A Pledge of Silence (33 page)

The cabin was grander than Margie expected. Comfortable and bright with large windows overlooking the water, a stone fireplace dominated the main room. Wade tossed a lit match onto the waiting pile of tinder and kindling, and soon the space glowed with warmth. On the trestle table, a basket filled with fruit, nuts, cheeses, crackers, wines, and chocolate contained a card that read, “Happy Honeymooning from your friends at the
Tribune
.” Wade brought in their suitcases while Margie filled the refrigerator and cupboards with groceries and supplies.

After settling in, they snuggled together under a blanket on the screened-porch settee, sipping red wine, and watching the sun set over the bay before retiring. Renewing their acquaintance with each other’s bodies, Wade explored the curves that hadn’t been there before, and Margie delighted in the muscles under his taut skin.

Almost deserted save for a few locals, the peninsula didn’t offer much to do except enjoy nature at its most stunning. They strolled both the east and west shores of the bay, absorbed equally by the views and each other. They visited the lighthouse and the Old Mission Inn, played Scrabble and Monopoly, finished off the food they brought, then resupplied at the Old Mission General Store. Wade chopped more wood for the fire, and Margie cooked stews and rice puddings.

They unwound, napped, made love, and slept. Margie glowed with contentment, and the lines on Wade’s face softened.

One afternoon, he said, “Get comfortable. I’ll give you a massage.”

“Like in the hospital? I gave them to my patients.”

“Oh, much better than that.”

“Where did you learn … Much better?”

“Here and there. You have to get undressed.”

“Okay. Now I see where this is going. What’s that you’re holding?”

“Olive oil.”

“You plan on roasting me over the fire?”

“It’s all I could find. We’re not exactly in Paris. Tie your hair up. You’ll like this.”

She secured her hair with a clip, took off her shirt and bra, and straddled a chair in front of the crackling fire. Wade applied warm oil to her neck and shoulders with long strokes.

She murmured with pleasure. “Rough hands, like a loofah sponge. Give me a man who chops wood.”

“That’s me, all right. A regular Paul Bunyan.” His hands moved in broad circles over her back and shoulders, along the sides of her neck, and down the top of her arms.

She said, “We only have one day left.”

“Shh … Stay in the moment.”

Margie tried to let her muscles go limp, but her mind raced ahead. “It’s crowded at home. When the baby comes, it’ll be worse.”

He increased the pressure, working deep into the tissues of her neck. “I’ll find us a place. You’re tightening up.”

She stretched her neck and shoulders. “I want to live near my mother. She needs help with Dad gone.” She moaned in response to the force Wade applied to the back of her skull.

“Am I hurting you?”

“No, it feels wonderful. It’ll be a bit of a drive for you to work. At least gas isn’t rationed any more. Is my car okay?”

“Shh … It’ll do fine.” He kneaded up and down the sides of her spine with his thumbs. Just as she felt her neck relaxing, the baby’s foot lodged under her rib. She arched her back in order to draw a full breath.

Wade’s warm, oily hands came around front, stopping to feel the movements inside her belly. “It doesn’t hurt?”

“No. His foot’s under my rib is all. Put your hand right here. Feel that?”

“No.”

“Give it a minute. Be real still. Feel it?”

Wade waited, concentrating. “Yeah, what is it?”

“A hiccup.”

“What? You’re kidding me, aren’t you?”

“No. It’s a hiccup. Maybe he didn’t like what I had for dinner. What did we have?”

“Barbecue.”

“That spicy sauce.”

Wade moved his hands over her breasts, circling each one, then back to her neck and up into her hair, massaging her scalp.

“You’re right,” she sighed, “
Much
better.”

Reluctant to begin the drive home, Margie and Wade walked arm-in-arm along the water’s edge to enjoy, one more time, the crisp morning air, the colors of the rising sun, and the coos of the mourning doves. She asked, “Are you all right with Frank?”

“As much as he’ll let me be.”

“You’ll have to be careful. I think he’s jealous of you.”

“Me?”

“Yes. You’re older. You have a job waiting. He’s drifting. He’s belligerent. Irene says he cries easily and tries to hide it. He’s battle fatigued. That’s what the doctors called it. He needs help.”

“I’ll cut him some slack.”

“I’d appreciate it. He’s going to be hard to live with. I feel sorry for Irene. She’ll catch the brunt of it.”

Wade moved into Margie’s small bedroom. She liked having him sleeping beside her. He paid attention to her aching back and swollen feet, and was awed by the waves of activity crossing her abdomen. She slept sounder and had fewer disturbing dreams than before.

Although a job at the
Tribune
waited for Wade, he didn’t know exactly what beat he’d be covering. Helping him dress for an interview, Margie safety-pinned a tuck in the back of his too-big shirt. “Don’t take off your coat and these pins won’t show. You need to go shopping.”

Wade cinched in his belt to hold up his pants. “I tried. You can’t buy a white shirt to save your soul in this town. Or shoes.”

“The pants and sweater you’ve been wearing fit you good.”

He hesitated a moment. “They belonged to Kodak’s younger brother. Poor kid didn’t make it home.”

“You didn’t tell me.”

“It’s not a happy story.” He checked his pockets for handkerchief, wallet, and keys, then shrugged into his suit coat.

She smoothed a wrinkle off his front and tried not to smile at his baggy look. “Maybe you’ll start a new style.”

“That bad?”

“No, you look fine. Good luck.” She kissed him. “Tell them no more globe-trotting.”

After Wade left, Margie helped Mama with the laundry by hanging sheets and towels on the clothesline out back. Later, she chased Billy around the yard to wear him out, so he might sleep through the night. Since Frank’s return, the tot frequently woke up crying for his binky, a habit they all thought he’d outgrown months ago.

Bringing Billy in for a snack, she found Frank sitting at the kitchen table, drinking a beer and smoking. He had taken to carousing at night, coming home in the wee hours of the morning, then sleeping until mid-afternoon. His college plans had apparently vanished, like the smoke from his cigarettes.

“Welcome to the land of the living,” Margie said as she sat Billy in his highchair and brought him a handful of Cheerios and a cup of milk.

Frank watched through bloodshot eyes. “Get me another beer, will you?”

“In your dreams. I’m not your wife.”

Frank flicked the ash of his cigarette, missing the ashtray.

“For Pete’s sake, Frank! Watch what you’re doing.” She threw a cleaning rag at him.

Working at the stove, Mama said, “That’s enough, Margie.”

“Mama! It’s time he—”

“I said that’s enough.”

Just then the front door banged, and Wade walked in carrying a bouquet of yellow daisies. Margie fussed over the flowers. Finding a vase under the sink, she arranged them prettily and placed them on the table.

Frank scowled at the flowers.

Margie smiled at Wade. “You must have good news.”

Frank snarled, “Yeah, big shot. Tell us the good news.”

The kitchen became very still, everyone staring at Frank, whose face broke into a nasty grin. “Did you tell them you knocked up my sister?”

“Frank!” Mama said.

He smirked. “Or that you were 4F because you’re half blind?”

Wade’s jaw clenched. “How many of those beers have you had, little guy?”

Frank knocked over the flowers. The vase shattered and water ran over the edge of the table. He leaped toward Wade, who met him with a slug to the chin. Frank lost his footing and fell to the floor.

Billy screamed.

“Stop it, this minute! Both of you!” Mama cried, scooping up the frightened baby.

Frank staggered to his feet, rubbing his chin. “Just you wait,” he threatened and ran out the door.

Ruefully, Wade shook his fingers and said, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have provoked him. Please forgive me.”

Mama hugged the crying baby. “Frank did all the provoking. He’s not like that. I don’t understand.” Fighting back tears, she carried Billy upstairs.

“You didn’t have to hit him,” Margie said.

“I said I was sorry. I didn’t think.” He started to clean up the mess on the table, stacking the glass chunks from largest to smallest, and carrying the dripping shards to the trashcan.

She sopped up the water with a towel. Finding another vase, she filled it with water and rearranged the flowers. She said, “Never mind Frank. Tell me about today.”

“I got offered an assistant editorship on the European desk. There’ll be some travel, but not much.” He managed a half grin. “The current editor plans to retire in two years. It’s a good opportunity.”

“Is it something you’d like?”

“Yes. It’ll be a challenge. I’ll have to brush up on economics and European politics. I’ll be doing some writing, but mostly I’d work with the correspondents. It’s good pay and benefits. We could afford a house of our own. What do you think?”

The prospect pleased her. “I think we’ve already made up our minds.”

Chapter
24

Several days passed; Frank didn’t come home. Tight-lipped, Irene picked at her meals. After dinner, she retired upstairs to spend time with Billy, who had become unruly. He lashed out at everyone, glowering and flailing his little arms. She held his struggling body close against her own, singing lullabies until he wore himself out and dropped off to sleep.

During the evenings, Mama helped Margie alter Wade’s prewar shirts and suits, all too large and smelling of mothballs. She frequently stopped sewing to wander over to the window, where she stared out of the parted curtains, sighing deeply. “Where do you think he is, Margie?”

“I don’t know. Not too far, I hope.”

Although the sky threatened an early snow, Margie put on a coat and hat, then searched through the closet for gloves. “I need more thread. I’m going into town. If you make a list, I’ll stop at the grocery store.”

She drove slowly through the center of Little River, eyeing every man wearing army-issue pants and an olive-drab jacket. A group roughhousing in front of the pool hall whistled and gestured as she crept by, but Frank wasn’t among them. Inside, she knew, the guys would be telling war stories. Wherever veterans congregated, they damned the military or the government, bemoaning lost years, lost health, lost wives, lost girlfriends.

She parked in front of Reba’s Five and Dime, purchased the thread she needed, and chatted with the gray-haired clerk about the shortages. Incoming stock sold even before they had time to take it out of the boxes it shipped in, the woman told her.

“You wouldn’t have any white shirts, would you?”

The clerk shook her head. “I haven’t seen one in months, honey. We did get in a shipment of men’s dress socks this morning. They’re still in the back. I can sell you three pairs.”

Stowing her packages in the car, Margie walked the block to the pool hall. Out front, she saw a high school classmate leaning on a cane, a cap half-covering the scar on his forehead.

“Dale! Hi. Good to see you.”

A smile emerged from behind a scruffy beard. “Margie! How you doing? I heard you got married.”

“Yeah, to Wade Porter. You know him?”

“The name’s familiar. He plays the guitar. Right?”

“That’s him. Hey, you seen Frank around?”

“Yesterday he was at the bowling alley. Haven’t seen him today. He said he has a kid.”

“Yeah, Billy. What’ve you been up to?”

“Not much. Getting used to this new leg.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Could’ve been worse. If you see Frank, tell him he owes me five bucks.”

Returning to her vehicle, Margie drove to the bowling alley. She walked from one end to the other of the crowded, smoky interior, chatting with men she knew. No one had seen Frank. Frustrated but not ready to give up, she circled the YMCA, where men rented rooms by the day, week, or month. Still no luck. On a whim, she drove to the park not far from the high school, where she found him slouched on a bench, his hands tucked into his armpits. He looked up when she tooted the horn, but made no move to join her. She opened the car door, letting in a blast of cold air. “The car’s warm,” she yelled in his direction.

He sauntered over and slid into the passenger seat. “What’re you doing here?”

“Looking for you.” She wrinkled her nose, waving her hand in front of it. “You smell like a barn floor. Where’ve you been sleeping?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Wherever I land.”

“We’ve all been worried sick about you.”

He looked out the side window. “I don’t give a shit.” Shaking his head, he said, “Forget that. I say things I don’t mean.”

“You always were a smart mouth. Are you hungry?”

“I could use a meal.”

She turned up the heat, cracked the window open to freshen the air inside the car, and drove to the diner in silence. She ran inside and stood at the counter, ordering two hamburgers, double fries, and coffee to go, then added an apple from a basket near the cash register. When the food was ready, she took the bag out to the car and handed it to Frank. He gobbled it all down, some color coming back into his cheeks. She waited until he finished, then turned awkwardly behind the steering wheel to face him. “Tell me what’s going on.”

He looked at the swell under her coat. “That guy you married. He’s old as Methuselah. Where’d you find him, anyway?”

“This isn’t about Wade. Give him a chance, for my sake, if for no other reason.” She narrowed her eyes, watching for signs of the Frank she knew. “Talk to me. What’s really going on?”