CHAPTER SEVEN
Carl helped Connie out of the car. In a fleeting thought, he told himself it felt good to stretch his long legs, but what really felt good was stepping into Ruby and Henry’s world. He loved calling on them at their modest house on Main Street. They were a couple who made one believe that everything was right with the world, and a home couldn’t get any homier than theirs. They were the two sweetest people he knew and were loved by everyone in town. I guess you could say they embodied everything everyone in the country ever said that was positive about small town America. Ruby and Henry were standing eagerly at the top of the porch stairs of their nondescript, traditional, single story wood-framed bungalow, a period piece going back to the turn of the century.
“Connie! Carl!” Ruby called out, unable to contain her herself as she stepped down the porch stairs and trundled down the sidewalk to Connie and Carl. Henry followed her, smiling, as the young couple engulfed his Ruby in their arms, hugging her as if they hadn’t seen her in months, when it really had been just a week ago that they were all together.
An hour later, all four of them were at the dinner table in the Spartan dining room, which was decorated only by a few built-in cabinets with cut glass windows that didn’t really reveal much of anything in the way of contents. But it was a nice room, with windows that revealed the early dusking of the sky through the leafless trees that towered over the house. The foursome was just nicking into a dessert of homemade apple pie topped with a scoop of vanilla ice cream. Ruby had rolled the crust out and sliced the apples only a few hours earlier so that it could be hot, right out of the oven, when it was time. She had selected the best apples from a half-barrel she had stashed under the cellar stairs for just such an occasion.
Ruby’s apple pie was the best in the county, and it was what every dinner guest hoped for, for dessert. Ruby made the best pies, not just apple. Her rhubarb pie, when the rhubarb was in season, was the talk of the town. Yep, that’s right, the talk of the town! Unlike people in the cities, people in small towns talked about pie, and everyone knew who made the best in town. The apple pie was heavenly too and on the table as long as the apples barreled well.
Ruby’s cooking was just one of many reasons Carl and Connie loved to stop by, sometimes twice in a month. They would often stay overnight if the visit coincided with a weekend, even though they lived only twenty-five miles to the north on the east side of Appleton. That woman sure could bake!
The dinner conversation was lively. “It’s looking bad for Harry and his pals,” Henry said, making his opening gambit to establish politics as the next topic on the table.
After sharing all of the town’s news and some of the local gossip, the discussion shifted to politics. This was an election year and mid-term in Truman’s presidency. Truman was a democrat, and this election was largely seen as a referendum on Truman himself, whose approval ratings had taken a dive through the summer and fall. The controversy was over the president’s handling of the postwar labor strikes. The thorniest strike was the nationwide railroad strike, which affected millions of Americans because it was a time when Americans depended on the trains for both commuter and long distance travel.
There were plenty of other issues to discuss, and farmers throughout the state knew about the ones that affected them. They knew Truman waffled horrendously on all the unpopular price controls that had been put in places in the war years to handle shortages, particularly in foodstuffs. Farmers everywhere were in an uproar about them and had even stirred up the political pot over price controls on beef, which had people all fall talking with great animation about a hamburger famine. Every farmer within miles of Chilton was on edge over Truman’s actions.
Ruby was already in the kitchen cleaning up the dishes, and Connie joined her right after the first mention of politics. It was a good time for a little mother and daughter catch-up. Connie was very happy with how her marriage to Carl was going and wanted to tell her mama all about everything that had happened since last weekend, which wasn’t much, but the two of them could turn a carrot into a carrot cake in no time. They could hear the men talking politics, and Carl’s clear baritone voice made it through the kitchen door with particular clarity.
“Yep, you’re right about that, Henry. Everyone in Appleton is thinking that this is the last administration run by democrats that we’ll see in a long time.”
“Well, don’t count ‘em out. They have two more years in Washington. A lot can happen.”
“You mean changes from the heat Harry’s getting?”
“Yep, you betcha,” Henry answered. “Harry and his pals are still running the ship. You saw all that commotion when he lifted price controls on beef two weeks ago.”
“Criminey,” Carl retorted, “that shot the meat prices to record levels in a matter of days. That’s all anyone’s talking about now.”
“And there’s more of them shenanigans to happen too. Mark my words, Carl, you’ll be seeing plenty of Harry’s tricks right up to the election.”
“Oh, I don’t doubt it, Henry, but don’t you think it’s a little late for that? Aren’t the cows already out of the barn?”
“Not with the beef prices where they are now!” Henry declared.
“With beef prices up so high right now, no cow is safe,” Carl paused, “in or out of the barn!” They both laughed pretty hard at that thought.
Ruby called into the dining room, “You men ready for some coffee?”
“My usual, Ruby,” Henry called, putting his order in for nothing but black.
Carl followed up, tossing his voice through the door, “Thanks, Ruby, cream and one sugar for me! I’m going to have some more sugar later… isn’t that right, Connie?” He smiled at Henry and raised an eyebrow upward for a truly mischievous look.
“I heard that, Carl Koehler,” Connie called from the kitchen, “and don’t think you can say things like that in front of Mama and Henry!”
“So, Henry,” Carl continued, “you think Senator LaFollette is going to get reelected? You know he’s not a democrat. That’s in his favor.”
“Maybe,” Henry replied. “Hard to say. He might. His father was Fightin’ Bob LaFollette, so he surely has some of the same stuff in him. It don’t look good, but it don’t look bad neither. He’s been around twenty-one years; that oughta count for something. Still, hard to say if the Progressive Party isn’t in just as much hot water as the Democrats.” Henry shook his head and shrugged his shoulders, making a point about not being sure of anything. “I just don’t know. It’s hard to say, Carl… Yep, just too hard to say.”
“Yeah, hard to say, Henry, what with the Progressives not liking LaFollette right now for jumping back to the Republican party last year. You know, he is a Republican now and that’s how he’s running.”
“I know that,” Henry replied, “but I think of him as a Progressive and a lot of other people do too.” Henry paused as he and Carl both looked into the kitchen, wanting, no doubt, their coffee. “Hard to make sense of him, and that don’t do so much for him.”
Carl nodded and craned his neck toward the kitchen.
Henry continued. “A lot of Republicans resented him when he joined the Progressives a while back. Nope, they haven’t forgiven him for that, even if he did come back to the party. That McCarthy fella might take him.”
“What? You think Joe McCarthy has a chance?” Carl asked, making a face like he had just tasted something sour.
Connie set their coffees in front of them and returned to the kitchen, looking at Carl for the flash of a second and shaking her head over the anticipation of a discussion about Joe McCarthy. It came up a lot lately—too much—but they had fun with it. She didn’t pay any attention to Joe McCarthy. She thought he was just another big mouth in politics—maybe the biggest.
“’Course he has,” Henry stated with some confidence, “and his chances are getting better every day. You wait and see. McCarthy could be our next senator.”
“Yeah,” Carl said
, “I’ve been watching the polls. He’s making a charge, all right.”
“Yep,” Henry replied, “could be U.S. Senator Joseph McCarthy, Senator Big Mouth.” Henry laughed to himself, and Carl only looked partially amused.
“Hey, Connie,” Carl called out toward the kitchen, “you hear that? Henry thinks your ol’ pal Joe McCarthy is going to be United States Senator Joe McCarthy!”
Connie stuck her head into the dining room while leaning up against the doorframe, her feet planted squarely in the kitchen. “Oh Carl, you stop that nonsense immediately. Joe McCarthy is not my ol’ pal and never was.”
“You could have been a Senator’s wife… Connie McCarthy—no make that Mrs. Joe McCarthy.” Carl was leaning back in his chair, looking up at the ceiling, half-smiling, and enjoying what he thought was a little harmless ribbing.
“Carl Koehler, you stop saying that silliness right away,” Connie called from the kitchen. “You know I never had a date with him, and I was never interested in him, the big blowhard. I don’t even like thinking about him.”
Carl wouldn’t let up. He was enjoying this too much. “Well he proposed to you, didn’t he?”
“He certainly did not! And you know that!”
“He called you up from all over Wisconsin two years ago, didn’t he? He was hound-doggin’ you, honey!”
Connie turned her head into the kitchen and laughed, “Mama, make Carl stop saying those awful things about me and Joe McCarthy.”
“Carl,” Ruby retorted, “you are something! Do you have to tease Connie every time Joe McCarthy’s name comes up?”
Before Ruby could admonish him any further, Carl couldn’t resist his little fun with his beautiful wife. “Well, he did, didn’t he? Wasn’t he calling you all the time? And sending roses?”
Connie looked back in the kitchen again, and then she looked at Henry, who was now glancing back at her, although his back was pretty much to the kitchen door, fully into the conversation, maybe even enjoying it a little bit. Not much could fluster Connie, but this subject got her a little red-faced. “Henry, you too, you tell Carl to stop this. It isn’t right to talk like that.”
With no help from Ruby or Henry, Connie realized that she would have to defend herself. “Carl, you know I’ve told you plenty of times that there was never anything there. He called a couple of times, but I wouldn’t give him the time of day. I told you I was never interested in that man.”
“And roses?” Carl teased some more.
Absentmindedly and with little expression, Connie confessed, “He sent me roses a couple of times and even asked me out, but I never had any interest in that man. He was so uncouth.” Connie said “uncouth” as if it were the nastiest word she could think of. On the heels of her emphatic derision, she stammered, “Why, why…, you know, Carl, I think he’s revolting!” Ruby slipped past her to refill the empty cups of coffee. “Besides, he’s way too old for me,” Connie continued, regaining her composure and looking directly at Carl. Her tone softened. “Carl you know you’re the only man I have ever loved. And you’re the only man I ever will love! Now drink your coffee while I finish up in the kitchen with Mama.”
On that note, Connie returned to the kitchen sink to dry the last few dishes and enjoy the exclusive company of her mother once more. She closed the swinging door just to make sure they didn’t have to hear anymore of all that talk about politics that was coming out of the dining room.
Just as the door stopped gyrating, Connie heard Carl call out. “Connie… Connie?”
She and Ruby stopped passing dishes and stood in silent suspense for whatever was next.
“Connie,” Carl said in what sounded like a light and playful voice, “just so you know… you’re the only woman I have ever loved and ever will, no matter what!”
The dishes were passed again, with washing and drying in syncopated harmony once again, this time with big smiles on Ruby and Connie’s faces. Ruby looked at Connie with all the love a mother can feel for her daughter and whispered, “He’s a keeper, Connie… but the dickens!”
Connie was sure that Carl was the only man she’d ever love. She couldn’t imagine finding any room in her heart for anyone but Carl or, for that matter, ever living without him. Her heart was his—he could have it all—and she couldn’t possibly conceive of any other love for a man than the love she felt for Carl and would always feel for him.
Love, as I said earlier, is a fragile thing, and like a flame, it can be easily extinguished. But, with the right person, it can also be enduring, so enduring that it outlasts every other emotion. Love endures. It can live in our hearts forever, and it was to be in Connie’s and Carl’s hearts forever. It is as simple as that.
∞