This Heart of Mine (4 page)

I took a streetcar home and made myself a cup of chamomile tea. Still, I can’t sleep—so I’m glad I have you. I needed to spill, to get everything out, or I might explode into a thousand fragments and there is no one to sweep me up. Not a soul.

Sunday, December 25, 1921
Christmas Day

Today I overslept, rolling out of bed at half past eight. I dashed out the door so quickly I almost didn’t notice the slip of paper stuck under the umbrella stand. This is what it said: “Marguerite, our apologies for last night. I brought Mrs. Maier to Grant Hospital in such a hurry. We will be there indefinitely. Peter Maier.”

I wanted to sit down on the carpeted stairs and have a good cry, but it would have to wait. Mr. Hahn expected me at nine o’clock, and regardless of what I’d witnessed, I had to honor my commitment.

Rachel, red-cheeked and smiling from ear to ear, met me at the door. “Merry Christmas!” she shouted, glee bursting from every pore.

I smiled—how could I not?—and pinched her cheek. “Merry Christmas, you little elf.”

Hildy was already there, tidying up behind the counter. She had bags under her eyes and looked a little pale but showed no other signs of her wild night. “How’d you sleep, kiddo?” she asked.

“Not good.”

“I know what would have helped,” she said, winking, “but no bother. You’ve got bigger fish to fry.” Her attention went to the door.

The bell tinkled, and I knew who I would see without turning around. I felt his presence. I know how that sounds, but I really did.

“Merry Christmas, ladies of the Mondlicht!” He sat at the counter next to Rachel. “So we meet again,” he said, and waggled his eyebrows at her.

I disappeared into the kitchen to hang up my coat. I heard Hildy laughing with him, and Rachel’s squeal of delight. I wanted to walk out the back door and never return. I can’t really pinpoint why. It was all too much. Everything was
too
much
.

Finally, I tied my apron around my waist and walked into the dining room. I grabbed a coffeepot and noticed my hand shook like a leaf in the wind. “Would you like a cup?” I asked him.

The medical student caught something in my face. “Maybe you should sit down and have one.”

“I’m tired,” I said quietly. “Holidays wear me out.”

He took the pot from me and poured a cup for himself. I managed a smile, and that seemed to relax him. A large, boisterous group of carolers came in for hot cocoa and cookies and I threw myself into the task of pleasing them, ignoring all else.

He was still there after they left. I rounded the counter and I could tell by the way he perked up that he was waiting for me to return.

“I’ve got to head on home,” he said, standing. “We start eating at noon.” He placed a nickel next to the saucer and reached into his pocket, pulling out a dollar folded into the shape of a flower. “It’s a poinsettia,” he said, fluffing the petals. “You might have to use your imagination.”

It was as if someone had stopped the clock. Hildy froze with her coffeepot midpour. Rachel sat at the edge of her seat. The diners seemed to put their forks down all at once.

“I thought maybe you’d like to go to the pictures with me sometime,” he said, a blotch of red bursting on his olive-skinned cheeks.

He held the dollar bill between us like an offering. I glanced up at Hildy, whose whole body seemed to quiver with joy.

“I—I can’t,” I said quickly. “I’m sorry.”

I ran. Straight through the kitchen and out the alley door. I would have kept going but tears clouded my vision and two strong hands spun me around and I found myself weeping against Hildy’s bosom.

“Shhh,” she said, patting my shoulder. “He left. There’s nothing to worry about.”

That wasn’t it at all.

“I miss my mother,” I moaned. “It hurts, Hildy. It hurts so much.”

Hildy gently tilted my head back so I could see she was being sincere. “That’s her gift to you, Rita. With real love it’ll always hurt a little, and that means you’ll never forget her.”

She let me cry for a while, even though my tears had probably frozen the front of her apron solid.

“Go home if you want,” she said when my breathing steadied. “Go anywhere. I can handle Mr. Hahn.”

I was already feeling better. I felt
lighter
, if that makes any sense at all. “I’ll finish the shift.”

I cleaned myself up in the kitchen and went back to work. Later, after we’d served the last of the schnitzel and toasted the holiday with peppermint tea, I quietly got my things and slipped out without anyone noticing. I walked all the way to Grant Hospital and found the tuberculosis ward.

Mr. Maier sat with his wife, who looked pale as the snow that had begun lightly falling outside. “Do you want to say goodbye?” he said as I approached.

Mrs. Maier’s eyes were closed. Her chest did not move up and down with each breath but shivered slightly, the air not finding its way. I kissed her on the forehead, and I kissed him on the cheek. “God be with you,” I whispered, though I wasn’t sure at that moment if He was really listening.

I walked home. Down snowy, empty streets. When I turned onto Lincoln Avenue, I saw a man standing in front of the Mondlicht Café, pressing his nose against the window.

“It’s closed,” I said, walking swiftly past the restaurant. Then something made me stop and double back. The man was hatless, his thick dark hair shining in the dull glow of the streetlamp. The med student.

He turned around, patting his flat belly. “I couldn’t eat another bite. Feast of the Seven Fishes,” he explained, sighing. “My family celebrates Christmas Day instead of Christmas Eve. I think my father gets the fish at a discount.”

I stared at him, waiting...for what? Whatever he had to say, I guess.

“I came because I insulted you. I was driving myself and my family crazy trying to figure out why, so I thought I might catch you on your way out the door. To apologize.”

“There’s no need.”

“Yes,” he said, “there is. I have many faults, as I’m sure my mother and aunts could enumerate for you in great detail, but none involve being disrespectful to women. I put you on the spot this afternoon.”

“It seems like a long time ago already.”

“I hope that means you’ve forgiven me.”

I nodded, and then...silence. I could hear our breath unfurl into the night air.

He cleared his throat. “When I saw the lights were out, I thought I was too late, and you’d already be with your family.”

“I don’t have a family.”

“Oh.”

I swiped at the ground with the toe of my boot, making swirls in the newly fallen snow. “You pity me.”

“No, the God’s honest truth is I’m a little afraid of you.”

My laughter rang out louder than the church bells from St. Ben’s. “Why in the world would you be afraid of me?”

“You live mostly in your head. That means what’s going on inside it is more interesting than what’s going on outside. That’s a lot to live up to.”

“It’s not more interesting, it’s just...consistent. Dependable.”

He nodded in a way that meant he really did understand, or at least accepted my answer as reasonable. “So, where are you going? Can I walk with you? It might be Christmas but it’s still Chicago at night.”

I stood there for a minute, the cold biting my cheeks, the day’s events finally settling, deadening my nerves. “I was going to buy a tree,” I said, surprising myself with my answer. “I think there’s still a lot open on Damen.”

“I could help you carry it home.”

There wasn’t any innuendo in his tone. Still, I felt I had to say something. I was tired, so tired, and I didn’t want to address anything complicated. “I have neighbors who watch out for me. Fair warning.”

He didn’t laugh but caught my gaze and held it. His blue eyes are the color of Lake Michigan on a summer’s night, when the water is safe and calm. “I’m not going to try any funny stuff,” he said. “Promise. It’s Christmas, and anyway, my mother would slap me from here to Napoli if I got fresh.”

“All right, then. Lucky me. I’ve found the only true gentleman in the city.”

We began to walk down Lincoln. When we reached the light, he stopped and stuck his hand out. “Before this goes any further,” he said, “I’m Salvatore, but my friends call me Sal.”

“Of course,” I said. “I knew your name.”

“Uh-huh. Sure you did.”

I straightened my shoulders, trying to hold on to a modicum of dignity. “I’m Marguerite. My friends call me Rita.”

“So I’ve heard.” He grinned. “Are you sure about that?”

“I’m sure,” I said, and took his hand.

Glory

Rockport, MA, 1940

July 4, 1940

I sit here tonight, with the lamp softly glowing, intent on writing it all down. Every single bit of this glorious day. Because I want to remember it exactly as it happened. I want to remember it always.

I am an engaged woman!

There. It is written.

I am engaged to Robert Whitehall! My best friend from childhood and my beau since we were sixteen. And even though I’ve thought of this day for four long years—dreamt about it, even—it couldn’t have been more perfect. That’s the thing about dreams. When they come true, they never play themselves out the way you envisioned. Real life is always so much better.

Most people, including Robert and me, saw this coming. Planned for it, even. But nothing compares to it actually happening. Nothing! I’ve loved him for so long, and now? Now I can love him out loud and forever.

So, here it goes. A complete recounting of the best day of my life.

The day started off sleepy and slow. It’s the Fourth of July—isn’t that perfect!—and every year there’s a parade in town. It’s a big deal in this little community. I used to look forward to it every year, and now I know why. A small instinct in the back of my mind must have known that one day, on
this
day, I’d have the most wonderful thing happen to me.

Still, at first I didn’t want to go. Can you imagine? I haven’t been myself since I had to bury Mother and Father, now a year ago. And I only just moved back to the family summer house in Rockport, Massachusetts. As I walked through the house this morning, I looked with exhaustion at the boxes I had yet to unpack. I’m glad to be back with the sea and the salt air—I feel I belong here—but still those boxes simply mocked me this morning.

Robert and Levi were already on my front porch drinking coffee. They are so brazen, those boys. And they’ve been so kind to me. I know we were inseparable as children, but it takes courage to stay such close friends for so long. And both of my boys are courageous. To their core.

Anyway, they spent
hours
trying to get me to go with them to the parade. And I have to give them credit. When they finally left, they walked down my long gravel driveway with their heads hung low. Robert was even pretending to cry. It was adorable, really. Like when we were kids and they wanted me to go somewhere or do something I didn’t want to do. We were always the Three Musketeers, and even now that we’re all grown up, they’re still such a comfort to me. How I love them both.

Then Mrs. Moldenhauer from next door and her friend Marie came over to make sure I’d eaten. They do that every day, the sweethearts. I told them over a cup of coffee on the porch how the boys had begged me to go to the parade. I love my porch, all covered in grapevines with the leaves making it feel like a secret hideaway.

“You must go!” said Marie. She’s always been the fun one.

“You must, Gloria. It’s time you got over all of this sullenness. Yes, you’ve suffered, but haven’t we all? The loss of your parents was a great sorrow. But it’s been a year and there are more pressing issues. Do you suppose you are more important than those in Europe dealing with a horrific war? Do you suppose you are more important than those two boys who just left you here? Don’t you think that if this war reaches us—and mind you, it will—that they will join the service? You are being a very selfish girl. But you’ve always been that way, haven’t you?”

Her white hair was piled high, and her gleaming blue eyes were glaring at me. I knew better than to take any of her harshness to heart. And she was right. I needed a bit of a slap in the face. And boy, did it sting. I could almost hear my mother’s voice echoing through me.
Selfish
girl
.... But if there’s one thing I’ve learned throughout this terrible past year, it’s that I have to accept my own flaws. That I have to press on in this life I’ve been given no matter what others may think of me. No matter what I may think of myself. And also, I don’t live on an island in my own mind. I forget that sometimes.

“Anna!” said Marie, scolding her for being harsh with me.

“No, no. It’s fine. Actually, both of you are right,” I said. “I’ll go get dressed.” I got up and went to the porch door.

“Gloria?” asked Mrs. Moldenhauer.

“Hmm?” I replied, admiring her elegance through my side of the screen door. When I’m old, I hope I look just like her.

“I didn’t mean to say that, about you being selfish. Well, I did, but...”

“I know,” I said. “You needed to say something to get me going. And you did.” I walked over and kissed her on her cheek. It flustered her. She’s not the kind of person who takes outward displays of emotion lightly, and we all had ourselves a good laugh.

As if on cue, Levi and Robert drove Robert’s auto up the gravel drive and right onto the lawn. Boys and their automobiles.

“Come on, Ladygirl!” yelled Robert.

“Glory! It’s the parade. You can’t miss it!” added Levi.

“I’ll be right there! I have to get dressed and put on some shoes.”

“Why?” called Robert, laughing. “It’s not like you’ll keep them on!”

Running up the stairs, I felt...excited. It’s such a relief, feeling like a whole person. I’ve spent the past year feeling like a ghost.

We had a bang-up time at the parade. I was glad to have gone. Robert was acting so strange, stumbling over his words. And when he held my hand, his palm was sweating, which it never does. Now I know the reason why he behaved so oddly! And it makes the day, watching the parade, holding his hand, even more precious to me.

The only bad part was that there was so much talk of Europe and the devastation there. I’m finding it increasingly hard to ignore. I swear, if my two darling men enlist, I’ll kill them myself. They won’t have to worry about the Germans.

When we got back, it was still light outside. Levi had run off somewhere with his girl, Rosalind. She’s pretty, that one, and they’ve been dating for as long as Robert and I have been together, since we were all sixteen.

“Want to sit in the car for a bit?” asked Robert. He’d parked on the lawn again and we could see all the way past the house to the cliffs and the sea below.

“I swear, Robert, you’d live in this auto if you could,” I said.

“I do enjoy it. But not as much as I enjoy being close to you. It’s nice sitting near you like this.” He put his arm around me and moved me next to him. I rested my head on his shoulder.

We sat there staring at the sea as the sun went down.

He tipped my chin up and kissed me. “I adore you, Glory,” he said.

I didn’t know why then, but I felt a nervousness begin to grow inside of me, and I knew I was going to laugh. It’s a terrible trait, laughing when you are nervous. I wish I could grow out of it. And I’m glad I caught myself, because Robert would have felt so badly if I’d laughed at him. Especially as I know that he was about to propose. How I couldn’t see it coming, I’ll never understand. I can be so oblivious about things.

“I still have so much unpacking to do,” I said, pulling off my shoes and throwing them out of his car window. Robert laughed because he knows I don’t like wearing shoes—I hate how they pinch. He has the most darling laugh, all full of hope and happiness.

“Come on,” he said, getting out of the car. He came to my side, picked up my shoes and then let me out of the car. “I’ll help. There can’t be that much to do. You’ve been here for three months.”

We walked into the house through the kitchen. We were joking and laughing with each other. He was trying to kiss me again, and I was ducking in and out of his advances. It’s a game we play with each other. There’s a boyishness inside of Robert that won’t ever go away. But all of that changed when we entered the back bedroom.

“Dear God, Glory. What have you been doing?”

There were boxes everywhere.

“I don’t know. Spending time with you. Grieving. Escaping.” I knelt on the ground and began pulling at the tape on a box labeled China. I was nervous to look at him. And more than a little embarrassed. “Or maybe,” I said, “a little lazy?” I was fumbling with a corner of the tape, trying to pull it off, but it wasn’t budging.

Robert knelt next to me, put one arm around me and pulled a pocketknife out of his pocket with his free arm. He’s always prepared.

“Or maybe,” he said, “you just needed the right tool.”

He opened the knife and made quick work of the tape. I started taking my mother’s china out of the box. “You know what?” I asked. “I wish this box was full of things from China instead of fine china. Fine china is boring. I would drink out of glass jars all the time if I could. Remember that? When we were little? We had a whole set of jelly jars in our tree house.”

He got up and brought the dishes into the dining room.

“Sure, I remember,” he called, his voice echoing through the house. When he returned, he knelt down on the floor with me. “Look, Glory. I know you put this off because it’s hard. It’s hard to unpack a life that’s gone. But I’m so proud of you, getting on with your life.” He was blushing a little, and I couldn’t understand why. But I
did
feel better opening those boxes, my past, with him next to me. It felt right.

“Maybe I was just waiting for you,” I said. But I said it quietly, and with my eyes turned down. The world was wrapping itself in and out and around me. We’ve been together all our lives, first as friends and now as something more, but in all that time I’d never felt
this
close to him.

He hugged me and kissed the top of my head. “Let’s make some headway, then, Ladygirl.”

We went through the boxes one by one. Robert is so good at organizing.

And he knows me. So well.

As we unpacked and moved things from room to room, I felt as if I was riding some kind of wild wave. Some things made my heart sing—a lamp that was in my father’s study, a dictionary my mother used to put on my head so I would stand up straight. That always ended in laughter from my mother, which was a rare and delightful thing. And then other things were like a riptide. I could feel them pulling me back out into the ocean of grief: a box of photograph albums, letters written from my father to my mother when he was traveling on business. The love my mother and father had for one another was stronger than any I have ever witnessed. Those letters were about to make me cry and give up unpacking altogether.

And as if he could read my mind, Robert was there each moment I was getting sucked back in to remind me that in order to avoid being taken out to sea, you must go with the current until it lets you free. You mustn’t panic. So I sat, with him there at my side, and let the memories come. Because I wasn’t alone, and I wasn’t fighting the current.

It seemed as though we’d been at it for hours when he got to a larger box, one that held my dresses. He picked up one particular dress and stood with it, shaking it out.

“Goddamn, I remember this dress. That night. Was there ever a better one?”

“I was just thinking of that night,” I said.

It was a strapless dress. White, with a soft blue overlay of lace and a large full skirt. My mother bought it in Boston, and it was one of the few times we agreed on style.

I was sixteen and it was the night of the Rockport Ladies Cotillion. I was getting dressed in my bedroom upstairs, and my mother, who was usually so distant, came up to help me.

“Here,” she said, holding out a bright red silk flower. “Let’s pin this to your waist for some color.” Corrine Astor’s favorite color was red, her only flaw in high society of the time.

She pinned it on my dress, and then we both took a long look at our reflection in the mirror. “A little lip rouge wouldn’t hurt,” she said, opening a pot of red lipstick on my dressing table.

“Not too much. Just enough,” she said as she dabbed it on.

As I remembered the moment, I touched my fingers to my lips.

“Don’t do that, Glory. You could drive a man insane,” said Robert, a longing in his eyes I’d never seen. “Let’s be finished for today, whaddaya say, Ladygirl?”

“I say that’s a wonderful idea.” I stood up, wiping off my dusty knees.

“I have something I want to talk to you about. Would you mind coming out on the porch with me?”

I laughed. “Why so formal, Robert?”

“Just... I...” He was stuttering. He picked up the dress again. “Hey, can you put this dress on?”

“Why on earth would you want me to do that?” I asked him, taking it from his hands and shaking it out a bit.

He stood in the doorway and leaned his head against the doorframe. “It reminds me, you know, of that night. That’s all. I’m messing everything up. Just meet me on the porch, okay? I really...” He put his hands on the doorframe, as if he needed it to keep him standing. He seemed to be drowning in something.

“I don’t know that it will fit,” I said, trying to rescue his mood. “I’ve grown so sickeningly thin. But it would be nice to feel pretty again.”

“You couldn’t
not
be pretty. Not even if you tried. Not even when you get old,” he said.

I gathered the dress up in my arms, and he went out to the porch. I ran upstairs and put the dress on. It was a little bit big but not falling off.

That night, when we were sixteen, Robert escorted me to the dance. I think that might have been the reason my mother had been so eager to help me. She always loved Robert.

Robert came and picked me up and we walked down dark windy roads to the country club.

“I hate these stuffy dances!” I said.

“I know you do.” He laughed. “But just in case, I brought this.” He reached into his breast pocket and brought out a silver flask.

“Oh, you darling. You always think of everything,” I said. “Race you to the club?” I asked, kicking off my shoes.

“Glory! Your shoes!” But I was already off and running.

He caught up with me at the entrance of the small but beautifully lit-up hall. Music and laughter poured out, inviting us in.

“Here,” he said, giving me back my shoes. “You’ll need these.”

“Maybe not,” I said. “Look at this place! It’s like a fairy tale.”

And it was. The whole hall seemed to sparkle.

I put on my shoes and Robert set out his arm. “Shall we?” he said, and I placed my hand there.