Dawn intervened. ‘So Vivian tells us you are all going to lose your jobs. Make way for the boys, huh?’
‘Yeah, damned unfair if you ask me,’ Vivian continued, somewhat high. ‘How are we supposed to make a living?’
‘But those men have been fighting for us,’ Moira answered. ‘They have families to support.’ Her stomach constricted at the stupidity of her comment.
Vivian shook her head. ‘That’s all very well for you, honey. You have someone to take care of you. Now that Rick and I have split up, I’m on my own.’
Moira winced, feeling like a gate crasher at her own party. She had heard weddings brought out the worst in people.
‘And some women have families to support,’ Dorothy added. ‘The war is leaving a lot of widows.’
Teddy glanced at Dawn’s even expression as she followed the volley. Maybe she hadn’t started this on purpose.
‘But Teddy, you’ll be OK.’ Moira was desperate to detour the conversation. ‘You and Dawn. No one is going to take your jobs.’ She knew it was a stupid remark, but she didn’t care. Why didn’t they behave? Why didn’t they act as if this were her wedding?
Dawn laughed. ‘No man is gonna want to sell girdles at the Emporium. Women just got to get the right kind of job.’
Wanda nodded. ‘And no one is standing in line to clean fish, yet. So I guess Mama and I are safe.’ Did she sound too flip? Dawn was having an interesting effect on her.
‘To tell the truth,’ Moira leaned closer, ‘I don’t know how I feel about quitting. Staying home is a dream to some people. But I’ll go stircrazy.’
‘You can always have another kid,’ Dorothy laughed.
Moira blushed. She glanced over to Tess who was sleeping in Aunt Evie’s arms. Then she felt a tap on her elbow.
‘Mrs Girard?’ Randy said, ‘Would you like to join me in cutting the cake?’
‘Already? Yes, why not?’ She turned to Dawn, in a last, strained attempt at friendship. ‘It’s such a great cake. Marble. Mother wanted white cake and Randy wanted Devil’s food, so they compromised on marble, isn’t that a kick?’
‘Yes.’ Dawn answered inscrutably.
Wanda closed her eyes, wishing the day were over.
Tess cried. Instantly Moira and Teddy turned.
Good old Aunt Evie, thought Moira, as the child was rocked back to sleep.
Teddy’s eyes lingered on the baby. She had no words to express her sadness about losing Tess, losing her child. She had been there since the beginning, had sat up nights with her, had helped to support her. But how could a baby have two mothers? Her pain seemed illogical. She hadn’t even been able to talk to Dawn about it.
Randy put his hand gently on Teddy’s shoulder, ‘So how are you doing?’
‘Fine,’ she said. ‘Just fine.’ She had to keep her anger — and her suspicion — in check. Moira had promised not to tell Randy about their relationship. Promised a little too readily. Did she consider it trivial? No, she was probably petrified he would desert her if he knew. This gesture of Randy’s was just friendship and maybe a little recompense for her lost room-mate. No doubt they would be inviting her to supper soon, to make sure she wasn’t lonely.
‘The cake.’ Moira looked from one to the other nervously. ‘Let’s go cut the cake.’
Teddy turned over in her bed which was cold and far too large. She knew it was early — six o’clock at most — from the light. Too early to get up. So what had wakened her? The silence. The emptiness. Of course — Moira was gone. Tess was gone. Teddy was alone.
She rolled over, digging one ear into the bed and putting her hand over the other. She couldn’t close out the voices. Moira’s. The priest’s. Dorothy and Dawn and Vivian laughing over the champagne. Mr Rose congratulating the groom. Mrs Finlayson weeping as they cut the cake. Tess squealing in the late afternoon. Everyone clapping and cheering and giggling when the bride and groom descended the steps into the light summer rain. How did you silence echoes?
No sense lying here. She stuck one leg out of the bed, then another, feeling an odd memory of that morning Moira was sick in the bathroom. Would all the days be hemmed with memories? God, she felt wretched. Walking rapidly across the room, she threw on her robe and hurried downstairs. Surely her head would clear after breakfast. She had so much work today. She had promised to tidy up Wanda’s room for Mom’s cousin who was visiting from Fresno. Wanda’s room. She supposed she shouldn’t call it that any more.
Opening the back door, she stared at the garden. The beans and lettuce were flourishing. Also the zucchini. Anna would love the garden. Teddy had even put in some crookneck squash in case she made it back before September. If Mr Rose was right, she might just do that. Too cold for standing outside. Teddy shivered. She drew her robe closer and peered hopefully toward the melon vine.
Back at the table, she admitted to herself that Anna would probably not return to Stockton Street. Reuben might be coming with her. Even if he didn’t, Mr Rose had a big, empty flat. Now with Leah, Anna would turn toward family again. Teddy shook her head and then caught herself. At least she wasn’t talking out loud. How ironic that it was she who was left alone. Anna and Moira had kids and Wanda, if everything went safely with Roy, would be married and having babies soon too. Of all of them, Teddy supposed, she herself was the most family-like and yet she was the one left alone. So, was it a tragedy? She did have her mother and brothers and sisters and friends. It wasn’t as if she was in exile. She would have to calm down. Yes, she would tackle that room for Cousin Letty as soon as she finished breakfast. Come to think of it, she didn’t feel much like eating this morning. Maybe she would go straight up there now and … and she broke down sobbing. The woman who was afraid of talking to herself was sobbing and beating the table and sobbing, at Moira’s desertion, at her own loneliness, at the unfairness, at her confusion. Loud, ragged cries tore from her body. What had she done wrong? She had always tried to be good for Moira and for Tess. She had taken care of them, loved them. Moira had loved her, hadn’t she? She hadn’t pretended all that time, surely. She had changed her mind. Partly for Tess, she had explained … Teddy ran through the story again. She had loved Moira with all her love and it wasn’t enough. Did that mean she didn’t know how to love? Sobs wrenched her body. She had tried. And she had done everything she could. It wasn’t fair. No, damn it, first Angela. And now this. Her whole life had been taking care of people — brothers and sisters, Pop — and they all went off on their own. Leaving her, the capable one, alone. All alone in an empty house. She sighed and stood. This was getting nowhere. She didn’t feel better. The tears brought more tears. The room, that was it, she would go up and check on the room for Cousin Letty.
As she climbed the stairs, she wondered why she had decided Letty should stay in Wanda’s room, for surely it would be possible to put her in Tess’s room, which had been Moira’s room. Wanda, Tess, Moira, she felt like a madwoman in a house of memories. She paused at the top of the stairs, her eyes fixed on the spot she had found Moira that terrifying night. Teddy opened her mouth and a yell emerged, then a high-pitched scream, cauterizing her mind of pain. Yaaa. Yaaaaaaa. She needed to clear her memory and claim it back for herself. Yaaaa. Yaaaaa. Yaaaaaaaaaaaaa. She leaned against the banister, waiting for a response.
Wanda’s room looked out on a quiet street. The front room, that’s what she would call it. And Tess-Moira’s room was now the side room. And Anna’s room? She would call it Anna’s room until her friend reclaimed her belongings. The front room was empty except for an old double bed they had moved in after the Nakatanis took back their furniture. That and a small table with a lamp. Well, this would do. Letty wasn’t expecting the Mark Hopkins Hotel. She would pull out the blue curtains from the linen closet and get the scatter rug from the basement and give the floorboards a good scrub. Yes, in a few hours, this would look like a real room. Teddy changed into work clothes and let herself f
eel briefly that it would be nice to have company again, especially the kind of company you didn’t become attached to.
As she washed the back floorboard, depression descended again. Here she was at twenty-eight, a shrivelling spinster. Everybody else was going off and doing important things. What had she done during the war — nothing as useful as Moira or Anna. She stayed in her silly job and sold war bonds. She had stayed and taken care of the house. For what? She had helped Mom with the kids and then with Pop’s death. She had visited Mr and Mrs Rose and the Minellis. Everyone’s favorite daughter. How long did she think she could go on being the good girl? ‘Grow up!’ She heard herself shout. ‘Grow up!! Instead of watching everybody else do it!’ The yelling calmed her and she returned to the floorboards with renewed vigor. The scrubbing eased the tension, made her feel that she was accomplishing something. Maybe that was an illusion like the war bonds and the caretaking. What else was she going to do? Sit downstairs and cry all morning? No, she was going to finish this room, dammit, and maybe afterwards start on Tess’s — on the side room.
It was hard to avoid the ghosts lounging invisibly about the house. What was she remembering, yes, those days in Oklahoma when she knew she was going to leave, when she knew she would lose the glorious sunsets and the acres of frozen flat fields and blue sky which kept her still and tranquil. She remembered Anita and their last visit together — at Anita’s sickbed. She had promised to come on one last walk with Teddy and then had taken sick. Sick in the middle of the summer. They played dolls together. Anita’s usually shiny brown skin had a dull, greyish cast. She looked at Teddy with dark eyes and asked if she had to leave, asked why Teddy’s family couldn’t stick it out for just one more season. Teddy didn’t want to go. These were the same questions she had badgered Mom with when Pop was out of hearing.
‘Don’t know, Nita. I don’t want to go.’
‘What’s out there?’
‘California.’
‘Do you suppose there’s oranges dripping off the trees like they say?’
‘Maybe.’ Teddy shrugged, not wanting to admit that she was looking forward to the trip. If only she could bring Nita with her. Surely Nita wouldn’t be sick like this in California. People went there to get well. To get rich.
‘And luscious ocean, I understand. Enough sun and ocean to keep you happy for a whole life.’
‘Maybe,’ Teddy shrugged. ‘But what’s that if you are away from home?’
‘Home?’ Anita sat forward from her pillow and examined Teddy’s long face. ‘You all are bringing your home with you — your parents, your sisters and brothers. You’ll just have a new house out there, that’s all.’
‘Won’t be home.’
‘Sure will. What more could you want? Your folks, warm days and the sea.’
‘You.’ Teddy blushed but kept her eyes steady with Anita’s. ‘You and this land. I’ll never forget.’
‘You will too.’ The ancient child leaned back on her pillow. ‘Soon’s you dive into that blue, blue water, you’ll forget this parched place and everybody here.’
‘Never,’ vowed Teddy. ‘We’re blood sisters, don’t you forget.’
‘Me, I’m not likely to.’
Teddy leaned more heavily into the soapy scrub brush, swishing away the guilt. She had kept in touch with Anita, had written letter after letter — getting Christmas cards in between — promising some day to return to Oklahoma. Then one year there was no Christmas card. None the next year. Nor the next. When had they stopped? Teddy guessed it would have been when she was seventeen. Still, she herself sent cards until one was returned, stamped, ‘Addressee Unknown’. What had she done about going to see Anita. She had never made it to Lion’s Head to visit Wanda either. She was too busy holding down the fort at home until everybody deserted the fort.
Teddy stood and stretched, scrutinizing her work. The room smelled clean. And the floorboards fairly shone, making the blue wallpaper look even more faded. Yes, she should get around to re-papering this room and the hall. Must have been thirty years since the walls had seen any work. The tears welled again. Teddy imagined herself a seventy-year-old woman, alone in a beautifully renovated house. Year after year, Teddy thought, she could do a new, empty room. At this rate, each room would be redecorated four or five times. She stopped herself. Yes, she needed a cup of tea. That would shake her out of this, this … and she had a vacation coming. Mom could do without her. There wasn’t any reason to stay here. God knows what the house would look like if she didn’t get away. Yes, that’s what she would do. She would take a train to Fortun. She would write, first, of course, to the Negro minister and to the school. But even if she didn’t get a response, she would go back.
The tea canister was empty. One of Moira’s chores. The girl had let so many things go at the last minute. Teddy pounded the counter. Her eyes filled again and her hands shook uncontrollably. She gripped the edge of the counter for steadiness. ‘God damn her. God damn that selfish, lying bitch!!’ She felt a little better. ‘It will be all right. I’ll get used to living alone.’ She rummaged around the top shelf for cocoa mix. Ridiculous on a summer morning, but Teddy wanted something reassuring. Just as she stirred the powder into the hot milk, the doorbell rang.
Through the curtains she could see it was Mr Swerington, the mailman, with a package. He smiled broadly when she opened the door. ‘Another present for Miss Finlayson, I suspect.’
Teddy stared at him. Didn’t he understand Moira was gone? There was no more Miss Finlayson. Could she send back the package, ‘Addressee unknown?’ Miss Finlayson had turned into Mrs Girard. ‘Addressee Deceased.’
Mr Swerington regarded her closely and repeated, ‘Package. Can you sign for it, Miss Fielding?’
‘Yes, sir,’ she said reflexively in her Emporium voice. ‘We’ll’ (‘we’ — me and the madwoman?) ‘keep it for her until she returns.’
‘That’s right.’ The mailman smiled again. ‘She’d be on her honeymoon now, wouldn’t she? How was the wedding?’ He waited, then noticing the strain on her face, filled in, ‘Guess all weddings are about the same.’
She nodded coldly. She was truly sorry to be taking it out on Mr Swerington.
‘Almost forgot,’ he said with the cheer of conversations past. ‘You also got a letter from England!’
‘Oh.’ Teddy let in a touch of lightness. ‘Yes.’ She reached for it, as if claiming the only good news that week. ‘Thank you, thank you very much.’ Still, she sounded out of control.
She brought the letter to the kitchen, retrieved her hot chocolate, opened the back door and sat on the top step overlooking the garden. Most of the morning fog had burnt off and she settled comfortably with Anna’s letter.
Dear Teddy and Moira,
How are you? Still there, Moira? I hope this letter will arrive on time to wish you a happy wedding.
No, thought Teddy, this is not what she needed. Maybe she should read it another time. Might as well continue to the end of the page.
And you, Teddy, how do you feel with everyone gone from the nest? I’ve thought about you often this week and hope you won’t be too lonely. I know what lonely is. Even after all this time in London, I often feel abandoned by my family. Strange, isn’t it, since I was the one who decided to come?
Teddy shook her head and sipped the chocolate which was now gooey and lukewarm. The letter would be good for her; how had she considered putting it aside? It was a fine, long letter. Anna was clever about getting so much on a page.
It’s been hard here since VE Day, in some ways harder than during the war. At least then, there was a sense of building to a climax, that we were suffering through something which would end one day. And here it is over, the war in Europe anyway, and we’re still living in rubble and eating ersatz food. Of course people are grateful that their sons aren’t dying and that we’re not likely to be hit by another German missile, but the pain
is more visible in many ways. I guess it’s like how you feel after a long walk — while you’re doing it you may be tired, you may even ache, but you keep moving because you know it will be over. Although there were periods in the last few years when I feared the war might not end, I really knew down deep that it would. And now, after the race, you suffer all the painful bruises.
It’s hard on us at work, now that we are getting reports about the children’s parents. Almost all of them gone. After what these children have endured there will be no home! Will they stay here with the English families? The last word on one girl’s relatives came yesterday. Not only were her parents gassed, but her three aunts and two uncles are gone too. How do the Red Cross people have the stomachs to gather these grisly statistics?
Reuben has lost everyone. He is sure now. And I feel so much responsibility to him. But now he refuses to come to America. What do I do? I love him, however the war has made me challenge so many of my old ideas about love. Feelings can pull you in different directions and the strongest ones at the moment are not always the most important. Do I sound too abstract? Yes, I suppose I am. But even this makes me question my bond to Reuben. Does that make any sense? Maybe I’ll change my mind? Maybe he will change his mind?
One thing I have decided — but don’t tell Papa yet because I haven’t written to him; it seemed easier to tell you first — I have decided to return to California to live on Filbert Street. Teddy, I know this will disappoint you. And I know, I know, Papa drives me crazy. But this war has shown me so many Jewish families torn apart. I can’t bear to perpetuate that. It will be good for Leah to have her grandfather and maybe I can persuade Daniel to move in with us. So this much is decided: Anna and Leah will return in November or December, as soon as we can get a ship.
Teddy stared across the yard to the fence. Anna had to do what was best for her. The neighborhood seemed uncommonly quiet today.
Now that the decision is firm, I have started to think about things I miss from the States. People come first, of course. You, Teddy, and you, Moira, and Wanda and Rachel and the family. And then the food! When I land I’m heading straight for the nearest hamburger and strawberry milkshake. But there are all sorts of ephemeral things — like the sense of humor. The British laugh a lot, I guess, but there’s always an edge to it, an irony, that I never knew in the States. Interesting, but not as silly as American jokes. Ours have more sense of possibility. British jokes are founded on despair disguised as indifference. Sometimes I spend an evening with Mark just laughing and laughing at the British self-importance, laughing at our childhood riddles.
All Good Women Page 44
