Call Me Zelda (34 page)

I raised my voice.

“‘There were dog tags and other identifying materials with the remains, and after comparisons, it was determined that the remains were those of Sergeant Benjamin Howard of the U.S. Army, of Maryland.’” My voice broke, but I continued. “‘He was killed during the Meuse/Argonne offensive and died bravely defending his country. He will be returned to you for burial with full military honors.’”

God help me, but I threw the letter on the floor and pushed over the gramophone with all of my strength to stop that horrible opera music, then crumpled to the floor and sobbed. Within moments, Will was there, his arms wrapped around me, holding me.

TWENTY-SIX

June 1934

On June 12, 1934, Will, my parents, and Peter were at my side to bury Ben’s remains next to Katie’s at Baltimore’s Green Mount Cemetery. Ben was eligible for burial at Arlington National Cemetery, but I wanted him with Katie, where I could visit them both.

It was the fairest of June days. The world was fresh and soaked from an early morning shower, and the warm, pure scent of earth and flowers hung in the air. As much dread as I’d felt leading up to the service, I walked away with a sense of peace and stillness.

It was finally over.

Will drove Peter and me to my parents’ house for dinner that evening, where we sat amidst the wind chimes around the porch, overlooking the walk to the woods. My mother had taken out all of her candles and best china, and played her recording of John Field’s Grand Pastorale in E Major for us while we dined and watched the fireflies wink from the lawn and trees.

And so began our new weekend tradition. Will drove Peter and me to my parents’ house for Sunday dinners, which grew to
weekend stays. Will taught me to drive on the back roads. He prepared oysters for us, entertained my mother with his reporter stories and city gossip, and sat at my father’s side learning to make wind chimes. I loved watching them together week after week in the wind shed, heating, cutting, and threading copper to blocks of wood, with my mother sitting nearby reading in her wheelchair. I grew to love playing my piano for them after dinner, especially when I’d look up and Will would be watching me with a burning intensity that reached across the room and made it harder and harder for me to stand sleeping just one room away from him at the house, and even harder at our building in the city without a priest and parents snoring nearby.

It was on a warm July Saturday morning, just days before my thirty-eighth birthday, when I learned I would not have to continue to wait much longer.

The aroma of coffee and pancakes coerced me out of bed and into the kitchen, where Will, Peter, and my father had cooked enough breakfast for an army. They whistled around one another, fully dressed and coiffed, while I stood, pleasantly surprised, with my robe wrapped around me and my hair, loose and disheveled, on my shoulders.

“What is going on?” I asked. “This isn’t the usual morning protocol. And why is Will allowed near the stove? That’s extremely dangerous.”

“I’ll have you know that I’ve cooked about three dozen blueberry pancakes, and at least a dozen of them are edible,” Will said.

“Wow!”

“Yes,” said Peter. “So you just go and primp yourself presentable, and leave the cooking to us.”

I raised my hands in surrender and left the room, happy to be off kitchen detail and with a growing feeling of anticipation. I dared not allow my imagination to take me to the place where I wanted it to go, though I knew in my heart what was coming.

I put on a pink tea-length dress with capped sleeves, and pinned my hair into a loose chignon. With a little makeup I felt much younger than a woman pushing forty. I thought I looked it, too.

When I stepped out of my room, I met my mother in the hallway. She leaned against the walker she used inside the house, and had clearly taken care with her dressing and hair. When she saw me, her eyes glistened with tears. Holding back my own, I hugged her and placed my hand on her back while I helped her out onto the porch, where I could hear the men talking and laughing. When we stepped outside, Lincoln was on the back porch in brown slacks and a white collared shirt with a slim, smiling woman at his side.

“Lincoln!” I gasped and ran to hug him. I’d missed him since I had found my own personal chauffeur, though I did see him every now and then driving through town. He gave me a squeeze and then pulled back and introduced me to his wife, Nellie. Seeing Lincoln and Nellie confirmed what my heart had suspected, and I scanned the group until I found Will. He stood by the door on the far side of the porch. His face was drawn with emotion, and my heart began to pound.

“Everyone,” said Peter, “please enjoy a drink while Will and Anna take a stroll. Then we can all enjoy breakfast together when they get back.
If
they come back.”

A ripple of laughter went through the small group, and I walked over to Will. He took my trembling hand and led me to the backyard.

The sun’s warmth rested on our heads like a blessing, and the aroma of honeysuckle drifted on the breeze from the forest edge. Mourning doves cooed from the branches overhead, mingling with the music of the wind chimes. When we got to the wind shed, he led me in, turned to me, and held both of my hands in his.

When Will started to speak, his voice broke and he looked away. I reached up and turned his face toward me. I hoped that if he saw my tears flowing freely he’d feel more at ease. He smiled at me and cleared his throat.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“Oh, no, you have nothing to be sorry about.” I beamed at him.

He took a deep breath. “Okay. Anna. Anna, Anna.”

“You’re stalling,” I said.

He laughed and squeezed my hands.

“Yes, I am,” he said. “Because I want to live in this moment for a long, long time.”

He closed his eyes, then opened them and began to speak. “Since the time you started nursing me after the war, I was smitten. But back then, I had promised myself to another, so I had to suppress my feelings. And then you fell in love with my best friend, and that actually helped me, because it made me so happy to see you both so happy, and I could accept my fate.

“But then he was lost. And while I mourned him hard, what killed me was coming to see you and that sweet baby, alone, while I was married and couldn’t do a damned thing about it.” His voice failed again, and he took a moment to gather himself. I was overwhelmed by his confession. I thought he’d just been crying over Ben all those years ago. I’d had no idea that he was also crying over me. I reached up and wiped my tears, overwhelmed by my love for him.

Once he steadied himself, he began to smile again. “But I was given a second chance with you. And I can’t stop thanking God every day. Your father has given me his blessing, and I don’t want to wait any longer.”

Through my tears I could barely see him get down on his knee or lift the ring.

“Will you marry me?”

My hands were shaking so badly, it was hard for him to put the ring on my finger, but he managed. I reached down and pulled him up, and kissed him with every ounce of passion I’d felt growing in me, while whispering my yeses between the kisses. I had never known such happiness.

Once we could tear ourselves away from each other, we hurried back to the house. As we approached, Will yelled, “She said yes!”

Our loved ones clapped and cheered from the porch. I’ll never forget that perfect moment of heaven on earth. When I think of it, I know I’m the luckiest woman in the world.

P
eter married us two weeks later, on our crazy, mixed-up wedding month, where we got engaged at dawn and had a reception brunch that day, followed by a ceremony at the cathedral two weeks later, and ending with a honeymoon in the home we already shared.

The night after the ceremony, we arrived at our building. Will opened the door of the truck, swept me into his arms, and carried me over the threshold. He placed me on my feet in the foyer and looked at me in the dark. I suddenly felt butterflies in my stomach. It’s quite a thing to have all of your dreams come true over the course of a single month.

He ran his hands over my hair and face and kissed me. Then he led me into the front room and turned on the gramophone. “Embraceable You” began, and he held his hand out to me. We began to dance to the music in the darkened front room, and he leaned his face close to my ear.

“Do you remember the night this played when you shaved me?”

“How could I forget?” I said.

“I have been burning for you ever since, plus all of the years I loved you but couldn’t love you.”

I met his gaze and we again kissed each other, the heat
growing between us until we could stand it no more. We managed to stumble upstairs to my room, which was now our room. The moonlight shone in through the window on the bed. Within moments, he had removed his shirt and tie. Then he turned me away from him and unzipped the back of my dress while he kissed my neck. I finished removing my clothes and lay across the bed, waiting for him to finish undressing. He stared at me for a moment, and then climbed into bed with me, where we made up for all the years we’d waited for each other.

A
s Will lay sleeping with his arm across my waist, the unearthly shaft of moonlight had moved from the bed to my photograph of Zelda and me on the beach in Bermuda. We were wet from the rain and humidity, bulbous clouds over us, a tumultuous sea behind us. Our arms were wrapped around each other like we were holding on for dear life.

We were, really.

But now I’d found my life. I had learned how to love and take risks again because of the strength and confidence I’d found in being needed by Zelda. While my new life gave me a frightening amount of happiness, there was turmoil beneath it. I knew I would always carry the guilt of moving on. Lurking beneath the surface of the beautiful years to come would always be the worry that I’d used Zelda the way Scott had.

“There are no second acts in American lives.”

—F. Scott Fitzgerald

TWENTY-SEVEN