Cross of Ivy

by Roxi Bahar Hewertson

“Atta boy, Tommy.” Zach winked and turned away from them to rub up against his adoring fans. Abby fumed. She was ready to bolt when Tommy interrupted her rising fury.

  “Are you hungry, thirsty? Punch? Beer?”

  “I don’t drink, at least I never have, and I’m not sure I even want to stay, Tommy. I feel really out of place here,” Abby said.

  “Oh, you can’t go.” There was desperation in his voice. “I can’t let you do that. It’d spoil everything. C’mon, Abby, we’ll have fun, really. How ‘bout I show you around the house and introduce you to some of the other guys?” Tommy was almost frantic.

  “I’ll stay awhile, but I don’t want to dance with that guy, okay?”

  “Hey, sure, whatever you want. He’ll prob’ly forget anyhow, after a few more beers. Ha.” He laughed a little nervous laugh, the kind that gets stuck in your throat.

  The band was rockin’ and rollin’ with a bass so strong that the floorboards trembled under the feet of the crowd. There were a few who were gyrating to the music as though they were making love standing up. Smoke filled the room from hundreds of cigarettes smoldering in ashtrays and dangling from the fingers and lips of the revellers.

  Abby edged her way toward a window, exhausted after non-stop dancing. Tommy offered her a cigarette and another cup of punch. The vodka was well hidden in the grape juice. She took them both, wanting to fit in, look right. Though she gagged and coughed, the high from the nicotine hitting her lungs gave her a rush she’d never felt before. Dizziness came over her, and she nearly toppled over. Tommy caught her and took advantage of the moment to squeeze her buttocks and hold her to him. She could smell his sweat, acrid and wet, as it rubbed off on her dress. She pushed him away.

  “Tommy, what are you doing? Stop that!” she said with all the indignation she could muster.

  “Just keepin’ you on your feet, doll. I mean, you have had quite a few cups of punch.”

  “What do you mean? I thought the punch wasn’t...”

  “Spiked? Well, maybe just a little. There’s no harm. You’re havin’ a good time, right?”

  “I better go.” Abby turned to leave, but someone grabbed her arm and pulled her back. “Tommy, let me go. I want to...”

  Tommy was nowhere in sight. Looming above her was the one person she didn’t want to see. He had a firm hold on her arm.

  “Where you goin’ so fast, little lady?” Zach was still grinning; the spider and the fly. She was trapped.

  “I need to get home.” Abby’s eyes flashed with anger and determination. She’d walk home; it wasn’t far.

  “I’ll walk you home, c’mon.” He guided her through the wall-to-wall bodies out to the porch. Everyone he brushed by slapped him on the back. “Way to go, Z,” they all said.

  The night air hit her hard. “I think I’d better sit down for a minute.” Abby said as much to herself as to the quarterback. She needed time to get her feet to work right again.

  “You can sit yourself right down here. There’s a bench in the yard.” Zach pointed and directed her, while holding onto her arm. They sat down on a cool stone bench beside some bushes.

  “Thanks. I think the smoke got to me. Tommy lied to me about the punch, too,” Abby said.

  “Yeah, Tommy can be a wild man. But I’m here now, so you don’t have to worry no more. Trust me, Sugar.” Zach’s friendliness caught her off guard.

  “I think I better go,” Abby said as she started to stand up.

  “You promised me a dance, remember? Now you wouldn’t back down on a promise, would ya?” Zach said.

  “Tommy promised, not me.”

  “Now listen to that sweet music. One little dance out here under the stars won’t hurt.” A slow country ballad floated out the open windows as he spoke. He reached around her, helping her up and didn’t wait for an answer.

  They danced under a hazy half-moon in the grass. Abby felt a little silly, but Zach’s strength and closeness wiped out any resolve she might have had. They swayed together. He edged her closer with each beat and began his customary deep breathing. Her breasts pressed against his shirt, her head rested midway down his chest. Dancing on her toes, she reached up for him, and he leaned to encase her in his arms.

  She hadn’t been so close to any boy since Wills left her at the curb that night. Wills. Abby pulled away just as the music ended. “I really have to go now.”

  “That’s fine, Sugar. I’ll walk you back.”

  “It’s Abby, and I’ll be fine, really. Thanks for the dance and the help. I’ve gotta go.” Abby edged away, looking down the street.

  Zach seemed surprised. “Listen, Cinderella. It’s not all that safe for a girl to walk alone this late. There are a lot of parties goin’ on and a lot of happy fellas wanderin’ around in the dark.”

  “All right. I never really thought about it before. I only live about six blocks from here.”

  “You don’t live on campus?”

  “No. I live with my family, at least this year. It’s so close, it seems stupid to pay for a dorm room.” They started walking.

  “I’m from Hammond. I couldn’t have lived at home anyway. I mean, I wouldn’t have wanted to.” Zach’s face clouded over. “So, tell me, is Tommy gonna get another date, or do you want to go out with me?”

  “Well, I mean, I don’t think Tommy. No, Tommy and I won’t be going out again.” It bothered Abby that this boy always seemed one step ahead of her. She let the second question dangle in the crisp night air.

  “How ‘bout next week then? I’ll pick you up around seven, and we can go to the Arcadian and then maybe back to the House later.”

  “I don’t know.” Abby paused. “Yeah, why not? Why shouldn’t I?” She did this as much to herself as to him. Abby liked to ruminate and ponder all sides to a question.

  They reached her house and walked to the front steps. Abby turned her back to the house, blocking his way. The porch light was on, but the house was mostly dark. Everyone would be asleep by now, except Mama, who might be dozing, not quite asleep, with a book in her lap. Abby would have to go in and kiss her goodnight before her mother could finally drop off for the night.

  “Good. See you next week, then.” Zach acted like he wasn’t going to leave.

  “Yeah, okay. Thanks for the walk home,” she said from the top step.

  “Yeah. No problem. See ya.” Zach smiled up at her, took the cue, and sauntered back the way they came, taking the walkway in only three or four strides.

  Abby put her key in the lock, let herself in and switched off the porch light.

  “Is that you, Abby?” she heard her mother call out.

  “Yes, Mama. I’m home,” Abby said in a loud whisper, trying not to wake her grandparents.

  “Come sit with me for a minute,” Mary said. Abby knew she looked a little wilted and probably smelled like smoke, but she couldn’t refuse her mother.

  “Hi there. Have a nice time?” Mary sat up in bed and looked at her, observing every detail.

  “It was okay, I guess.” Abby hesitated, knowing she had to tell her more, but choosing her words carefully.

  “I lost my date in the crowd somewhere, and another guy walked me home, which was real nice. And he asked me out for next weekend, and I said yes before I knew it, and anyway he’s the quarterback on the football team, that Zach Trudeau guy.” She took a deep breath.

  “I’m glad someone walked you home, sweetheart. You know you should call me if you need a ride, and I’ll come get you. Where does this boy come from?”

  “Hammond. I guess his daddy is a big oil man or somethin’, and anyway he’s real tall and girls are always falling all over him, but he wanted to go out with me, so why not, right? I mean Wills has somebody else now, and he’s never called, has he?” Abby felt a little rebellious. After all, she was in college, and she hadn’t really done anything bad on purpose.

  “I see. Well, where is this boy planning to take you?” Mary asked, more awake now and very curious. “I’d like to meet him firs
t.”

  “Out dancing, I guess. Oh, Mama, you know I’ll make him come in first. Don’t worry so much,” Abby said as she leaned over to kiss her mother goodnight.

  “Good.” Mary hesitated before she went on. “Abby?”

  “Yes, Mama?”

  “Wills called while you were out.” Mary watched Abby’s face blush crimson.

  “Oh, really?” Abby asked and looked at the floor.

  “He wanted to talk to you, seemed very upset when I told him you were out at a party.”

  “I doubt he was too upset. He already has a new girl. I don’t want to talk to him, Mama, not now, not ever.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. And I don’t want to talk about him anymore. It’s over; it’s history. Goodnight, Mama.”

  Mary took her daughter’s face in her hands. “Goodnight, sweetheart. Sleep well.”

  “I’ll try.” Abby kissed her mother’s cheek, rose from the edge of the bed and walked down the hall to her room. As she lay under her blankets looking out her open windows, her throat felt tight, and a single tear leaked onto her pillow. Forget Wills, he doesn’t love me, he doesn’t care, she said to herself. She forced her thoughts to Zach and wondered why he seemed to want her. More curious was the possibility that she wanted him.

  CHAPTER 19

  Abby spied a long rectangular box on the top shelf as she was searching through her mother’s closet, looking for something to wear on her first date with Zach. She stood on her toes, barely able to get a hand on the edge of it. Three tries later, it jiggled free from its resting place and fell unceremoniously to the floor. The lid was taped shut.

  She peeled the hardened yellow cellophane tape from the cardboard, and lifted the lid. A sudden rush of guilt flooded through her. Frank and Mary’s daughter felt like she had seen a ghost when she stared down at her mother’s wedding dress. Her breathing became shallow, and for a moment, she could not move. She gingerly touched the tissue paper and then the lace, feeling the material and smelling the musty memories that were not hers. Abby looked at her mother’s side table and at the picture of her parents, he in his uniform and she in that dress.

  As if in a trance, Abby lifted the dress from the worn box and held it next to her body. She moved in slow motion to the mirror. It was so simple and beautiful. Abby flopped down on the bed and stared back at herself with glassy eyes.

  Mary appeared at the bedroom door.

  “What are you doing, Abby?” Mary looked stricken. Abby jumped. Her spell broken, she turned to her mother but couldn’t speak. “Abby. I said, what are you doing?”

  “ I’m sorry, Mama. I was just looking for a sweater to wear, and I opened this by accident. It’s so beautiful. I didn’t know. I’m really sorry. I’ll put it back, I promise.” Abby fumbled with the dress and tried to fold it the way it had been.

  Mary breathed deeply and sat next to her daughter on the bed and placed her arm around Abby.

  “It’s okay, Abby. It’s just that I haven’t looked at that dress since you were born.” Her eyes filled with tears. “This dress...well, just too many memories, that’s all.”

  “Oh, Mama.” Abby hugged her mother. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know it was in the box. I shouldn’t have.”

  “It’s not your fault,” Mary sniffed. “Maybe it’s time I really packed it away.” It was almost as if Mary were talking to herself, thinking out loud. She took the dress from Abby. “I think I’ll just pack it in one of our old trunks. I needn’t throw it out, but I don’t need to look at it anymore.”

  “I think that’s a good idea, Mama. I really do.” Abby was relieved but left with a sense of uneasiness. She didn’t know why. “I guess you wouldn’t want me to wear it then, I mean if I ever, that is, if anybody ever asks me again.”

  Mary paused and seemed to be looking far away. “No, Abby, you’ll never wear this dress. No one will ever wear it again.”

  Eager to change the subject, Abby said, “Well, I still have a sweater problem. Could I wear your pale green one, you know, the one with the pearl buttons on the front, the one that’s so soft?”

  “I’ll look for it. I still can’t believe you’re wearing my clothes. Pretty soon I’m going to have to face the fact that you are all grown up, huh?” Her face relaxed slightly.

  “I am eighteen, Mama.” Abby kissed her mother’s cheek. “Gotta go get ready. Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Oh, yes, I’ll be fine. You run along, I’m fine, really.”

  Abby disappeared in a blur. It wasn’t because her daughter was moving so fast, but because the tears in Mary’s eyes had come on again so suddenly. The sweet English voice of Miss Watkins, or was it Winston, no, Wiggins, that was it, and the feel, the smell of that dress shop, bombarded her senses. More than mere lace and fading threads lay in her hands. Her wedding dress and a small black and white picture in a silver frame were all she had left of the happiest moment of her life. She closed her eyes, and back through the looking glass she fell.

  Reverend Appenowich began, “In times like these, we are all blessed to witness the coming together of two of our own who are to be joined today in the holy sacrament of marriage. Francis and Mary symbolize life, love, and duty to God and country. Let us pray that they will always feel what they feel today....”

  Frank stood tall in his full dress uniform with his Navy Cross proudly displayed on the left lapel. Mary wore flowers in her hair and the delicate lacy white dress she had found in a basement dressmaker’s shop.

  Finding it had seemed magical to her. Something had guided her steps as she stumbled upon the shop and the dress.

  The little sign out front, cracked and faded from the weather, hung precariously from two tiny chains. The steps down to the lowest level of the old brownstone were steep. On either side of the door, wide, dusty shop windows held colorful material, hatboxes and bolts of cloth waiting to be fashioned into magnificent creations. Mary was drawn to the shop, as though by mythical sirens. In an instant she was descending the stairs, guided by the uncertain rusty railing.

  Above the door, on an ancient bracket, a bell tinkled as the door opened. The smell of perfume, perhaps, or some combination of sweet, thick flowery scents wafted through the door. There were trays of blue, brown and rose colored bottles, stacks of soaps, and body splashes behind the heavy mahogany counter.

  Dozens of wrapped yard goods lay across a sidewall, like dominos ready to fall with the slightest provocation. And in the back corner, tucked in an alcove, a few completed dresses and a man’s suit hung on a wooden dowel. One of the dresses caught her eye. Mary looked around the shop. No one was there. She moved toward the dress, touched it, and lifted it off its resting place.

  “Good day, Missy. Bloody shame about that dress,” said a plump, fiftyish woman with gnarled fingers as she appeared from behind the curtain that hung between the main shop area and the back room.

  Mary turned suddenly to the voice. Only because the curtain was still rippling from the overhead rod did Mary believe the woman had not simply materialized.

  Mary gasped in surprise. “Oh, hello. I didn’t see... I mean, I didn’t mean to bother...it’s just so pretty. I’m sorry.”

  “Not at all dear. Right nice young couple, too. But, war has ‘urt us all, ‘adn’t it? She was so pretty in it, too. Tiny little thing. Won’t be needin’ it now. Such a pity. Lost her intended in this bloody war.” The woman cocked her head a little to the right. “American, eh?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Stationed at the base, but I’m getting married in a few days, and I really need a wedding dress, if I can find one on such short notice.”

  “Well, go on then, Missy. Try it on. Looks like it’d fit you just right, it does.”

  “It’s all right then? It seems such a coincidence that it might fit.” Mary beamed as she held it up to her body.

  “I say, no such thing as coincidence. Go on, try it. I ‘ave a changing room back ‘ere, real private like. Just push the boxes out of the way,” the w
oman said as she waved her hand at the curtain.

  Mary’s cheeks glowed like a sun-kissed peach, and within a few moments she had stripped off her uniform and was sliding into lace and taffeta.

  A perfect fit. Mary turned around over and over again, looking at her image in the dusty mirror, making sure. There was every reason to buy it, but she felt odd about its unfortunate circumstances. Silly. It was meant to be hers somehow. How else could she explain finding the shop, the fit, everything?

  Miss Marjorie Wiggins, dressmaker and shop owner, coaxed Mary into telling her all the plans for the wedding, about Frank and where they were from. Not too many Americans had been in her shop lately, in fact, none. But it wasn’t her first time; she was clear about that.

  “I was quite familiar with an American colonel once, I was. And there was the time one of the royal family sent a lady in waiting to buy some fine Shetland wool for a visiting American poet. But not now, no, it’s been quite a spell since I ‘ad the pleasure.” This was a well-oiled story to be sure, but she cut it short and turned her attention to her customer.

  “I say, it must be ever so difficult to be a nurse in times like these,” said Miss Wiggins with a slight cockney lilt. It was neither upper class English nor kitchen cockney. Whatever her accent, Mary enjoyed listening to her talk and responded as though Miss Wiggins and she had been friends for years.

  “It’s the boys, they’ve lost so much—sometimes legs or arms or worse, and when they have no one at home who really cares, well, it makes it hard to smile sometimes. But smile you must, right? ‘Specially on your weddin’ day. And you’re surely ‘avin’ pictures, aren’t you, luv?” the wizened woman asked.

  “I hadn’t thought. I was planning to do that when we got home and when we get married again in our church. But you’re right, we should have pictures,” Mary said.

  “Good. Now, ‘ave you planned anything for your ‘air? A lady should wear flowers in ‘er ‘air on her weddin’ day.”

  “No, I guess I didn’t think of a lot of things—it’s all happening so fast. What should I do?” Mary asked.