The Stolen Marriage

by Diane Chamberlain

  “Oh!” I suddenly remembered the name of the attorney Franklin Carver had mentioned in the case against that interracial couple. “Dare?” I asked. “The man prosecuting your friend Gaston?”

  He looked impressed. “Very observant!” he said. “Yes, Byron Dare. The district attorney and a big name in Hickory. My father was also a big name, being the owner of Kraft Furniture. Violet and I have known each other since we were children, so it was always assumed we would marry. I never did give her much encouragement, though.”

  “The engagement ring.” I looked down at the enormous diamond on my finger. “Did you buy this for her?” I felt sorry for Violet. I didn’t even know her, yet I regretted hurting her.

  He shook his head. “It was my grandmother’s. I was saving it for the right girl.” He smiled at me as though I were that girl, but there was a hollowness in that smile. How could there not be?

  “They’re not going to like me,” I said. “Your family. Everyone in Hickory.”

  “Oh, they’ll like you well enough once they get to know you.”

  “You don’t even know me,” I said.

  He smiled again. “You do have a point,” he said. Then he reached across the table to cover my hand with his good right hand. “We’ll take things one step at a time,” he said. “You’ll settle in just fine. We’ll have a healthy son or daughter. We’ll move into a beautiful house. I look forward to showing you the plans and the lot where it will be built. I hope you like plenty of trees.” He gave my hand a squeeze. “Be strong now, Tess, all right?”

  I smiled. His words were kind and encouraging and I did feel stronger, hearing them.

  “All right,” I agreed. “I’ll certainly try.”

  * * *

  I took a bath in the roomy tub of the hotel’s honeymoon suite. I’d felt less nervous the night we’d made love in Washington. I’d been too tipsy that night to worry about anything. Tonight, though, was different. I felt as though my whole marriage, my whole future rested on this night. Henry and I needed to grow close. We needed to be lovers. Sober, attentive, caring lovers. My heart pounded at the thought. I wished I felt more of an attraction to him. Would lovemaking feel different to me now? Would it hurt less? Was I going to break down after it was over because it was Henry I was married to and not Vincent?

  Gina had given me a beautiful blue satin negligee when I first got engaged to Vincent and I put it on once I got out of the tub. I studied myself in the mirror. I’d taken my hair out of its bun and victory roll and the moist air of the bathroom had made it wild with waves that spilled over my shoulders. Tendrils of it curled at my temples, and I tried to smooth it into submission with my hands. Where the negligee fell over my breasts, I could see the curve of my nipples. I shut my eyes. I felt naked. How was I going to get through this? I thought about my mother. What had her wedding night been like? Had she been nervous? We’d never had a chance to talk about that sort of thing and now we never would. Tears stung my eyes and I blinked them away. I couldn’t let myself think about my mother tonight.

  I drew in a long breath, turned out the light, and left the bathroom.

  Henry was propped up in the bed wearing blue pin-striped pajamas, a book open on his lap. He smiled at me. “You look lovely,” he said.

  “Thank you.” I slipped into the bed next to him. My hands and feet felt ice-cold.

  “Your hair is quite remarkable,” he said.

  I wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or not. Not everyone found thick, wild black hair attractive. I would pretend he meant the comment in a positive light.

  “Thank you,” I said again.

  He lifted the book a few inches. “I like to read in bed,” he said. “Do you?”

  “Yes,” I said. I’d read in bed since I was old enough to turn the pages.

  “Do you have a book with you?” he asked.

  I nodded.

  “Why don’t you get it?”

  I hesitated. This was hardly what I’d expected on my wedding night, but I got out of bed and walked barefoot over to my suitcase. I hadn’t bothered to unpack anything other than my negligee and toiletries, knowing I’d be moving into Henry’s house the following day. I reached beneath a stack of clothes for the Agatha Christie novel I’d been attempting to read over the last few nerve-racking days. I returned to the bed, propped my pillow behind me, and the two of us read for the next twenty or thirty minutes. Or at least Henry read. I stared at the pages but couldn’t concentrate. I wanted to get this night over with.

  “Ready for lights out?” Henry finally asked.

  “Yes,” I said, setting my book on the night table and switching off the lamp.

  “Good night,” he said. A soft glow from the streetlights filled the room and I saw him roll away from me, pulling the blanket up to his neck. I was mystified. Mystified and horribly alone. I stared at the dark ceiling. Was he angry? Or was it the baby? Did the thought of making love to a pregnant woman disturb him? I rested my hand on my stomach. I felt the unmistakable swelling of my belly, and I smiled to myself in the darkness. I was not alone after all. I would never be alone again.

  18

  During our quiet breakfast in the hotel restaurant the following morning, dozens of questions ran through my mind. I wanted to find a way to ask him why he hadn’t touched me the night before, yet I couldn’t imagine a more awkward question to ask of a man I barely knew. I played with how to word it, but every combination of syllables seemed like a minefield. I had no idea how he would react or if he’d grow defensive. He didn’t seem angry in the least, but he was closed up this morning, preoccupied, barely touching his breakfast, his jaw tight. When I would catch his eye, he’d smile at me, but return his gaze to his untouched food or the window. Anywhere but my face.

  “You’re very quiet this morning,” I said finally.

  He gave me a weak smile. “I’m thinking about taking you home,” he admitted. “About Mama and Lucy. I’m trying to figure out how to make an awkward situation easiest for all three of you.”

  “Ah,” I said, pleased to finally know what was going through his head. “How can I help?” I asked. “I promise to be on my best behavior.”

  “Just try to endure them,” he said. He gave me that anemic smile again. “And whatever you do, don’t mention the baby.”

  “Of course not.” I could tell he was genuinely anxious and it made me feel sympathetic toward him. Maybe that had been the problem the night before: he couldn’t stop worrying about today. “It will be all right,” I reassured him. Most people liked me. I couldn’t think of anyone who didn’t, for that matter, except perhaps that Jeanetta Gill, and she didn’t know me. I determined to win his mother and sister over.

  * * *

  If I hadn’t truly realized I was marrying into money, I knew it the moment we turned into the driveway of the house in the beautiful Oakwood neighborhood where Henry had grown up. Two stories tall and painted a pale green with black shutters, it was one of the most beautiful houses I’d ever seen. I was struck by its symmetry, the right side a mirror image of the left, from the windows to the double chimneys to the porches that graced either side of the building. A wide brick walkway extended from the sidewalk to a pillared front porch topped by a small balcony. The house was surrounded by trees, most of them leafless at the moment, but I could imagine the lush backdrop they’d create in the spring.

  “This is breathtaking,” I said, leaning forward to get a better look, my hand on the dashboard.

  “The house I’m building is a bit more modest,” Henry said. “A brick colonial. I hope you’ll like it. I’ve never been that interested in all the trappings.”

  “I’m sure it will be lovely.”

  He stopped the car just shy of a detached two-car garage. To our right stood a small cottage painted to match the house.

  “What is that little building?” I asked.

  “Our maid, Hattie, lives there,” he said, opening his door. He circled the car to open my door for me before coll
ecting our suitcases from the trunk. Together, we walked to the front door of the house. My future was inside that house and I had no idea what it held.

  A maid dressed in a gray uniform and white apron opened the door as we climbed the two steps to the small stone porch.

  “Mornin’, Mr. Hank.” She stepped back to let us into the house, her eyes on me with frank curiosity. She was slender, almost reedlike. Her black hair was tucked under a ruffly white cap, and she looked to be in her late thirties.

  “This is Tess, my new wife,” he said, as he set our suitcases on the gleaming hardwood floor of the wide foyer. “Tess, this is Hattie.”

  “Hello, Hattie.” I smiled.

  “Miss Tess.” She nodded. “They in the livin’ room waitin’ for you, Mr. Hank. I’ll carry them suitcases up to your room?” She didn’t move her gaze from my face for a single second.

  “I’ll see to the suitcases,” Henry said. “You can get us some tea?”

  “Yes, sir,” she said.

  Henry guided me by the elbow toward the closed door to our right. “Courage,” he whispered in my ear as he opened the door, and we walked into a beautiful sun-filled room adorned with pink and gold floral wallpaper and thick oriental rugs. Henry’s mother and sister sat in wing chairs flanking a white brick fireplace. His mother rose to her feet and came toward us. She was fiftyish, a bit older than my own mother had been, and she wore a beige wool skirt, white blouse, and handsome blue and green patterned scarf. She had Henry’s blue eyes, and her well-styled chin-length hair was completely white. She was quite beautiful.

  “Hello, dear,” she said to her son, kissing his cheek. Then she held her hand out to me. Her smile struck me as practiced and warm, but her hand was ice-cold.

  “This is Theresa Kraft,” Henry announced and I nearly corrected him. It would take me a while to get used to my new surname. “She goes by Tess.”

  “I’m happy to meet you, Mrs. Kraft,” I said.

  “Call me Miss Ruth, dear,” she said. She was holding both my hands now. “Welcome to our home, Tess. Come sit with us. Lucy, aren’t you going to greet your new sister-in-law?”

  Lucy hadn’t bothered to get up from the wingback chair. She looked over at us. “Hi,” she said. The hooded look she gave me told me she’d already made up her mind that she wouldn’t like me. She was going to be my challenge.

  “Hi.” I gave Lucy my warmest smile as I sat down on the nearby sofa. She was a pretty girl who looked younger than twenty. Her hair, cut in a bob that nearly reached her shoulders, was the same dirty blond as Gina’s. She wore a dark blue skirt, navy cardigan over a pale blue blouse, and pearls. “It’s so good to meet you both,” I added, hoping I was the only person in the room to pick up the shiver in my voice. I noticed the painting hanging above the mantel. Lucy and Henry as children. They sat on a bench in front of a body of blue water. “What a beautiful painting,” I said.

  All three of them looked up at the painting as though they’d forgotten it was there.

  “Yes,” Ruth said. “Lucy was three there and Hank, ten.”

  “It’s lovely,” I said.

  Hattie came into the room carrying a tray with a silver tea service and a plate of small chocolate cookies. She was older than I’d thought at first—somewhere in her early forties—but her dark skin was as smooth as satin and she carried the laden tray as though it were made of paper. She set it down on the coffee table in front of me, and everyone was quiet as she poured us each a cup. I longed to simply lean forward and do it myself. I didn’t like being waited on.

  “No tea for me, Hattie,” Henry said when she started to pour the fourth cup. He got to his feet. “I’ll let you gals get to know each other while I take the suitcases upstairs.” He and Hattie left the room together, and I was alone with my new in-laws. I took a sip of tea from my cup, then set it on the end table next to a multicolored glass vase. I noticed those glass vases were everywhere in that room.

  “This is pretty,” I said, gently touching the lip of the vase. I looked at Ruth. “You must be a collector.”

  “Of Tiffany vases, yes I am,” she said, and I saw Lucy roll her eyes. “I received one as a wedding present and I’ve been collecting them ever since.” She set her saucer and cup on the table next to her chair and smiled at me. “Tell us all about yourself, Tess,” she said. “Hank said you grew up in Baltimore?”

  “Yes.” I had the feeling I shouldn’t mention Little Italy.

  “Brothers and sisters?”

  “No,” I said. “A very small family. It was just my mother and me, since my father passed away when I was young. And,” I added, “I recently lost my mother, as well.”

  “Oh no.” Ruth looked pained. “I’m so sorry to hear that. Was it sudden?”

  “Yes,” I said. “She had a fall and hit her head.”

  “Tragic,” Ruth said, her hand to her cheek. “You must be reeling.”

  “I am,” I admitted. What would my mother make of this house? These people?

  “What sort of work did your father do?”

  I knew better than to say he’d been a plumber. “He had a home repair business,” I said.

  Her face lit up, ever so slightly. “Ah, so he was a businessman,” she said. “How many employees did he have under him?”

  I could see no way around the truth. “It was just him,” I said. “He did everything himself.” I knew she now pictured him in grimy work clothes, crawling around under people’s houses to work on their pipes. Which would be completely accurate.

  “I understand you and Hank have known each other quite a while,” she said, changing the topic.

  “Yes, we met in Washington a while back,” I said, hoping I didn’t need to be more specific. I wasn’t sure exactly when Henry had told her we met.

  “You were in Washington because…?” she prompted.

  “I was with a girlfriend,” I said. “We wanted to visit the Smithsonian.”

  “And you met Hank and charmed him off his feet.” She gave me a smile I couldn’t read.

  I frankly didn’t want to remember meeting Henry or anything else about that visit to Washington. “He was very nice,” I said weakly.

  From her chair in front of the fire, Lucy snorted. “Try being his sister,” she said.

  “Lucy!” Ruth snapped with a frown. “Please act your age.”

  I turned to Lucy, wanting to get the questions off myself. “Henry says you go to college, Lucy,” I said. “What are you studying?”

  “This and that.” She shrugged.

  “Lucy is an English major at Lenoir-Rhyne, our excellent local college,” Ruth said.

  “Wonderful,” I said. “Will you teach after you graduate?” I remembered Henry saying he couldn’t picture Lucy working.

  “Hopefully, I’ll get married after I graduate,” she said.

  “So, you have a suitor then?” I smiled.

  “Not yet. Hard to have a suitor when you haven’t come out.”

  “Come out?” I didn’t know what she meant.

  “No debutante balls with the war going on,” Ruth said.

  Oh, that sort of coming out. The sort a girl from Little Italy knew nothing about.

  “They would have to have a war just when it was my turn,” Lucy said sulkily. She was really quite an unpleasant girl.

  “Oh, Lucy,” Ruth said with a tired smile. “And how about you, dear?” she turned to me again. “Hank said you were going to school before he stole you away. What were you studying?”

  “Nursing,” I said. “I finished my degree and I’m gearing up to take my licensing exam in March.” I’d learned that the RN exam would be held in Winston-Salem, a few hours’ drive from Hickory.

  “Oh, for what reason?” she said. “You won’t need to work, and nursing is such messy business.”

  I felt insulted and annoyed. “I think I’d be bored if I didn’t work.” I said, then realized I was probably insulting her.

  “Well, there are many lovely ways to while away th
e time here in Hickory,” she said. “Do you play bridge?”

  “I never have, but I’d love to learn.” I’d never given a thought to bridge in my life.

  “We also have many book clubs. Do you like to read?”

  “Oh yes. I’m reading an Agatha Christie novel right now.”

  “And you can join Mama’s Ladies of the Homefront organization,” Lucy said with a hint of sarcasm.

  “And hopefully you’ll take to it more easily than my daughter,” Ruth said.

  “What is ‘Ladies of the Homefront’?” I asked.

  “It’s not a group so much as a movement,” Ruth explained, leaning forward with some enthusiasm. “Another woman and I became concerned with what’s happening to the women in our country while their men are away fighting. Wearing slacks. Smoking to excess. You don’t smoke, do you, dear?”

  “Occasionally.” I smiled apologetically, thinking of how much I’d like a cigarette at that very moment.

  “So unfeminine.” Ruth appeared to shudder. “I worry the men will come home to a country full of manly women. I do hope you’ll come to our meetings. I’ll introduce you around. And then there’s our wonderful church and all the activities there. You’re Baptist, of course?” She looked at me as though the answer were a foregone conclusion.

  I shook my head. “Catholic,” I said, and her eyes widened before she had the chance to catch herself. “Well,” she said, apparently shaken by my answer. “You’re Baptist now, dear.”

  * * *

  I was relieved when Henry returned to the room. He held out a hand to me. “Let me steal you away to show you around the house,” he said.

  I excused myself and left the room with him, taking in a relieved breath when we shut the living room door behind us. We walked across the foyer and into a beautiful library, the walls covered from floor to ceiling with shelves of books. Two leather wingback chairs were angled against one wall.

  “How lovely!” I exclaimed. “You’d never run out of things to read in this house.”

  “I helped my father build these shelves when I was just a boy,” Henry said, smoothing the fingers of his right hand over the edge of one of the shelves near the fireplace. “And my desk, as well.” He pointed toward the massive desk that faced the front window. His voice sounded different than I’d heard it before. He loved this room.