Wedding (30 page)

“Now your mother knows a sophisticated hat,
uh huh,” Frankie said to me one evening. “Of course being European,
she would,” Frankie said.

“What’s ‘sophisticated?’” I asked.

“Oh it’s a look,” Frankie said. “It’s
tasteful, a bit reserved, the classics, uh huh.”

After her mom was gone, I’d visit Frankie
during the long summer evenings. I always had to stand at her front
door. She never invited me in after her mom died. She’d stand on
the other side of the screen, glass of Port in hand, chatting. My
mother “checked in” on Frankie every week or so. Somehow, she was
invited in. Afterwards, she’d come home shaking her head. “I think
Frankie is losing her mind.”

Sometimes, mom would say, “Al, have you lost
your mind?” to my dad, so when she said Frankie was losing hers, I
didn’t give it much importance. I thought it was something mom said
to make you laugh because it always made my dad laugh when she said
it.

For the next couple of years, Frankie
continued to work, leaving every morning with a feather in her cap,
coming home every evening with a pillbox on her head. One day, I
came home from school, and my mother was sitting at the dining room
table looking at what she called “crystal.” There were, she said,
pointing to the different shapes, dessert goblets, cordial glasses,
wine glasses, and water glasses. Most were clear glass, some were
light green, and others the palest shade of pink. Sixteen in all,
service for four. A gift from Frankie.

My mom said, “Frankie said, ‘You always
admired these, Margaret, and I want you to have them.’” Mom sounded
more sad than happy, and she shook her head as if trying to shake a
thought out of her brain.

I learned a few things about hats from
Frankie.

“Easter’s big,” Frankie would say to me.
“June is next, uh huh. Wedding season, you know. You’ve got both
mothers, all the bridesmaids, usually, and sisters and aunts of the
bride and bridegroom. You never call them grooms,” she added.
“Grooms clean out horse stalls.”

“What about Christmas?” I asked.

“Not as big as it used to be,” Frankie said.
“Women these days are turning to scarves.” She dismissed the trend
with a tone of mild annoyance. “Scarves are for necks,” she said.
“But winter hats are not so exciting,” she admitted. “Spring is
when you get your great hats. I’m going to be working non-stop up
to Easter, uh huh,” she said, sipping her Port.

I don’t know when I first noticed, but
sometime after that Easter, Frankie stopped going to work. My
mother waved away my questions and said, “Business is down at the
hat shop.” That was about 1956. I was eleven. As spring became
summer, I often walked past Frankie’s house, but it was all closed
up---doors closed, blinds down, no one around. I thought that was
strange because everyone knew how hot and humid it could get in
Peoria. One late afternoon, I decided to “check on Frankie.” After
I knocked for a long time, the heavy front door opened a few
inches. There was a single lamp on in the background with a dull
light bulb revealing stacks of papers, miscellaneous wine glasses
on the coffee table, and a strange old woman at the door. It wasn’t
until she opened her mouth and revealed a dulled front tooth I
recognized as hers that I realized it was Frankie.

“Yes?” she said. She acted like she didn’t
know me.

For a moment, I was speechless. Finally, “Hi
Frankie. How are you?”

“Not so good, but I have to get ready for
work now,” she said, and she closed the door without so much as a
smile.

I wandered around Mr. DeJarnette’s back yard
for a while. The DeJarnette’s were at work. I saw their cat Suzy
sitting in the shade under a couple big Sunflowers, so I knelt
down, petted Suzie for a while and wondered idly where Tuffy and
Tippy were. They were Suzie’s sons. Frankie didn’t have any
children, but she used to talk about some guy that was dead now.
Later I learned his name was Guy, and he died shortly after “the
War.”

My dad was in the same war as everyone else,
and he flew a glider. He missed the wedding because he couldn’t
tell her about the Invasion of Normandy, which he was in. He
crashed the glider in France, but he always said his co-pilot
didn’t follow his orders and brought the nose of the plane down too
fast. Dad was in charge. Somehow, after his injuries healed, he
married mom. When she told the story about him missing the wedding,
I was initially horrified to imagine her at the church with no
bridegroom.

“Mom, you didn’t know
anything
? You
had
no
idea?” I squealed.

“Well, if I did, I surely couldn’t let on,”
she said. “He wasn’t supposed to tell me about the invasion,” she’d
add with a smile. With that smile, I knew she was taking me into
her confidence. I felt proud. I had secrets. September 22. That’s
when they finally got married. Mom said both Frankie and Guy were
“in retail,” her at the hat shop, him at Schradskies department
store. He went through a whole war then died after he got home. My
dad crashed a plane with no engine, then married mom.