The Stolen Marriage

by Diane Chamberlain

  “I wish we were at St. Leo’s right now instead of batting mosquitos away in your car.” I looked at him. “I miss our old life so much, Vincent.”

  He took my hand. Held it on his knee. I felt my whole body melt.

  “Let’s get it back,” he said.

  “Can we?”

  “As far as I’m concerned, yes,” he said. “We can and we should.”

  “I’ll be a divorcee,” I reminded him. “The church won’t—”

  “I don’t care,” he interrupted. “And anyway, didn’t you say you were married by a justice of the peace?”

  I nodded.

  “Then as far as the church is concerned, you’re not married.”

  I gasped. I hadn’t thought of that and it was as if a weight had suddenly been lifted off my shoulders. I hadn’t realized how much the church—my Catholic faith—still mattered to me.

  “I don’t know how long the divorce will take,” I said.

  “I’ll wait.”

  “I never wanted Henry.”

  “Shh.” He squeezed my hand. “Let’s not think about him.”

  “But I do care about him, Vincent,” I said. “I don’t love him. I don’t want him. But I do care.”

  “You have a good heart, Theresa De Mello.” He smiled at me. “That’s the thing I love best about you.”

  “You’ll still have me?”

  “I frankly can’t wait to have you.”

  “Oh, Vincent, I’m so sorry for everything!” I wished I could pull him into my arms. I suddenly thought of Mimi and Pop. I longed to see them, but would they ever want to see me again? “What about your parents?” I asked. “How much do they know? Will they ever forgive me for leaving the way I did?”

  He moved my hand until it was nestled between both of his. “I told them why you left,” he said. “I told them where you’ve been. And I told them what you’ve been doing.”

  I made a face. “They must think I’m a terrible person,” I said.

  He smiled. “They think you need their prayers,” he said. He leaned forward and kissed me lightly on the cheek. “And now they’ll think their prayers have been answered.”

  77

  Over the next week, Henry and I settled into the most placid period of our marriage. It was amazing what our heart-to-heart talks could do, I thought, as I ate dinner with him and Ruth that Friday evening. Ruth still had Hattie set a place for Lucy, but I’d learned to ignore it. If this was the way she needed to grieve—or to express her anger at me—so be it. Over dinner, Henry and I would catch each other’s eye and share a secret smile. He knew I’d told Vincent everything and he said he was happy I would have the future I wanted with him. He hadn’t told me if he’d decided to start an affair with Violet or not, but he assured me the divorce would come, one way or another. I trusted him to keep his word on that. He knew the consequence of not following through could be dire. I only needed to be patient.

  Now that Jilly was nearly well, Honor stayed home with her rather than work in the hospital kitchen, so I didn’t see her every day as I had been. I thought that was probably best for both of us. I occasionally spotted Zeke at the hospital—Henry was still giving him time off from the factory to volunteer as one of our maintenance men—but unless it was my imagination, Zeke was avoiding contact with me. A couple of times, when he was repairing a broken bed or a window screen in the ward where I was working, I’d catch him looking at me, but he’d turn away quickly before I could read his expression.

  I spent a lot of time with Amy Pryor, who was still in the iron lung. I had caring for her down to a routine now. She was well enough to look at pictures of her baby sent over by the mayor and his wife, and she told me about her little two-year-old son, even though she was only able to speak with each exhalation the machine allowed her. We talked as I brushed her hair or washed her face, and she was well enough to be bored, so one of the volunteers read to her off and on during the day.

  The Life article came out and issues of the magazine flew off the newsstands. Ruth cut out the pictures and added them to her scrapbook, right next to the newspaper photograph of Vincent, Grace, and myself as we stood with the mayor and his wife after the birth of their grandson. I’d been touched beyond words when she showed me that picture in her scrapbook. She had no idea, of course, that the handsome doctor standing next to me in the photograph was the man I dreamed about day and night. I felt not only moved that she’d finally accepted me into the family, but guilty that I knew what she didn’t: I would not be a part of her family for much longer. She’d get over it, I thought. Oh, she’d be upset, since there were “no divorces in the Kraft family,” and angry with Henry for bringing shame to the Kraft name. But she’d be so delighted once she had Violet Dare as her daughter-in-law that I doubted her unhappiness would last for long.

  * * *

  That Monday evening, Henry told us that he had a community meeting to attend and left the house right after dinner. I was certain there was no community meeting. Most likely, he’d be with Honor at the factory. I knew in the long run his relationship with her was impossible, yet I envied him his ability to be with the person he loved when I was with Vincent only in my dreams.

  Ruth and I were reading in the library around eight o’clock when the doorbell rang.

  “Who on earth could that be?” Ruth asked.

  Through the library window, I saw an unfamiliar black car in the driveway. Hattie had left for the day, so I walked through the foyer and opened the front door. Two men stood on the step, one tall and lanky and very young, the other in his fifties with gray hair and mustache. They both wore suits, despite the muggy evening heat.

  “Good evening, ma’am,” the older man said. “We’re from the federal Office of Price Administration, and we’re here to speak to Mr. Henry Kraft.”

  Ruth appeared at my side. “What on earth is the Office of Price Administration?” she asked.

  “Mr. Kraft isn’t home.” I felt perspiration break out across my back, recalling Teddy’s cryptic note to Henry about the OPA. Now I knew what that acronym stood for, though I wasn’t sure what they wanted with Henry.

  “Where is he?” the man asked.

  “He’s at a meeting,” Ruth said. “What do you want to talk to him about?”

  “We’re investigating counterfeit rationing coupons,” he said.

  “Counterfeit rationing coupons!” Ruth laughed. “Here? My Henry? That’s ridiculous.”

  “We have a warrant to search the premises, but we really need to speak to Mr. Kraft,” the older man said.

  “Search the premises!” Ruth said. “This is nonsense.”

  My heart gave a thud as I thought of the money and gasoline coupons in the bottom of the armoire. Surely the coupons weren’t counterfeit. Henry was wealthy. He had no need to involve himself in something so foolish. I realized though that I’d never asked him where all that cash had come from.

  The skinny younger man produced a document from inside his suit jacket and the older man snatched it from him, unfolding it to hold out to us. “You need to let us in, ma’am,” he said to both Ruth and myself.

  “Oh, this is so silly!” Ruth said. “I don’t want you tearing up my house.” But she stepped back to let them pass. I had a helpless feeling, wondering if there were other caches of money or coupons hidden around the house for them to find.

  “We won’t do any damage,” the mustached man said as he stood in the foyer, looking left and right.

  They began their search in the basement, insisting that Ruth and I stay with them. I supposed they were afraid we would try to hide contraband goods if they gave us free rein while they searched. Ruth hobbled down the stairs behind the three of us. I knew her knee bothered her on steps, but I thought she was really milking the infirmity to show these men how put out she was by their visit. My palms were sweaty. I thought of slipping upstairs to call the factory in the hope Henry would pick up the recently repaired phone, but I didn’t dare.

  They fi
nished in the basement and we led them back to the first story. They went room by room, including Ruth’s bedroom, an intrusion over which she huffed and puffed indignantly. Quite honestly, I didn’t think they were doing a very thorough job and that gave me hope they wouldn’t look in the armoire. They peeked in closets and even removed the grillwork that covered the radiator in the living room, but they didn’t bother with drawers or small cupboards and I guessed they were looking for something large—a printing press?—rather than the coupons themselves. I was certain Henry wasn’t printing counterfeit coupons. The thought was ludicrous.

  When they’d covered the first floor, they headed toward the stairs and I had an idea. “My mother-in-law can’t manage another set of stairs,” I said, thinking I could whisper to her to call the factory and alert Henry … although she’d probably try to argue with me that he wasn’t there, since she thought he was at a meeting. But my plan quickly fell apart.

  “You stay down here with her,” the older man said to the skinny one, who still had not said a word. I thought the younger man must be a trainee of sorts.

  “I don’t need a babysitter,” Ruth complained, but she walked with an indignant limp into the library, the young agent or whatever he was close on her heels.

  I led the man upstairs. “Which is Henry Kraft’s bedroom?” he asked, when we reached the top of the stairs.

  I led him into our bedroom, averting my eyes from the armoire. He walked directly over to it almost as if he knew by my behavior that he should begin his search there. He pulled open the mirrored door, but he didn’t bother to touch Henry’s clothing or move it aside and he didn’t seem to notice the leather tab protruding from the false floor. I was relieved when he shut the door. So relieved, I felt a bit cocky.

  “You’re really wasting your time, suspecting my husband of anything,” I said. “He’s a wealthy man. He has no need to make extra money, especially not illegally.”

  He glanced at me, then returned to his search, opening the closet and peering inside. “With all due respect, ma’am,” he said, “you don’t know your husband very well.”

  His words sent a shiver through me. They were so close to those Lucy had spoken just before the accident when she told me I didn’t really know her brother. Back then, I hadn’t known Henry at all, that was true. Now, though, I was certain Lucy had been referring to his relationship with Honor. But what was this federal agent referring to?

  I followed the man all through the upstairs, then back down to the library.

  “We need to search the garage and that little cottage out back,” he said, smoothing his fingers over his mustache.

  “My maid lives in the cottage,” Ruth said. “I will not have her disturbed.”

  “Check the search warrant,” the man said to her. “It says we can search all the buildings on the property.”

  “And we have a warrant forthcoming to search the factory too.” The younger man finally spoke up, and I knew he’d made a tactical error when the mustached agent shot him an angry look. So, they didn’t yet have a warrant to search the factory. Good, I thought. If Henry was hiding something there, this would give him time to get rid of it. I wished I knew what was really going on.

  We left Ruth in the house with the green younger man, while I rousted poor Hattie out of her cottage in her nightclothes. The agent made short work of searching her three small rooms, then led me into the empty garage and shed. I was a bit nervous in those two unfamiliar spaces, especially the shed with its woodworking equipment. I probably wouldn’t know a printing press from a table saw, but the man seemed interested in none of it, and we finally returned to the house, the agent guiding our way by flashlight because it was now dark. Both my feet and my nerves were exhausted.

  As they left, the senior agent handed me a card. “Have Mr. Kraft call this number in the morning,” he said. “It’s very important. If he’s innocent, I’m sure he’ll want to clear his good name.”

  “Of course,” Ruth said as she ushered them out the door. “Now don’t go spreading any silly rumors about my son!” she called after them as they walked toward their car.

  We watched their taillights travel down the road, then Ruth turned to me. “What a humiliating nuisance,” she said. “I wonder why on earth they think Hank could have anything to do with something illegal?”

  I shrugged. “I have no idea,” I said. “They probably have him mixed up with someone else.”

  “Well, I’m going to bed,” she said. “This was not how I planned to spend my evening!”

  I waited until I was certain Ruth was in bed before I called the factory. The phone rang and rang, and I pictured Henry in Zeke’s room with Honor, trying to decide whether or not to bother going into his office to answer. I didn’t hang up though, and on the fifteenth ring, he picked up.

  “It’s me.” I spoke quietly, not wanting Ruth to know I was on the phone. “Two men were just here from the…” I couldn’t remember the exact name of the agency. “Someplace to do with price administration? They suspect you of printing counterfeit rationing coupons. They had a warrant to search the house, but I don’t think they have one for the factory. Not yet, at least.”

  I’d spoken quickly, breathlessly, and I was sure I’d taken him by surprise. It was a moment before he responded.

  “They searched the house?” he asked.

  “Yes. But they … whatever they were looking for, they didn’t find it.” I lowered my voice even more. “They didn’t notice anything amiss about the armoire,” I said. “What’s going on, Henry? Are the coupons in the armoire counterfeit?”

  “Listen,” he said softly. “I don’t want to drag you into anything. Just … you don’t know anything, all right?”

  “I don’t know anything,” I said.

  “Let’s keep it that way,” he said. “You said they don’t have a warrant for the factory?”

  “They … alluded to the fact one was coming though.”

  “All right. Thank you for calling me. I … uh … I need to take care of some things and I’ll be home late tonight. Just…” He sounded distracted. Maybe anxious, I couldn’t really tell. “Thank you for calling,” he said again, and then he was gone from the line.

  78

  I barely saw Henry the following morning before he left for the factory. I’d been asleep when he got home the night before and he was already dressed by the time I woke up. He sat on the edge of my bed while I stretched and yawned myself awake.

  “Thanks again for that call last night,” he said. “Everything’s fine. You don’t need to worry.”

  “All right,” I said. I decided not to ask him any more questions about the coupons. He was right: the less I knew the better. He looked haggard this morning. I propped myself up on my elbows to get a better look at him. “Did you get any sleep at all last night?” I asked.

  “Not much.” He gave me a tired smile, then stood up. “I’ve got to get to the factory early this morning and I expect I’ll be there late again tonight. The replacement parts are arriving for the boiler sometime today, at last.”

  “What about breakfast?” I asked.

  “I’ll grab one of Hattie’s biscuits to take with me.” He leaned over and kissed my forehead. “Thank you for everything, Tess,” he said. He left the room and I settled back down in the bed again, thinking that I had the strangest marriage in the world.

  * * *

  I had a wonderful day at the hospital, working side by side with Vincent a good part of the time. I spent most of the morning taking care of Amy Pryor, but I was back with Vincent in the admissions tent for the afternoon. I loved watching him with the patients. Although I wore all of my protective coverings and my hair was tucked under a cap, Vincent wore only his white coat. No mask, as usual, and I thought that made him less frightening to the patients. He had such an easy, earnest style about him. Frantic parents grew calmer when he spoke to them, and he touched the children so gently as he examined them. I watched him with the littlest ones, say
ing a silent prayer that someday he and I would have children of our own. I knew I wasn’t alone with my feelings. The way he looked at me, sometimes with a smile. Sometimes a wink. The way he touched my arm, my hand, when we moved past each other in the confines of the tent. Touches that were not completely necessary. I was hungry for that divorce! I would give Henry three more weeks. That would make a month since we’d put everything out in the open. If he didn’t agree to start the divorce process by that time, I would have to apply pressure. I didn’t want it to come to that. I was already looking in the paper for rooms to rent in case I was still working at the hospital at that time. Once the epidemic was over, I would return to Baltimore. With any luck, Vincent would be by my side.

  * * *

  Ruth was frustrated that night over dinner. “My husband never worked late like this at the factory, night after night after night,” she said. “Hank’s not getting well-rounded meals, and he’s tired every morning. It’s just not right. He’s trying to do too much, working at the hospital as well as the factory.”

  I didn’t tell her Henry’s late nights had nothing to do with work of any sort. Instead, I changed the subject.

  “Are you looking forward to your bridge game tonight?” I asked. Mrs. Wilding was to pick her up at seven for a bridge evening at one of the country club ladies’ homes.

  “Of course,” she said. “Are you sure you won’t join us?” Ever since the people of Hickory had warmed to me, Ruth seemed to view me in a new light.

  “I’m sure,” I said. “I’m going to read for a while and turn in early.”

  * * *

  Mrs. Wilding picked Ruth up shortly after dinner and I changed into my shorts and sleeveless blouse, an outfit I only wore when Ruth wasn’t around. I settled into the upstairs parlor with The Fountainhead. In the distance, I heard the sound of sirens. From my work in the hospital, I’d grown accustomed to the constant bleating of ambulances, but this shrill, relentless wailing seemed different. More than one vehicle was creating that racket. Maybe more than two or even three. I turned my book upside down in my lap and listened, reassuring myself that the sirens were not close. They were far enough away that I could put them out of my mind almost completely and concentrate on the book.