I’m living in a darling town, in a rather posh neighborhood of hilly, winding roads and beautiful homes. Henry’s family home is among the prettiest and I still get lost in its many rooms. My favorite rooms are the library, which is filled with books on all subjects, and the upstairs parlor, where I feel snug and comfortable. It snowed yesterday and I spent much of the day nestled in that room, studying for the RN exam. I’m not sure how I will be able to get to Winston-Salem for the three-day exam in March, since Henry doesn’t want me to take it and I will be five months along then. Travel might be challenging. But I’m determined! I’ve come this far and once my baby is old enough to leave with a sitter (Henry wants us to have an actual nanny!), I will be a nurse, by hook or crook!
Oh, Gina, I don’t want to tell you how truly difficult these past few days have been! You will worry and I don’t want you to. I know I’m very fortunate that my baby’s father is taking responsibility for my child and myself, and certainly I’m living in paradise. But there is so much wrong. To begin with, his mother and sister already dislike me intensely. His mother, who is a lovely, sophisticated-looking woman, is kind to my face, but I know she wanted Henry to marry a girl named Violet who she thinks is a far more suitable match. Which she probably is. Henry denies they were engaged, but clearly there was some sort of relationship there that I have disrupted, and although I haven’t met this Violet, I feel terrible for hurting her. Henry’s mother has also figured out that I am expecting (though she’s said nothing to me about it), and I know she thinks I’m very loose and unworthy of her son and the family name. I don’t know how to win her over but I’m determined to try. Henry’s younger sister, Lucy, is cold to me, and has perfected a sneer each time she looks at me. She is bitter because she had no debutante ball due to the war. Can you imagine the sort of girl she is? How will I ever relate to her? I remind myself it’s only been a few days and we are all trying to make the best of things.
They have a maid named Hattie. I guess that means I also have a maid now! That’s another adjustment, turning over my laundry to someone else to do. Not bothering to make my bed or dust the dresser because she’s expected to do it. She’s a wonderful cook, working magic with the little bit of rationed food we can get, and I like her. As a matter of fact, she is the kindest person in the house. She’s the only person around whom I don’t feel uncomfortable.
And dear Gina, they want to turn me into a Baptist! Henry has informed me in no uncertain terms that I am no longer Catholic. I’ve never met a Baptist in my life till now, and I know nothing about the Baptist religion, but I guess I will find out this Sunday when we go to church. Maybe I won’t be able to go to mass any longer, but I will always be Catholic in my heart.
I’m so sorry to go on and on this way. Don’t worry about me. This is all new and temporary—a period of adjustment. Henry is building a house for us nearby. I haven’t seen it yet, but I don’t care if it’s a shack—as long as it puts some distance between us and his mother and sister.
Now tell me all about you. Any news from Mac? How is your mother? Treasure her before it’s too late! And please, please keep in touch. I miss you, Gina. I miss my dear mother. And I miss Vincent more than I can say—I try not to think about him or I won’t be able to function at all. If you should hear from him or learn anything about him, please don’t tell me. I need to put him out of my mind as best I can. I know I can trust you to never reveal my whereabouts—or my condition—to him.
Oh, Gina, there is so much I’ve done that I wish I could undo!
With love,
Tess
21
The Krafts had their own pew in the Baptist church. Whether it was theirs in a formal sense or people simply knew to leave it vacant for the family, I didn’t know. Either way, the third pew on the left side was empty when we arrived, while most others were filled. Lucy went into the pew first, followed by Ruth, then Henry and myself. Henry had tried to usher me in to sit next to Ruth, but I’d held back long enough to let him know I’d prefer he sit next to his mother. Although she was treating me civilly, I couldn’t get those things she’d said about me out of my head.
Sitting in the church, waiting for the service to begin, I was very aware of my “differentness.” My so-called foreign looks. The fact that I’d never before been to a religious service outside the Catholic church. The loneliness that came with knowing not a soul in the church other than the three people I was sitting with—and those three people were near strangers to me as well.
There was quiet chatter around us as we waited. I kept my gaze straight ahead. I was certain people were looking at me. Certain that the whispering I heard was about me. The church felt all wrong. It was too brightly lit, to begin with. There was no altar, only a lectern standing empty in front of us. No communion rail or crucifix or tabernacle or candles. There were none of St. Leo’s extraordinary frescoes or stained glass or murals. No stations of the cross, no statues. No kneelers! I would have given anything at that moment to be back in my own church. I didn’t belong here and I had the feeling that everyone around me knew it.
The man who appeared at the lectern wore a suit, like every other man in the church, and it took me a while to realize that he was the minister or preacher or whatever he would be called in a Baptist church. No vestments. Nothing to set him apart from anyone else. He welcomed everyone and then called for announcements. People stood up here and there throughout the church, asking for prayers for a sick aunt, announcing a birth, calling for donations for a youth mission trip. It was like being at a community meeting, not a church service, and I was extraordinarily relieved that the Kraft family refrained from announcing Henry’s brand-new marriage. It was nothing to be proud of, I supposed. I was glad to keep the focus off myself as much as possible.
After the announcements, Henry handed me a hymnal and we sang a couple of hymns I’d never heard before but that everyone else seemed to know by heart. I stumbled through the words and melodies. Then the minister delivered a sermon about sin, which I tried hard to imagine had not been penned specifically for me. My mind began to drift as he spoke. Where was Vincent going to church this morning? Was he praying for me or had he given up on me altogether? How had he reacted to my letter? Was he angry or was he grieving? Most likely I’d left him utterly confused. He wouldn’t understand that I’d saved him from myself.
When the service was over and we left the church and congregated outside on the sidewalk, people began to approach us. Henry rested his hand on my elbow in a manner that felt both protective and comforting and I was grateful.
“So you’re the young lady who swept Hank off his feet,” one woman said, her smile overly curious.
“What lovely hair you have!” said another. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen hair quite that thick before.”
I greeted everyone with a warm smile, trying to imagine them as part of my new church family, but their curiosity didn’t feel like friendliness to me.
An older man and woman approached us and Hank let go of my elbow to shake the man’s hand. “This is my wife, Tess,” he introduced me. “Tess, this is Hickory’s mayor, Arthur Finley, and his wife, Marjorie.”
“How do you do?” I smiled at them.
“Welcome, dear,” Marjorie said. “We’re happy to have you with us.” It felt like the first sincere greeting of the morning.