“No debutante balls with the war going on,” Ruth said.
Oh, that sort of coming out. The sort a girl from Little Italy knew nothing about.
“They would have to have a war just when it was my turn,” Lucy said sulkily. She was really quite an unpleasant girl.
“Oh, Lucy,” Ruth said with a tired smile. “And how about you, dear?” she turned to me again. “Hank said you were going to school before he stole you away. What were you studying?”
“Nursing,” I said. “I finished my degree and I’m gearing up to take my licensing exam in March.” I’d learned that the RN exam would be held in Winston-Salem, a few hours’ drive from Hickory.
“Oh, for what reason?” she said. “You won’t need to work, and nursing is such messy business.”
I felt insulted and annoyed. “I think I’d be bored if I didn’t work.” I said, then realized I was probably insulting her.
“Well, there are many lovely ways to while away the time here in Hickory,” she said. “Do you play bridge?”
“I never have, but I’d love to learn.” I’d never given a thought to bridge in my life.
“We also have many book clubs. Do you like to read?”
“Oh yes. I’m reading an Agatha Christie novel right now.”
“And you can join Mama’s Ladies of the Homefront organization,” Lucy said with a hint of sarcasm.
“And hopefully you’ll take to it more easily than my daughter,” Ruth said.
“What is ‘Ladies of the Homefront’?” I asked.
“It’s not a group so much as a movement,” Ruth explained, leaning forward with some enthusiasm. “Another woman and I became concerned with what’s happening to the women in our country while their men are away fighting. Wearing slacks. Smoking to excess. You don’t smoke, do you, dear?”
“Occasionally.” I smiled apologetically, thinking of how much I’d like a cigarette at that very moment.
“So unfeminine.” Ruth appeared to shudder. “I worry the men will come home to a country full of manly women. I do hope you’ll come to our meetings. I’ll introduce you around. And then there’s our wonderful church and all the activities there. You’re Baptist, of course?” She looked at me as though the answer were a foregone conclusion.
I shook my head. “Catholic,” I said, and her eyes widened before she had the chance to catch herself. “Well,” she said, apparently shaken by my answer. “You’re Baptist now, dear.”
*
I was relieved when Henry returned to the room. He held out a hand to me. “Let me steal you away to show you around the house,” he said.
I excused myself and left the room with him, taking in a relieved breath when we shut the living room door behind us. We walked across the foyer and into a beautiful library, the walls covered from floor to ceiling with shelves of books. Two leather wingback chairs were angled against one wall.
“How lovely!” I exclaimed. “You’d never run out of things to read in this house.”
“I helped my father build these shelves when I was just a boy,” Henry said, smoothing the fingers of his right hand over the edge of one of the shelves near the fireplace. “And my desk, as well.” He pointed toward the massive desk that faced the front window. His voice sounded different than I’d heard it before. He loved this room.
“That’s wonderful,” I said. “And soon you’ll be able to build things with your own child.”
He gave me a smile that told me how much he liked that idea. “I admit, I’m hoping for a boy,” he said, almost shyly.
“I think it is a boy,” I said, then prompted, “but if it’s a girl?”
“I fear I’ll turn a daughter of mine into a tomboy.” He laughed. “She’ll be fit for no man.”
“She’ll be lucky to have her father’s time and attention,” I said, but he had moved on to the shelves nearest the side window. He motioned me over.
“This is my favorite section,” he said. He pulled one of the huge, heavy volumes from a shelf and walked across the room to set it on the desk. I followed him and watched as he opened the book, which was filled with pictures and illustrations of early American furniture. He turned a few of the pages almost reverently and I could see how much he enjoyed creating furniture. I remembered the smells and sounds of his factory and knew he belonged there. I gently touched his arm.
“You love your work,” I said.
He looked up at me. “Yes,” he said. “I’m fortunate to have a job I love.”
He closed the book and slipped it back into its place on the bookshelf while I wandered through the room, touching the spines, reading titles. I spotted a thick scrapbook on a small table in the corner and touched the corner of it with my fingers.
“Mama’s scrapbook,” he said. “Some family photographs. Newspaper articles. That sort of thing.”
I would have liked to look through the scrapbook. Get to know my new family. But it didn’t seem the time, and I returned my attention to the bookshelves. I spotted several Bibles and a whole shelf devoted to the Baptist faith.
“I think your mother is upset that I’m Catholic,” I said.
Henry raised his eyebrows, then began guiding me out of the room. “Not many Catholics around here,” he said, as we walked through a small sitting room. “Just a tiny congregation and they mostly keep to themselves.” He stopped walking when we reached a closed door and turned to face me. “You won’t be able to go to the Catholic church, Tess,” he said. “You’re going to have to fit in here in Hickory. Fit in with my family and our way of life. And of course our child will be Baptist. It’s best you don’t tell anyone that you were a Catholic.”
“Were a Catholic?” I said. “I don’t know anything about being Baptist. Even going to a Baptist service is a sin.”
“That’s ridiculous.” He shook his head with something close to a chuckle. “You’ll have to give up all that hocus-pocus that comes with Catholicism.”
I said nothing. I thought of the priest who’d loudly blasted me for sleeping with Henry. Had I deserved that much vitriol and humiliation? I was angry at that priest. Angry at the church that would make me feel so dirty and guilty. Yet my life had centered around my beloved St. Leo’s. I wasn’t sure I could break away. Already I felt an ache in my heart that I would miss mass tomorrow, not to mention all the tomorrows to come.
Henry pushed open the swinging door and we walked into the largest kitchen I’d ever seen in a home, all done up in white and a deep, rich blue. The whole downstairs of my Baltimore house could fit inside that kitchen. The cabinets were white metal, the countertops a pale blue laminate with dark blue trim. The floor was a blue and white checkerboard. Even the large white porcelain enamel table was trimmed with blue. The whole kitchen was spotless.
Hattie walked into the room from the outside door, a wicker laundry basket in her arms, white sheets spilling over the rim. The smell of sunshine followed her into the room.