Waiting for Sunrise (10 page)

Patsy took the envelope, clutched it to her abdomen. “Mam,” she whispered. “I can’t open this right now. Not today.” Today was supposed to be about happy, about sunshine and the daisies in her bouquet.

Mam nodded. “I wondered about that too. But Bernice asked that you be given this on your wedding day. She told me you used to like to play with it. Touch it. Pretend you were a grown-up lady.” She smiled weakly. “And now look at you. You are all that and more.”

Patsy laid the letter beside the lipstick holder deposited on the bed beside her. “Mam, do me a favor. Put this away for me. I promise I’ll come get it when I’m ready . . . but I’m not ready for any of this right now.”

Mam took a step forward. “Patsy, don’t do this, child. Don’t try to force away your feelings for your mother.”

Patsy swallowed past a knot. “You know what, Mam? My mother left Casselton without so much as a word as to where she was going. Surely she knew one day I’d try to find her. No forwarding address, though, huh? Nothing but a house that looks vaguely like my old home and a woman who likes to grow flowers while her husband serves in Korea.”

“God be with him.”

“Yes. God be with him.”

“But Patsy.” Mam took a tentative step toward her. “Perhaps Bernice didn’t know where she was going? Surely you’ve thought of that.”

“She may not have known where she was
going
, but she knew where she was once she
got
there. And she knows where I am. I may not be a mother yet, but I know one thing: I’d never let a child of mine go and not connect with her now and again.”

“Never say never. You don’t know what this life has in store for you, child. Only the good Lord does. All we can do is pray for his mercy.”

“Then God be merciful, Mam. God be merciful over Gilbert and me.”

An unreadable expression passed over Mam’s face. She said, “Let’s pray then, Patsy, that you never have to face such a decision as the one your mother faced.”

Patsy stepped to where her wedding dress hung from the top facing of her closet door. She unhooked the hanger before gliding the dress over to the bed. “I have to get dressed now, Mam,” she said. “Gilbert is waiting for me at the church.”

11

While the Buchwalds were paying for the wedding, most of Gilbert’s money was being invested in business and the things a man needed to bring home a bride. Like decent furnishings in the service station apartment and the burgundy 1945 two-door Mercury coupe he’d bought used from a high school buddy. It wasn’t new, and the paint had a few scratches, but under the hood was clean.

Before they married, Gilbert had leaned against the door frame of the tiny bedroom he’d soon share with Patsy. While he was painfully anxious for that first night with her, to hold and love her between the warmth of the sheets, he didn’t want to begin their marriage within four walls reeking of motor oil and gasoline. But he also knew he had no money to take her anywhere for a real honeymoon.

When he shared his conundrum with his mother, she suggested he write a letter to Aunt Cecelia and Uncle John, who lived in nearby Charleston. They were, she reminded him, financially set. Their spacious and historic home came with a carriage house in the rear of the property, perfect for a honeymoon.

Gilbert had never been good at writing his thoughts. He wondered if it might be best to place a long distance call. But money was too tight for that too. Writing the request took several hours over a period of days; he wrote between his time at work, his time with Patsy, and his time alone with his own doubtful thoughts. But after he placed a 3¢ stamp on the white letter envelope and walked it to the post office, he felt hopeful.

Aunt Cecelia responded almost immediately.

My exceptional great-nephew Gilbert,

Of course, dear boy, you can come and bring your beautiful bride. Uncle John and I received our invitation to the wedding. We are most pleased for you, although your mother tells me that your girl is much younger than you. Don’t let that dissuade you! Your great-great-grandparents were nearly fifteen years different in age but their love brought nine children into the world.

John and I intend to arrive sometime Saturday. I have plans to speak with your mother about our staying with them. This will allow you and Patsy a chance to be at our home privately for a night.

The carriage house is, as always, ready for guests. Please don’t feel this is the only time you can come. We’d love to have you any time.

Until I see you again, I remain your loving,

Aunt Cecelia

Gilbert breathed a sigh of relief; his future held the promise of a booming business, a new bride, and a nice place to spend their first days—and nights—as man and wife.

———

For the most part, the wedding was everything she could have hoped for. Everything she had dreamed of. The morning sky stayed a brilliant blue until just after lunch. Then an unexpected shower, which lasted less than an hour, rained down on Trinity. It eased the sweltering temperatures both inside and outside the church but also encouraged a few gnats and mosquitoes to join the sacred service.

Everyone made it to the church on time, including her Casselton guests, the Powells and the Cartwells. Patsy had remained at home until three-thirty when she, her parents, and Lloyd quietly got into the car and drove to the church. There, she managed to slip into the bride’s room without being seen by anyone of old wives’ tale consequence. At four o’clock, the ceremony began.

She clutched Papa’s arm and walked toward her handsome groom, forcing herself to concentrate only on the moment. She would not think of her mother or her two youngest brothers.

She raised her eyes to Gilbert’s; his eyes sparkled at the sight of her. Sweet, handsome, persistent Gilbert—standing with his father. She would not think of her father who died. Or the one who had driven her away from her childhood home.

She would only think of Papa, whose hand rested over hers as they stepped toward her future. Of Mam, who wept appropriately in the left front row. Of Lloyd, standing in the lineup of groomsmen.

Of Gilbert. When this hour was over, she would finally be his wife. He would be her husband. She would always love him; he would never leave her.

She felt a warm rush when her hand slipped from Papa’s to Gilbert’s. He winked at her; she squeezed his fingers and smiled. Together they turned toward Brother Michael, who then spoke about the sanctity of marriage.

Patsy tried to concentrate, to listen and pay attention. But she knew she’d not remember much of this moment. Only the most important things. Gilbert reciting his vows to her, his voice strong and sure. And that when it was her turn to do the same, how she kept focus on the dimple in his cheek. And she would laugh because she could only whisper her part, her voice was so shaky, barely audible.

When the last words had been spoken and Brother Michael pronounced them “man and wife,” she stood trembling as Gilbert raised the short lacy veil from her face. It tickled her chin and cheeks and tugged at the crown of pearls atop her head. He laid it carefully over the back of her head and smiled. His eyes went to her lips. It was time for the kiss.

She closed her eyes as he sweetly pressed his lips against hers. She was keenly aware of both the passion within the moment and the crowd of family and friends around them. When the kiss broke, they both sighed so loudly, the congregation laughed.

They were introduced as Mr. and Mrs. Gilbert Milstrap.

Once again, life started over.

———

After the wedding and the reception and in a flurry of rice, Gilbert opened the passenger door of the Mercury. He watched his wife as she slipped in and tucked her tiny feet close to the seat. The skirt of her wedding dress trailed over the doorsill. Instinctively, he reached in to scoot it over, bringing his face in line with hers.

“Oh,” she said, reaching for it. Her voice trembled.

“Nervous?” he said quietly so the throng around them couldn’t hear.

“Yes,” was all she said.

He grinned all the way to the driver’s side. He couldn’t help it. He was happier than a man had a right to be, and his life was all he’d hoped it could be. His business was going well, he was now married to the prettiest thing he’d ever laid his eyes on, and they had a place to go for the night.

He drove in silence to Charleston. Not five miles out of town and his new wife was sound asleep. Her head was pressed against the frame of the open window. The hot summer air whipped the curls of her Rosemary Clooney–inspired hairstyle away from her face. He reached over and let his fingers be tickled by the dark ends until he feared waking her. She was exhausted, poor thing.

After reaching his aunt and uncle’s home without incident, he shut the car off. Patsy stirred, blinking. She looked from the gracious home to him and then back to the home again. “This is where your aunt and uncle live?” she asked.

“Yeah. It’s something else, isn’t it?”

“I don’t believe I’ve ever seen anything like it. Clearly, I haven’t.”

“Wait till you see the carriage house. It’s pretty as a picture.” He couldn’t help himself with the next line out of his mouth. “But not as pretty as you.”

Patsy clutched her hands together and looked to her lap. “Gilbert . . .”

“Come here,” he whispered, sliding toward her as she did the same to him. He wrapped her in his arms and kissed her until it was improper to do so. “I’d best get you inside,” he said, “before the neighbors start to talk.”

She pressed her fingertips to her cheeks. “Gilbert, you undo me.”

“Good,” he said with a laugh. He opened his car door then went around to do the same for her. As she stood and stretched, he dipped his hand into his pants pocket and brought out a key. “Uncle John gave me the key to the main house. Said for us to go on into the kitchen and get something to eat. Aunt Cecelia made us some sandwiches and potato salad.”

“How kind.”

“We’ll eat and then I’ll get our things out of the car. How does that sound?”

Patsy only nodded.

“Let’s go on in, then,” he said, and jiggled the keys.

———

Gilbert’s aunt Cecelia had made two sandwiches from thick slices of ham and cheese, two more from fresh pineapple. All four were slathered in mayonnaise and wrapped in wax paper. The well-stocked refrigerator also offered them homemade dill pickles, the potato salad Gilbert told Patsy about, sweet tea, and an icebox cake Patsy swore she must have the recipe for.

They sat across from each other at the yellow vinyl and chrome kitchen table for their wedding supper. Gilbert took ownership of the ham and cheese while Patsy delighted in the pineapple sandwiches. Between bites he asked her if she’d ever been to Charleston before.

She swallowed a sweet bite of her sandwich. “No.”

“Then tomorrow I’ll show you around. There’s a lot of history here, you know.”

Her fingers danced around the soggy bread to keep the rest of the pineapple between the slices. “The old South.” She took another bite.

“May she rise again,” Gilbert said with a raise of his tea glass.

They laughed together. It was nonsense talk, really. She knew that. They were both a little nervous. She definitely more than he.

Patsy drained the last of the tea in her Tupperware tumbler. She was still thirsty so she poured herself another glassful. “I’ll clean up in here when we’re done,” she said while doing so.

“You’ll do no such thing.” He looked to the door leading from the kitchen to the rest of the house, then back at her. “Tell you what. Why don’t you put the things that need refrigerating back where they belong. I’ll get our luggage from the car, take you to the carriage house in back, and let you get washed up . . . or whatever it is you gals do before bedtime.”

Patsy thought she saw him blush, and it delighted her.

“While you’re doing that, I’ll clean up in here.”

“You can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

Patsy straightened her spine. “Because, silly, I’m the wife. I’m supposed to clean the kitchen.”

He laughed. “Where were you when I was on KP?”

She laughed with him.

“Besides,” he added. “Who do you think has been keeping the kitchen clean at the station?”

She paused as though she were actually thinking. “Not Martha, I take it?”

“Martha handles the café kitchen. Not our kitchen.”

Patsy reached for his empty plate and put it on top of hers. “I guess I haven’t thought in terms of you eating in our kitchen.” She sighed. “
Our
kitchen. Oh, Gilbert . . .”

“What?”

She felt herself growing warm inside. “I’m so happy.”

Gilbert stood, walked to where she sat, bent, and kissed her. “Me too.” He winked at her. “You know, this is the start of a whole new life. For both of us.”

“Tell me again, Gilbert. Tell me what you see for us.”

Gilbert pulled the nearest chair to him. He sat on the edge, one arm leaning against the table. One arm resting on the back of Patsy’s chair. “You and me, Patsy. We’ll have a good life. We’ll have children, and they’ll grow up to know how much they’re loved. We’ll make sure they understand the things of God and country.”

Patsy nodded. “I like that.”

“You’ll be the heart of the home, Pats. And I’ll be out there, every day, making sure the business grows. Making sure there’s enough for you and the kids.” His eyes registered surprise. “We’ve never really talked about that, have we? Children.”

Patsy feared she’d blush to the point of death. “No. I just assumed . . .” She couldn’t finish her thought.

Assumed we’d have many . . . and you will love me more with each one, and they’ll love me, and we’ll be happy as a family. Complete. Never apart from one another.

“How many, Pats?”

“What?”

“How many should we have? Children?”

Patsy pressed her hand against her chest. “Goodness, Gilbert. How should I know? We haven’t even . . . I mean . . .” She shook her head as she looked to her lap. “You know what I mean.”

Gilbert’s right hand popped the table. “Well, then let’s start at four.” He burst out laughing.

She laughed with him. “Four? Not all at once, I hope.”

Now he roared. “Oh, good heavens, no.” He leaned over for another kiss, which she gladly provided. “And not for a while. I want you all to myself for at least two years.”

His voice had gone smoky; his eyes bore into hers. “Hmm,” she said. “I want you all to myself too.”

They continued to sit and stare for a few moments before Patsy remembered to breathe. “Well, then, Mr. Milstrap. I guess you’d best go on and get our things from the car so we can start this marriage, huh?”

The right side of his lips curled upward. “I reckon so.”

———

They lay on their backs in their marriage bed later that night, fingers entwined, eyes staring at the swirls in the ceiling. Gilbert whispered, “Will you do something for me, Patsy?”

She turned her head to look at him, breathed in his scent. “Anything.”

“Will you never cut your hair?”

The fingers of her free hand ran through the locks at the crown. “Never cut my . . . why? You don’t like my hair?”

Gilbert released her hand, shifted until he rested on his elbow, then pulled her free hand away from her forehead. With his own fingertips, he lightly brushed at the dark strands as he said, “No, baby. I love it. I just . . . my mother never cut her hair for Pops. She told me once he liked hair on the pillow, and . . . tonight when I saw you lying here . . . I understood what he meant.”