Barney had been a prizefighter and a rough fellow indeed, with none of Andrew’s smoothness. But that had come to nothing, and Barney had married Katie Sullivan. Now they had two lovely children. Dorothy had married Andrew, and it had been a storybook romance for the first six months. But then when they’d returned to America and Andrew had begun his busy life as Superintendent of Missions, everything had changed. As she sat there thinking, she could tell he was tired.
Finally he got up and said, “It must be your bedtime, children. Isn’t that right, Dorothy?”
Dorothy got up quickly and, ignoring the inevitable protests, took the children at once up to their bedroom. She scrubbed them down, had them brush their teeth, put their pajamas on them, and saw them into their respective beds, saying a prayer over each, a ritual they had come to enjoy each night.
When she closed the door to the bedroom they shared, she returned to the living room and saw that Andrew was half asleep in his chair.
“You’re tired,” she said. “Why don’t you take a bath, and we’ll go to bed early.”
Andrew shook himself and stood to his feet. He yawned hugely, saying, “I think I will.” He made his way out of the living room and disappeared down the hall.
Nervously Dorothy waited, giving him time to take his bath, then she moved to the bedroom. He was just coming out of the bath wearing his pajamas. “I’ll wash up,” she said rather breathlessly.
“All right, I want to go over these figures.” He picked up a loose-leaf book and got into bed, snapped the bed light on, and began to read.
Dorothy hesitated for a moment, then moved over to the chest and removed the lingerie and the perfume. She carried it into the bathroom, concealing it, although she saw that he was deep in his study of the figures. Quickly she bathed, dried with a fluffy towel, and then put on the nightgown. It once again made her feel strange, and she wondered if she could go through with it. It had all seemed so logical when she had bought it, and now she had to summon up all of her courage to put the perfume behind her ears and just a touch on her neck. Capping the perfume she put it in the medicine cabinet and stepped to the door. She put her hand on the knob, and suddenly a pang of terror seized her.
I can’t do this! she thought and stood there unable to move. But her other gowns were in the chest, and she thought, It’ll be all right. She opened the door and stepped into the bedroom, the silk caressing her body. She imagined she heard a swishing sound as she moved across the room.
“I have to get up early in the morning. I’ve got a big day,” Andrew said without looking up.
“I’ll set the clock.” She picked up the clock on the bedside table and set it, then glanced at him. “Do you want a drink of water, or anything, before I get into bed?”
Somewhat surprised, Andrew looked up. “Why, no. I don’t think so,” he said. He started to look back, then put his glance back on her. “That’s new, isn’t it?”
“Yes, do you like it?”
“Pretty,” he said and then closed his book.
He did not inquire as to where she had bought it, and Dorothy’s spirit flagged as he said no more. He settled down on the pillow and closed his eyes after shutting off his light.
Dorothy quickly switched off her light, pulled off the negligee, and got into bed beside him. He did not move for a time, and Dorothy shyly moved toward him. She put her arm across him, and he stirred for a moment. Then he put his hand over hers and squeezed her wrist, but that was all. Dorothy moved closer, pressing against him, and when he did not respond, she whispered in desperation, “Do you like my new perfume?”
Andrew was half asleep. “What?” he asked, his voice fuzzy.
“I asked if you liked my new perfume?” Dorothy said distinctly.
He turned his head and sniffed. “Oh yes. It smells good.”
Dorothy was bitterly disappointed. She lay there for a moment, and then she did something she had never done before. Putting her hand on his neck, she pulled him around and, raising up, put herself against him and lowered her head. She kissed him with a longing and a fervency that expressed her deep loneliness. She practically prayed for some kind of response.
Andrew was somewhat shocked. “What is it?” he said. “What are you doing?”
“I . . . want you to love me, Andrew.” The words came hard, for she had never been a woman to speak in such a manner. Andrew had always been the one who made the advances toward lovemaking, and Dorothy felt her face flushing in the dark.
Suddenly Andrew pushed her back and raised himself up on one elbow. He stared at her in the moonlight that came through the window and said, “You’re behaving strangely, Dorothy.”
Dorothy whispered, “Is it strange for a woman to want love?”
Andrew had had a difficult day. Ordinarily he would never have said such a thing, but things had gone wrong at every turn, and he had come home with the burden of failure in the building program that disturbed him greatly. Now he grunted, “I don’t know what’s wrong with you! I expect you get loved enough! Do you want a man to follow you around quoting poetry to you?”
His words hit her like a physical blow. As she lay there, tears of frustration rose in her eyes.
“All this you’re doing now. What’s it supposed to mean with this perfume and nightgown?”
“Nothing.” Dorothy’s voice was flat. “It doesn’t mean anything.” She rolled over and pressed her fist against her lips and kept her eyes shut tight. She wept silently, and sleep eluded her. She felt cheap and knew that it was not her fault—and at the same time she felt humiliated and rejected. For the first time in her married life, she had reached out for love, speaking words that had been hard and difficult for her. Andrew had turned from her and now slept heavily, not knowing that he had destroyed something sweet and precious in the woman that lay beside him silently weeping.
****
“What’s the matter? You look pale.”
Dorothy had put breakfast on the table and fed the children but had eaten practically nothing. She glanced up at Andrew, who was looking at her with a puzzled expression. “Nothing,” she said. “I’m fine.”
Andrew hesitated. He took a bite of toast, chewed it slowly, then shook his head. “You look tired. Why don’t you have Helen come in and keep the children and take a day off?”
“No, I wouldn’t want to do that.” Dorothy’s voice was toneless, and there was a deadness in her eyes as she looked at Andrew. She got up, saying, “You’d better hurry to your meetings.”
“I guess I had.” Andrew got up and went and kissed the children. “You be good now. Don’t give your mother any trouble today.” He put on his coat and hat, then turned at the door, briefcase in hand, saying, “I’ve got to go to Sacramento tomorrow. Did you remember?”
“Yes, I remembered. You’ll be gone for three days.”
Andrew hesitated still. “It’s an important meeting. Pastors from all over the country will be there, and I’m the keynote speaker. Quite an honor.”
“Quite an honor.” Dorothy’s words were an echo of Andrew’s, but there was no excitement in her voice.
Andrew stared at her for a moment, then shrugged and said, “I’ll try to get home early tonight.” Still he hesitated, as if something was troubling him. “When I get back, why don’t we take a little vacation? Two or three days out at that little resort up north on the coast. The one that you like so much.”
“That would be nice.” Dorothy had heard this before many times. It was a catch phrase, almost, that Andrew offered her. A bait or a reward for enduring his long absences.
“Well, we’ll do it then. I’ll see you early tonight.”
All morning long Dorothy moved mechanically about the house. The children demanded her time, and so she read to them, then took them for a walk. She smiled without anything reaching her eyes. When they got back, she cooked their lunch but ate nothing herself. After they were in bed for their nap, she went upstairs, removed the gown and negligee from her dresser, and th
e perfume from the bathroom cabinet. She went downstairs and wrapped them in a paper sack, her lips drawn in a straight line. Stepping out the back door, she yanked open the lid of the garbage can and violently threw the sack inside. It struck with a dull thud, and she slammed the lid back, then walked inside, her shoulders drooping. She lay down but did not sleep. A restlessness and an unhappiness enveloped her like a dull gray cloud. Once she raised her hands over her temples, squeezed them, and tried to hold back the sharp bite of tears that threatened to spill out. She dashed them away, got up, and walked around the room wringing her hands. She felt embarrassed and humiliated, and most of all rejected. Her heart felt heavy. She did not know what to do to gain Andrew’s affection, or at least the expression of it. “I wonder if he still loves me,” she whispered. “He did once, but now he never tells me that I’m pretty. He doesn’t hold my hand as he used to, or surprise me with a kiss. It’s like I’m a stranger here.”
Finally she could not bear the confines of the house any longer. While the children were still asleep, she went outside and began working in the garden. It had been one of the pleasures to have a home of her own and plant flowers that she knew she would get to harvest and make into fragrant bouquets. She had donned canvas gloves and was working with her roses when she looked up to see a small black car without a top pull up with Western Union painted on the side. Straightening up she had a moment’s dread as the delivery man leaped out and started up the front steps. Telegrams came for Andrew on rare occasions, but somehow she felt oddly fearful.
“I’m over here!” she said.
“Oh, there you are.” The man came over and asked, “Mrs. Winslow?” He had on a white shirt with a bow tie and a pair of dark gray pants. His hat was set on top of thick red curls.
“Yes.”
“Telegram, Mrs. Winslow. Sign right here, please.”
Nervously Dorothy took the pencil, signed the pad, and then nodded as the young man said, “Thank you very much!” and went back jauntily toward his car. He roared off, and she stood holding the yellow envelope with the window. Removing her gloves and putting them down, she slowly tore open the envelope and unfolded the single sheet of paper. Her eyes flew to the name of the person who had sent it, and she saw her mother’s name. Lifting her eyes, she read the words: Your father died this morning of a heart attack. You cannot come, of course, for the funeral, but I wanted you to know his last words were of you. Pray for me, for I will be lost without him.
The world suddenly grew dim for Dorothy Winslow. She closed her eyes and swayed, and then with a shaky motion made her way over to the wooden chair she had painted apple green. She sat down, and all her strength drained from her. She felt as if someone had struck her in the pit of the stomach, and she was unable to breathe for a moment. She could only think of her father and the thousand memories of his kindness.
****
As soon as Andrew walked in the door, he took one look at Dorothy’s face. “What’s wrong? Is it one of the children?”
“No.” Dorothy could say no more. She handed him the telegram and watched him as he read it. He looked up and compassion shone from his grief-stricken face. It was real, for he had had a great affection for Dorothy’s father. “I’m sorry,” he said and stepped forward. He put his arms around her and held her, but Dorothy did not respond. The grief that pierced her heart was too sharp and overwhelming, and the rejection of the previous night was still a bitter taste in her mouth.
“I wish we could go to the funeral,” he said slowly. “But it would take weeks to get there.”
“It’s impossible,” Dorothy said. She pulled away from him and turned, then walked across the room and stared out into the twilight as it fell over Los Angeles. She watched the lights of the city begin to illuminate the sky as the sun went down, dragging the light with it and leaving the murkiness of the night.
Andrew came over and stood beside her. He did not touch her but said, “He was a fine man. A wonderful missionary.”
Dorothy did not answer. She stood there thinking of her father. She felt totally alone in the world, but she could not say a word to break the silence that seemed to lock her inside a dark cell.
The rest of the evening seemed like a terrible nightmare for her. Andrew hovered over her, tried to get her to eat, and when she would not, he said, “You need to sleep. Perhaps we ought to get Dr. Gunn over. He could give you something.”
“No. I wouldn’t want to do that,” Dorothy said wearily. She was sitting in the chair in the living room and closed her eyes. She knew Andrew was watching her, but somehow she could not respond, and then suddenly she shook her shoulders. “I’m sorry, Andrew. It’s just such a shock.” She stood up, and he came to her and put his arm around her. He held her, and she began to feel a comfort that she desperately needed.
“Come along,” he said finally. “It’s late. I’ll fix you a glass of warm milk. Maybe you’ll sleep. We’ll talk about it in the morning.”
Dorothy obeyed, and that night he did hold her in his arms, and a surge of hope within her heart began to grow. The grief at the loss of her father somehow was eased as Andrew held his arms around her and kissed her on the temple, whispering, “It’ll be better. It’ll be all right.”
But when Dorothy rose the next morning feeling somewhat better and went down to breakfast, she found him there with his coat on looking harassed. “I got a phone call. I tried to call and cancel, but they insist that I come to Sacramento.” He looked at her shamefacedly and said, “I know it’s a horrible time to leave, and if it were any other meeting, I’d stay. But, Dorothy, this means so much to the church. There’ll be leaders from all over the United States.” He continued to speak, making a case that he knew was weak and feeble.
Dorothy stared at him, not believing what she was hearing. He was going to leave her at the most critical hour of her life. At a time when she needed him the most. A protest leaped to her lips, but then she pressed them together, shutting it off. “All right, Andrew. There’s nothing you can do here.”
He stared at her for a moment and then shook his head. “If it were any other meeting . . .”
Dorothy did not answer. He came over and kissed her and said, “I need to go to the church for some things, but I’ll be back to check on you before I leave. Get someone to take care of the children. It’ll be too much for you now, and I’ll be back in three days, and we’ll take that little vacation.”
“All right, Andrew.” Her voice was wooden, and her eyes were dull as he turned and left the room. The shutting of the door had a sound of finality that sent a chill through her as if something had ended in her life.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
A Day With Nolan Cole
As Dorothy awoke on the second day of Andrew’s absence, she realized dully that no one had come to console her. Not even one church member had called on her. Andrew must not have told anyone about my father. She was shocked at the sudden realization. I suppose he thought I would let them know.
She put on a dress, picked almost at random, and left her bedroom. The children were already awake, and as they clambered over her, she realized she did not have the strength to cope with them. After feeding them breakfast, she went to the phone and called their part-time maid and baby-sitter, Helen Teague.
Helen was a widow who loved children and had proved to be a faithful and dependable attendant for Phillip and Amelia. A tenderhearted and compassionate person, she was distraught herself at the news of Dorothy’s father’s death. Hearing that Dorothy was there all alone with the children, she said, “Don’t you worry. I’ll come over right away and stay just as long as you need me. I can take care of everything while you get some rest or do whatever you have to do.”
“Thank you so much, Helen. You don’t know how much this means to me.”
By the time Helen arrived and took over the children in a thoroughly competent manner, Dorothy was ready to leave the house. She needed to get outside. “I may be late, Helen,” she said as she left.
“That doesn’t matter. I can stay all night in the guest room like I did before.”
“Oh, I don’t think that will be necessary. I should be back by suppertime.”
Leaving the house, Dorothy turned and walked slowly down the sidewalk. She had no destination in mind and passed by several neighbors, greeting them with a false smile. She walked for over two hours, simply moving from street to street, not really paying attention to anything except her own thoughts and the precious memories of her father. He had been a man of deep faith and one who had lived life to the fullest, and she could not picture him being gone. He had been a true friend and companion to his wife, and Dorothy knew that her mother must now feel lost. She formed a scheme in her mind to send for her mother. She can’t stay there at the mission station by herself, she thought as she turned and walked down a residential street, noting absently the arrangement of flower beds and the blooms on the trees. She did not know how her mother would adjust to life in America, but somehow she must. For years Africa had been the only home her mother had known.
Dorothy finally noticed with a start that she had wandered almost as far as the church. She did not want to go there, because she did not want to talk to anyone. So she made an abrupt about-face and started home, but at that moment she heard her name.
“Dorothy!”
Quickly Dorothy turned toward the street as Nolan Cole pulled up in his car. He left the engine running but put the brake on, leaped out, and came to stand before her. “I’m surprised to see you here.” He removed his hat, and when he smiled, his teeth gleamed whitely against his tan. “Can I give you a ride somewhere?”
“I . . . I don’t think so.”
Her hesitation caught Nolan’s attention. He blinked and studied her face for a moment, then asked abruptly, “What’s wrong? Something wrong with the family?”
The Silver Star Page 23
