “Until now,” he said softly. “You never had to hide your feelings for Vincent until now.”

  “Yes,” I agreed. “Until now.” I thought about the conversation we were having. One of those deep conversations that touched those places we kept hidden from other people. Even from ourselves. For the first time, Henry and I were vulnerable with each other. For the first time, listening and sharing, I felt something close to love for him.

  “You can see him,” Henry said. “Your Vincent. You can have an affair with him. I won’t try to stop you.”

  “That’s not what I want, Henry,” I said. “I want a full life with a husband who loves me. I want children. I want a divorce. And I don’t want to have to separate for two years before we get it. I want it now.” My voice was calm but firm. “Which means we divorce on the basis of your adultery. We can fabricate a woman you’ve been seeing. You don’t have to admit to it being Honor. But unless you want to admit to impotence or homosexuality or bestiality, it has to be adultery. They’re the only grounds we can use to get a divorce.”

  He went very still. I’d spoken softly, but there was power behind my words and he knew it.

  “I know I owe you a great deal, Tess,” he said finally. “But can you give me some time to figure this out? There’s so much going on right now, with things at the factory falling apart and Jilly being sick and me trying to help out at the polio hospital. It’s just a difficult time to suddenly … split up and have to answer questions and … Can you give me some time?”

  I took in a deep breath, studying the pattern of moonlight on the ceiling. For me, divorce meant freedom. Shame would come along with it, true, but I would be free. Henry never would be.

  “How long?” I asked. “How long are you asking me to wait?”

  “A month? Can you give me that?” he asked. “I have a lot of thinking to do.”

  “All right,” I said. I could wait a while longer. Knowing I would eventually be set free—that knowledge would keep me going.

  “Can you hold off on telling Vincent?” he asked. “He might … I don’t know. Do something. Turn us in, or … He already hates me. I can tell by the way he looks at me at the hospital.”

  “He doesn’t hate you,” I said. “And he wouldn’t ‘turn you in.’ And no, I’m sorry, but I have to tell him. He has to know I’m going to be free. I don’t know if he’ll still want me, but I need to tell him. I deserve that.”

  He sighed. “Yes,” he said, “I suppose you’re right.”

  I rolled onto my side to look at him. “What will you do?” I asked.

  He studied the ceiling as if he could see his future there. “After we’re divorced, and after an appropriate amount of time, I suppose I’ll ask Violet to marry me.”

  “Henry, it’s so wrong,” I said.

  “Violet isn’t you,” he said. “All she wants in a marriage is riches and a comfortable life. I can give her that.” He suddenly laughed. “Actually,” he said, “here’s a crazy idea. I could start an affair with Violet during the next month. That would be my adultery.”

  I had to laugh at the brilliance of the plan. If I’d cared a whit for Violet, I might have thought to warn her. As it was, I found myself worrying that she would not be as easy to manipulate as Henry was thinking. I doubted Violet would surrender as easily as I had to Henry’s lack of ardor and intimacy.

  “I think she’s going to be a more difficult wife than I’ve been,” I said.

  He chuckled, then rolled onto his side to face me. He stretched his arm across the space between our beds and I did the same to take his hand.

  “Tonight,” he said, “you are the most wonderful wife I could imagine.”

  76

  The following day at the hospital seemed to drag on forever despite the fact that we were frightfully busy admitting new patients, a couple of whom were very seriously ill. Even though Vincent and I worked together in the admissions tent, I was afraid I wouldn’t get a chance to ask him if we could talk after our shifts were over. Finally I gave him the message the only way I could manage: I wrote it on a slip of paper and attached it to the patient chart I handed him.

  I need to talk to you. After work?

  He looked up from the chart in surprise. He wore no mask—he almost never did—and the sunlight caught the perfect angles of his face, the thick-lashed dark eyes, the lips I hadn’t kissed in far too long. I wanted that face back. I wanted all of him back.

  He nodded, then returned his attention to his patient while I stood there with my heart pounding from both anxiety and desire.

  I was undeniably nervous about talking to him. Telling him everything. I was unsure if he would still want me once I was divorced. I was no longer the sweet, innocent, untouched Little Italy girl
he’d spent half his life hoping to marry. And how would he feel about Henry and Honor’s relationship? If I didn’t know the two of them as well as I did, if Henry had not shared his heart and soul with me as he had the last couple of days, I would still be shocked by their relationship myself. Vincent had been raised with the same values I had: colored and white should keep to their own kind when it came to romance. But he was a softhearted man. He would understand. I was counting on it.

  We met in his car at the end of the day. The windows were rolled down to fight the heat and we had to bat away mosquitos, but they were a tiny concern compared to the things I needed to tell him.

  “We should probably be talking in public,” he said, before I even opened my mouth to speak.

  “Why do you say that?” I asked.

  “It’s hard for me to be with you alone,” he said. “It’s hard for me not to touch you. I tend to forget you’re no longer mine to touch.”

  I couldn’t help but smile, my trust in him and our history returning. “Henry’s going to give me a divorce,” I said.

  “Tess,” he said, his eyes lighting up. “Really? How did you change his mind?”

  “I have a bargaining chip,” I said, and then I told him about walking in on Henry and Honor. I told him everything I knew about their relationship. Everything Henry had told me. When I saw Vincent’s expression finally shift from shock to compassion, I knew I’d given him a fair account.

  He shook his head. “Well, I feel sad for them,” he said, “but I’d frankly like to knock Henry’s block off. How could he do this to you? He took advantage of you. He made you part of his illicit scheme.”

  “I was pregnant, remember?” I said. “I needed a husband.”

  “You could have had a husband who loved you, instead of this … con artist.” There was bitterness in his voice and I knew he still had some anger at me for how I’d handled everything.

  “You’re still mad at me,” I said.

  He looked toward the woods, silent a moment, and then shook his head. “Only a little,” he said with a small smile.