Angel's Baby

by Pamela Browning

  “Home pregnancy test kits? Maybe they’re with the baby stuff,” Stuart said, leading the way down an aisle marked Baby.

  He stopped in front of a rack full of pacifiers, baby powder and infant formula, and Angel felt a little thrill at the thought that soon she would be buying these things for her very own baby. The round, angelic faces of the babies on the packages enchanted her with their sweetness and good cheer. Her baby would look like these, she mused, touching a finger to the picture of a blond cherub on a box of disposable diapers. But maybe her baby would have dark hair, like Stuart.

  “The pregnancy test kits must be someplace else,” Stuart said, wandering in another direction. Angel followed, but only after a lingering, longing look at a pair of cunning yellow booties in a cellophane box. She could imagine her baby wearing them, the little legs bicycling energetically, the tiny rosebud mouth emitting gentle coos from time to time.

  “Angel? Here they are,” Stuart called.

  The pregnancy test kits were shelved with the contraceptives. Angel glanced covertly at Stuart, who had bent down to pick up one of the packages from a lower shelf. If he had noticed the company the test kits were keeping, he gave no sign.

  “Hmm...” Stuart said. “There are lots to choose from. I had no idea there was so much variety in these things.”

  “Neither did I,” Angel said. She felt more than slightly embarrassed to be browsing through these products with a man she’d only known for three days.

  Stuart picked up a blue-and-white package and studied the directions. Angel read them over his shoulder, realizing that there were tremendous gaps in her knowledge about such things. Finding out if you were pregnant seemed to involve a bodily process that she would rather not think about in the company of Stuart, and when she realized that the whole procedure would have to be conducted in the drafty outhouse in the presence of its resident spider, she began to think that waiting a week or two after a missed period and making an appointment with a gynecologist was a much more sensible idea.

  “This one has a stick that turns blue if the results are positive. Imagine that!” Stuart said.

  “Let me see,” Angel said. He handed her the package and picked up another one, skimming through the instructions quickly. “Here’s one that gives the results in three minutes and turns green. How long does that one take?”

  “Four minutes,” Angel said. “I think I’d rather see a gynecologist and let a nice nurse take care of all this.” She put the package back on the shelf, ignoring the teenage boy who skulked past, carefully not looking at the vast array of condoms.

  “You might not want to know as soon as you’re pregnant, but what about me?” Stuart said indignantly.

  “What about you, Stuart?” she said evenly.

  “I’ll want to know immediately. In three minutes. Let’s take this one.” He waved the test kit in front of her.

  It was perfectly clear to Angel that Stuart wanted to know as soon as possible when she was pregnant because then he would be free to leave Halos Island. She made a show of arranging the packages on the shelf, making them neat. Should she mention her distaste for the procedure involved? Should she mention the spider in the outhouse?

  “Angel?”

  “I don’t care which one you get. Suit yourself, Stuart. While you’re mulling it over, I’ll be waiting for you in the toothbrush section,” she said, fleeing to the far wall.

  When she had wasted enough time reading the labels of various dental products, she steeled herself to face the inevitable and met Stuart at the checkout counter, where he was in the process of paying for six home pregnancy tests. She thought of pointing out that six was far too many, that one—maybe two—would be plenty. However, for once she didn’t want to think about the pregnancy. All she wanted to do at this point was get on with the wedding.

  The clerk bagged their purchases and, her cheeks burning in embarrassment, Angel preceded an all-too-chipper Stuart out the door.

  “All right. County courthouse, here we come,” Stuart said with an air of lightheartedness that she couldn’t hope to match. Angel wished that she could adopt some of his enthusiasm, but it had turned into a long afternoon, her dress was wilting in the humidity, and a blister was raising on her left heel.

  When they reached the courthouse, they were directed to the marriage license office where a lackadaisical clerk shoved the proper forms across the counter and handed them pens. “Fill in the blanks, sign, and pay the fee. If you wish to be married in the courthouse, you must go next door and request an appointment with the proper person,” she said.

  “Appointment?” Angel said. “No one said anything about an appointment when I inquired about the license.”

  The clerk eyed her balefully. “Key West is a popular place for people to elope, which is why all the people who are qualified to perform the marriage ceremony around here keep real busy. See all these other couples waiting in here? They’re in line ahead of you,” she said.

  A quick survey of the room’s occupants told them that the place was doing a brisk business today. They turned to look at each other at precisely the same moment.

  “I’d better run next door and make the appointment,” Stuart said.

  “Good idea,” she said, glad that she didn’t have to do it. She felt like she was on display here, with several couples standing and sitting around and all of them seemingly interested in her. Or maybe they were interested in Stuart, who was, after all, extremely handsome.

  After Stuart left, Angel ignored the stares of the other couples and bent over the form, diligently filling in the blanks. Current street address. Now that was a toughie. Angel thought of putting “Sail due west for several nautical miles, walk up the dock and past the royal poinciana tree, house is ten paces from the left-hand banyan,” but thought better of it. The clerk did not look like one who would let that pass without making a problem.

  Stuart returned quickly, looking harried.

  “Did you make our appointment?” she asked without looking up.

  “Don’t be disappointed, Angel,” he said soberly, “but there’s no way we’re going to get married today, at least not here. Every time slot is taken.”

  Chapter Five

  They couldn’t possibly postpone the wedding, not during the few days of the month that comprised her most fertile period.

  “We’ll have to go somewhere else, then,” Angel said, starting to feel panicky. She turned to the clerk. “Where else can we be married?”

  The clerk responded in an indifferent drawl. “You can get married right here at the courthouse. If you wait until tomorrow morning, that is.”

  “We can’t. You see, it’s urgent,” Angel said, not thinking.

  The clerk’s mouth formed into an O, and her gaze dropped to the gentle curve of Angel’s abdomen. “I see,” she said, as if she really didn’t.

  “Oh, no,” Angel said unconvincingly, “it’s not like that. I live—I mean, we live—on an island, and we came in on the mail boat, and we have to get back before too late tomorrow, in case Caloosa runs out of food.”

  Stuart, having filled out his form by this time, sized up the situation. “And,” he said, taking Angel’s hand and gazing deeply into her eyes, “we’re very much in love.”

  Angel yanked her hand away. “What we need to know is, where else can we get married without waiting until tomorrow?” She kicked Stuart in the ankle to make him stop looking at her like that.

  “A notary public or a minister can marry you. I heard tell that a captain of a boat can marry you, but probably not the captain of the mail boat,” the woman said.

  Looking more than a little annoyed with the clerk, Stuart shoved a handful of bills across the counter in payment for the license. “Come on, Angel, we’ll find somebody,” he said. He took her hand.

  They were halfway out the door when the clerk called after them. “Hey, you two, don’t you think you’d better wait for your marriage license? It ain’t ready yet, but it will be.”
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  Sheepishly they returned and sat down on the edges of two of the wobbly plastic chairs, enduring the avidly curious glances of the other couples, who had heard the whole conversation. Finally the clerk beckoned Angel over to the counter and handed her the license.

  “Let’s go,” said Stuart, and when he stood up, all six of the home pregnancy test kits fell out of the bag and clattered to the floor. The other couples stared, and one middle-aged woman held a hand to her mouth and tittered.

  Angel fled, leaving Stuart to pick them up and stuff them into the bag.

  Stuart caught up with her in the hallway, but it wasn’t until they were outside the courthouse that they finally dared to look at each other. When she saw the red flush on Stuart’s cheeks, Angel couldn’t help it. She started to laugh.

  He bit his lip, and then he was laughing, too. They laughed together, in a marvelous tension-breaking cascade of mirth that left them gasping so hard that they collapsed onto a nearby bench.

  When he was able, Stuart slid an arm around Angel’s shoulders. “You know what the guy next to me said?”

  “What?”

  “He said, ‘No wonder you’re in a hurry to get married.’”

  “I wonder what he’d say if he knew the truth,” she said, growing somber.

  “I’m never telling anyone the truth.” Stuart said. “I wouldn’t want our baby to learn that his parents didn’t have a real marriage, that it was only a...a...” He couldn’t think of the proper term.

  “A marriage of convenience,” Angel supplied.

  “As far as I’m concerned, we met and married after a whirlwind courtship, and it didn’t work out.”

  Angel met his resolute look with one of her own. “All right,” she said. “I’ll stick to that story, too.”

  They sat quietly for a moment, each lost in thought.

  “You didn’t have to pretend to the clerk that we’re in love,” Angel said after a while.

  “I didn’t like the way she was looking at you.”

  “You mean because I was making such a fool of myself?”

  “No, because you didn’t sound like a woman who is eager to be married. You were putting practical considerations first—like getting back to Halos Island—when what the clerk and everyone else in there wanted to hear was how much we’re in love. The whole world opens its hearts to lovers, you know. I figured that if she thought we were so in love that we couldn’t wait to be married, she’d find a way for us to have the ceremony then and there.”

  “Instead, we’re on our own. So much for the whole world opening its hearts to lovers.” A sudden thought occurred to her. “Stuart, would you mind...that is, would you care if we were married in a church?”

  “No, of course not. Do you have a particular one in mind?”

  “Any one will do. Let’s just get this over with,” she said.

  Stuart stood up. “We’d better look for a church before they all close,” he said, taking her hand in his. This time, holding hands didn’t feel at all unnatural or forced.

  They found a small church on one of the streets frequented by tourists, and the minister happened to be carrying a bag of groceries into the parsonage when they approached him.

  He invited them inside the cool, shadowy house, looked them over carefully, and insisted on conducting a premarital interview in his study. He eased himself onto a bulky leather chair behind a large desk, and they sat on two uncomfortable office chairs, nervous and hardly daring to look at each other.

  “Well,” he said, regarding them affably through thick glasses, “so you’ve decided to get married.”

  Stuart cleared his throat. “Yes,” he said.

  “Have you known each other long?”

  “Long enough to know that this is what we want to do,” Angel said quickly before Stuart could give his version of an answer.

  “Marriage is a big step. People often enter into it ill-advisedly without considering its consequences,” said the minister.

  “Not us,” Stuart said. “We both know what we want. We’ve thought about the consequences in great detail.”

  “Yes,” Angel agreed, and then clamped her mouth shut. She wished they could just be married. She didn’t want to have to explain her reasons. She didn’t want to have to defend her choice.

  “And what exactly is that?” the minister shot back.

  This caught Angel off guard. “What is what?” she blurted out, earning her a sharp look from Stuart.

  “What you want? What you expect?”

  “Children. A happy home,” Angel said helpfully.

  At that moment, three bright-eyed kids popped into the study. “Who’s that?” asked the smallest, a girl.

  “That’s the bride,” the minister said affectionately. The girl climbed on his knee.

  “If there’s a wedding, can we go?”

  “Of course,” the minister said, gently setting the girl down and pushing her toward the door. “Ask your mother to give you some rice for after the ceremony. We’ll want to give this happy couple a nice send-off.”

  “Rice! Rice!” shouted the children, clattering down the hall.

  “Now, where were we?” the minister asked Stuart.

  “My fiancée was just saying how much we want to have children,” Stuart said smoothly.

  “Ah, yes. Children are a great blessing. Well, it’s getting late. Would you prefer to be married in my study or in the sanctuary?”

  “You—you mean you’ll marry us?” Angel stammered.

  “My wife would object. She’d tell you that I’m already married,” he said, smiling benevolently.

  Angel smiled back. So did Stuart.

  “My study or the sanctuary?” prompted the minister.

  “The church,” Angel said. “Stuart, is that okay?”

  He reached for her hand. “Very much okay,” he said reassuringly.

  The church was quiet and smelled of leather-bound hymnals; the late-afternoon sun shone through stained-glass windows to cast rainbow colors across the altar. The best man was the aged custodian, who grinned a big, toothless grin throughout the ceremony and dropped the ring so that it rolled under the first pew. The maid of honor was a plump, florid church member who was in the process of removing old flower arrangements from the altar when pressed into service by the minister, who seemed intent on doing everything just right.

  The maid of honor, a flower enthusiast of the first degree, became indignant at the thought of any bride’s going through the wedding ceremony without a bouquet. She insisted on holding up the ceremony until even the minister was impatiently tapping his foot, while she ventured into the parsonage garden. She eventually emerged with a hastily assembled clump of red hibiscus blossoms, which she shoved unceremoniously into Angel’s hands.

  The wedding drew a few onlookers, such as the man who had been selling Popsicles from a cart, and the minister’s children, who sat quietly in a back pew and stared in awe at Angel in her white dress. At the point in the ceremony where Angel was told to join hands with Stuart, the maid of honor relieved Angel of her bouquet and proceeded to hiccup into it during the rest of the ceremony.

  Angel moved through the ritual as if sleepwalking, saying all the right words, going through all the motions, but oddly enough, she didn’t feel a thing.

  A meaningless ritual, she told herself, that’s all it is. But at the same time she was aware that this wedding bore only a passing resemblance to the wedding she had once wanted to have. In fact, this ceremony put her in mind of a dog-and-pony show. Instead of several bridesmaids for attendants, she had this one slightly dippy lady, and instead of a church full of friends and relatives, there were three children she didn’t know and a Popsicle man. If she’d thought of it, she could have had him supply music, which was sadly lacking. If she remembered correctly from past visits to Key West, his cart played “Waltzing Matilda.”

  Stuart, standing at her side, looked appropriately serious, and he showed a great deal of patience with the poor old c
ustodian when the man dropped the ring. And when he spoke the words “I, Stuart, take thee, Angel,” a shiver coursed through her in spite of her lack of feeling.

  In that moment, she had an inkling of what it would be like to really marry Stuart Adams—to be the one with whom he’d chosen to live his life—and she felt the sudden, unexpected prick of tears behind her eyelids.

  To love somebody for better or worse, for richer and for poorer, in sickness and in health—that was a tall order. As she said the words to him, she was suddenly struck by their import. “As long as we both shall live,” she heard herself say, and then she realized that indeed it was as the minister had said at the beginning of the ceremony: The state of matrimony was not to be entered into lightly, and yet, she saw now, that was exactly what she and Stuart were doing.

  But were they? A baby would result. An honest-to-goodness miracle. There was nothing “lightly” about that.

  “And now,” said the minister, breaking into her reverie, “I pronounce you husband and wife. Sir, you may kiss the bride.”

  In a daze, Angel stared up at Stuart, at his eyes, gone dark with an inexplicable emotion, at his hair, falling so unruly over his forehead.

  Maybe I could love this man, she thought in a moment of pure shock, as his head bent over hers and she raised her lips to his.

  She was taken by surprise by the expression in Stuart’s eyes as he touched his lips to hers, tentatively at first, then more surely. Had the words they’d both spoken affected him as well? He looked so—sad? Confused? Sentimental? All of the above, she thought.

  When they kissed, the children at the back of the church cheered and the maid of honor beamed. And then Stuart released her, and Angel held his eyes for one long moment with her own. The next thing they knew, the minister was shaking their hands, the maid of honor was insisting on hugging Angel, crushing the hibiscus bouquet between them, and the custodian was cackling in toothless glee.