Tessa McDermid - Family Stories (16 page)

"I know." She slid out of his hold. "I'll make some, sandwiches. We never did have supper."

They sat at the smal table provided with their apartment. Sandwiches between them, he offered grace. "Is this so hard for you?" he asked after the Amen.

She kneaded a piece of bread between her fingers, not looking at him. "I grew up in this atmosphere, Frank.

Sometimes I thought I'd suffocate. Everyone always watching, expecting things from me that I couldn't provide. When I met you, I was happy to put it behind me. Maybe not forever, but I certainly didn't think I'd be returning to the parsonage so soon."

He had felt that way about his own home, trapped in a family that expected certain things from him. He'd never measured up to his father's expectations. Leaving had been the most freeing experience of his life.

She touched his hand. "This means a lot to you, doesn't it?"

"I can't explain it, Marian. It's not the classes so much as the belief your father has in me. Brother Grimes..."

Remembering the old man's words, he wondered if he was in the program for the right reasons."I just can't quit," he said with a shrug. "Not yet."

Her sigh came from the depths of her being. "Al right. But I can't attend the classes. I—" Her voice trailed off.

He stayed quiet, determined this time to listen.

She leaned her elbows on the table, her head resting between her hands. "My mother became a different person, Frank, whenever she went out in public. She wasn't the wonderful woman I saw at home, the clever woman who could make me laugh with a quick remark. Did you know my mother was crazy about the theater?"

Frank shook his head. He was pained to realize how little he knew about his mother-in-law.

"Not much scope for her talent in Winston. She was very good at mimicking people. She could grasp a mannerism and you'd figure out right away who she was imitating. But Father said it was sinful, so she was careful not to let him see her do it."

She raised her head and gave him her wide-eyed gaze. "Frank, I can't be that wife who only exists as part of her husband. I don't know what I want to do yet or who I'll be, but I won't disappear into the parsonage, the helpmeet of Frank Robertson. If that's against God's wil , I just don't know that I can fol ow Him anymore."

Frank thought again of his conversation with Brother Grimes, the revelation that his father-in-law had hidden his family away in that smal town. He laced their fingers together. "You don't have to go to the classes, Marian. Your support at home is al I need. You're my wife and the others will have to accept you as you are."

"I do love you, Frank. I'm sorry for what I said earlier."

He stood up and held out his hand. "And I love you. More than I ever believed possible."

Their lovemaking that night was gentle, a renewal of their vows. They murmured whispered words of love, of promise, protected from the cold weather by the warmth of their bodies expressing their need in the most primitive and essential way.

Their joy in each other continued. No more late nights with Frank at home studying, Marian out with her friends. Now, while Frank read through his notes and books, Marian curled against his feet with a book of her own. They ate their meals together, laughing around the smal table. They joined other couples from down the hal for dinner. Marian's background enabled her to hold her own during the spirited conversations.

"Are you going home for Christmas?" Caroline asked after a light supper early in December. She and her husband, Pete, lived next door and they'd spent several evenings together.

Marian glanced at Frank. "We hadn't discussed the holidays yet."

"We're going to my parents' house," Caroline went on. "It may be our last visit for a while. We're moving to Africa after Pete graduates this spring."

Frank felt Marian freeze. He nudged her leg under the tablecloth. "If we can make the arrangements, we'll be going to Winston for the holidays."

"Africa?" she said when they were alone.

"We're not moving to Africa," he assured her. "There are enough hungry souls in the United States."

"Frank—"

He clasped her body tightly to his, rubbing his hands up and down her back until he felt her begin to soften.

"Marian, we make the decisions together." His mouth grazed her neck. "And right now, I think we both know what we want to do."

Her hands slid into his hair. "I'm not sure I understand, Mr. Robertson." Her voice had lost its wary edge and grown husky.

He growled and nipped her earlobe. "Mrs. Robertson, we need to go to bed. Now!"

The Christmas visit to Winston was pleasant. Reverend Cooper was interested in Frank's classes, and Marian and her mother spent hours in the kitchen, laughing and talking as they prepared the holiday meals. Frank watched careful y, noting how different Mrs. Cooper was in the home compared to when she was out in public.

And he noted, also, the pleased expression on his father-in-law's face, the subdued Mrs. Cooper next to him at the end of the candlelight Christmas Eve service.

He was reluctant to go to his own family, knowing that visit would not be half as comfortable as the one he'd just enjoyed.

His misgivings were proved right. Tension was high. His parents, grandparents and Rebecca were stil squeezed into the smal farmhouse. His sister agreed to sleep on the living room couch so he and Marian could have a degree of privacy. Sam and Clara visited for a day, going home that evening rather than crowd the family even more.

His father hadn't found employment and was working around the farm. It had never been prosperous, and as his grandfather had aged, so had the farm. Very little was needed to keep it in order. Frank soon heard that neither man felt the other needed to be there.

The three days were long, and Frank wasn't sorry to pack up and leave. Rebecca was his only regret. She cried, clinging to him as he dropped their bags by the front door.

"You can visit us in Des Moines," Marian promised.

"Are you sure you want her to come?" Frank asked when Rebecca ran off to see if she could ride with them to the depot. "Our apartment barely has enough room for the two of us." He wondered what the neighbors would think of his rambunctious little sister.

"Of course she can come. Life must be boring out here, living with al these adults."

Frank knew she was recal ing her own childhood, surrounded by her parents and their friends, older people who had nothing in common with a young girl. He touched his lips to hers. No matter what they did, he thought, her caring spirit would always shine through.

The train was fil ed with tired holiday travelers. A baby, dressed in a fril y pink outfit, cried and cried, her constant whimpers edging away the bright mood that most of the other passengers had experienced during the Christmas season. Marian curled into Frank's arms, tossing and turning as she tried to get comfortable.

"Not much longer," he whispered, shifting so her hip didn't catch him again in the side.

"How much do you suppose she cries?" Marian asked.

"I don't know." His legs were cramped and he considered walking the aisle to work out the kinks. "Being in this crowd is probably aggravating things."

"I hope our baby doesn't cry that much. I'd go mad."

He forgot about his stiff legs. Lifting her chin with one finger, he gazed into her eyes. "Marian, are you saying

—" He couldn't finish the sentence.

She nodded. "That's why the idea of Africa scared me so much. I hadn't been to the doctor yet, so I didn't want to tel you. But I saw my doctor while we were in Winston. The baby wil be born in the middle of June."

June. A second chance. "This time, I'll be there. Every day, Marian." He crushed her in his arms, his mouth covering hers in kisses. "A baby. We're going to have a baby."

"Frank—"

"Shh." He couldn't let her worry about anything, he decided. She needed a husband who'd devote his life to her. To their baby.

Is this your answer, God? he prayed silently, the clickety-clack of the train punctuating his words. Are You saying that someone else will have to save souls?

Other ministers had families. Brother Grimes referred to his children often when sharing testimonies of God's love.

He remembered her mother's words, that the women in their family had difficulty carrying a baby to term. But if she had the best medical care, and his complete attention? Surely they could change the odds in their favor.

He would do whatever was needed to ensure that this baby was healthy.

He could be the leaven, the salt of the earth, without being in the ministry ful -time. His own father had been active in their congregation before the change in his circumstances. He could do the same.

"I'll speak to Brother Grimes as soon as we return." Grimes was the one who'd said that Frank's commitment to his wife was as sacred as his commitment to God. "I'll explain about the baby and withdraw from the seminary."

"Frank, no! I can't be the one to make you give up your cal ing. Not if this is what you were meant to do.'

He kissed away the frown lines on her forehead. "You matter to me, Marian, more than anything else. We'l figure out what we can do together, something that'll be suitable for both of us."

He couldn't stop kissing her. He loved her. And she was carrying his baby.

He felt her relax. A sense of peace flowed through him; he was making the correct choice. His heart had never truly been in the ministry; he knew that not only from his conversation with Brother Grimes, but also from his conversations with Reverend Cooper over the holiday. He didn't have the same fervor, the same desire to spread the Word to the people he met. He'd been determined to succeed because of the men's faith in him but now he saw that wasn't enough. He would always be a devout Christian, even if he wasn't destined to be a minister.

He feathered kisses over Marian's hair. "Nothing is more important than your health," he said.

And that of our baby.

But he didn't say the words out loud. He had asked enough of God for one day.

*****

"Grandma knows something." Hannah pushed the mower farther into the shed, then waited outside for Preston to fasten the padlock on the door.

"Why do you say that?" They walked around the building and toward the back of the house.

"Because whenever I bring it up, she changes the subject."

Preston slipped off his grass-covered tennis shoes and stepped into a worn pair their mother often threatened to throw away when he wasn't around. "Maybe she doesn't think G.G. should be badgered into a party if she doesn't want one. She must have a good reason, Hannah, not to want a party."

"What good reason?"

"Wel , for one thing, she's ninety-three years old. Maybe she's just too tired to have a party."

"G.G. isn't tired. I mean, sure, she probably gets worn out easier than you and me. But you've been over to their place. She's always talking to Grandpa Frank or working on a crossword puzzle or watching TV. I'm not talking about a big, fancy party. Just the family."

"Hel o, you two. "Anne stood at the kitchen counter, chopping fresh vegetables for supper. "Finish the lawn?"

Preston nodded and climbed onto the stool next to her. "Grandma, Hannah thinks you know why G.G. doesn't want a party."

"Preston!" Hannah hissed.

Their grandmother smiled. "No, it's okay. I can't give you al their reasons, but I can tel you what I think. She's ninety-three, she doesn't like crowds anymore and as she and Dad have said, i hey don't feel they need a party to remember that they've been married for seventy-five years. They had a big celebration for their sixtieth."

Hannah leaned against the counter. Preston was chomping on a carrot stick, a smug expression on his face.

"But being married seventy-five years is a big deal," Hannah insisted, not for the first time. "Just a smal celebration... I mean, I know G.G. isn't a big partyer."

"She was quite a partyer in her day," Anne said dryly.

Hannah and Preston stared at her. "G.G..” Preston asked.

"Yes. I probably shouldn't have said anything. She was a minister's daughter." She slid the chopped vegetables into a pot on the stove. The water hissed and steam rose to the ceiling. "Her father believed my dad would make a good minister, too."

Hannah digested this new information. "Grandpa Frank was going to be a minister?" she asked, realizing how incredulous she sounded.

"Yes, he was studying in Des Moines. He decided that wasn't the direction he wanted to take with his life and they moved here to Lincoln, opening the first shop while I was in high school and later branching into other towns."

"But when did G.G. party if they were at ministers' school?" Preston asked.

Trust him to go for the juicy story, Hannah thought.

"They weren't tied to the seminary." Anne added more vegetables to the pot. "They could go into town whenever they wanted. Not that G.G. was a wild partyer like we think of now. She probably went to help her forget about baby David."

Hannah was digging lettuce and tomatoes out of the fridge and almost missed the last sentence. "Baby David?"

Anne nodded. "My older brother." Her voice had softened.

Hannah shook her head. "But you're the oldest." A picture of the three girls, with Anne in high school, stood on the mantel in the living room. And G.G. and Grandpa Frank had the three class pictures on the wall in their room at Winter Oaks. No boy in sight.

"The oldest living child," Anne corrected.

"How come I've never heard about this?"

"I thought you knew. They didn't keep it secret. He was stil born."

She set the lid on the soup pot. "Hannah, would you see if any of the green beans are ready for picking?"

"A baby boy," Hannah murmured to herself, walking down the garden rows. They lost a baby boy. That would make a difference in a family's life. Especially in those days, when a man was expected to have a son to carry on his name.