Stones

by Marilyn Baron

  “Yes, silly. Who else would it be for?”

  “Well, I thought that...”

  He took my face in his hands and kissed me then, a long slow, intimate kiss, and I flung my arms around his neck and kissed him back.

  “I think we’re doing this backwards, Jewels. I’m supposed to ask you first, remember, before we kiss.”

  “Okay,” I said, beaming. “Let’s do it right. I’ve been waiting for this for a long time.”

  Manny took the ring box, bent down on one knee before me on the swing, and took my left hand. My heart was beating rapidly, and I fought to control it. Were my dreams finally about to come true?

  “Julie Goldsmith,” Manny began, looking deep into my eyes. “My mother thinks it would be a good idea if we got married.”

  “Y-your mother?” I said, gasping as I jumped off the swing, shoving and knocking him off balance.

  “Yes, you know how much she loves you. She’s wanted me to marry you for years. She gave you the medallion at your Sweet Sixteen, and I think even back then she had her heart set on us.”

  “You knew about that?” My eyes widened.

  “That my mother had an agenda where we were concerned? Living in that house, a person would have to be deaf, dumb, and blind not to have seen it. My mother has been trying to marry us off since second grade. Everyone was pushing you on me. My parents, your parents. Even you. You know I don’t like to be pushed or crowded.”

  “I didn’t mean to push you. That wasn’t my intention. It was never a game to me. I cared for you, plain and simple. I didn’t know any other way to behave. Well, now that I know how your mother feels, how do you feel?” I continued, trying to catch my breath and stem my anger.

  “I’m here for you,” Manny said helplessly. “Whatever you want to do. You know that. You need me. You can’t have this baby by yourself.”

  “Are you planning to have it for me? That would be a miracle of modern science. Let’s get one thing clear. I’m going to have this baby, with or without you.”

  “What I mean to say is the baby will need a name.”

  “The baby will have a name,” I shouted. “Mine!”

  “But I thought you wanted to marry me?” Manny looked confused. “Don’t you?”

  “Give me one good reason why I should marry you.” Please.

  “With the baby coming, I thought you would want…”

  That was not the reason I was looking for. I was sure if I told him the truth about the baby’s paternity, he would marry me. But holding on to him that way wouldn’t make either of us happy. He had to want to marry me for the right reasons.

  “Maybe I’m not saying this right,” Manny explained. “Julie, what I’m trying to say is, I have a good job now. I’m making a lot of lucrative deals. I can take care of you and the baby.”

  “Take care of me? What are you talking about? You have your job because you’re dating Nita Weinstein, who hates me as much as I hate her. I don’t need that kind of support. You know that having me in your life is an impossible complication for your career.”

  “Why don’t you let me worry about that?” he said, urging me to take some time to think over his proposal and repeating his earlier admonition. “I’m serious.”

  “I can’t take anything you say seriously. Why are you doing this to me?” He hadn’t used the word love in connection with his marriage proposal. I knew I was really afraid that if I actually accepted his proposal, he’d suddenly laugh and withdraw it.

  And if he thought I was a damsel in distress who needed rescuing, well, then, he had another think coming.

  I placed my hands against his chest and pushed him.

  “You can tell your mother that although I love her dearly, and as flattered as I am by her very touching and romantic proposal, and as much as I appreciate the lovely sentiment, I’m going to have to turn her down!”

  “You’re turning me down?”

  “I never heard you ask me!” I shrieked.

  “I may have said the words wrong, but you have to understand that…”

  “Understand this, Manny Gellar. I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man on the face of the earth. Is that clear enough for you?” I stomped into the house leaving Manny with a flustered expression on his face, holding the ring box in his hand.

  “But Julie…”

  He followed me and pounded on the front door.

  “Julie, come back out here. We’re not through.”

  I was startled by a shriek coming from inside the house that sounded like a wild animal noise or the cry of a banshee. I realized it had come from me.

  “Mr. Goldsmith, sir, I have to talk to you right away,” said Manny, as my father ushered him into the living room.

  “Well, come in then, son.”

  “If you let that vile person into my house, I’m leaving,” I warned from the kitchen.

  “Julie, just what did the boy do to upset you?”

  “I asked her to marry me, sir,” Manny said. “And she said no. I have a ring, too.”

  “The boy has a ring, Julie.”

  “I know that,” I shouted, stomping my feet.

  “Then why won’t you marry him?”

  “He very specifically did not ask me to marry him,” I raged, banging the pots and pans around in the kitchen cabinet for maximum impact. “What he said was his mother wants him to marry me.”

  “Oh, well, that explains it. Why do you want to marry my daughter, son?”

  “To protect her. She has the baby coming, and I don’t think she should be alone.”

  “That’s very commendable. But are you sure you know what you’re getting yourself into? My daughter has a vicious temper, as you can very plainly hear. You’re as close as a son to me, and I felt it only fair to warn you.”

  “Daddy!” I screamed and started to come at the two of them with a carving knife.

  “Get back into the kitchen, Julie, before you hurt someone with that thing,” my father said, shaking his head.

  “Yes, she does have a temper, but I’ve also seen a softer side,” Manny said. “She can be sweet.”

  “At times,” my father countered.

  “And she’s very compassionate.”

  “And?”

  “And passionate.”

  “Hmm,” my father said, narrowing his eyes at Manny.

  “And, she laughs at my jokes,” Manny managed, maneuvering to safer territory.

  “That’s always helpful,” Sid conceded. “But she can also be very obstinate. She always wants to get her way. And she’s very moody.”

  “Whose side are you on, Daddy?” I screeched.

  “True, but she has the ability to compromise,” Manny pointed out.

  “Well, if you think you can handle her, son, then she’s all yours. Take her with my blessing.”

  “Daddy, you can’t give me away like a piece of property. I don’t want to marry him!”

  “Well, son, I can’t force her to marry you. You’ll have to do better than that.”

  Suddenly there was another knock on the door. My father opened the door to Matt.

  “I’m the father of her child,” Manny announced as soon as Matt entered the room. Matt compressed his lips.

  Sid turned on Manny, eyes blazing in full WWII mode, sporting a take-no-prisoners attitude.

  “You’re the sneaky son-of-a-bitch who did this to my daughter?” I guess the revelation put to bed any illusions my father had been operating under about the anonymous Italian bastard on the next continent and allowed him to redirect his anger closer to home.

  “He’s lying to you, Daddy!” I called out from the kitchen. “I never told him he was the father.”

  “But is there a possibility that he could be your baby’s father?” Sid demanded.

  There was only silence from the kitchen.

  “He’s not the father, Mr. Goldsmith, I am,” Matt stated quietly.

  “You too?” I could almost smell smoke coming out of my father’s ears,
which was pretty remarkable, since I don’t have a sense of smell. “Tell me, is there anyone in this city who hasn’t slept with my daughter? Julie Goldsmith. Get out here, right now, where I can see your face. I want the truth. Which one of these two dead men did you sleep with? Or was it both of them?”

  I had only slept with one man in my life. Those two losers were making me sound like the slut of the century, in front of my own father. I walked out with my hands clasped in front of me, agitated, and stuck out my bottom lip. I walked over to Matt.

  “What are you doing?” I asked incredulously.

  “Fighting for you and the baby,” he said simply.

  “You know this baby can’t be yours,” I whispered. “Why are you accepting responsibility?”

  “I don’t care whose baby this is,” Matt whispered back miserably, caressing my cheek. “I love you, Julie. I want to marry you. I’ve made up my mind. I don’t want to live without you. I can’t.”

  “You slept with Matt?” Manny accused, shifting my attention and staring straight into my eyes with a look of anger and pain I’d never seen there before. “I thought that—” He took a deep shuddering breath, and it looked like he was going to be sick. He put the ring box back into his pocket. I’d never seen such a look of devastation on his face.

  “Manny, please—” I sputtered, tears slowly rolling down my cheeks.

  “Matt, tell him,” I implored.

  Things were getting out of hand.

  “How could you do this to us, Julie?” Manny said, turning away to get control of his own emotions.

  “Young lady, I’m tired of your theatrics,” my father barked. “You’re about to have a baby, and you’re acting like one. It’s about time you thought about someone other than yourself.”

  “Daddy! You don’t mean that.”

  “The hell I don’t,” my father barked. “Life is not a pleasure trip! You are going to marry one of these boys if I have to shoot them both. Do you want to choose or shall I?”

  “Daddy, that’s archaic. That’s not the way things are done.”

  “It’s the way things are done in my house,” my father insisted.

  Tech Sergeant Sidney Goldsmith, who had enlisted in the Army Air Corps in 1941 and was a top turret gunner with the 533rd Squadron of the 381st Bomb Group, had killed from the anonymity of a top turret. He’d watched Forts blow apart, hurtling toward earth in a dozen flaming pieces, and ships go down in a flat spin and burst into a sheet of flame when they hit the ground. He’d fought nausea and broken out in a cold sweat when he saw his first flak, as thick as the soup he flew in over 30,000 feet up, vomiting in his mask and all over the floor-plate of the turret during the really rough missions. But I knew with certainty that he could kill here on the ground if anyone ever threatened his family.

  Ever-vigilant, my father was prepared for any emergency. Deprived of vengeance on the unnamed hormonal Italian who had left his pregnant daughter high and dry, he was seriously itching for a stateside showdown. My father had trained for just such an occasion. His entire life had been a prelude to this moment. A survivor of the Great Depression, Sidney Goldsmith had remained on high alert throughout the Nazi threat and the Communist threat, armed and ready to defend his family against all enemies, foreign and domestic, real or imagined; prepared to protect us from the hordes, and all other lurking foes.

  Rigid and cautious, my father threw a damper on anything spontaneous. His favorite part of the Passover Seder was reciting the ten plagues. My father saw to it that no risks were taken and that my life was regimented and safe. Joel and I were raised to follow orders and fall in line as if we were raw military recruits.

  In this corner, we have our reigning heavyweight champion, “Big Sid Goldsmith,” a.k.a. The Blue Demon. And in this corner are the contenders—Manny Gellar and Matthew Paver.

  Manny was down for the count before my father had even delivered the knockout punch. “One, two, three, four…” “Get up, you worthless weasel, and be a man,” I pleaded silently. “Five, six, seven, eight...” “Stand up for me, and our child, you slippery bastard, and do the right thing,” I prayed to the heavens. “Nine, ten.” “Why aren’t you even trying to fight for us?” He didn’t even last one round.

  While Manny tried to slink away, Matt stepped up to the plate. “I guess this will have to be a shotgun wedding, then, sir,” said the man who was there to clean up my mess.

  “A shotgun wedding is when the groom is forced into a marriage, not when the bride is the unwilling partner,” I explained to the clueless Matt, clenching my teeth. I had experienced my father’s temper before, and I wasn’t about to test him. He was seriously pissed. And Matt had no idea that my father was not joking.

  “You want to see my gun? Sylvia, go get my magnum from the dresser drawer.”

  “Right away, dear,” said my mother, who had been hiding in the hall, away from the fray and out of the line of fire.

  “You think I don’t know what goes on right under my own roof in my own house?” he shouted, looking directly at Manny. Then he seared me with his eyes. “I am your father. I am on top of everything.”

  “Except me,” my mother laughed, trying to ease the tension in the room.

  “I told you to get my gun, Sylvia!”

  Sid turned back to face Manny and me.

  “You kids have been tripping over each other since you were in grade school. You’re crazy about each other, always have been, but you’re both too damn foolish and stubborn to see it. You two were meant to be together,” Sid raged. “Now, Manny, do you love my daughter?”

  “I thought I did,” he answered.

  “Is that what you’re looking for, Julie?” my father demanded, exasperated.

  “Words!” I screamed. “I don’t believe a word that comes out of that man’s mouth. You think it’s going to make me happy to listen to his lies?”

  “Here’s your magnum, dear,” my mother said, coming in from the hall and gingerly handing my father the weapon and a fresh box of bullets.

  “Then go ahead and shoot him full of holes, Daddy. I don’t care whether he is or is not the father of my child, and I’m not saying that he is. I am not marrying Manny Gellar, and that’s final. And you can’t force me to.”

  Chapter Nineteen:

  Take a Deep Breath and Say “I Do”

  “Blessed are you who come in the name of God; may you be blessed this day and every day of your lives together,” said the rabbi, as he began the hastily arranged wedding service at my temple. “May the One supreme in majesty, beyond all praise and infinitely great, bless this man and this woman who now enter into marriage.

  “Do you, Julie Hannah Goldsmith, now affirm your marriage with Matthew Daniel Paver, and do you promise to love and honor him, to sustain and help him, and to keep faith with him always?”

  I looked at my father, my eyes blazing, and he turned his head up, as if he were communing with God. I had almost fainted before the march down the aisle. My hands had shaken while I signed the Ketubah in front of two witnesses before the ceremony. My father had held my face to the water fountain and forced me to take a drink and compose myself. He and Matt had closed ranks. They were in lockstep where my future was concerned. My father had already secured the perimeter and there was no way out for me now. He had even given Matt a gun as a wedding present and taught him how to use it. That was his less than subtle way of handing over to my new husband the job of protecting me.

  His final words to Matt when he handed me over after the walk down the aisle were, “Never give up your weapon, son.”

  If you’re thinking that a shotgun wedding could never happen in this day and age, then you don’t know my father. I’m living proof that it can and did happen on that day and at my age.

  Right before the wedding, Matt checked in on me to see how I was holding up.

  “Matt, we can’t get married,” I wailed miserably. “My wedding dress is too tight.”

  “That excuse is not going to work.”
He sighed and looked at me in my dress with longing, like he couldn’t wait to get me out of it.

  “First, know that I’d marry you even if you were wearing a burlap sack,” Matt said calmly.

  “I don’t know who you think you’re seeing when you look at me,” I murmured, tears threatening to spill over. “I’m nowhere near the person you think I am.”

  “I know exactly who you are, Julie,” Matt said tenderly, as if he didn’t have a doubt in the world we were doing the right thing.

  “I don’t deserve you,” I said, my voice breaking.

  “You deserve to be happy,” he said simply.

  A few minutes later, when we were standing in front of the rabbi, I smiled weakly and clutched Estrella’s medallion. It seemed to be weighing me down.

  “Julie,” Matt whispered, touching me delicately so I wouldn’t startle. “Take a deep breath and say ‘I do.’ ”

  “I d-do.” My assent was barely audible.

  “Do you, Matthew Daniel Paver, now affirm your marriage with Julie Hannah Goldsmith, and do you promise to love and honor her, to sustain and help her, and to keep faith with her always?”

  “I do,” Matt answered strongly, as if to compensate for my uncertainty.

  “Ha-rei at m’ku-deh-shet li b’ta-ba-at zo k’dat mo-sheh v’yis-ra-el,” recited Matt, slipping the ring on my finger. “By this ring you are consecrated to me according to the tradition of Israel.”

  “Ha-rei a-ta m’ku-dash li b’ta-ba-at zo k’dat mo-sheh v’yis-ra-el,” I mumbled, almost dropping the ring I held in my shaking hand before I managed to place it on Matt’s finger. “By this ring you are consecrated to me according to the tradition of Israel.”

  I must have looked pale enough that Matt was afraid fainting was a definite possibility. So he grabbed my hand and squeezed it, bracing his other arm around my waist to hold me up and guarantee that I wouldn’t bolt.

  “We praise You, Eternal God, Sovereign of the universe: You sanctify Your people Israel under the sacred marriage canopy,” said the rabbi, as he stood before us and continued to chant the benedictions.

  “May God bless you and keep you. May God look kindly upon you, and be gracious unto you. May God reach out to You in tenderness, and give you peace.”