Liberty Street

by Dianne Warren

  She moves away from him and straightens her clothes, pulls up her zipper, dismayed by her loss of control, as though she is the one who’s been drinking, ashamed of her desire, and then Joe says, “Maybe Martha’s right. You’re too young.”

  Too young for what? It’s not clear.

  She says, “My mother doesn’t want us to get married either, but I’m not letting her make my decision for me. Do you want Martha to make yours? She wouldn’t approve of any girl you wanted to marry, no matter how old.”

  Joe seems to be thinking about that. He takes out his tobacco and rolls a cigarette, and they sit in the darkness while he smokes it, saying nothing. Then he drives her home.

  In the yard, he says, “If you haven’t changed your mind, I won’t mention it again.” She counts to ten—tap, tap, tap, her old trick—her stomach in a knot, and she thinks, Everyone feels this way before they get married. How could you not—it’s the rest of your life.

  “I haven’t,” she says. It’ll be a frosty Friday when Martha Fletcher decides what happens in her life.

  That night, tap, tap, tap, her fingers unable to stop. When she gets up into the hundreds, she loses count.

  A TRIP TO Yellowhead. To buy Frances shoes to go with the blue dress. A doctor’s appointment to acquire the “precautions,” because Alice doesn’t want her talking to the local doctor about such a thing. The cake decorations (even though Frances argued that a cake was not necessary). Then home again. Housecleaning. Someone to perform the ceremony, the United Church minister with the long hair, who still lives in Uncle Vince’s house, and who insists on meeting with Joe and Frances before he’ll agree to come to the farm and do the honours. He asks Frances if he can bring his guitar to the wedding and sing, any song she likes, but Frances says no, no music.

  Food to prepare for the reception. Flowers to order. Wedding napkins. The invitation list includes a few of the Moons’ neighbours, also farmers. Alice says if the wedding is going to be in her house, it’s going to be a proper wedding so it can’t be said that her daughter has run off behind her back, up the duff or with something else to hide. No friends of Joe’s are invited—he doesn’t want any friends there, just that horrible Martha on his guest list—but surprise . . . Myrna Samples is coming.

  Frances has no idea why she asked Myrna to her wedding, except that she happened to run into her at the gas station and they had a laugh about what a loser Daphne was, and before Frances knew it she was telling Myrna about the wedding. Just a small wedding, nothing fancy. I’m wearing a blue velvet dress instead of a white one, just to be different, I guess . . . Then Myrna told Frances that she had been planning to wear a green tie-dyed dress when she married Buddy, only that wasn’t happening now and she was going to make curtains for her bedroom out of the fabric. Frances impulsively asked her if she would come to the wedding, and Myrna said, “Might as well, since I won’t be going to my own anytime soon.” Then she told Frances that Buddy Hynde had been cheating on her with some girl named Pamela from another town. “There I was, pregnant,” she said, “and there he was, acting as though he had nothing to do with that and I was put on earth just to keep him from fulfilling his potential. As if he ever had any in the first place.”

  Frances can’t believe how happy she is that Myrna is coming to the wedding. Maybe it isn’t too late and she and Myrna can still be friends. She wonders if she should ask Myrna to be a bridesmaid, but decides that’s going too far. Anyway, she doesn’t want a bridesmaid. Even the word.

  In the days before the wedding, Frances packs up the things that she wants to take with her to Joe’s. There isn’t much. Her new green suitcase and a few boxes filled with her clothes. A few books, some family pictures. Some things from England that belonged to her grandmother on Basie’s side: a set of silver-plated coffee spoons, a tablecloth with embroidery at each of the corners—things that had been oddities when her mother gave them to her years ago, and still are. She decides not to take any childhood treasures with her. Her dolls and stuffed animals stay in the closet in her room. She considers taking the guitar, but she hasn’t learned to play it and besides, it’s a teenager’s toy. Technically she still is a teenager, but she’s in a different category now: about to be married.

  Her mother presents her with what she calls a “trousseau present.” When Frances opens the box, she finds a pretty satin nightgown with lace trim and a matching satin housecoat lined with soft flannel. She thanks her mother, but really, she can’t imagine herself wearing such a thing. She doesn’t know what could have possessed her mother to buy it. She thinks, It’s not as though I’ve ever wanted to be a princess bride.

  She puts the nightgown and housecoat in her suitcase and closes it.

  EVERYONE TALKS ABOUT how lucky Frances is that it’s such a nice day for her wedding. It’s November, they say. Anything could have happened. One of the neighbour women has already dropped off a plate of lemon squares, and Martha Fletcher is in the living room, having been delivered by Joe before he went home to change. Alice thought Martha might be an extra set of hands to help with the preparations, but instead she’s plopped herself in Basie’s armchair—her face as dark with disapproval as the witch’s dress she has on—and she’s now reading Bible passages aloud to herself. “Like a person who needs to be locked up,” says Alice when she and Frances are alone in the kitchen. At least no one will have to make conversation with her, Frances thinks, as long as she’s droning Bible verses in Basie’s chair. Her mother says, “Thank God you’re marrying him and not me. I’d kill that woman if I had to have anything to do with her after today.” It’s the closest thing to acceptance of the marriage that her mother has said out loud. Frances tells her she’s not planning to have anything to do with Martha Fletcher, and her mother says she might not have a choice in the matter; she’ll likely have to nurse Martha into purgatory, or wherever holy rollers go to suffer their way into heaven. Frances says that being nursed by her would likely be suffering enough, and her mother actually laughs.

  The other guests begin to arrive, and Frances goes to her room so she can make a proper entrance once everyone is in the house. Joe returns for the ceremony driving a new truck—two-tone, copper and white. He’s wearing a suit, the first suit he’s ever owned in his life. When he arrives in the truck, still sporting its factory shine, the first thing the guests do—including the long-haired minister—is put their jackets on and go outside to admire it. Frances is already dressed in her wedding outfit and is in her bedroom, but she watches through the open window, tucked behind the curtain. Her dad shakes Joe’s hand for no reason at all, as though having a new truck is as good as winning the Irish Sweepstakes.

  Is it goodwill, Frances wonders, or something else?

  Then her mother comes into the bedroom and pulls her away from the window because the guests and Joe are walking back toward the house—“It’s bad luck if he sees you”—and she does a last-minute touch-up of Frances’s hair.

  Her mother says, “You’re not exactly marrying a rich man. I just hope he’s paid cash for that truck and hasn’t borrowed money he can’t pay back.”

  “I don’t know what he’s going to have to do to prove himself to you,” Frances says. “Build a mansion with a swimming pool, I guess.”

  “Time will tell, won’t it?” her mother says.

  Then she gives Frances a quick hug—a gesture as unnatural as the congeniality in the yard. It’s as though everyone is trying to stay in good spirits for her sake, making the best of it. Frances, the condemned.

  Alice says, “Trust you to buy a blue dress for a wedding. Well, as I always said, blue looks good with your hair.”

  Then Frances’s father knocks on the bedroom door, and the three of them walk together into the living room, where the guests are waiting. Basie immediately trips on a chair leg because the furniture is all out of place, even though Alice had walked him through the new configuration. Frances is able to keep him from pitching into Martha Fletcher’s lap, and her father right
s himself and safely delivers Frances to where Joe stands with the minister.

  The ceremony is brief. Frances hardly hears what the minister says, but there’s something about her promising to love and him promising to honour. All just a formality as far as Frances is concerned, but this is the way it’s done—a few “I dos” and they’re married and signing their names in the registry book. When the minister says, “You may kiss the bride,” Joe does kiss her, but it’s a peck kind of kiss, not the other kind.

  Afterward, Myrna—wearing the tie-dyed dress that didn’t become curtains after all—tells her she loves the blue velvet. Nothing about how strange it is that she married Joe Fletcher, nothing about the age difference, just ordinary talk about dresses on her wedding day. “Too bad you’re an old married woman now,” Myrna says. “We could have had some fun together.” (Married! It’s true.) Frances says, “We still could. I’m not moving away to Timbuktu or anything.”

  “You kind of are,” Myrna says, “out there in the bush.”

  One of the neighbours pops into the conversation. “You’ll get some use out of that outfit,” she says. “Not like a wedding dress, which just hangs in your closet until you get sick of looking at it.” Then she asks, “Why did you decide against a formal wedding dress?” And Frances says, “I didn’t. This is a wedding dress. It’s just blue.”

  After the neighbour is out of earshot, Myrna says, “She thinks you’re knocked up. You aren’t, are you?”

  “Of course not,” Frances says. “I’m on the pill.”

  Myrna says, “She probably thinks I’m knocked up too, just because I usually am.”

  For a brief moment, having Myrna for a friend trumps being married. They’re still laughing when Alice interrupts them to make Frances and Joe stand for pictures, which she snaps on a new Instamatic camera with a built-in flash, and then she serves a buffet lunch. After that, Frances and Joe cut the cake, which Alice made herself and placed in the middle of a card table that she’s set up especially for it. It’s a plain square layer cake, but she’s decorated the edges with scallops of blue icing to match Frances’s dress, and it’s topped with the bride-and-groom ornament they’d bought in Yellowhead. Besides the cake, the table holds a floral arrangement and two blue candles in glass holders, even though Frances had argued against decorations—“It’s not a school dance, Mother.”

  As they stand over the cake for pictures once again, this time holding the cake knife, Joe whispers to Frances, “You’re mine now,” and it’s so unexpected and she thinks, No, I’m not, and out loud she says, “What in the world gave you that idea?” making a joke, but she doesn’t like the way he’d whispered, as though the conspiracy of marriage includes ownership.

  She shouldn’t take any of this seriously, she thinks. They’re all play-acting, she and Joe, her parents and guests. That’s what a wedding is. Martha is the only one there who is behaving exactly as she does every day of her life.

  When Myrna says she has to go, Frances wants to say, Don’t leave me with all these adults, but of course she doesn’t. She tries to get Myrna to stay until the gifts are opened, but Myrna says she has to get home to Morgan, and at first Frances doesn’t know who Morgan is and then she remembers that’s the baby’s name. She realizes she’s forgotten all about Myrna’s baby.

  Once Myrna is gone, Frances grows impatient for the whole thing to be over. What she wants now is for everyone to leave so she can move her things to Joe’s house and unpack them, put her clothes in the drawers and her toothbrush in the little washroom, anticipate the moment when the sun goes down—or maybe they won’t wait for that. She isn’t sure how it will happen, but she knows it will, and she says to herself, It’s what I want. She hurries things along by suggesting to her mother that now is a good time to open the gifts.

  The presents are carried, one by one, to Frances and Joe, who are seated on the well-worn wagon-wheel couch—by now Joe’s tie is hanging from one of his jacket pockets—and Frances’s mother writes down who gave what as Frances peels away silver-and-white wrapping paper until household objects are revealed: a dinner set from her parents, a pop-up toaster from one of the neighbours, sheets from another, a crystal cream-and-sugar set, a wool Hudson’s Bay blanket. Myrna’s given her something called a sand candle that she found in a craft store in Yellowhead. Frances loves it. The last gift she opens is an ominous black Bible from Martha, which she accidentally drops on the floor, almost causing Martha to keel off Basie’s chair.

  After the gifts have been opened, Frances thinks it’s done, over, time for everyone to go, but her mother serves coffee and cake again, as though she’s trying to keep people there.

  “When are they going to leave?” Frances whispers to her, and her mother says, “Don’t be rude.” As though she’s still a child.

  Eventually the guests do begin to leave. One of the neighbours offers to drive Martha to Deer Valley so the bride and groom don’t have to. Joe and Frances’s father load the gifts and boxes, as well as Frances’s new suitcase, into the back of the even newer truck. Frances keeps the sand candle with her, to carry on her lap so it doesn’t get chipped. When they’re ready to go, Frances’s mother says, sadly, “I haven’t seen the place. I don’t even know what you’re moving to.”

  “Now, Mother,” says Frances’s father, but Frances can hear the sadness in his voice, and she’s annoyed with both of them for making her feel bad on her wedding day.

  “Let’s go,” she says to Joe, getting into the truck. When she slams her door, she catches the skirt of her dress and the rubber jamb leaves a big black mark. Her mother looks at the mark, and Frances knows what she’s thinking—that Frances won’t have a clue how to get it out—and she’s right. She closes the door again and looks away from her mother, wanting to tell Joe to hurry up, take her away, but also wanting to jump out of the truck and hug her mother and assure her that all will be fine, you can learn how to get marks out of a dress, anyone can learn that.

  “Ready to go, then?” Joe asks, and she nods yes.

  The highway north of Elliot is a road used by logging trucks. When Frances and Joe are halfway to his turnoff, they come across a load of logs spilled over the highway and down into the ditch, blocking traffic in both directions. The police are nowhere to be seen, and a couple of local farmers are doing their best with tractors and chains to clear a path. Several of the stranded people have got out of their vehicles so they can better see what’s going on. The day is getting cooler and Frances zips up her jacket as she steps out of the truck. Joe, still wearing his suit, walks up ahead to see if there’s anything he can do to help, while Frances waits with a couple who have so many kids she wonders how they all fit into their truck. One little girl notices the mark caused by the door closing on Frances’s dress, and Frances says, “This is my wedding dress. I just got married.”

  “Are you a bride, then?” the girl asks.

  “I guess I am,” Frances says.

  “A new bride!” the mother says. “How wonderful.” People within hearing distance congratulate her, although when Joe comes (so he’s the groom?), they fall silent.

  Eventually, there’s a path through the log spill and the trucker who lost his load guides a single lane of traffic through it. When they’re on their way again, Joe says it’s lucky that no one was hurt when the first few logs spun off at sixty miles an hour and bounced along the pavement. Most of the load had cascaded off the truck after the driver managed to pull over.

  It’s early evening when they finally arrive in Joe’s yard, where the dog is waiting for them. Joe carries Frances’s boxes into the house while Frances carries her suitcase to the bedroom. Should she unpack? She doesn’t know. They pass by each other awkwardly as they make trips to the bedroom with Frances’s things, until finally Joe steps in front of her and blocks her path, and Frances thinks, So this is it. They’re standing in the living room, the picture window without drapes, and there are no curtains to pull closed, but then, It doesn’t matter, does it? We’
re alone out here. As her dress drops to the floor, her bra, her stockings, she stands, self-conscious, wanting to cover herself, but also simply dying of curiosity to know what will happen next. Joe picks her up and carries her to the bedroom, completely naked, her clothes strewn on the living room floor, and then she’s on the bed and Joe’s hands are all over her, and she thinks, This is what people do. This is what girls do, Myrna and the others.

  Afterward, Joe pulls his pants on and leaves without saying where he’s going, and Frances lies alone on the bed, under the sheet now to escape the roughness of the blanket, thinking, I, Frances Moon—Frances Fletcher, that is—am no longer a virgin. The thought is exciting, but at the same time there’s a feeling of disappointment that is working hard to ruin things. The fun part—those moments in the living room in front of the bare window—had lasted such a short time. She waits for Joe to come back, but he doesn’t.

  She hears a vehicle in the yard and her first thought is that her parents have come to check on her. But of course it’s not her parents—they wouldn’t come to call on her wedding night. Who, then? She pictures her dress on the living room floor. Even her bra is there. She quickly jumps up, covers herself with the blanket, and retrieves her clothes. She has nothing else to put on, as she hasn’t unpacked her suitcase yet. As she zips up the dress she feels something warm and sticky run down the insides of her thighs.

  She looks out the bedroom window and sees a couple getting out of a car. Who would drop in unannounced on the evening of Joe’s wedding? Unless they don’t know. She checks to make sure no one is in the house and then slips into the washroom to try to clean herself up. There’s no hot water. She washes in the basin with cold water, then pours the water down the bathtub drain. She tries to fix her hair with Joe’s comb, which is sitting on the edge of the washstand. Her hairbrush is still packed in one of the boxes.