The GI Bride (27 page)

‘I’m in trouble,’ I said,
and the tears began to cascade down my face.

‘I’m sorry,’ he almost
whispered, ‘but you really must leave now. You’re welcome to come back
tomorrow.’

Numbed by what I considered cruel rejection,
I got up, said nothing, and left. How much worse can it get, I wondered, when even the
church turns its back on you?

I headed home. For a brief time, I had
forgotten about the children but now I was worried about leaving them alone with Palmer,
afraid that somehow he might have dragged them into the mire.

When I got home, he appeared to have passed
out on the floor. I stepped over him and went to sleep in the children’s room,
locking the door behind me.

There were times when my stress level was
so high and my spirit so low that I considered suicide, but those
thoughts were fleeting. The love I felt for my beautiful children helped me to hang on
to my sanity and stopped me doing anything so drastic; I could never have abandoned
them, no matter how bad things became.

Wayne, who was now seven or eight, had begun
having stomach pains. It broke my heart when the doctor diagnosed him with a childhood
ulcer. Clearly, he was feeling the tension and had probably heard Palmer’s tirades
when we’d thought he was sleeping. I knew something had to change before someone
got hurt but I didn’t know where to turn. I did eventually talk to the minister of
the Lutheran church I was attending, and he arranged an appointment for me to see a
psychologist who worked for the church. When I was billed thirty-five dollars for my
visit to him, I almost went mad. There was no way in hell I could afford it it was a lot
of money in those days. Palmer would go crazy if he saw the bill and I had no way of
coming up with the payment. I took it to my minister and handed it to him.

‘You know what my financial situation
is. There’s no way I can pay this bill, and you know that my husband can’t
find out about it. Please, you have to help me.’

‘I’ll see what I can do,’
he said. In the end, all he did was arrange for me to pay it off in instalments. I was
shocked and disheartened that the church had no resources to help parishioners in such
cases. There certainly was no way I could pay for help at that price. Foolishly, I had
thought that counselling through the church would be free but, of course, I was
wrong.

In the spring of 1963 an older couple,
Martha and Jack Evans, moved into the small basement apartment next door to ours. Martha
was a kindly soul who must have been in her late seventies. She had borne nine children,
been widowed, and then had married Jack, who was a bit younger than she was. Jack was a
miserable old codger who went from door to door selling miscellaneous items out of a
small suitcase combs, shoelaces and sewing thread. He hated children and made no secret
of it so all the neighbourhood children teased him and called him names. I’ll
never forget the day Wayne came running in to tell me that Jack Evans had threatened one
of the boys.

‘If I catch you, I’ll kick your
asshole up between your shoulder blades,’ he had yelled. I’d heard something
similar when I was a child, but knowing it had come out of Jack Evans made it seem
especially funny. Occasionally, the old curmudgeon would give my daughter, Robin, a
sucker, or lollipop. Robin, who was only about three at the time, began calling him
‘Sucker’ to the amusement of all the other children. Now, they all called
him Sucker. Of course, the older children knew it meant ‘idiot’ and wallowed
in the mischief.

Martha Evans became my surrogate mother. She
knew all about my home situation and that I missed my family, so she told all of her
children that they now had a new
sister. They welcomed me into the
family and nicknamed me Number Ten, their mother’s tenth child. Martha became
‘Mom’ to me, and ‘Grandma Evans’ to Wayne and Robin. Jack,
however, was still Sucker, but only behind his back.

Now I had a new angel in my life and we
looked out for each other. I knew that Jack was mean to her and I assured her daughters
that I would take care of her and let them know if there was ever anything I was worried
about where their mother was concerned. I was included in their family gatherings and
soon felt like one of them.

Mom Evans told me secretly that one of her
daughters, Jodi, was married to someone high up in the ‘Chicago Outfit’ or
‘Mob’, and that she was not supposed to discuss it. She said they helped her
out, just a little, financially because they knew Jack didn’t bring in much money
from his sales job. Jodi and I became good friends and I would often drive Mom over to
see her. I learned from Jodi and another sister, Jeanne, that they all hated Jack and
didn’t trust him. They were pleased that their mother had someone to look out for
her, and that I was right next door. And my friendship with Jodi turned out to be a
godsend in ways I would never have expected.

Now that we were once again living in the
city, it was easier for Palmer to take the train to work and leave the car at home. Of
course, it was also easier for him to drink and not have to worry about driving. I liked
having the car for shopping, visiting and keeping appointments. On one particular
morning, I went out to the car to go shopping and it wasn’t there. I went back
into the apartment and called Palmer to see if he had taken it and forgotten to tell
me, but he said he had not. I immediately called the police to report
that someone had stolen our car in the night, and they came right away to take the
report.

‘I have to ask you, ma’am, but
do you know if you’re up to date with your car payments?’ asked one of the
officers.

‘I think so, Officer, but I’m
afraid my husband doesn’t tell me much about that sort of thing,’ I told
him.

‘Well, I’ll just make a couple
of phone calls to see what we can find out,’ he said, and went outside. When he
returned, I could already tell by the look on his face that it was not good news.

‘Sorry to tell you this, but your
car’s been repossessed by the finance company and they’ve had it towed away.
They usually do it during the night to avoid confrontations,’ he explained.

‘Oh, my God, I’m so
sorry,’ I said. ‘I’m so embarrassed that I thought it was stolen. You
must think I’m really stupid.’ The young police officer assured me that it
happened all the time and that I certainly didn’t have to apologize. After they
left, I crumpled. This latest assault on my dignity left me feeling as though I’d
been run over by a tow truck. Now what?

I called Palmer to tell him what had
happened but he didn’t seem to care, I supposed because it meant he’d have
one less bill to pay, but I was furious. Afraid that I’d explode if I didn’t
talk to someone sane, I called around the apartment building to see if anyone was at
home but got no replies. Remembering that everyone else was out at work during the
daytime, I went next door to cry on Mom Evans’s shoulder. I hated to burden her
with this new problem but I needed to tell someone.

She comforted me with a cuddle and a cup of
coffee, then suggested we call Jodi to tell her what had happened and see if she had any
ideas of what I could do about the situation. I didn’t think for one moment that
Jodi would be able to do anything about my repossessed car but Mom insisted and we
called her anyway.

About an hour after that call, Jodi phoned
back. She told me to go outside and check the parking lot, which I did, and there, in
its rightful place, was my car. I was dumbfounded. She told me not to ask any questions
and I didn’t, silence being the better part of valour. Later someone told me
they’d read in the newspaper that the Chicago Outfit controlled all of the towing
companies in Chicago, but I never found out if that was true.

Soon after the car incident, I was attending
an Al-Anon meeting, and again, as I looked around the room at all the other women, it
struck me how miserable and beaten they seemed. Overcome with rage that one human being
could inflict so much misery on another, I resolved that I would no longer subject
myself to this reminder of Palmer’s drinking by spending time with these fellow
victims. I remembered one of the Al-Anon mottoes: ‘Act, don’t REact.’
It was time for me to act.

I had started to have telephone
conversations with the attorney who had handled my divorce to discover what options
might be open to me: I knew I couldn’t stay married to the man who was destroying
my soul. I was in an extremely difficult situation because I had no money and no one to
ask for help. I thought of offering my services as a live-in housekeeper, but who would
have taken me on with two children?

I had tried talking to Palmer’s boss,
whom I knew well; I also tried to get some kind of support from his family, not his
parents, of course, but they had all had enough of Palmer’s shortcomings and
didn’t want to hear about it. Finally I broke down and told my family in England
what was going on. I knew they couldn’t help me financially but I desperately
needed their support. I’d been reluctant to tell them about my farce of a
marriage, afraid they’d be upset and embarrassed because I’d made a mess of
things again, but they had to know. I needed them to be aware of what might lie ahead,
but even I dreaded the thought of a second divorce. Most important of all, they needed
to know of the potential danger we were in, in case something serious happened.

The next thing I knew, my father was coming
over to see if he could help. He had cashed in a life insurance policy to pay for his
plane ticket. I couldn’t believe it. It had now been many years since I had seen
my family and I was thrilled that I would soon see the only man in my life who had ever
loved me with no strings attached. It was a comfort to know that I would have my father
beside me; someone who I knew would be on my side.

When he arrived, we had a grand reunion. It
had been a long time since I had seen him and I was afraid he might look old, but he
hadn’t aged one bit. If anything, he was more handsome than ever. He and I had
many long talks, both practical and philosophical, and he was a big hit with all of our
friends. Even Palmer took to him and behaved himself when we were together. Dad asked me
if I was sure that Palmer had a drinking problem because he hadn’t seen any signs
of it. I tried to explain
how devious he could be and told him not to
be fooled by the face he had put on for him but, sadly, Dad didn’t seem
convinced.

My father had his first exposure to the life
of the rich and famous when I received an invitation to bring him to my adopted sister
Jeanne’s wedding. Palmer had not been invited but we covered that by saying how
nice it would be if Dad could take his place. Jeanne had been divorced for years but was
now marrying a fairly well-off businessman. I guessed it would be a swank wedding, and I
was right. The reception, held at a famous restaurant in downtown Chicago, was like a
movie. I spent most of the time pointing out well-known people, and my father was
wide-eyed. I don’t think he ever stopped talking about that wedding, which he told
everyone was a Mafia wedding although, of course, it was not. There were a number of
Chicago Outfit people there because of family connections, but Jeanne’s new
husband, Jesse, had no other relationship with them that I knew of.

My dear father, who was in America to help
me, had now been completely hoodwinked by Palmer’s bullshit. Palmer had become a
master con artist and could charm the bees out of the trees when he had to. He started
taking my father all over Chicago with him, using his special contacts and considerable
influence to impress him. He arranged personal tours of McCormick Place and the museums,
and Dad saw things that the public normally is not privileged to see. He was wined and
dined at all the luxury hotels, and introduced to many of Palmer’s VIP associates.
Dad was wallowing in the luxury and attention and it was clear that he had forgotten why
he had come to
Chicago. I loved having him with us but he had defeated
the purpose of his visit by drinking with Palmer. I’m not sure if he ever had a
talk with Palmer about what had been going on, but if he did, Palmer forgot it.

After my father went back to England, Palmer
pushed me again to help with the cheque kiting. Just as before, I refused, and he
realized that hitting me would not intimidate me into doing his bidding. Now he found a
new way to get to me. It was the final straw. He went to the children’s bedroom
where they were sleeping, dragged them out of bed and started telling them that I was a
terrible person who didn’t want to help get food for them or take care of them.
Wayne and Robin were crying and looking pleadingly at me. I felt like a volcano that was
ready to erupt, but I knew I had to remain calm for their sakes. I wanted to kill Palmer
but, using every ounce of self-control I could muster, I stayed cool and agreed to do
what he wanted if he let them go.