by Joani Ascher
“I can’t.”
“Why not? He will hurt you. He has in the past.”
“He was only a boy then. He’s changed. I know he has. He’s grown up now.”
Jane found it hard to believe the childish, stubborn, opinionated Martin was an improvement from how he had been as a teenager. And she could not talk her sister out of marrying him.
“All my girlfriends are married already,” Olivia told Jane. “Some have children on the way.” She did not have to say that the only single woman Olivia knew was Jane, and no one would say she was a happy role model.
“Now that Martin’s got his job,” Olivia pointed out, “he’s really a new man. I know he is. You must believe me. Everything will be wonderful.”
****
Prescott Weaver met Regina Marsh, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Leland Horatio Marsh, at a Sunday afternoon dinner at the home of her uncle, Gil Marsh, a stockbroker. The invitation had been a surprise, since he barely knew the man, but he had accepted gratefully. Mr. Marsh was legendary, and hearing his stories would do a lot to cheer Prescott up. It had been over six months since his dreams of a future with Jane had shattered, and he still felt as if there was a hole in his life.
“I would like to introduce you to my niece, Reggie,” Mr. Marsh said, when Prescott arrived. “She’s an extraordinary girl.”
He led the way through the long foyer to the marble-tiled veranda overlooking his acres of land high above Long Island Sound. Standing alone, looking out on the terraced landscape, stood Regina.
She had the heavy-boned face of her uncle. Her straight brown hair had been styled on Fifth Avenue, and her clothes cut to hide the imperfections of her wide hips. A mink stole covered her shoulders, keeping out the chill of the April afternoon. She smiled when she saw the two men.
“Reggie,” said Mr. Marsh, “I’d like to present Prescott Weaver. He’s a young stockbroker, and I’m sure you two will have a lot to talk about.”
“I’m pleased to meet you,” said Prescott. “Are you interested in the market?”
“Will you both excuse me?” Mr. Marsh asked. “I have to greet my other guests.”
“We’ll be fine, Uncle Gil,” Reggie purred. “Don’t worry about us.” She linked elbows with Prescott and moved toward the steps. “Wouldn’t you like to see the gardens?”
Prescott was unaccustomed to such a forward young woman, but he let himself be led along. They walked past banks of early tulips and blooming azaleas, and Reggie chattered enough for both sides of the conversation. “These will be beautiful white calla lilies,” she rhapsodized, pointing to the thin, green leaves just beginning to sprout from the damp earth. “My friend Catherine carried a huge bouquet of them at her wedding.” She moved a bit farther. “These rose bushes will be open in a month or so. My uncle has so many varieties. He has some of the newest hybrids, and a large white rose so perfect and lovely that my friend Marian begged him to let her use them for her bridal bouquet.”
She chattered on and on, mostly about flowers, especially the varieties her friends used at their weddings.
Prescott began to get the picture that she looked forward to her own wedding. He suddenly felt an urge to get back to the dinner party.
All through dinner, where they were seated together, Regina flattered him, telling him how much she admired his career, and his efforts in the war. She seemed to know far more about him than he would have expected.
At subsequent social gatherings and concerts, he ran into her often. She seemed to be the only single girl in her social circle, and she always sought him out. Soon Prescott realized she did not have much interest in stocks or finances, just what she could spend of her father’s money. But she seemed to have a good heart and worked on many charitable committees.
Although sometimes he still longed for Jane and her selfless devotion to all those around her, he turned his mind to Reggie. Possibly, he thought, they could build a life together and have a family. Maybe love would follow.
He proposed one evening, giving her the ring he had long ago stored in the vault, the one he had considered giving to Jane. He hoped to give Reggie his heart as well someday. She accepted immediately.
After the initial announcements, all discussion or talk of the wedding became entirely none of Prescott’s business. The date was set, only two months away. All he had to do was plan a honeymoon, and he chose California. One day, he showed Reggie the itinerary in the living room of her parents’ home, after the couturier had left.
“I wanted to go to the continent,” she whined, when he told her of his plans. “I wanted to show you off on the boulevards of Paris.”
“Europe,” Prescott said, “was nearly destroyed in the war. There is nothing to visit, and won’t be for a while. And I have no desire to see it again, not any time in the near future.”
“Oh, Pres,” Reggie cooed. “Don’t be angry with me. I understand. But why California?”
“Because it’s the farthest place to go in the U.S. And that’s where I want to be.”
“But,” Reggie intoned, “we’ll go to Europe someday, right? I haven’t been there in sooo long.” Lately Prescott had noticed every word that came out of her mouth was over-dramatized. “Daddy said I couldn’t go when the difficulty started.”
It was just like Lee Marsh to call the spread of Nazism “difficulty.”
Reggie moved closer to Prescott, running her fingers through his hair. The sensations that went down his spine made him look forward to their wedding night. Reggie usually kept her distance, saying she wanted to remain pure until they were married. But she seemed to know how to get him to forget his annoyance at some of the things she said, and this was one way. “Our life will be so wonderful. Daddy says the new house will be ready right on schedule.”
Prescott caught her hand and pulled it close to his face, feeling the softness of her skin. Looking into her eyes, he said, “I don’t understand why he’s giving us a house. Isn’t he doing enough?” Their wedding promised to rival those of the blue bloods of Park Avenue.
Reggie pulled away and went over to the piano. “He loves me, that’s why. That’s why he’s also going to buy you a seat on the New York Exchange.”
Stunned, Prescott grabbed Reggie’s hand, turning her toward him.
Her eyes widened, and she frowned. “What’s wrong?”
“What do you mean he’s going to buy me a seat? I’ll buy my own seat, thank you. I’m not taking a handout.”
Reggie laughed, although the sound she made was more insulting than sweet. She pulled her hand away. “You couldn’t even afford a seat on the curb.”
“I would rather not have a seat on that exchange than have your father buy me one anywhere. And at the rate things are going, it’ll take me twice as long to save money, since running that house will cost so much more than I had planned. You’ll have to cut back on your wardrobe requirements.”
Reggie stared open-mouthed at him. “Father will still buy my clothes, if that’s what you want.”
“No, he won’t. And if you insist, I’ll have to call off the wedding.”
She did not say anything for a while, and Prescott realized he hoped, at least a little, that she would call if off. He worried, as each day passed, that he was about to make a mistake, since he had not yet fallen in love. But he had given his word.
Reggie smiled. “I wouldn’t think of it. We’ll get married as scheduled.” She came close enough to wrap her arms around him and kissed him lightly on the cheek. “I told Daddy that you’d never accept him buying you a seat, that you were a man of conviction. That’s why I love you so much.” She was so sincere, he held her close.
“This is just pre-marriage jitters,” she assured him, pulling away. “We’ll have a wonderful time in California, and a wonderful marriage. You’ll see I’m right.”
****
A week before Olivia’s wedding, Jane made a feeble attempt to apprise her sister of the particulars of her wedding night. Olivia waved her off, howe
ver, saying that while she appreciated Jane’s intent, she probably knew more from listening to her married friends than Jane did after her gropings with Lloyd. Olivia was kind about it, and Jane knew she was right.
Olivia and Martin were married the first week of July 1947, in the living room of the apartment Jane and her sister shared. Jane had done her best to make the room look special, bringing in as many white carnations as she could afford.
The bride wore a dress that one of Mr. Dobbin’s employees had made for her. The long white fabric was such a contrast to Olivia’s black hair, and brought out such a creaminess in Olivia’s skin, that several people gasped at her beauty when they saw her. She carried a bouquet of tiny white roses and baby’s breath in her lace-gloved hands.
The ceremony by a justice of the peace was simple. It was attended by friends and Olivia and Jane’s few relatives, two aged cousins of their father’s. Martin’s mother, according to him, was unable to make it to the wedding. Olivia had never met the woman and felt terrible, even considering postponing until his mother was available, but Martin would not hear of it. Jane wondered if he had even told her about it. She had never heard him say anything nice about his mother.
Jane acted as Matron of Honor, keeping up the lie of her marriage, and walked up the aisle dressed in a simple blue skirt and matching blouse. She saw Olivia’s closest friends and their husbands, smiling and holding hands. Behind her, Z.Z. carried the ring tied to a satin pillow. They were followed by Olivia and Mr. Dobbin, who gave the bride away. Mrs. McGill cried when she saw her. Martin, for once, seemed moved by the event, and Jane crossed her fingers, hoping for the best. As they were pronounced man and wife, with Martin placing on Olivia’s finger the ring Vanessa had worn, Jane sent a silent prayer that the union would work out. Her sister deserved happiness.
Afterward, Jane served small sandwiches and punch, while Mrs. McGill passed out pieces of the wedding cake she had spent three days baking and decorating with her elaborate sugar roses and garlands.
Olivia, who had the summer off from her teaching job, had looked forward to a honeymoon trip to Niagara Falls, but Martin thought it was better to stay at home, saving their money. He said he worked on commission, and that his income would improve soon, so they could take a trip in a year or so. His fiscal responsibility might have been considered admirable, but Jane had already decided he was simply cheap.
The wedding night was a nightmare for Jane, since Martin refused to even rent a hotel room for a few days. She covered her ears with a pillow when she realized she could hear the springs in their bed, and she hoped Martin would be gentle with her sister.
The next morning, Olivia got the only wedding trip she ever would. It was a subway ride up to the Bronx, where she finally met Martin’s mother. The woman had moved there from Brooklyn during the war to care for her own mother, who had since passed away.
From what Olivia told Jane, the apartment was a tenement in a poor neighborhood, and Mrs. Roche, her new mother-in-law, was less than gracious. She had not known about the wedding and blamed Olivia for not sending her an invitation.
Martin did not correct the mistake.
Chapter Fifteen
The New York Times, the Herald, the Post and several other papers carried the details of the marriage of Prescott Weaver and Regina Marsh, in the second week of August 1947. Prescott’s family seemed pleased, especially his father. “She’s from a fine family,” said Mr. Weaver. “I’m impressed by your choice.”
Their honeymoon trip did not help him fall in love with his wife. Neither did it do anything to change her virginal status. She held back from him, causing him endless frustration. His experience up to that time was limited to women who were not nearly as shy as his wife, and he was afraid of hurting her. So he waited, suffering through endless one-sided discussions of clothes, flowers, and quality families, knowing full well that not one thing he said ever interested his wife.
When they finally consummated their union, several weeks later, Prescott realized there were simply no redeeming aspects to his marriage.
****
Martin was fired from his job a month and a half after he married Olivia. Jane found out a week later when Mr. Weaver’s client called to explain. When Jane confronted Martin, he admitted he had been let go but claimed he now spent his days searching for a new place to work.
Although he said he would hunt for a new job every day, he slept until noon, while Olivia brought him breakfast and often lunch in bed. Fortunately, except on weekends, Jane did not have to see it. She had switched her hours at Mr. Dobbin’s factory to days while Olivia was off for the summer recess, since her sister had longed to look after Z.Z. “You and Martin will be out all day working,” she had said when she first came up with the idea. “Z.Z. will keep me company.”
Jane’s son was five and a half. He was not as big as the neighbor’s son of the same age, but he was a lovely child. His flaxen hair and blueberry-colored eyes, so similar to Jane’s father’s, and his pleasant disposition, caused even people who were dismayed at his mongoloidism to smile at him. He had learned to catch a ball, but he could not run, because the effort left him winded. The doctor pronounced him fit whenever he saw him, but explained that the boy was not strong.
Olivia had planned to take Z.Z. on outings during that summer, to the zoo and maybe a museum. She had decided she should not care that people said the child should be put away. But she did not have time. She did not think it was right to leave her husband alone, and Martin went nowhere until after dinner, when he got as far as the local bar.
Jane thought about switching back to working at night, so she could be with Z.Z. during the day, but realized that would mean all three of them would be together all day. Besides, Mr. Dobbin needed her during the day shift for as long as she could be there, since much more production was done then. And she had recently suggested he start manufacturing children’s clothing, since so many people were starting families. He loved the idea and put her in charge of making it happen, so Jane decided to stick to her day schedule for as long as possible.
One afternoon, shortly after she arrived home, she overheard Martin grumbling to Olivia. “You have to do something about that monster your sister spawned. He should be sent to an institution.”
“How could you say that?” Olivia had challenged him, her voice sounding angrier than Jane had ever heard her.
“Aw, he’s not so bad,” Martin said, backing down. “Just keep him out of my way.”
But Jane knew that was not how he felt. She could see his loathing every time he looked Z.Z.’s way.
****
By mid-October, Martin had found another job. He was working for a lawyer, as a clerk-typist. Jane wondered if he was capable of such work, but she kept her mouth shut. She had returned to working late afternoons and evenings, leaving as soon as Olivia got home from teaching school so she could catch the end of the first shift. If she played her cards right, Jane did not have to see her brother-in-law at all.
Following her sister’s lead, she took Z.Z. to the park every pleasant morning. One morning she took him all the way to Manhattan, to the Central Park boat basin, as a special outing. He was delighted with riding on the subway and did not notice the pitying faces of the people around him. Jane turned away, though, hiding her tears.
Z.Z. chattered about the train all the way to the park. His speech was rudimentary for a five-year-old, but he got his message across. “Birds,” he cried, spotting a flock of pigeons. He trotted after them and was disappointed when they flew away.
It was a beautiful day, with just a mild breeze. They walked over to the boat basin. When the wind picked up, Jane put his cap onto Z.Z.’s blond head and lovingly buttoned up his coat, hoping his knees in his short pants wouldn’t get cold.
Out of the corner of her eye, Jane noticed a couple watching her. It took a moment, but she realized it was Mr. and Mrs. Canfield, Prescott’s clients. There was no place to hide, and Jane held Z.Z.’s hand tightly,
dreading the encounter.
Mr. Canfield waved and guided his wife by the arm closer to Jane. Mrs. Canfield’s face under the feathered hat she wore looked pinched in the sunlight, and she wore a Persian lamb coat, even though the day was not that chilly. Underneath, when the front of the coat swung open, Jane saw a New Look dress, long and full in the skirt, with a tight waist, the very height of fashion after the war.
Jane had noticed, on their previous meetings, especially when she sold her the cameo, that there was a reserve about the woman. Her greeting to Jane was cordial, however, and she commented on what a lovely day it was.
Edging closer, Mr. Canfield looked at the little boy, who had squatted down, studying an insect on the sidewalk. “Who have we here?” he asked. “Could this be the reason you can no longer work for Mr. Weaver?”
Jane remained silent. While she did not for a moment believe Mr. Weaver would have mentioned the circumstances, she did not want to discuss her termination. But Z.Z., remembering the manners Auntie Olivia had taught him, stood up. He turned around slowly, and looked up at the couple, with a big smile on his face.
“Hello,” he said. “How do you do?”
Mrs. Canfield’s arched eyebrows flew up, and she stared at the child. Mr. Canfield grew pale, and as he mumbled a goodbye to Jane, took his wife by the arm and pulled her away. Z.Z. waved goodbye to them, unaware that anything was wrong, but Jane felt as if she had been slapped. Yet when she looked at the departing couple, she saw Mrs. Canfield’s face turned back at her. She looked sad, but not as if she were horrified or even as if she pitied Jane.
The encounter left Jane drained. She bundled Z.Z. up, bought him a bag of chestnuts from a vendor, and took him back to the train. The trip home seemed much less fun than the trip to Manhattan had been.
By the time they got home and Z.Z. was down for a nap, Olivia was back from school. Jane poured out her heart telling her the story, and Olivia held her while she cried. “I can’t help wondering if Prescott told Mr. Canfield that I—”
