“It would only make it harder.”
“I don’t think so.”
“He said there’s no reason you can’t have more children.”
I turned my face away. I couldn’t respond to that sentiment one more time.
“Mama and Lucy send their best,” he said.
I nodded, but I found that hard to believe.
I looked at Henry. Really looked at him. Those blue eyes were rimmed with red. It was not my imagination. It gave me courage to try to connect to him in a way we never had before.
“Our Andrew,” I said in a near whisper. “Our precious Andrew.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he got to his feet. He didn’t look at me.
“I need to get back to the factory,” he said, “But I wanted to check on you. Make sure you’re all right.”
“I’m not all right,” I said.
He didn’t seem to know how to respond to that. “I know,” he said after a moment. He rubbed his wounded left hand with his right. “I’m sorry things turned out this way.” He walked toward the door and pulled it open, then looked over at me one last time. “Let’s not name him,” he said. “There really is no point.” He left the room then. Left me lying in that bed by myself, aching and empty. I’d never felt so alone.
42
We were trapped, both of us.
In early May, six weeks after I lost Andrew, Ruth insisted I return to church with the family. I’d spent the past month and a half in a fog. Dr. Poole had prescribed something for my “melancholia,” and it kept me numb. I welcomed that numbness. In the past, the nurse in me would have been curious to know the name of the medication and exactly how it worked in my body. Now I didn’t care. I just wanted it to erase the emotional pain. Nothing else mattered.
For the first few weeks, Hattie’d brought my meals up to the bedroom. When she’d return a while later to pick up the tray, she’d scold me for leaving so much food behind.
“You need your strength, Miss Tess,” she’d say. “I know you grievin’ over that baby, but—”
“Andrew,” I said. I was determined to make everyone see my baby as a person.
She nodded. “You grievin’ over Andrew,” she said, “but you gonna need your strength more than ever.” She leaned close, nearly whispering although there was no one around. “You should visit our friend.”
I knew she meant Reverend Sam, and I gave a slight nod to placate her. The truth was, even the thought of seeing that dear old man did nothing to comfort me. Nothing in the universe could possibly lift my grief.
* * *
“You two should get divorced,” Lucy said a week or so later at the dinner table. “I know it’s not easy, but it’s not impossible either.” It was the second or third dinner we’d all eaten together. I wasn’t sure. My mind was too foggy to separate one meal from another.
“Completely against our faith,” Ruth said. “‘What God has joined together, let no man put asunder.’” She cut a small piece from the ham steak on her plate. “And besides, there are no divorces in the Kraft family.” She looked from me to Henry. “The two of you made your bed, now you have to lie in it.”
“I have no intention of divorcing Tess.” Henry rested his hand on mine on the table. As always, his displays of affection still occurred only when someone was watching. “She’s my wife,” he said.
“Oh for heaven’s sake,” Lucy said. “Drop the pretense. You got married because she was pregnant. That’s the only reason. Modern people find a way to divorce. It’s not a tragedy.”
“The reason doesn’t matter,” Ruth said. “They’re married. We make the best of things in this family.”
I listened to them talk around me as if I weren’t there. The conversation didn’t bother me, though. It was almost as if they were talking about someone else, I felt so unmoved by their words. My mind was still on Andrew. The emptiness I felt was both physical and emotional. When I woke up each morning it took me a moment to remember what had happened and then the sorrow would wash over me again. I would have given anything for a time machine to take me back to my old life, where I had a mother and a home and where the most difficult thing I had to face was living without Vincent for a few months while he worked in Chicago. How foolish I’d been to make a fuss over that! If I could go back in time, I certainly wouldn’t sleep with Henry. I wouldn’t go to Washington with Gina at all. But that old life was gone and now I was trapped in this one. I couldn’t stop myself from wondering if losing Andrew was my punishment for everything I’d done.
Henry and I never spoke of anything of consequence. He grew frustrated with me when I talked about Andrew, especially if I used his name. Henry was done with that chapter of his life. That chapter in our marriage. His nights out became more frequent and I never questioned him about them. I didn’t care. I only wanted to find a way out of the trap I was in.
43
May 22, 1944
Dear Gina,
I miss you so much. It was kind of you to call me on Saturday. You knew I’d be in terrible straits that day, didn’t you? May twentieth, the day I was to marry Vincent. If I hadn’t derailed my life, we’d be on our Niagara Falls honeymoon right now. I wonder if he thought of me Saturday, or is he so happy with his new girlfriend that the date meant nothing to him? Sorry to go on like this! Really, I only wanted to thank you, not get caught up again in my sadness.
Well, the news here in this part of North Carolina is polio. Infantile paralysis. And it’s not even summer yet, when it usually attacks. This morning I was sitting with Ruth and Lucy on the screened porch and Ruth read an article to us from the paper about there being a couple of cases in Charlotte, which is a bit too close for comfort. It’s such a terrible, frightening, ominous disease! Are you seeing any of it in Baltimore? I can’t imagine the terror of having a child diagnosed with it. Odd that they call it infantile, isn’t it? President Roosevelt is so crippled from it and he was an adult when he contracted it. No one is really safe from polio.
I saw a few cases of it when I was a student nurse, and Vincent told me about some of his patients last summer when he was working in Chicago, but what has always stood out in my mind was his description of his cousin Tony’s battle with the disease when they were children. One day Tony was fine. The next day he couldn’t move a muscle. He recovered, at least partially, but so many children don’t.
Anyhow, I couldn’t help myself as I sat there with Ruth and Lucy. I said, “I have a friend whose cousin had polio.” It just popped out of my mouth. It was as though I couldn’t resist bringing Vincent onto the porch with us. I felt a thrill run up my arms just thinking about him. The two of them stared at me and I realized how little I’d spoken to anyone in the family, Henry included, since Andrew’s death. I’ve become closed off from everyone (except you).
“It only happens to poor children though,” Ruth said. “You know, with poor sanitation.”
That gives you an idea of the sort of woman Ruth is!
“FDR wasn’t poor or a child,” Lucy pointed out. She loves to argue with her mother and I don’t blame her.
“And my friend’s cousin wasn’t poor,” I said. I truly have no idea if Tony was rich or poor. I just wanted to counter Ruth’s silly argument.
“Well, generally it’s poor living conditions,” Ruth said firmly. “Rampant flies and unclean water. This is common knowledge.” She gave me a look that shut me up and I let it go. I have to live with this woman. And honestly, I felt happier than I had in a long time because I was thinking of Vincent. That isn’t good, is it, dear friend? I know I need to live in the real world, but my real world is too difficult for me right now.
Well, guess what I did this afternoon? I went to the library and researched divorce in North Carolina. The results were depressing. Gina, it’s impossible! I grew more despondent the more I read, but I simply have to find a way out of this loveless, lifeless, stultifying marriage! Henry is dead set against a divorce. He’s good to me, but he clearly do
esn’t love me so I don’t understand why he’s so against ending our marriage. It would be a stain on the Kraft name and I guess that’s enough to make it unthinkable for him. Nevertheless, I feel a need to educate myself to the possibilities.
It took me nearly an hour to track down the book I needed at the library because I didn’t dare ask the librarian where I might find it and have to answer any nosy questions. “The North Carolina Code of 1944.” Yawn! I settled down at one of the tables to read and immediately found myself bogged down in pages and pages of tiny text. Anyway, here are the miserable facts: to get divorced, Henry and I would need to live separately for two full years … unless I could prove that he’d committed adultery, or that he was impotent, or that he’d committed an “abominable and detestable crime against nature with mankind or beast.” Oh my! I pondered the word “adultery” for a long time. I’ve told you he sometimes doesn’t come home at night. Is he really working at the factory those nights like he says? Could he possibly be having an affair? He’s so disinterested in having relations that it’s hard to picture, although maybe he’s only disinterested in having relations with me.
But as I continued reading, I began to get an idea. I read that a marriage can be voided if the man is impotent. Voided. Similar to an annulment. It would be as if we had never been married. Henry had certainly not been impotent the night we were together in Washington, but maybe something has happened to him since then. Some change, physical or psychological. What do you think? When I was pregnant, I thought he might be afraid to be intimate with me, and afterward, of course, the doctor told us not to have relations for six weeks. But now, eight weeks have passed, and Henry’s no more interested in making love than he had been when I was pregnant. So could he possibly be impotent? And how on earth will I ever be able to ask him that question! He’s such a private person that I can’t imagine it. But it might be our answer—or at least my answer. I’m hoping the word “void” might be more palatable to him than “divorce.” I doubt, though, that he’ll embrace the word “impotence” very easily.
At any rate, I’m meeting him later today at the new house to see how it’s coming along and I plan to broach the subject with him then. I have no idea how. We don’t talk easily about anything, really, so this is going to be particularly delicate. Gina, if by some miracle he agrees to end our marriage, do you think I could live with you and your mother for a short time until I find a job and can get a place of my own?
As usual, I’ve gone on and on about myself. I’m so thrilled that you finally heard from Mac. Please let him know I’m thinking of him and I hope he’s not in harm’s way. Tell your mother I said hello. How I miss you and Little Italy and St. Leo’s and everything! Have some pizza for me, Gina. They’ve never even heard of it down here, and I am ever so tired of grits!
Love,
Tess
44
I dropped the letter to Gina in the corner mailbox as I walked the short distance to Henry’s new house. I still couldn’t think of the house as ours. With Andrew gone, I didn’t want to.
The day was beautiful, the blue sky dotted with cottony white clouds, and I began to dream about the future as I walked. If our marriage ended, was returning to Baltimore the best plan? I wasn’t sure. I would be too close to Vincent if I were in Baltimore and that would be difficult, but moving in with Gina and her mother for a while would allow me to get on my feet again. The best part of ending my marriage to Henry would be leaving Hickory. Leaving Ruth and Lucy. I could leave the husband who treated me kindly but not warmly, the way you’d treat a stray cat you came across from time to time. I needed to get out of this marriage to find myself again. I wanted Tess back. I’d lost her these last few months. More than anything, I wanted my freedom.
Henry’s new house had changed dramatically since I’d last seen it. It was no longer a simple wooden frame. Now encased in rich red brick and two stories tall, it had a warmth that had been lacking before. I stood on the curb, staring at it, trying to decide if it was imposing or inviting. A bit of both, I thought.
Henry’s Cadillac was parked on the street so I knew he was already there. I picked my way carefully up the long dirt driveway and he met me at the side door.
“What do you think?” he asked, smiling.
“It looks beautiful.” I returned his smile. “I love the brick.”
“Come in.” He held out his arm to guide me inside.
We walked through the main level where the space that had earlier been a network of posts and beams now boasted actual rooms with solid white walls and ceilings and hardwood floors, a clean canvas waiting to be filled with life and color. The stairs were finished and we climbed them carefully, since there was no banister yet in place. Upstairs, the hallway opened onto four bedrooms and a den. I bit my lip. I remembered him asking me which bedroom I would like for the nursery. He may have been recalling the same conversation, because as we explored each room, he lightly rested his hand on my back. He was being sweet this afternoon. Why was he picking today to be so loving when I was gearing up to suggest a way we could end our marriage?
“Now, finally,” he said, as we stood in the middle of the largest bedroom, the one we would share, “it’s your turn to make decisions about the house. You can pick out the wallpapers and paint colors. And we should shop for furniture.” He smiled at me. “You can select a spot in the yard to plant that tree for your mother.”
I’d almost forgotten about the tree, there were so many other things on my mind. I was touched that he remembered.
“It’s going to be a very busy few months,” he continued. “I’ve secured a professional designer to work with you. You’re to give her a call and she’ll meet you here. How about sometime next week?”
“Henry,” I said, “can we talk for a minute?”
He raised his eyebrows. “About what?”
I looked around us, wishing there was a place to sit, but the bare rooms offered nothing more than floors scattered with sawdust. I leaned back against the wall.
“I know you don’t want a divorce,” I began, “and neither do I. Neither of our churches support it, and—”
“What do you mean, ‘neither of our churches’?” He frowned at me, slipping his hands into his pants pockets. “Tess, when are you going to accept that you’re no longer Catholic? I’ve wanted to talk to you about being baptized in the Baptist church, but I didn’t think it was the right time yet, with everything that’s gone on. But—”
“That’s not what I’m talking about,” I said quickly. I’d started this conversation the wrong way. “I’m not talking about our religions, really. I’m talking about a possible … annulment.” There. I’d said it. “It might be possible to have our marriage voided,” I said. “It would be like we’d never been married at—”
“I know what an annulment is,” he said. “I’m not interested in it.” He stared at me from beneath knitted brows. “I don’t understand you,” he said. “I just said you can have this house, for God’s sake.” He looked around us at the four walls of the room. “You can decorate it any way you like, to your heart’s content. Most girls would leap at that chance.”
“It’s a beautiful house,” I agreed, “but if we don’t have a … true marriage, then … will we really be happy anyplace?”
“We’re married, Tess,” he said. “If you would just relax a little … try harder to fit in … then yes, we can be happy here.”
I struggled to figure out what to say. He looked so mystified by my complaints, and those downcast eyes suddenly hurt to look at. I knew I couldn’t say anything about impotence now. It was too personal. Far too insulting and emasculating.
“It’s just that we haven’t … if there’s no … you know … consummation, then it’s possible to get a marriage voided. Annulled. It’s as if there’s no real marriage.”
He pulled his hands from his pockets and rubbed the fingers of his right hand over the knuckles of his left as though they ached. “I’ll give you the numbe
r for the interior decorator,” he said, heading for the door of the room. “You can call her at your leisure.”
I shut my eyes, not budging from the spot where I stood leaning against the wall. I hadn’t handled that well. I would give him time to think through what I said. Surely he had to acknowledge that what we had was not a real marriage. He couldn’t possibly be happy with our relationship the way it was. Could he?
* * *
I fell into a troubled sleep that night, curled on my side. Sometime after midnight, I awakened to realize that Henry was lying behind me on the narrow bed. He touched my breasts through my negligee, his fingers light, the tips of them like feathers on my nipples. The touch was enough to arouse me and I rolled over to face him. In the dark, I couldn’t make out his features. What would I see in his face? I wondered. What would he see in mine? He lifted the hem of my negligee and gently spread my thighs apart with his hands, and then, for the second time in my life, I felt a man inside me. I prayed we were not creating another child. Not yet. I was still grieving for Andrew. I always would be. I lay there, moving with him, feeling very little other than the automatic response of my body to his thrusts. I knew it wasn’t desire motivating him, and it certainly wasn’t love. I knew his true motivation as clearly as I knew my own name. Henry was locking me into this marriage for all time.
I knew what he was doing. I just didn’t know why.
45
“Where on earth is Hattie?” Ruth asked the following morning. She and Lucy and I had come down to the dining room expecting breakfast to be ready. When there was no sign of food or even our table settings, the three of us walked into the kitchen to find it sparkling clean. It was clear Hattie hadn’t yet arrived. I knew she occasionally spent the night away, with her boyfriend, Oscar, but she was always at the house early enough to make breakfast for Henry, who often left for work before the rest of us were up. I’d been glad to find Henry gone when I woke up that morning. I was both perplexed and irritated by his lovemaking last night.