A Pledge of Silence (39 page)

“Of course she does. How old is she now?”

“She’s almost two.”

“Lots of hugs and raspberries on her tummy?”

“She doesn’t go without.”

“From you?”

“I read to her. She likes books. We cuddle then. I’m okay with her.”

“Just okay?”

She felt herself blush. Dr. Garber brushed dangerously close to the truth that she avoided the daily care of her daughter.

“These are the years to build strong bonds,” he continued. “We can work on that. As she grows older, especially when she enters her teen years, she may take on certain characteristics of her father. It could be a crisis time for both of you. It’s better to head it off by preparing for it.”

She opened her purse, fishing out her keys and sunglasses. Things at home had stabilized. Physically healthy and precociously curious, Barbara Ann was a happy child, according to Mama and Wade, who both doted on her.
Let sleeping dogs lie
, she thought.

“Thank you, but we’re doing fine. I don’t foresee any problems.”

He shut her file. “Come in and chat with me after three months. Will you do that?”

She nodded, but didn’t commit to a firm date.

“What are your plans for the future?”

She told him how busy she was with the garden’s harvest.

“And beyond that?”

She hadn’t really thought about it. She left his office feeling much less sure about stopping therapy.

Chapter
29

Margie couldn’t get Mrs. Bender off her mind. In the weekly newspaper, she read her husband’s obituary: Richard, pharmacist, married to Marla for 62 years; a son, Michael; a daughter, Marcy, died in infancy; and a grandson, John, killed in Europe. Margie looked up the address in the telephone directory, then waited a couple of weeks before driving across town to visit.

The house sat back from the road, a huge maple tree dominating the front yard. A stone path edged with a flurry of fall flowers led to the porch, where a two-person swing hung invitingly at one end. Margie lifted Barbara Ann from the car seat and automatically removed the thumb from her mouth: outraged, the baby stiffened and screamed. Margie sighed, not wanting a scene in Mrs. Bender’s front yard.

Entranced by the new surroundings, Barbara Ann quieted down after a second. With the baby on one hip and a bag of fresh produce on the other, Margie kicked the wooden screen door with the toe of her shoe, hoping it sounded like a knock. She watched the elderly lady slowly approach across her living room. Through the screen, she called, “Mrs. Bender. I’m Marjorie Porter. I saw your husband’s obituary in the paper. I remember him from when I was a child. I just wanted to say I’m sorry for your loss, and I brought you some strawberry preserves and vegetables from my garden.”

Mrs. Bender’s face creased into a smile. She opened the door and stood back so Margie could enter. “My dear, how kind of you. What a sweet baby. What’s her name?”

“Barbara Ann.”

“That’s a pretty name. Here, let me help you.” She took the bag of produce, and Margie followed her to the kitchen. “This looks wonderful! And there’s so much here! I hope you don’t mind if I share with my neighbor. She’s struggling a bit.”

“I don’t mind. I can bring more, if she could use it.”

“Could you? She’d be so appreciative. She’s just a girl herself, with two children. She lost her job at the Ford plant, and her husband up and left her. They ought to hang him by his toes. I do what I can, but I know some nights those young ones go to bed hungry. Come in and sit down.” She gestured toward the living room. The house was small and the furniture well-worn, but immaculate. Family pictures crowded the mantel and many of the occasional tables.

“I can’t stay,” Margie demurred.

“Please do. I get tired of talking to myself. I’m afraid I’m not very good company.”

Margie found just the opposite to be true, and the two women spent a delightful hour chatting. Despite her recent loss, Mrs. Bender’s upbeat personality shone through. She had known Richard for as long as she could remember, she told Margie, their mothers had been best friends. A kind and good husband, he had financed the start-up of her resale shop after their son went off to elementary school. She closed the shop ten years ago; now with Richard gone, she found time hanging heavily on her hands.

“You ran Marla’s Resale on Second and Lenox?” Margie asked.

“Yes. You know it?”

“I bought my first purse there, black patent leather with a gold chain. I still have it. I loved your shop. My mother donated all my outgrown dresses.”

“We certainly appreciated our donors. Marla’s proceeds helped support our church’s soup kitchen. We fed hundreds of families during the Great Depression. Raising my son and running that shop—those were happy, busy days.”

Mrs. Bender’s reaching out to help her neighbor, even in her own time of sorrow, touched Margie’s heart. Thoughts went to the well-stocked pantry on North Bensch Road, and the still-overflowing garden. She recalled her own pain from hunger and the distress of deprivation. The following morning, she packed a box with vegetables and a jar of peach preserves and left it on Mrs. Bender’s young neighbor’s doorstep.

When her position at the Red Cross was eliminated, Margie found herself at loose ends. She didn’t enjoy spending all day, every day, at home, but had no desire to look for work in her profession. Since the end of the war, too many mustered-out nurses vied for too few civilian positions. Besides, she had never liked nursing anyway. Her first love, fashion design, was out of reach to women with husbands and children. She started doing alterations and simple sewing for the ladies in Little River to fill the hours. Although jobs poured in, she found most of them tedious and unfulfilling.

One September Saturday, she was feeling especially blue. Trying to help, Wade said, “It might be a good time to have another baby.”

She dismissed that idea right away. “No. I’m not ready for that.”

“How about a new house then?” He handed her a colorful brochure. “It’s a new community going up just this side of Ann Arbor. They have model homes we can go through.” He bent to pick up Barbara Ann, who clung to his pant leg. “Want to go for a ride, sweetheart?”

So they all piled into their new car, Wade driving and Margie holding Barbara Ann on her lap, leaving Little River to head toward Ann Arbor. Wade turned right at a billboard that read, “Welcome to Shady Acres, the Community of the Future.”

As far as she could see, houses stood in various stages of completion. Trucks delivering lumber, roofing, windows, Bendix washing machines, and General Electric kitchen appliances congested freshly paved streets. The sound of hammering filled the air, and workmen bustled all over the site. Not a single tree had been left standing.

“‘Shady Acres’?” Margie scoffed. “Is that a joke?”

Inside the sales office, a salesman pointed to a large wall map depicting the community’s layout: 3,000 homes on 40-by-80-foot lots that lined winding streets. Glancing at Barbara Ann, he added that the master plan included several playgrounds for the kiddies, and sidewalks would lead to the development’s own school. The community, he assured them, had been planned right down to the last brick, board, tree, shrub, and petunia.

It seemed like hundreds of other families had had the same idea as the Porters for that Saturday afternoon. Hordes of people flowed through the model homes. Postage-stamp sized, freshly sodded front lawns set off front gardens and window boxes overflowed with flowers. Although identical in size, the models differed in exterior color and roofline configuration. The cozy, if similar, floor plans featured a living room, two bedrooms, a bathroom, and a large, fully equipped kitchen—in all, 800 square feet of privacy and comfort. Lucky buyers could own a piece of Shady Acres for $90 down and $58 per month.

They were selling like hotcakes.

Standing on the front porch of one of the models and looking out at the view, Wade asked, “What do you think?”

“They’re cute enough, but it will feel like living in an anthill.”

“Barbara Ann would have playmates. She could walk to school.”

Margie nodded noncommittally.

On the way home, she laid the sleeping baby on the seat and covered her with a sweater. Turning to Wade, she said, “Would you consider staying where we are?”

“I thought you wanted something new.”

“I’m having second thoughts about leaving Mama. The house is too big for her to manage all alone. I doubt if she would ever move or give up the land.”

“The place is run down, Margie. It needs a lot of work—new windows and a roof, for starters. And I saw a crack in the foundation when I was mowing the grass last weekend.”

“If Mama agrees, we could sell off a few back acres and use the money to fix up the house. I’d like to convert the porch off her bedroom to a sitting room with her own bathroom, so she could have some privacy.”

“Have you talked to her already?”

“No, but I’ve been thinking about it.”

She
had
been thinking about it because she wanted—no, needed—her mother’s help with Barbara Ann. No one suspected the anguish the child evoked when a certain expression crossed her face, or the uncomfortable chill Margie felt when their eyes met and held. She learned things went better if she kept a distance between them, a decision that brought with it sadness and guilt. She vowed to herself to carry the burden silently. That was a sort of love. Wasn’t it?

Autumn edged toward winter, the days growing shorter. Most of the garden had died off, but the cool-weather crops—cabbages, spinach, Swiss chard and a large patch of pumpkins—still produced. Margie continued to deliver boxes of food to Mrs. Bender’s neighbor, plus a few other families the elderly lady told her were struggling because of abandonment, joblessness, or illness.

Some parishioners at Margie’s church heard about her mission through the grapevine, and asked to be included: they too had more food growing or preserved than they could use. Reverend Markel got into the act, supplying names of even more families in need. When the supply of fresh food dwindled with the arrival of killing frosts, the pastor appealed to the congregation to donate what they could from their cellars and pantries. One of the prayer groups baked bread to help fill Margie’s boxes. She began soliciting at grocery stores and restaurants for food past its prime.

By the time spring rolled around again, she had commandeered a storage room in the church basement for supplies, and assembled a dedicated cadre of volunteers, who inventoried the donated food and regularly delivered boxes to a dozen area families. As her enterprise continued growing, Margie found she really needed a refrigerator. Except she didn’t have the money to buy one.

One evening, she sat at the kitchen table, swearing under her breath, papers strewn in front of her.

Wade laughed to see her when he came in from work. “It can’t be that bad,” he teased.

She waggled her hands in frustration. “I think I’m in over my head. Reverend Markel suggested I apply for grants, and he gave me this list of organizations and what I need to submit to qualify for funds. Look at this! They say I have to have a Board of Directors and a Mission Statement. What’s that?”

“Just a sentence stating your purpose. Let me see.”

Together they read the through the requirements for obtaining money from charities, churches, businesses, and the government. “They’re all similar,” Wade pointed out. “All you need is a cover letter, the application, and a list of executives. Who do you want on your Board of Directors?”

“What do they do?”

“It’s an oversight group. They help you make executive decisions.”

“Executive? Do I need to wear a suit?”

“You’d look cute in a suit.”

“I don’t see that
looking cute
is a requirement for anything here.”

“You’re not being serious. Who do you want on your board?”

As Margie worked step-by-step through the application process, her organization got a name—Abundant Harvest Food Pantry; a Board of Directors—Reverend Markel, Mrs. Bender, and Tom Lewis, a new attorney in town; a president—her; a budget director—also her; and a staff of volunteers. She and the board developed a mission statement: “To provide food to needy families who are dealing with difficult life circumstances.” She conducted a needs assessment and set program goals and objectives. She completed all the groundwork by late May, then wrote cover letters and executive summaries, and filled out a dozen grant applications. By the first of June, she hauled a dozen packages to the post office to mail. All summer long, rejection letters dribbled back, thanking her for her submission, but they received many applications and, though her project was noble and well-designed, it couldn’t be funded at the present time. Please try again next year.

Margie resisted the urge to tear them up, and filed them instead.

Too busy to stew over the rejections, Margie lost herself in tending to the garden and administering her growing food pantry. Wade started updating the kitchen, causing Mama to fret—she had peaches to can, and she didn’t like her new electric stove. Barbara Ann grew an inch a month, it seemed, looking more and more like a little girl than a baby. At age three, she drew many admiring comments about her dark hair and skin that tanned beautifully. She pointed to words in her books, trying to read, and could even pick out tunes on the piano. Delighted by her budding musical talent, Wade bought her a violin and spent many patient hours teaching her to play it.

One morning in late August, two letters addressed to Margie came in the mail. More rejections, she believed, so she put them aside. She forgot about them until after dinner, when she found them on the hall table. Tired and feeling a little blue, she opened the one from The Circle of Women’s Charities, which contained a check large enough to purchase a refrigerator for the food pantry. Wearing a broad grin, she trotted into the living room, waving the check in the air before passing it around for Wade and Mama to see. When she opened the second envelope, she couldn’t believe what she saw. The congregation of the Ann Arbor Methodist Church had selected Abundant Harvest Food Pantry as their preferred charity project. They would provide a monthly stipend to cover operating costs, renewable on a yearly basis. Wade picked up Barbara Ann and the four of them danced in a circle, Margie and Mama laughing, Wade whooping, and Barbara Ann clapping her hands.