A Pledge of Silence (32 page)

Although Frank’s laugh rang out as heartily as Margie remembered, when their gazes locked, her heart sank, for in his eyes she saw a jaded and depleted spirit—a world-weary soul.

With Frank home, the energy level in the household rose, his presence and happy banter lifting the mood. Over dinner, they reminisced about a rare 1932 summer vacation on Mackinac Island, when they’d rented bicycles and ate a picnic lunch on the boulder-strewn beach of Lake Huron’s cold shore. To Irene’s delight, Margie recounted the fallout after the time both of Frank’s “steady” girlfriends attended the same pajama party.

As friends dropped by to welcome him home, he stood with his arm around Irene’s waist and talked about his plans—the university allowed late admissions for returned veterans, and he would apply. He had already completed two years with a good grade-point average, and didn’t anticipate any trouble being readmitted. He sidestepped all questions about the war, shifting the conversation to baseball. “Did you catch the Tigers last night? Dizzy Trout pitched a shutout. Trounced those Yankees 10-0.” He would lower his voice, “I have $5 bucks on the World Series. You want in?”

Margie thought it wonderful to see Mama happy again. She sang along with the radio as she cooked large meals, washed extra loads of laundry, and ironed clothes. She seemed not to mind picking Frank’s towels up off the floor, carrying the dishes he left on the table to the sink, or moving his shoes to where they couldn’t be tripped over. His sloppy behavior irritated Margie, though. When she’d jabbed, “Were you raised in a barn?” he just laughed and called her Nurse Prissy.

Though exuberant during the day, his mood darkened as the sun set. He roamed the house like a caged cat, chain-smoking and peering out windows, his ear cocked for strange noises. He wasn’t sleeping much, Irene confided to Margie; when he did manage to drop off, he tossed and turned, his legs wind-milling under the covers, tears and sweat both pouring from him, soaking the sheets.

After an initial shyness, Billy warmed up to Frank, who played with him differently than Irene did, wrestling and teasing. Sometimes the roughhousing brought Billy to tears.

“Frank! Don’t!” Irene scolded, whisking Billy away to give him a cookie.

“Stop with the cookies already. He’s too fat.”

“He’s not either. Look at your baby pictures. You were a chub.” When she put Billy down, he immediately ran crashing back into Frank’s legs, and the wrestling and screeching started again.

Covering Billy’s mouth to muffle the shrieking, Frank said to Irene, “Come bowling tonight. Sue will be there with Ed.” Billy wriggled away. His cheeks were pink and his chin wet with spit. From the floor, Frank grabbed his leg and Billy squealed.

Irene covered her ears. “Can you stop that? You’ve got him all worked up.”

Frank let Billy go, and he crawled away.

“Come on. We’ll have a few beers.”

“You know I can’t. I have to work tomorrow.”

Carrying a toy truck, Billy toddled back over to Frank. With a jump and a laugh, he flung the toy, which hit his father’s upper lip. Immediate and violent, Frank’s reaction sent Billy crashing against the far wall. “Get away from me, you little piece of shit.”

Up in her room, Margie tried to write Wade, but the right words wouldn’t come.
There’s something you need to know
, she began. No. She wadded the paper up and tossed it in the trashcan.
I have a bit of a surprise for you.
That one got pitched, too.
Have you ever thought about becoming a father?
As the trashcan filled up, she decided that maybe she would wait until he came home to tell him. She might have had the baby by then. Which would cause the worse shock? She couldn’t make up her mind.

One thing was certain—she would have to tell her mother soon. Maybe tonight, if Irene and Frank went out. Hiding her swelling tummy under her clothing was getting harder. Besides, preparations had to be made for this new arrival. Where would he sleep? He would need diapers, nightgowns, and bottles. Or should she nurse? She hadn’t thought much about it and wondered what Irene had done. She really wanted to talk to Irene about having a baby, but couldn’t force herself to bring up the subject. She worried about the health of an infant conceived when she was so malnourished.

The sounds of Billy wailing and Irene shouting rose from the living room. Similar noisy incidents had erupted since Frank had come home. She heard thuds on the stairs and Irene’s bedroom door slam.

Mama’s voice filtered up. “What has gotten into you! Touch that child like that again and you can pack your bags and get out of here! Do you understand me?”

The front door banged open and shut, followed by Frank’s truck speeding out of the driveway, tires squealing. Running downstairs, Margie found Mama in the kitchen, drying her tears on a dishtowel, her whole body shaking. “I don’t know what’s happened to your brother. He’s like a stranger.”

“He’s confused, Mama. He’s been through a lot. He needs time to forget.”

“He’d better forget real quick then! I won’t put up with that behavior. Margie, I know Irene’s frightened. Is there something you can say to help her?”

Mama wouldn’t approve of anything she’d say to Irene—keep your job, be ready to run. Lights flashed through the window, and a vehicle stopped in the driveway. Margie peeked through the curtains and said, “That couldn’t be Frank back already. Are you expecting someone, Mama?”

When she opened the door, a man who wasn’t Frank stood on the porch. She stared at him uncomprehendingly for a minute before gasping out, “Wade! Is that you?”

Chapter 23

Wade stood at the door, looking young and sophisticated with stylish tortoise-shell glasses and a roguish mustache, wearing well-fitting slacks and a fine sweater. Margie gasped again, “What are you doing here?”

He laughed, his smile shining mischief, and handed her a bouquet of pink roses. “I got in this afternoon. I thought I’d surprise you. Maybe I should’ve phoned first.”

“No,” she said, regaining her composure, but warmth crept up her neck and her heart galloped. “Come in! You look wonderful.” She admired the roses, then put them on the side table, shy and unsure what to do next.

Not shy at all, Wade gathered her in his arms and said a lover’s hello, his mustache tickling underneath her nose.

Breathless, she ran her finger over the bristle. “I like it. It suits you.”

His loving gaze searched her face. “You are even more beautiful than I remembered.” He kissed her again, squeezing her tight against him.

“Who is it, Margie?” Mama asked, coming into the room.

Margie stepped back from Wade’s embrace. “Mama, you remember Wade Porter?”

Mama’s face lit up like a sunny day.

Wade was staying with his father and stepmother, who invited Margie to the family’s celebration of his homecoming. His sister Carol hugged her and told her how glad she was that her little brother had finally decided to settle down. She introduced Margie to the many aunts, uncles, and cousins at the gathering. Margie found herself immediately considered part of Wade’s warm extended family.

The following week, Wade’s colleagues from
The Ann Arbor Tribune
held a party for all the correspondents recently returned from overseas. Margie discovered that, though a bit older than she, they were a fun and rowdy crowd, bantering irreverently about current events and old-boy politicians.

More days passed, and Margie still hadn’t told Wade the truth. Hiding her pregnancy proved an emotional burden that kept her awake at night and headachy during the day. At last, resigned, she vowed to end the torment and reveal her secret Friday on their date for dinner.

In her room that evening, she dressed, then raised the window shade to watch for his car. Distractedly, she wandered from bed to door to window and back again, practicing what to say. Should she wait until after dinner or tell him the news immediately? Noticing she’d become breathless, she stopped pacing. When the doorbell rang, her hands flew protectively to the bulge hidden by her sweater. She gave herself a last once-over in the mirror and nervously reapplied her lipstick.

Hearing Mama welcome Wade into the house, Margie peeked over the stair railing. In a tizzy, she retreated to her room, knowing she could no longer put off this conversation. Steeling herself against whatever might happen, she pasted on a big smile and went down the stairs.

“You two have a good time,” Mama said. “Where are you going?”

“Luigi’s for a pizza. I won’t be late.”

She found her jacket in the closet and slipped it over her shoulders, not trusting her fingers to button it properly. Wade opened the car door, and she slid into the passenger seat, swallowing hard, her mouth sticky-dry. Wade let himself in the other side and reached for the keys. She put her hand on his arm. Her voice sounding strange in her ears, she said, “Before we go … ”

And she blurted out her news.

His jaw dropped. “You’re what?”

“I’m sorry. You don’t have to marry me. I can live with my mother. She’ll help me with the baby. I have my job at the Red Cross.”

“What
are
you talking about?”

“Things have changed. You hardly know me.”

“I know you to be strong and reliable. Charming. Smart. Talented. Even-tempered. I know that I love you. Are you saying you don’t want to get married?”

“No, I’m saying I’m not going to hold you to a promise made in another life.”

“For Pete’s sake! What do you mean, ‘a promise made in another life’?”

“You’ve made plans, that cottage on Lake Michigan, the book you want to write.”

He ran his fingers through his hair. “That’s a dream, Margie, not a plan. There’s a difference. I wouldn’t make any
plans
without talking to you first.”

“With a baby, there’d be no way we could do that.”

“Then the dream goes on hold. We’ll get married, and I’ll work at the newspaper.”

“But it’s not what you want.”

“It’s
you
I want! Just you.” He held her chin and looked into her eyes. “Do you want me?”

She felt increasingly attracted to this handsome, kind-hearted man, and her baby needed a good father. She whispered, “I do.”

He pulled her to him in a warm, strong embrace. “Well, then, that’s settled. When’s the baby due?”

“November.”

“November already?” He broke out laughing. “What a wonderful homecoming present!”

Speechless at first when Margie and Wade told her about the baby, Mama became giddily excited about another grandchild. She immediately began making plans and knitting tiny sweaters. Irene offered Billy’s newborn blankets and nightgowns, and had Frank bring the bassinet down from the attic and scrub it clean with hot, soapy water.

Plans for a late September wedding fell into place quickly—a candlelight ceremony at the Little River Methodist Church, which family and friends filled with gold and burgundy mums from their gardens. Frank gave the bride away, and Gracie and Kenneth served as matron-of-honor and best man. Myra baked the cake, and Irene prepared the punch for the reception that was held in the church’s all-purpose room. Margie looked stunning in the ivory crepe dress that Mama had artfully altered to accommodate her tummy bulge. The pregnancy hardly showed at all.

Everything happened so fast, a honeymoon hadn’t entered Margie’s mind. She was delighted when Wade surprised her with a get-away. A friend had lent them his cabin on Old Mission Peninsula, a jut of land north of Traverse City.

Driving west through Michigan’s farm country, they enjoyed their freedom from friends and family, and just being alone together for the first time since those long-ago days in Santo Tomas. Margie twirled the gold band encircling the fourth finger of her left hand, still unable to grasp the reality of the past few whirlwind weeks.
Mrs. Wade Eric Porter. Marjorie Olivia Bauer Porter. Margie Porter.

“A penny for your thoughts,” Wade said.

“You’ll laugh.”

“I promise never to laugh at you.”

“I’m getting used to my new name. Mrs. Porter. It sounds like a schoolteacher, or somebody’s mother.”

Wade roared. “Whoops, sorry. I promised not to.”

“What was your mother’s full name?”

“Barbara Jean. Barbara Jean Wilson Porter.”

“What was she like?”

“A lot like you. Pretty. Smart. Warm. She taught school before she had Carol. She liked Mark Twain’s humor. She would quote him.” Striking an attitude, he intoned, “‘Familiarity breeds contempt—and children.’” He guffawed. “I was about 13 when she first laid that one on me. It took a while before I understood it.” As he removed his wallet from his back pocket, the car swerved a bit. “Here’s her picture.”

Margie admired the photograph of a young woman with dark hair, a distinctive nose, and a strong jaw. “You resemble her, except for your coloring.”

“Yeah, her hair was almost black. I never saw a strand of gray in it. Her great-grandfather on her mother’s side was a Cherokee warrior.”

“No kidding. So that’s where you get your profile. It’s very striking, you know.” Margie resisted the urge to rifle through the wallet, and handed it back to him.

“I’ve been thinking of names. How about, if it’s a girl, Barbara Ann, after our mothers? And if it’s a boy, Joshua Wade, after my dad and you?”

Wade grinned. “If I wasn’t driving, I’d give you a big kiss.”

As they turned north, the landscape changed from flat farmland to that of the Manistee National Forest, with its scrubby jack pines and tall white spruce, paper birch, aspens in their golden glory, and maples displaying a spectrum of color from yellow to deep scarlet. Farther along, they passed through the lake-dotted Traverse City area, stopping for dinner and groceries. They located the cabin down a narrow road on Old Mission Peninsula, extending out into Grand Traverse Bay.