A Wedding on Primrose Street (Life In Icicle Falls Book 7)

by Sheila Roberts

  “Oh, really?”

  “Yeah. After my wife told me I was too boring to bother with and left me for another man.”

  “Your wife left you for another man?”

  Daphne sounded shocked. So was Roberta. She’d always thought Hank was a nice man. How sad that his wife hadn’t appreciated him, and it was a pity he and Daphne hadn’t met earlier, before Mitchell the ogler came on the scene.

  “Yep,” Hank was saying. “Some cowboy she hooked up with when she went to the Ellensberg rodeo with her girlfriends. I guess he gave her a wilder ride than I could.”

  Daphne said something, but it was so soft Roberta couldn’t be sure what. It sounded like “I’m sorry.”

  “I used to think it was all on me. Then I realized it wasn’t.”

  “My husband left me for another woman. Well, more than one. He was a rat and I already know it had nothing to do with me. Except for the fact that I picked him in the first place. When it comes to men, I’m not a good chooser.”

  “What makes you think you’ll have any more success with women?”

  Roberta shook her head again. Honestly, what kind of conversation was this?

  “Okay, the truth is, I don’t want to be with anyone,” Daphne said. “I like being on my own.”

  No, she didn’t. Poor Daphne. Cupid had given her a raw deal. She deserved better.

  Maybe Hank Hawkins was better.

  Oh, but a fourth husband? Was that even worth considering? Roberta was still mulling it over when the kitchen door opened suddenly, taking her by surprise and nearly toppling her onto the back porch.

  “Mother! What are you doing?”

  Roberta willed away the guilty flush on her cheeks. “It was hot in here. I was opening the door for a little fresh air.”

  “You were eavesdropping,” Daphne said in disgust.

  “I was not.”

  Daphne crossed her arms. “Really, Mother.”

  “I don’t know why you’re getting after me,” Roberta said, opting for wounded dignity. “I simply happened to be passing by the door. I must say, I didn’t know Hank’s wife left him for someone else.”

  “There’s a lot of that going around,” Daphne said bitterly.

  “It’s too bad you didn’t meet someone like him sooner.”

  She could have if she’d listened to Roberta and used one of those online dating services everyone was talking about. From what Roberta understood, you filled out a detailed questionnaire and then were given any number of perfect matches. But, as usual, Daphne had to do things her own way. And look where it got her.

  Daphne frowned. “We’re not going to start talking about my horrible taste in men, are we?”

  Roberta had no desire to go down that long and winding road. “I have no intention of talking about your past mistakes.”

  “Good,” Daphne said with a nod, “because that’s a subject I’d rather not discuss if you don’t mind.” With that she picked up her latte and walked out of the kitchen, leaving Roberta feeling frustrated.

  As usual. She’d made a verbal misstep somewhere in the conversation and now Daphne wasn’t happy with her.

  Well, she wasn’t always happy with Daphne, either, but at least she cared, which was more than she could say for her own mother.

  “I’m only doing this for your own good.” The words came back to haunt her. Oh, yes, her mother had the right words for every occasion—not that learning her daughter was about to become an unwed mother was much of an occasion—but her actions spoke so much more loudly.

  1961

  “If you’re going to refuse to tell me who the father is, then I have no choice,” Roberta’s mother snapped. “Although I can guess, and that young man should be held accountable.”

  “You can’t guess anything,” Roberta said, determined to be stubborn. There’d been that period of time she’d been with another boy. The baby could be his, couldn’t it? And just now, she wished it was. Any other boy would have done the right thing.

  They were in the living room, the perfect living room with its crushed-velvet furniture and expensive drapes, the living room where her mother liked to entertain friends for coffee. (If you could call the rich, snobby women she cultivated friends.) Roberta huddled in a chair, her tummy churning. Her grandmother, who’d been summoned from her little house up on Tenth Avenue, perched on the couch, trying to calm Roberta’s mother with phrases like “These things happen” or “Helen, darling, please try to get hold of yourself.”

  Nothing could calm her mother. She paced the room like a caged animal while Roberta sat in a wingback chair, her hands tightly clasped. If her father had been alive he might have tempered her mother’s wrath. He certainly would have hugged Roberta and told her he still loved her and that it would be all right. But Daddy had died when Roberta was ten. Her mother had played the brave, grieving widow to the hilt, although Roberta sometimes wondered if she even missed him. Had she ever really loved him? Did she know what it was to love someone? Did she know what it felt like to have your heart broken?

  Not that Roberta loved Gerard anymore. She hated him for being so selfish, hated him for leaving her in this mess. She’d rather be alone the rest of her life than forced to marry such a selfish creep.

  Of course, her single state made it oh-so-inconvenient for her mother, who worried more about what people would think than her own daughter’s broken heart.

  “Well, you can’t keep it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The baby. If you won’t tell me who the father is, then you’ll have to give it up for adoption.”

  Give up her baby? She might have hated Gerard, but she already loved this little life growing inside her. How could she give it away? “No,” she protested.

  “What are you planning to do?” her mother asked contemptuously. “Waddle around town with a big tummy, a walking advertisement for what not to do? Do you want people laughing behind your back? Do you want every respectable man to cross you off his list? Men don’t marry girls who get themselves into this kind of mess.”

  “Then maybe I don’t want to get married,” Roberta shot back. Brave words but she did want to get married. She’d never imagined herself alone.

  “Don’t talk foolishly,” her mother scolded.

  “This is a short time in your life, dearest,” her grandmother put in. “I know it’s...awkward.”

  Was that what you called this horrible feeling of rejection?

  “But we can get past it,” Grandma finished.

  “There’s a home outside Seattle, in Dunlap,” her mother said. “They take in girls who find themselves in this situation. Your father was from California. We’ll say you’ve gone to visit family down there. No one will be the wiser.”

  “I don’t want to go to some...home and stay with strangers.”

  “You can’t stay here, Roberta. How would it look?”

  Roberta didn’t have an answer for that.

  “I’m only doing this for your own good.”

  They were going to turn her out, send her off to some jail for unwed mothers, hide her away like a leper. “I won’t go,” Roberta said stubbornly. “And you can’t make me.”

  “Oh, yes, you will,” her mother said, pointing a finger at her. “You’ve gotten yourself into this mess and now you’ll have to deal with the consequences.”

  Roberta jumped up. “I won’t! You can’t make me.” And with that she ran from the room. Upstairs she slammed her bedroom door to emphasize how strongly she felt.

  But slamming doors and protestations did no good. Her mother swept everything aside and made the arrangements. And if that wasn’t bad enough, she kept Roberta home under virtual house arrest.

  The following week, as she and Roberta sat at the kitchen table, she broke the silence by a
nnouncing, “It’s all arranged. You’ll be going to the Florence Crittenton Home for Unwed Mothers. Your grandmother and I will take you the day after tomorrow.”

  The day after tomorrow, she was getting shipped off to some...place, to live with strangers, other girls who found themselves in the same mess. Well, she wouldn’t do it. Her mother could make all the arrangements she wanted, but Roberta wasn’t going to go along with it, like...like a sheep headed to the slaughter.

  Except what choice did she have? Only one.

  “Roberta?”

  She looked up to find her mother regarding her with a stern expression. “Did you hear what I said?”

  “Yes, Mother.” Let her mother think she was going along with this.

  “Good. Pack a few clothes tonight. I’ll bring you more as you need them.”

  Maternity clothes, of course. Oh, she’d done this all so wrong. She should be married, sitting at her own kitchen table, talking about the baby, making plans. Gerard had cheated her out of that. But he wasn’t going to cheat her out of being a mother. Neither was her own mother.

  “May I go out tonight to say goodbye to my friends?”

  “You may go out and see your friends as long as you stick with our story. You’ll be visiting your father’s relatives in California.”

  “Yes, Mother.”

  Roberta told her friends she was leaving, all right, but she told them the real reason. She and her best friends, Nan and Linda, sat on Nan’s canopy bed and discussed what Roberta should do.

  “I have ten dollars in my purse,” Nan said.

  “And I have six,” added Linda. She frowned. “That’s not enough for bus fare and a place to stay.”

  “Or food,” Nan added. “I know! I’ll tell Daddy that Linda and I want to go shopping tomorrow. He’ll give me some money.”

  “Jilly just got her allowance. Let’s call and ask her to come over and bring what she can,” Linda said.

  “We can’t let too many people know about this,” Roberta cautioned. “Someone will tell my mother.”

  “Jilly won’t,” Linda said. “I’ve got the car. I’ll go pick her up. Oh, and she’s the same size as you. She can put some clothes in her train case and tell her mother she’s spending the night with me.”

  Meanwhile, Nan was up and rummaging through her jewelry box. She came back holding a gold locket. “Take this. If you need to you can pawn it. If not, keep it to remember me by.”

  Roberta’s eyes filled with tears. She had such good, caring friends. If only she had a mother who cared as much. She took the necklace and hugged Nan. “Thank you,” she managed around a throat constricted with emotion.

  Once the money was collected, there was nothing left to do but say goodbye to her friends at the bus station.

  “Don’t forget to change buses,” Nan told her. “In case the police come looking for you.”

  “Or your mom hires a private detective,” Linda said.

  “And if anyone asks, remember all I told you was that I was going to visit family in California.”

  Nan was crying now. She pulled Roberta into a fierce hug. “Oh, Bobbi, I’m going to miss you. Are we ever going to see you again?”

  “I don’t know,” Roberta answered.

  One thing she knew for sure—she’d never see her mother again.

  * * *

  She’d relented and gone back to visit when Daphne was two, hoping that once her mother saw her pretty blue-eyed granddaughter with her golden curls, she’d repent her heartless behavior. But her mother had refused to even come to the door. Roberta had stood on the porch of the large brick colonial, her daughter’s hand in hers, knocking and then ringing the doorbell, telling herself that her mother simply hadn’t heard her knock. But then she’d seen the living room curtain twitch. Her mother knew she was there, knew it was her standing on the front porch. She still didn’t let Roberta in.

  “She’s ashamed,” said Roberta’s grandmother, who’d been overjoyed to see her. Grandma had fed her tea and ginger cookies and held Daphne on her lap, exclaiming over what a sweet child she was. She’d listened with interest as Roberta told her about her new life in Icicle Falls, how well she was doing at the bank. Grandma had even said she was proud of Roberta.

  Her mother never did. Oh, she finally heard from her. Grandma had passed on Roberta’s mailing address, and Roberta had received a letter a month later. But it hadn’t been filled with kindness and forgiveness. Instead, it had been a diatribe, all about how Roberta had disappointed and humiliated her. She’d tried to help her and Roberta had thrown that help right back in her face. And then she came waltzing home, bold as brass with a baby in tow, and expected her mother to welcome her with open arms? Wicked, ungrateful girl!

  * * *

  The very memory of that letter could still open the dam of emotion. Her mother had been the most selfish creature alive. At least she’d had her grandmother, who sent presents every Christmas and chocolate bunnies at Easter. Grandma had even come to Icicle Falls to visit once before she died, bringing a handmade dress for Daphne and pictures for Roberta of when she was a little girl and her father was still alive.

  “It’s important to hang on to the good things from the past,” she’d said. “Your mother... Well, I’m sorry. She’s my own daughter but sometimes...” Grandma didn’t finish the sentence. No need. Roberta understood.

  And now she really understood. Daughters didn’t always turn out the way a woman wanted. But all daughters deserved to be loved.

  And helped. Even when they drove their mothers nuts.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Daphne, the Wiser Woman

  Today she was going to court to finalize her divorce. Again. For the third time. There would be no haggling over child custody or fighting over who got the cat. Mitchell had his things and Daphne had hers. The house was in her name, so she’d keep that to do with as she pleased. As for the time-share they’d bought two years ago, against her lawyer’s advice, she’d told him he could have it. She didn’t want to go anywhere that would remind her of Mitchell.

  “We’re ready,” Shirley had said on her last office visit.

  Yes, as far as all the paperwork went, they were. But Daphne wasn’t ready emotionally. She didn’t want to go to the courthouse and see her failure officially recorded.

  Still, to the courthouse she went. Into Room 3 with its rows of hard, wooden benches and the judge’s throne of judgment looming above it all. She saw two people, each on opposite sides of the room, conferring with their lawyers in whispers and scowling at each other. Another lone man in a three-piece suit didn’t seem any happier to be there. But she saw no sign of Mitchell. She didn’t know whether to feel angry or relieved. She’d seen him at the pretrial conference, and that had been enough. She never wanted to see him again. Still, what did it say about her that he couldn’t even bother to show up for their final court date?

  She sat at the back of the courtroom, waiting her turn, watching as other people stood before the judge alongside their lawyers and officially ended what had started as happy unions. Ages ranged from twenties to fifties. How many church weddings were represented here? Had these couples lit a unity candle, poured sand into a glass vase? Promised to love, honor and obey, stay together in sickness and in health? Had any of them tried three times and failed?

  Three weddings, three disasters. She probably held the record in Icicle Falls for more romantic failures than anyone else. And yet, each time she’d started out with such hope, such an air of celebration.

  Her first wedding had been fit for a princess; her mother had seen to that. Even though Mother had her doubts. Why hadn’t Daphne herself had any doubts? Oh, yes, because she was an idiot.

  “You’re still so young,” Mother had said. “Why don’t you wait a little longer?”

  The ans
wer to that had been simple. She was tired of waiting to have sex. Her mother had warned her about jumping into bed, telling her that often ended badly. When Daphne decided to jump into marriage instead, Mother flipped on the caution light again, and that was when she’d finally shared the truth about her own mistake and Daphne had learned that the daddy she’d always thought was dead was very much alive.

  Daphne had tried to contact her birth father, wanting to see him, maybe develop a relationship with him. He couldn’t have been as awful as her mother had said.

  It turned out that he was as awful as her mother had said—a selfish man who didn’t want to be reminded of his youthful indiscretion, as he so kindly put it. So she’d decided that, after all those years, she didn’t need a father anyway, not when she had Johnny. He was more than enough for her.

  Johnny was good-looking and fun and she could hardly wait to start their new life together. He had a job with a construction company in Seattle and a line on a cute little apartment in Magnolia. He was ready to go and so was she, so she plunged heart-first into marriage.

  Her bridesmaids had dressed in pink, her favorite color, and she’d carried pink tulips. She’d read that tulips signified passion and that had certainly described her relationship with Johnny. Even the cake had been a mass of pink—pink frosting, pink roses, pink doilies underneath. Roses for a rosy future. But that rosy future lasted only five years, which was probably longer than it should have taken for Daphne to realize that her husband loved booze more than he loved her. Or their daughter.

  So then came Fred, good solid Fred. And once again, there’d been a wedding on Primrose Street, a June wedding with lots of flowers and candles and a fancy sit-down dinner. The guest list was a little smaller than for wedding number one, but it had been lovely all the same. Daphne had gone with blue this time, the color of trust and peace, and she and Fred had vowed to be faithful all the rest of their days, to stay together in sickness and in health, for better or worse.

  Somehow they’d neglected to add “in boring times and through the everyday grind” and Fred had started drifting like a sailboat with no anchor. And speaking of sailboats, he’d had to go and buy one. At first it was expeditions to the San Juans. Next thing she knew, he was talking about sailing around the world.