The GI Bride (25 page)

Leaving two frightened children, he dragged
me upstairs to the bedroom and tried to keep me there but I fought back. He was like a
wild animal as he dug his fingernails into my flesh and kept pushing me onto the bed.
Each time I fought him off and finally managed to get out of the bedroom. I ran
downstairs, yelled at Wayne to take his sister to the basement, then locked myself into
the bathroom. Palmer tried to break down the door, but he wasn’t strong enough.
Then he attempted to pry it open with a knife I could see the tip of the blade as he
tried to force the lock. At that moment, I was afraid he might stab me if he got to me,
but the knife didn’t work either. The next thing he did terrified me more. He
poured a bottle of ammonia under the bathroom door. My eyes burned, tears streamed down
my face and the fumes were choking me. I had to unlock and open the door. Thank God, I
had the presence of mind to fall to the floor and pretend I’d passed out.

He left me alone then, frightened of what he
had done. The hatred I felt for him at that moment was like bitter gall rising in my
throat and choking me. I was afraid at the intensity of my anger and loathing. The
children must
have been terrified while all this was going on, but
Wayne had had the good sense to carry his sister upstairs to a bedroom and lock the door
instead of taking her to the basement. They stayed there until I went to them to comfort
and reassure them that I was all right.

After that incident, there were a few times
when I hid the car on some side street after he went to sleep at night so that I could
get to wherever I might need to go the next morning. I knew he could walk to work if he
had to, or take the bus. I also had extra car keys made because he would hide the keys
or refuse to give them to me. I knew now how devious he could be so I began making
myself think as he might in a particular situation, and always tried to keep a step
ahead of him in my struggle to maintain a modicum of independence and dignity.

While we were still living in Des Plaines,
Robin had her first birthday and I invited her godparents, Mary and John Nicholson, my
brother and his family, Palmer’s parents, and a few other close friends to join us
for a little party. When it was time to feed Robin, I put her in her high-chair and,
since I was busy preparing food for the guests, Mary offered to feed her. As she began
spooning food into the baby’s mouth, Palmer’s mother started calling Mary
names and attacking her for taking over the care of the baby. ‘You bitch!’
she screamed.

Mary blanched. ‘What have I
done?’ she asked, but the tirade continued. Mary and John gathered their
belongings and left, followed shortly by our other friends. I was embarrassed for my
guests but furious at this outburst of jealousy from Palmer’s mother. I went
upstairs, leaving him to deal with his crazy parents, and stayed there until I
knew they were gone. Had I gone back downstairs while they were still
there, I was afraid of what I might say to them, and of Palmer’s possible
reaction. Life with those unpredictable people was extremely difficult. I knew they
would never act any differently towards me or any of our friends and longed for my own
family, but now, with our financial situation, I wondered if I would ever see them
again. I found myself praying to God for strength and an answer.

At least I had good, supportive neighbours.
They provided me with companionship and a shoulder to cry on. They also paid me to do
small jobs for them. A young airline pilot and his wife, who lived in the complex, asked
if I would clean their townhouse. That wasn’t a problem, although it was a filthy
mess, until I decided to check the basement. I had wanted to look down there because a
foul smell was wafting up; it was where they locked their two boxer dogs if they both
happened to be out, which was usually every day.

As soon as I started down the basement
stairs, I began to retch: the floor was covered with dog faeces. Desperate to make as
much money as I could, I decided to tackle the monumental task. Wearing a makeshift
face-mask, I began shovelling the mess into one bucket after another, carrying each load
outside to a nearby vacant plot of land, and dumping it. When it was all gone, I mixed
bucket after bucket of hot water and bleach, and then, barefoot, scrubbed the floor with
a stiff broom. I did all this while Wayne was at school; Robin was upstairs in her
portable playpen while I worked in the basement, all the time hoping that the rancid air
wouldn’t affect her. It took days to
get that stench out of my
sinuses. I imagined them as a pair of sponges that had absorbed the odours and kept them
there to remind me. That young couple paid me well for all I had done for them, but I
had to tell them I couldn’t do it again.

I did manage to have some good laughs while
I lived in the townhouse, and one thing I still laugh about involved my next-door
neighbour Pat and her husband. They, too, worked for an airline and had to leave for
work at an ungodly hour in the morning. That winter was particularly severe, with
sub-zero temperatures for many days. Since we had no garages, we had to park our cars
outside. Fearing theirs wouldn’t start in the mornings, they would run a
heavy-duty extension cable from the house to the car, a distance of about half a block,
and connect it to an electric blanket that they wrapped around the car’s engine to
stop it freezing. Thankfully, it worked most of the time, and they were very proud of
their ingenuity.

After we’d been in Des Plaines for
eight or nine months, Palmer announced that he hated his job and was leaving the
O’Hare Inn. Once again, he withheld the truth. I learned from a friend, who
happened to be related to the hotel’s owners, that he had been warned about his
drinking, which could not be tolerated, and now he had been fired. I knew it would be
more of a problem for him to find a job this time because his reputation as a drinker
was beginning to catch up with him. Our future looked grimmer than ever.

Fortunately for Palmer, and for us, of
course, an old friend and business associate was now in management at the brand new
McCormick Place Convention Center in
Chicago, and offered him a job,
which meant moving back into the city. I didn’t mind going back to Chicago in
fact, I relished the idea, although the children and I would miss the new friends we had
made in Des Plaines but I hated the thought of looking for yet another apartment.

When I told Mary and John that we were
leaving Des Plaines, they surprised me with the news that they were once again making a
move within our old building. They were leaving the basement for an identical apartment
on the second floor. This meant that our old place would be available, right when we
needed it. My prayers had been answered, and I was overjoyed. In the midst of all the
misery, the children and I would at least be back in our old neighbourhood with our
friends around us: exactly what we needed if we were to survive this nightmare of a
life.

It was wonderful to be back at 431 North
Central Avenue, not only for me but also for Wayne. All of his little neighbourhood
friends were still living next door and they all welcomed him, as did everyone at his
old school. It was a joy to see some good come out of all the moving around.

I rejoined the Lutheran church nearby, and
started attending with the children; Palmer never went with us. Soon I was teaching at
the Sunday school again, which kept me focused and busy. Although I went to one or two
Bible study groups and women’s meetings, no one ever spoke to me. The entire
congregation seemed snobbish and unfriendly. I had forgotten how this church had been
the last time we’d gone there and I missed our old church in Elk Grove Village. I
wished we could still go there, but it was much too far away.

During the time the children and I attended
that church, I learned that there was a church-owned retreat and holiday camp for
children in Lake Geneva, Wisconsin. Besides the main retreat and camp buildings, there
were also cabins that Lutheran families could rent by the week. Families could make
their own arrangements for meals or they could eat with the other campers in the
‘mess hall’. I made enquiries and was astonished to learn how inexpensive it
was to stay there for a week. I now
kept some of my earnings at my
next-door neighbour’s house, and had enough to pay for a week, including
meals.

A little worried about what Palmer would
say, especially if he found out that I had money saved, I told him the church had
offered us a free stay at Camp Augustana. I was sure he would tell me either that we
couldn’t go or that he couldn’t go because of his new job, but he surprised
me.

‘I’ll see if Jack [his boss],
will let me have a week off to spend some time with the kids,’ he said. Well, what
a shock that was. Two days later, he told me that Jack would give him a week off if he
made up the time later by working seven-day weeks at a few upcoming conventions, and he
had said he would. You could have knocked me down with a feather. Then he surprised me
some more.

‘Why don’t you see if Jeanette
can go with us? She could watch the kids if we want to go out for the evening.’
Jeanette was a twelve-year-old girl who lived in the next apartment building to ours.
She occasionally stayed with Wayne and Robin for short periods if I had an appointment.
When I asked her and her parents, they jumped at the opportunity, and I made the
reservation for us to stay at the camp, for our first ever holiday together.

Camp Augustana had existed for many years
and some of the buildings were tired-looking, but the lakeside setting was beautiful.
When we arrived, a member of staff gave us a tour of the facilities, explained the camp
rules, then took us to our cabin, which was right on the edge of the lake. Well, I
didn’t know whether to laugh or cry when I saw it. To say it was old and rustic
would be a gross understatement, but it was adequate. There was a full-size sofa-bed in
the living area, and bunk beds in a
curtained-off small bedroom; Robin
had to sleep in her old playpen, next to the bunks. Tacked on to the side of the cabin,
a small screened-in porch was equipped with a few outdoor chairs, a table, a small sink
and lots of cobwebs. Another add-on held a toilet. We had to take our showers in a
communal building near the dining hall. Palmer wasn’t happy, but the kids loved
the adventure of it. It still amazes me that the whole week at Camp Augustana, including
meals, cost me less than fifty dollars, but I’d had to work damned hard to save
that small amount of money.

The first few days at the camp were great.
It was a joy to see the children having so much fun together. Mealtimes with all the
hordes of youngsters, who were attending music and Bible camp, were equally enjoyable.
The food was good and sometimes between courses the camp counsellors led the children in
song. Elbows had to be kept off the table, and anyone caught disobeying the rule,
including adults, elicited a mass reaction. Once someone had called out a
culprit’s name, the chant would begin:

Then the offender had to stand up and run
around the outer edge of the barn-like room, while everyone chanted and banged their
fork handles on the tables.

Everyone joined in and thought it was great
fun, except Palmer who refused to participate; he did grin, but I’m sure he
thought it beneath his dignity, especially when the children caught me on one occasion
and I had to run around the hall.

Alcohol was not permitted anywhere in the
camp, but Palmer had stashed beer in the car and would disappear sometimes, not saying
where he was going. At first, he didn’t overdo it, but later in the week, he was
drinking more and became difficult. I didn’t say anything because I didn’t
want to spoil the children’s holiday, but it made me nervous, especially when he
wanted to take Robin out on the water in an inflated rubber tyre.

One day, Palmer was out in a dinghy by
himself and he had paddled to the middle of the lake. While he was out there a storm
began to blow in, the winds became fierce and the waves suddenly had white caps.
Concerned about their safety, I took the children inside the cabin, then went to see if
I could spot him. Shading my eyes, I scanned the lake. For some time, I couldn’t
see him. As much as I hate to admit it, the thought entered my mind that perhaps he had
drowned, but then he bobbed into view.

‘Jeez, that was scary,’ he said,
once he was safely back on shore. ‘For a while there, I was afraid I was going to
drown.’

Hmm, I thought, and I was afraid you
wouldn’t.

In all, I had a great time with the children
on our ‘free’ holiday and I dreaded going home where I knew nothing would
have changed and, of course, it had not.