Without stopping to think, Ruby pulled a bright yellow scrub bucket from the narrow linen closet and filled it with water. Forty-five minutes later there was no sign that a man had ever used the bathroom. “And it’s going to stay this way for the next year,” Ruby muttered.
In the kitchen she turned up the radio two decibels. Now she could at least hear the music and commentaries.
“Long live Ruby Blue,” she said, holding her cold coffee cup aloft. “I promise to miss you, Andrew, at least once a day. I also promise to think about you every day. Occasionally, I promise to dream about you, and I will write faithfully. In short, I will keep our home fires burning.” What more could anyone expect of her? What more could she expect of herself?
CHAPTER SIX
As spring rolled into summer, Ruby summed up the time as whizzing by. She watched the trees dress themselves in full regalia as though to shade the tender, budding flowers she planted in front and back of her dreary apartment. The sun shone more brightly, she thought, now that Andrew was gone. One warm, sunny day melted into another. She was happy. She did miss Andrew, but not to the point of crying about it. She kept her word and wrote long, witty letters twice a week and received one in return every three weeks.
She read incessantly—novels, biographies, and every book on child care the library had to offer. When she wasn’t reading, she did her stint for the Captains’ Wives’ Brigade, as it was known to all those who participated, willingly or unwillingly. She learned quickly that she could beg off anything by pleading swollen feet, nausea, or pounding headaches. All ailments were forgivable in her delicate condition. Mostly, she did paperwork, mailings, filing, and a limited amount of bookkeeping, all projects she could do in the evening when she was alone.
She ate well, perhaps too well. By her seventh month she’d gained forty-two pounds. She put herself on a diet, for the baby’s sake, and started to eat more nutritious foods, although on Sundays she splurged and ate an entire pound of homemade fudge.
Nearly everything Ruby did was for the baby’s sake. Be it a boy or a girl she carried deep in her belly, this baby would be hers alone by right of birth. It would always be a part of her and it would never want to leave her. Never, ever.
In addition to writing letters to Andrew, she often spent time writing to Nola’s mother, Mabel McIntyre, and Janet Query. She also wrote letters to her sisters, but she never mailed them. In the evenings, when it was cool, she worked in the spare room that was to be the nursery. Now she was hand-painting nursery rhymes on a three-foot-high border that circled the small room, as Dixie had done. She’d already bought a used crib and rocking chair, and had stripped off their thick coats of paint, then primed them and added a sparkling white patina. Tonight she was going to sit in the rocking chair and sew the binding on a crib quilt she’d made by hand. It had taken her two full weeks to paint the walls and ceiling because her arms ached and she tired easily, but it was finished now. In the center of the room was a rug she’d braided that was so colorful, she wondered if it would keep the baby awake. She’d taken pot luck when she bought the bag of rags and had no choice but to use them. Once she finished the quilt she had only to mend the tears in the curtains she’d bought at a moving sale. The room would be finished in time for the baby’s arrival.
At first, she’d wanted to put the crib in her own bedroom, but when she had mentioned it to Andrew, he’d written back so quickly, she’d been stunned. No, no, no, he’d written. Babies need their own rooms, and I do not, I repeat, Ruby, I do not want the kid in our room. She’d thought about it a lot and finally decided Andrew had a point. She would sleep in the baby’s room on a quilt, but just in the beginning, until she was certain he would be all right throughout the night. Besides, she would have to nurse him, and what if she didn’t hear his tiny cries? It was settled. What Andrew didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. By the time Andrew returned home, she’d be back in their room.
Since Andrew had gone, she’d managed to save one hundred twenty-five dollars, and she wanted to buy herself a car now that she had her driver’s license so she would be able to get around after the baby arrived. The only problem was she knew nothing about cars other than that they ran on gas. She’d written Admiral Query and asked him how she should go about buying a car and what it was she should look for. Instead of answering her letter, he arrived in person a week later and took her to Havelock, where she purchased a Ford that the salesman said was driven only to church on Sunday. A Baptist church, he’d clarified. The admiral had looked under the hood and pronounced that it looked as if what the salesman said was true. He himself had changed the oil, filled the tires with air, and washed the car before he said it was fit for her to sit in. Sit in it she did, sometimes for as long as an hour or until her belly got in the way of the steering wheel. Of late, Admiral Query had acted almost like a father to her. One of these days she had to think of something nice to do for him and his wife.
The car would open up the world to her. She could drive around and see things she’d only been hearing about. She could picnic with the baby in the spring and do just about anything she felt like doing. There were days now, Ruby thought, when she felt as if she lived in a cocoon. Still, she was enjoying her life and her second shot at independence. And she wasn’t faltering, except that she occasionally found herself thinking of Calvin. She wondered where he was and what he was doing. Amber hadn’t written for so long, and the last letter had no news of him. She daydreamed about what she imagined she had missed by not marrying him. She knew she had to, as Andrew would say, put a lid on it. She thought it harmless enough in the beginning, but as the days rolled along, she found herself carrying on imaginary conversations with him. She knew she had to stop before she started to lose touch with reality. Once again, by sheer will alone, she buried Calvin Santos deep in the recesses of her mind.
She was waiting. It seemed to Ruby that all her life, until now, had been spent waiting for one thing or another.
Ruby sat on her canvas chair with her feet propped on a wooden crate. Overhead, a mass of gray-black clouds scudded back and forth in an angry formation, as though they couldn’t make up their mind which way to go. In the distance she could hear an ominous roll of thunder. A storm, one the radio said was to be the worst of the summer, was due to pelt the area with heavy rain by late afternoon. The brisk breeze gave way to a strong wind. A vicious bolt of lightning ripped across the sky, directly in Ruby’s line of vision, but she didn’t move until she saw a third bolt streak down to the open field to the left of the base. She thought she could smell the scorched earth and burnt grass. The area was too open for her to be comfortable outdoors now. Inside, she could curl up on the sofa and open the drapes if she wanted to watch the onslaught that was due any second. Obviously the weatherman was off schedule. It was just a little past noon.
Ruby walked around to the front of the apartment. She thought she heard Penny Galen’s car, which meant she would have Ruby’s mail, something she volunteered to deliver now that she was in her last days of her pregnancy.
“There you are! I was just going to knock on your door. You do have a load of mail today, Ruby,” Penny said, handing over occupant letters and requests for donations that came in crisp, crackly envelopes. Penny had just had her hair done, Ruby decided, and the strong wind was making more of a mess of it. Secretly, she would have given up her Sunday fudge allotment to know how any beautician could allow a girl as pretty as Penny to walk out of her salon looking as if she’d stuck both thumbs in a light socket.
“You better get indoors before this wind ruins your do,” Ruby said hastily. “Thanks for bringing my mail.”
“Ruby, are you okay? I know you have only a few days to go. You have my phone number, don’t you? Dave or I will be glad to take you to the hospital when it’s time.” She sounded so sincere that Ruby nodded.
It was dark as the inside of a vault now, Ruby thought as she hurried up the walk to her apartment. Inside, she turned on all the lights and opened
the drapes. The weatherman might be early, but he was right about the intensity of the storm. She was glad that she lived in the concrete housing unit. The rain, when it came, slashed and tore at the windows, pounding down on her walkway with such force, Ruby cowered deep into her corner of the sofa. Five minutes later the power went off and she was up again, looking for candles. The letters she’d been holding dropped to the floor. She hissed in irritation as she set the candle on the end table. There was no way she could bend over, and if she did, she might not be able to get back up. She felt like a baby walrus as she struggled to flip the letters, one by one, with the tip of her shoe so that she could bend sideways to pick them up.
What seemed like a long time later, Ruby flopped down on the couch, her breathing ragged, her stomach cramping with her struggles. Penny was right, she did have a lot of mail. Her eyes widened when she saw Amber’s return address had changed. She smiled at the name Mabel McIntyre on the second. She felt faint when she saw Opal’s name on the third; Ruby opened it.
Opal’s letter was a single page, expertly typed. The return address was for an apartment on Connecticut Avenue in Washington, D. C.
Dear Ruby,
I couldn’t believe it when I met Mrs. McIntyre and she asked me if I was related to you and Amber. She gave me your address. Gosh, Ruby, I thought I’d never hear from you again. And you’re married. I’m real happy for you. I almost took a fit right there in front of her when she told me Amber had a baby and that you’re expecting one, too. I was an aunt and didn’t even know it. I hope you’re happy, Ruby. I know Amber isn’t; she doesn’t know how to be happy. She wrote home a lot at first, but Pop sent the letters back. After a couple of months, she stopped writing. Please write and tell me how she is and if she had a boy or a girl.
Grace Zachary and Paul moved to Pittsburgh. He got a promotion and a new store. People said she was pregnant when she left, but maybe that was just a rumor. People never said nice things about the Zacharys. I loved them both. Grace helped Mom a lot. Me, too.
Mom is okay. What that means is she’s Mom. I think she had tears in her eyes the day I left, but they might have been my own. She didn’t kiss me good-bye or anything, and Pop, he just dumped me on the train and walked away. I don’t miss either one of them, and for sure I don’t miss Barstow.
I lived at the YWCA like you did for a while and then I moved into this apartment with four other girls. Ruby, it is so wild, I can’t tell you. It’s so much fun. We’re all slobs, and none of us can cook worth a darn, but we’re surviving just fine.
I think I sort of have a boyfriend. My boss is a major, and his brother is at Annapolis, and he came down over the 4th of July and he introduced me. His name is Bill Barton and he’s a third classman. He writes to me and everything. He looks real spiffy in his dress uniform. Boy, is he a good kisser. Midshipmen call their dates drags. Did you ever hear of anything so silly? I like him a lot.
I don’t think there’s any way you could know about Pop’s accident, so I’ll tell you. Maybe you aren’t interested and don’t care, but I have to fill up this page. That day he came back from Washington a couple of years ago was when it happened. Mom said he went over to help Grace do something, and this big pot of grape jelly fell off the stove, right down his stomach and between his legs. Lordy, lordy, lordy. He was in the hospital for a long time and had some kind of operation that didn’t work. He has to wear some kind of gadget to pee. No one told me this. I saw Mom cleaning it one day and put two and two together. He walks kind of funny, too. He’s still mean and nasty. Sometimes weeks went by and he wouldn’t say two words. Bet you don’t care about any of this.
There was holy hell to pay when Bubba’s will was read. In her will she said your debt was wiped clean, but I know you still send your money. I pay mine, too. I’m not going back, not even for Christmas. I’m going to send Mom a present but I’m not buying one for Pop.
Uncle John and Hank really missed you. I went over on the sneak to say good-bye. It doesn’t seem the same without Bubba. Uncle Hank said they’re thinking about selling the house. Won’t that be awful?
That’s my news, Ruby. Oh, how I missed you when you left. I think I cried every night. I did what you did and ditched my Bible on the train. You want to hear something real kooky? I even miss Amber.
Please write to me and let’s not lose track of each other. If you have Amber’s address, send it to me so I can write to her. We only have each other. I want to know I have two sisters and where they are. I love you, Ruby, and I think about you every day.
Your sister,
Opal
Ruby wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “I’ve missed you, too, Opal,” she whispered. “Someday I’ll tell you how much.”
Ruby folded the short note and returned it to the envelope. She couldn’t help but wonder if Opal had been the recipient of the “petty cash award.” Opal would have mentioned it. She laughed then until she had to hold her stomach—Opal involved with a midshipman who was a great kisser.
Mabel McIntyre’s letter was a paragraph saying she’d taken the liberty of giving Ruby’s address to Opal and expressed the hope that it was the right thing to do. She said she was looking forward to cooler weather and to drop her a line and to be sure to let her know when the baby arrives.
The envelope from Amber was like a lead weight in her hand. Perhaps she shouldn’t open it. On the other hand, there might be a picture of Amber’s little girl inside. She only had one other picture of her niece, one taken at the baby’s christening, but the infant had so many clothes on, it was impossible to see anything but the tiny pinched face, so like Amber’s.
She squirmed about on the couch, trying to get comfortable, but the nagging cramping in her stomach was getting worse. If she lay flat, she’d get heartburn. If she stood up, her back would ache. If she kept on sitting the way she was, she wouldn’t be able to straighten up. “Damn, Ruby, just be still and open the stupid letter,” she muttered to herself.
Outside, the storm raged, but Ruby was oblivious of it as she read.
Dear Ruby,
Nangi has prodded me for weeks now, asking if I’ve answered your last letter. He really gets after me when I don’t do things as quick as he thinks I should.
In my last letter to you I asked you what you thought of the name I gave the baby, and you didn’t respond. I think Angela is a lovely name, and, of course, we call her Angel. You’re still thinking like you did when we lived in Barstow. That’s behind us now. Grow up, Ruby. If you didn’t like the name, you should have said so.
Our weather has been warm and sunny, but we have days when it literally steams. I keep the baby in a diaper and that’s all. She has prickly heat, but baby powder helps.
I had a letter from Ethel, and she said to tell you congratulations on your marriage. She said Andrew was a handsome devil and hopes you are happy. She’s getting married in October to a farmer from Montana.
Nangi had a letter from Calvin, and he sent a picture of his new son. I’m sending it in this letter, but send it back. Nangi is forever pasting pictures in albums. He’s so family-oriented, he makes me want to scream sometimes. Anyway, about Calvin, I know you’re just dying to know what he’s up to. He is up, I can tell you that. He’s probably flying by now. You know, one of those hotshot glamour boys. He said in his letter he had no intention of spending his career shuffling papers in some dull administration job, so he put in for flight school and I guess he was accepted. Nangi was vague on the details. I think the reason he did it was because the promotions in administration are about nonexistent. Nangi is very proud of him. He didn’t ask about you. He said his wife is a good mother. If you ask me, she looks like his grandmother. Calvin’s, not the kid’s.
I’m pregnant again. At first I couldn’t believe it. Nangi is so happy. He wants nine kids, his own baseball team. He’s so silly.
I don’t have any more news now. Things are quiet over here, not like back home.
Don’t forget to write when you h
ave the baby, and be sure to send a picture so Nangi can paste it in his book. I have to go now. Angel’s crying for her afternoon juice.
Your sister,
Amber
Ruby held the pictures near the candle flame. Angel was a cherub of a baby with licorice-dark hair. She was too fat and had a double chin. Ruby frowned. Amber and Nangi were both slight and slim. The little girl resembled a roly-poly ball. Cute, she decided. She sucked in her breath before she held up the other picture. The child looked to be about two months old. He wasn’t sweet at all, and he didn’t look particularly clean. She stared at the picture for a long time, wondering why the infant’s hair grew straight in the air like a porcupine’s. He had Calvin’s eyes. Calvin’s dark hair. He looked to be long rather than round, covered as he was in a long dress that was rolled up at the sleeves. She saw one tiny foot peeking out from under the hem. Calvin’s baby. For one brief second she felt smug at the baby’s appearance, then shame rippled through her.
The blind love and loyalty she felt for Calvin surfaced. “I’m sure he’s a beautiful baby, Calvin, and I’m sure you love him dearly,” Ruby whispered. Tears of frustration burned her eyes. She had to stop dwelling on Calvin and his new family. Amber wasn’t worth thinking about. Amber was still as bitchy as ever.
It was time to put a new candle in the holder, but Ruby was reluctant to move from the nest she’d created in the corner of the couch. She realized she felt awful. She should have walked today, at least up and down the street. Lack of exercise must be the reason for the crampiness she was experiencing. Maybe she should eat something. The candle was starting to sputter, the acrid smell of the smoke circled her.
Seasons of Her Life Page 28
