Chapter Sixteen
When the sun began to sink behind us, Hank declared it a day. They tried to hide it, but I could tell they were both out of patience with me and my false alarms, and I felt terrible for disappointing them. We barely spoke as Ellis rowed back.
I was also anxious about facing everyone at the inn, but there was no avoiding it. I couldn’t even slip in unobtrusively because of my Rosie the Riveter getup, never mind my bright red gloves and gas mask case.
It turns out I needn’t have worried. I smelled perfume and heard giggling as soon as we cracked the door open, and when we stepped inside, no one gave us a second glance. A crowd had gathered, and this time it included young women.
“Well now, what have we here?” said Hank, casting his eyes around the room.
A dance was about to start at the Public Hall, and the excitement was palpable. Meg and the other girls had pulled chairs over so they could sit together, and were sipping drinks, praising each other’s shoes, hair, and outfits, and surreptitiously posing for the lumberjacks, who colluded by pretending they weren’t looking.
One girl told how she’d dismantled an old dress her mother had “grown out of” and transformed it into the latest style using a pattern from the most recent “Make-Do and Mend” booklet. Another girl was wearing real stockings, which were the object of much admiration. She extended her leg for the other girls to examine, although there was a great deal of examination from the lumberjacks as well.
“They’re lovely,” Meg said enviously. “Look at the sheen on them. Are they silk or nylon?”
“Nylon,” said the other girl, pointing her toe in various directions.
“Where on earth did you find them?”
“My George sent three pairs from London. He says the girls are stealing them right and left, in plain daylight. Shopkeepers have to store them under the counter.”
Meg sighed. “And here we are without a single pair to steal.” She turned to a large and ruddy-faced lumberjack sitting at the next table. I realized he was the man I’d seen slipping out of her room. “Rory, next time you’re on leave, do you think you can get me some real stockings?”
“And risk being ripped limb from limb by roaming packs of thieving girls?” He flashed a grin. “For you, anything.”
Meg turned her leg so she could examine the line she’d drawn. “I suppose I’ve done well enough with gravy browning and a pencil. But if it rains, I’ll have the dogs chasing me again, licking my legs.”
“I’ll keep the hounds away, canine or otherwise,” said Rory, winking. “Go on, girls, have one more drink. My treat.”
“Och, but you’re an awful one!” said Meg, wagging her finger. “Don’t think I’m not onto you. We’re all onto the lot of you!”
There were giggles all around as the girls blushed, each casting a shy glance at a different lumberjack. They cleared out together a few minutes later, laughing and excited, leaving only three older locals perched on stools at the bar.
One twisted around to watch the young men file out after the girls. When the door closed behind them, he turned back.
“Well, I suppose if there’s a good time to be a sheep it’s when you’re a lamb,” he said with a sigh.
“Aye,” said the others, nodding sagely.
“Say, I don’t suppose you want to go,” said Ellis, giving me a playful jab.
I tried to smile but couldn’t. He’d meant it as a joke, but I would have given anything to be part of that pack of girls making their way to the Public Hall.
—
I’d never had female friends. My single best opportunity—boarding school—was a complete wash. What happened with my mother ensured I was a pariah before I ever set foot in the place. My next opportunity, the summer I graduated, was no better. It was clear the other girls were simply enduring me in order to gain access to Hank, Ellis, and Freddie, and when I apparently took two of them off the market at once—breaking one’s heart and marrying the other—most of the girls dissipated. Hank’s sweethearts continued to tolerate me until they realized he wasn’t going to marry them, but not one of them had tried to stay in touch after. Violet was the first one I’d felt at all optimistic about, especially since I thought Hank was finally going to let himself be caught.
I felt guilty again about how we’d left her behind.
—
There was a knock on my door shortly after I’d gone to bed and blown out my candle.
“Who is it?” I asked.
“It’s me,” said Ellis.
It didn’t happen often, but from the tone of his voice I knew what he wanted.
“Just a minute.”
I groped my way to the dresser, found the hand towel, and wiped the cold cream off my face. Then I began fumbling with the rollers.
“What are you doing in there?” he said.
“Nothing,” I replied. “Just making myself presentable.”
“I don’t care if you’re presentable.”
There was no way I was going to get the rollers out in the dark, so I gave up and opened the door.
Ellis stepped in and took my face in his hands, pressing his mouth against mine.
He had shaved and applied cologne, a custom concoction he’d been wearing as long as I’d known him, and although his lips remained closed, I could taste toothpaste. His pajamas were silk.
“Oh!” I said, pulling back in surprise. There was usually no preamble at all.
“What on earth?” he said, patting the sides and back of my head.
Because Lana had always taken care of the serious business of maintaining my hair, all Ellis had previously encountered on my head were bobby pins and a delicately beaded hairnet.
“Rollers,” I explained. “I’ve been setting my own hair. If you give me ten minutes, I’ll light a candle and get them out.”
“In the middle of nowhere, with no electricity, my intrepid wife still finds a way to be gorgeous,” he said. “Hank’s right, you know—they did break the mold when they made you.”
He pushed the door shut and slipped his arms around my waist.
“After our little misunderstanding, I thought we should make up properly,” he said in a low growl. “Also, I was reminded today of just what a good sport you are. You have no idea what it means to me.”
He backed me against the dresser and pressed his hips into mine. There was no mistaking his intentions.
“Do you mean for going monster hunting?” I said.
“Yes…”
“False alarms and all?”
“Just proves what wonderful eyes you have…”
“What about for tolerating Hank?” I asked. “Am I a good sport for that?”
“Positively saintly,” he said in a hoarse whisper. He put his hands on my hips and began grinding against me. I leaned my head back, boldly offering my throat. I had never before done such a thing, and when he didn’t kiss it, I wondered if he couldn’t see it in the dark.
“What about my overactive imagination?” I continued. “And my unseemly appetite?”
“There is absolutely nothing unseemly about you,” he said. “Should we light a candle, or just try to find the bed? Is your luggage in the way?”
“No, the way is clear…”
“Are you just neater than me or did they put your things away?”
“I think I’m just neater…”
“Neater, prettier, quick as a whip…”
He guided me backward. When we bumped into the side of the bed, I climbed under the covers and lay against the pillows.
He crawled in beside me, lifted my nightgown, and arranged himself above me. Then he nudged my legs apart with a knee, balanced on one arm long enough to pull down his pajama bottoms, and entered me. After a few pushes, he collapsed, gasping in my ear. A minute later he rolled off.
“Oh, Maddie, my sweet, sweet Maddie,” he said, caressing my shoulder.
I wanted to tell him that we couldn’t be finished yet, that it wasn’t my shoulder that needed attention, but I couldn’t find the words. I never had, and I probably never would, because I wasn’t entirely sure what it was that I needed him to do.
I lay wide-eyed in the dark long after he’d crept from my bed and gone back to his own.
—
During my teen years, when my mind turned to such things, I imagined the physical side of marriage would be very different than it turned out to be. Perhaps it was the forbidden novels passed around the dorms at Miss Porter’s that set my expectations so high. Perhaps it was the whisperings about girls who had actually done it (and anyone who didn’t return after a holiday was suspect). Perhaps it was the sight of dreamy film heroes turning their leading ladies into willing puddles of mush with a single, authoritative kiss.
I had high hopes for our wedding night, but it was a complete disaster, with Ellis cursing and thrusting limply while his mother wept theatrically in a room down the hall. I was too innocent to realize it at the time, but I don’t think we even managed to consummate the marriage.
Our wedding night may have had extenuating circumstances, but in the months after, when there were none, I remained baffled and disappointed. Either it was over as soon as it began, or else he couldn’t finish, which left him extremely ill-tempered. I kept hoping it would develop into something more, something that involved me, but it never did.
I thought he must be disappointed too, because the frequency had fallen off the edge of the earth as soon as he had the excuse of my diagnosis, and I never tried to start anything. It was no wonder we didn’t have a baby.