Galveston Read online

  “I’ll give her that.”

  “She likes you, you know, was really impressed that you showed up at the funeral. Things like that are important to her.”

  “Well, now we’ve got that settled—”

  “Listen, Willa. That isn’t all I came to say. I know it’s probably not the time or place and you don’t have to answer right now if you don’t want to, but will you … that is … will you marry me?”

  “Marry you?” I repeated.

  “Yes. You’ve proven yourself in so many ways, darling, when all the time I’ve sat back criticizing you for this and that. You weren’t warm enough, you didn’t open up enough. And all the time, there you were working your head off just for me—no pay—just working like a good scout. And the way you came when Dad died—it meant a lot to me, too. You’re so level-headed, and I’ve come to appreciate that, especially in the past week.”

  “I’m not level-headed. That doesn’t fit me.”

  “Oh, but it does. And then, the way you reacted toward me the other day. It made me see how really fine you are. I’d never credited you for having such, well, corny as it sounds, high morals. Why, Willa, you’re just the kind of person I want for my wife. It took me a while to realize it, but I know it now, and I’m not letting go of you again unless you force me out of your life.”

  “I hadn’t thought of marriage—”

  “Sh. Don’t make up your mind today. Give it some time. Tell me when you’re ready. Oh, I do love you,” he said, and leaned and kissed me lightly on the forehead. “I’m going now, won’t bother the household any more. I’ll be waiting to hear from you.”

  “All right then. All right.”

  “Good-by, darling.”

  “Good-by, Rodney.”

  Chapter 4

  It occurred to me that day as he left, and I’m not sure even now I wasn’t correct, that he’d arrived at the conclusion I should marry him because he was finally able to cast me in the role of Rosemarie, whom he had truly loved but lost.

  Everything he said that morning, especially about morals, seemed to hint that in his search for a new Rosemarie he’d finally been able to compromise with me, although heaven knows, Rosemarie and I must have been poles apart both in character and personality.

  Still, I viewed the question of marriage to Rodney Younger dispassionately. I don’t believe I’d ever imagined myself married, even as I watched my school friends graduate from Central High and each one, in time, marry their high school sweetheart or find someone new, perhaps in an office where they worked or in college, settling down to do all the inevitable things like fixing up a house, starching and ironing curtains, learning to make coffee and to cook, and, of course, to have children as soon and as often as nature permitted.

  I simply could not see it for me, mainly for a reason Rodney would have never suspected: what had appeared to him as high morals in the car the past Tuesday, when I’d screamed and fought off his advances like a tiger about to be caged, was instead a basic, nauseating fear of sex.

  Poor Rodney thought I was saving myself, determined to remain in my virgin state until I approached the altar and gave myself, once and for all, to the man I loved. Actually, I had plenty of chances for sex even before Cliff Wagner came along, and if I’d wanted to take advantage of any of them I’d have done so long before Rodney ever entered my life.

  This aversion to sex would not make me good marriage material. Night after night—I thought of it then—submitting myself to a man’s desires, no matter how much I cared for the man, was degrading. Even when I welcomed the feel of Rodney’s body touching mine as we sat close together in the car, or when he leaned down over my desk in the real estate office to explain a certain procedure to me, I welcomed that presence only to a point. Beyond that point I grew panicky. What a fine wedding night I would bring him! What a shock to find Willa would perform her duties with excellence during the day, yet at night would turn cold and demand to be left alone.

  Further, even if I was able to grit my teeth and withstand the punishment long enough for Rodney to satisfy his desires for me, there would be the inevitable question and final reality of children: the swelling stomach, the confinement, the painful hours of labor; crying in the night, dirty diapers, ruined furniture and clothes. The whole thing was a vicious circle, and one which I’d never been foolhardy enough to allow myself to get caught in.

  Yet one must consider every aspect.

  I hated the thought of giving up the work in real estate. Even over the past week I had missed the hustle-bustle of the office, the creating of ads on the properties. I’d wondered how Rodney got on with writing the ads himself again, whether he’d gotten them to the papers by the Thursday deadline. I regretted now that I probably wouldn’t be visiting properties with him this Sunday (unless I phoned and invited myself, thus also inviting a confrontation over his proposal, perhaps before I was ready). Should I go back to work on Monday, I would be at a disadvantage with any prospective client who phoned or came by to inquire about a new listing I had never seen.

  Oh, why couldn’t things just go on as they were? Everything was so perfect between us. I could have been content for years. Why must I always be called upon to take direction, why continually find myself at a crossroads of some sort or another? Why, when I suddenly found a workable daily routine that brought the feeling of usefulness, did there have to be a decision looming in the corner, forcing me to give up something for something else?

  What, on the other hand, would happen if I refused Rodney’s hand?

  My education wasn’t superior enough to offer many career options. I should probably wind up back in Dad’s office, drifting along for the next few years, wandering through oil statistics and index cards and right-of-ways, choking to death with boredom while Miss Daniel breathed down my neck.

  Would I ever marry? Certainly I’d never felt about anyone as I did about Rodney. If there were such a thing as love, then I’d come closest to feeling it for him. If missing him when he was gone or didn’t call, or worrying over him when he was out in the rain, or going all out to support him when his father died, not even knowing why, could be classified as a kind of love, then I had it for Rodney as surely as I’d never felt it for anyone else.

  It was there to be faced and I faced it that Saturday morning. If I didn’t marry Rodney Younger I would never marry. Always frightened off by the same misgivings, no man would ever please me enough to make me give up myself for him. In the years to come the few people I did have contact with would drift away, Mother and Dad would die, and I would be truly alone just as the imagined tombstone had told me, not only in spirit but in cold reality.

  My spirit had always dwelt alone.

  Maybe I could marry Rodney and save its isolation still. I could play a pretending game, smiling as he came near me at night until he could no longer see my face, then smiling in relief rather than gratitude when he was through with what was to be done. How could he know the difference?

  I actually wondered if he would be able to tell the difference.

  I could keep putting off having children. There were ways to prevent that sort of thing, even without a husband knowing, if necessary, and I would learn about them before the wedding. We could work together and become a highly successful team of real estate people, and he would love me because I would be a key part of his success, unlike Mother, because she never had anything to do with Dad’s accomplishments.

  I called Rodney Sunday morning and invited myself to look at properties.

  “Great. I’ll pick you up around noon. And, Willa, have you had a chance—well, never mind, we can talk about it in the car.”

  We drove to two lots on Bellaire Boulevard, looked at a ten-thousand-dollar home in Audubon Place, and stopped by at the Heights house to see how the paint job was wearing and whether the grass needed cutting. We seemed often to migrate to the Heights house, and this is where we finally got around to talking, while we sat out on the cool front porch.

 
; I was surprised to find I couldn’t look him in the eyes. “I’ve thought about it,” I said, “and if you want me, I’ll marry you.”

  He put a finger under my chin and said gently, “It’s not polite to say a thing like that without looking at me. Willa … are you sure this is what you want? I didn’t intend to rush you …”

  “Of course. There’s only a thing or two you’ve got to understand, though. I’d go on working for you.”

  “Sure, until the time we had a kiddo on the way, then you could retire to the nest and I’d—”

  “That isn’t what I mean, Rodney. I don’t know whether I ever want children. If I should decide I do, fine. For now, I don’t.”

  “Oh.”

  “See, I’m probably not the marriage material you thought I was.”

  “Oh, but you’d change your mind after a while, I just know it,” he went on. “It’s hard for you to imagine having a real family, having grown up an only child, but believe me, it’s such a good feeling to be part of a big family.”

  “You may be right, all the same it isn’t fair for you to enter into this blindly. You must be prepared not to ever have any children, if you marry me.”

  “We won’t worry about that now. It’s too remote. You’ll change your mind, and probably be thankful for the chance to kiss the real estate world good-by.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not.”

  “All right. What else?”

  I was going to tell him my feelings about sex, going to lay it all out for him so he’d know what to expect, but then something jackknifed inside me and I couldn’t do it. My mouth was dry and the words stillborn.

  “Come, come, I thought you said a thing or two. There is something else, isn’t there?”

  Still, I couldn’t answer. Finally I turned to him, smiled, and said, “How about a December wedding? We could upstage Santa Claus.”

  “December? Oh, Willa, if you’d said next week it wouldn’t have been too soon for me,” he said, and kissed me right there on the front porch of 1204 Heights Boulevard, sweetly, Rodney-like.

  I thought, a bit uneasily, this can’t be so bad after all, can it?

  Chapter 5

  One does not have a wedding. One is had by a wedding: a victim swimming helplessly in a sea of invitation lists and catering arrangements, seed pearls and lilies of the valley.

  When I told Mother and Dad on Sunday night that I was going to marry Rodney, I thought I’d be able to keep everything under control.

  “Let’s keep it small. After all, I haven’t all that many acquaintances, and no one is interested in my getting married.”

  “On the contrary,” said Mother. “All our friends will want to be invited. It would be unkind not to at least have a reception to welcome them. I mean, you couldn’t just go down to the justice of the peace.”

  “That’s what we did, honey,” said Dad, and as I glanced across the table at him, I knew she’d cut him by her remark.

  “Yes, but that was different,” she said. “We hadn’t the means to do anything more fancy. We can do much more for Willa, and whether she realizes it or not, I want to do the very best by you, dear,” she ended, looking back at me. She’d been having pain in her back and legs lately—more so than usual—and had been wearing her support corset for several days. The stiffness of her carriage seemed to accentuate her determined face.

  “All right. I didn’t say it couldn’t be nice, only that we want to keep it small. Okay?”

  “Of course, dear. It’s your wedding.”

  Later that night she came up to my room, and what passed between us was one of the most amusing conversations I can ever remember having with my mother, and proved more than anything just how little she knew about me.

  “I must say, Willa, you’re certainly casual about your news of the marriage. I mean, it’s as if you had told us you were going down to pick up a loaf of bread or something.”

  “Well, that’s rather what it’s like, isn’t it? Rodney and I could have come to you and Dad together, announced it with a background of flowers and violin music, but that’s so corny, don’t you think?”

  A long sigh escaped her, as though she’d expected something like this, and she lowered herself stiffly to the vanity bench. “Willa, are you doing this because you love that boy, or for some other reason?”

  I didn’t catch her meaning at first. “Because I love him, of course. Isn’t that why everybody gets married?” I said, and picked up my hairbrush to begin the nightly ritual.

  “I mean, you’d tell me, wouldn’t you, if you were in some sort of trouble?”

  It hit me then, what she was leading to, and it was so uproariously funny, so wide of the mark, that I might be in the family way, I burst into laughter.

  “Well, you will admit you haven’t exactly been an angel in your lifetime,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “I’m only getting things straight from the start, so we’ll know just what kind of wedding to plan. I’m not going to have your wedding picture plastered all over the Social Page and you delivering a baby, seven months hence.”

  “Mother, I can’t believe you’re asking such questions! I never knew you could be so crude. In fact, it almost seems as though you’ve been talking to Velma …”

  “Just be honest with me.”

  “All right. I’m lily white, just as lily white as the day you delivered me … oh, that’s right, I forgot. You didn’t deliver me at all. You picked me up later.”

  “We chose you, Willa, because we wanted you. Why, in all these years, could I never convince you of that?”

  Because it isn’t true, I thought, but said, “Okay, Mother, I don’t feel like going into it right now. Just be assured that I’ve every right to go down the aisle in glistening white, should I choose to. On the other hand, I might wear a navy suit. I hear navy’s going to be a very fashionable color this winter.”

  “Dear, as a matter of fact, I have spoken to Velma on the phone a few minutes ago, though we certainly didn’t discuss what you think.”

  “Oh, but you told her?”

  “Yes. I didn’t think you’d mind. And she raised a good point.”

  “Velma always raises a good point … among other things.”

  “She reminded me you were my only daughter. This will be our only chance—your father’s and mine—to stage a really lovely affair, and remember, you refused to come out as a debutante. After you’ve gone from us, we’ll have nothing left to look forward to in the way of watching our children grow up and marry.

  “She suggested we ought to try to persuade you and Rodney to do us a favor and have something a little larger than what you had intended.”

  “I can well imagine.”

  “I find I agree with her, Willa. A big wedding could be such fun—something for all of us to remember forever. I know there would be lots of work, but I could do most of it for you, subject to your approval, of course. With you working, and Velma and Maybelle and me free all day, we could help in so many ways. Oh please, Willa, let’s have a grand one. It would mean so much to me.”

  “Would it really? I don’t know. Rodney’s for keeping it small. His family’s not wealthy, you know. They might be uncomfortable.”

  “You could persuade him, dear. And there’s no need for his family to worry. We would handle all the expense.”

  “Of course.”

  “Velma has promised to help all she can.”

  “I’ll bet she has.”

  “Well, I know she puts you off sometimes, but remember, she has only poor Maybelle. Likely as not, she’ll never get the chance to throw something spectacular for her. The poor girl is so homely, although she’s just as sweet and loving as any girl I’ve ever seen. But Velma despairs she hasn’t ever had a serious suitor.”

  “Velma can probably thank herself for that. But don’t grieve, Mother. After all, I did manage to keep someone as fine as Rodney around for this long, so there must be hope for Maybelle.”

  “Yes, perhaps you’re right. But there i
s some talk among the family—strictly confidential, you know—that she may enter foreign missionary service next year.”

  “Oh? Well, I can’t think of anyone more suited to a life of dedication to the Church.”

  “What do you think of having Maybelle for your maid of honor?”

  “Velma suggest that, too?”

  “Not in so many words, but … of course, it’s your decision. You might prefer having someone from Rodney’s family, or another girl friend perhaps.”

  “There isn’t anyone I know better than Maybelle. After all, if her mother is going to be running this show—don’t shake your head—then Maybelle might as well have a big role, too. Besides, if she becomes a missionary, this may be her last chance to have a fling at anything so glamorous, if you can look at it that way.”

  “Always flippant, aren’t you, dear? Still, it’s kind of you to see it in that light. I’ll tell Velma. By the way, do you think you could take some time off in the next couple of weeks—there’s so much to do—clothes to buy, arrangements to make?”

  “I’ve been off a week already, and I’m serious about my work, if you can believe it. I’ll meet you on lunch hours every day if necessary, but I won’t take any extra time.”

  “All right then. I’ll see if Velma can go with me to town tomorrow, and we’ll come by for you, go to The Fashion and to Levy’s—see their autumn collection of hats. Their ad was in the paper this morning. And maybe we could stop by the Rice to see about a reception. And, oh yes, you will be married in Christ Church, won’t you?”

  “I haven’t set foot in there for ages.”

  “Well, I go occasionally, and we’ve kept up our pledge all these years. Surely we have some right to the use of the sanctuary.”

  “All right. But don’t count on me tomorrow. I’ll have a desk piled high with work. Make it Tuesday at the earliest.”

  One Saturday in early October Rodney and I had our picture taken together for the Post. He wasn’t too big on the idea at first, but Mother pulled and persuaded me through arrangements and dress fittings, and I in turn cajoled and coaxed him through the part of the wedding affair that would include him. I was like someone riding a raft downstream. There was no time for considering what I really wanted or needed, and this was fine because the less I was forced to think about what was happening, what all this would ultimately lead to, the less I dreaded it.