“I know you don’t want a divorce,” I began, “and neither do I. Neither of our churches support it, and—”
“What do you mean, ‘neither of our churches’?” He frowned at me, slipping his hands into his pants pockets. “Tess, when are you going to accept that you’re no longer Catholic? I’ve wanted to talk to you about being baptized in the Baptist church, but I didn’t think it was the right time yet, with everything that’s gone on. But—”
“That’s not what I’m talking about,” I said quickly. I’d started this conversation the wrong way. “I’m not talking about our religions, really. I’m talking about a possible … annulment.” There. I’d said it. “It might be possible to have our marriage voided,” I said. “It would be like we’d never been married at—”
“I know what an annulment is,” he said. “I’m not interested in it.” He stared at me from beneath knitted brows. “I don’t understand you,” he said. “I just said you can have this house, for God’s sake.” He looked around us at the four walls of the room. “You can decorate it any way you like, to your heart’s content. Most girls would leap at that chance.”
“It’s a beautiful house,” I agreed, “but if we don’t have a … true marriage, then … will we really be happy anyplace?”
“We’re married, Tess,” he said. “If you would just relax a little … try harder to fit in … then yes, we can be happy here.”
I struggled to figure out what to say. He looked so mystified by my complaints, and those downcast eyes suddenly hurt to look at. I knew I couldn’t say anything about impotence now. It was too personal. Far too insulting and emasculating.
“It’s just that we haven’t … if there’s no … you know … consummation, then it’s possible to get a marriage voided. Annulled. It’s as if there’s no real marriage.”
He pulled his hands from his pockets and rubbed the fingers of his right hand over the knuckles of his left as though they ached. “I’ll give you the number for the interior decorator,” he said, heading for the door of the room. “You can call her at your leisure.”
I shut my eyes, not budging from the spot where I stood leaning against the wall. I hadn’t handled that well. I would give him time to think through what I said. Surely he had to acknowledge that what we had was not a real marriage. He couldn’t possibly be happy with our relationship the way it was. Could he?
*
I fell into a troubled sleep that night, curled on my side. Sometime after midnight, I awakened to realize that Henry was lying behind me on the narrow bed. He touched my breasts through my negligee, his fingers light, the tips of them like feathers on my nipples. The touch was enough to arouse me and I rolled over to face him. In the dark, I couldn’t make out his features. What would I see in his face? I wondered. What would he see in mine? He lifted the hem of my negligee and gently spread my thighs apart with his hands, and then, for the second time in my life, I felt a man inside me. I prayed we were not creating another child. Not yet. I was still grieving for Andrew. I always would be. I lay there, moving with him, feeling very little other than the automatic response of my body to his thrusts. I knew it wasn’t desire motivating him, and it certainly wasn’t love. I knew his true motivation as clearly as I knew my own name. Henry was locking me into this marriage for all time.
I knew what he was doing. I just didn’t know why.
45
“Where on earth is Hattie?” Ruth asked the following morning. She and Lucy and I had come down to the dining room expecting breakfast to be ready. When there was no sign of food or even our table settings, the three of us walked into the kitchen to find it sparkling clean. It was clear Hattie hadn’t yet arrived. I knew she occasionally spent the night away, with her boyfriend, Oscar, but she was always at the house early enough to make breakfast for Henry, who often left for work before the rest of us were up. I’d been glad to find Henry gone when I woke up that morning. I was both perplexed and irritated by his lovemaking last night.
Ruth peered out the window toward the cottage. “I hope she’s not ill,” she said.
“I’ll go check on her,” Lucy said, but before she could open the back door, a truck pulled up near the garage and Hattie stepped out of the cab in her gray uniform and white apron.
“That’s Zeke’s truck,” Lucy said, as the truck began backing out of the driveway. “She must not have stayed in the cottage last night.” She pulled open the door as Hattie rushed onto the back steps. Even from where I stood, I could see that her eyes were red.
“Sorry I’m late!” she said, hurrying breathlessly into the kitchen, a handkerchief wadded up in her fist. “I’ll cook y’alls’ breakfast right—”
“What’s wrong, Hattie?” Lucy interrupted her.
Hattie stood in the middle of the kitchen, looking woefully at the three of us before burying her face in her hands, her shoulders heaving. Ruth pulled a chair from beneath the table.
“Sit down, dear,” she said. “Tell us what’s happened.”
Hattie lowered herself onto the chair, her dark cheeks streaked with tears. “Butchie has the polio!” she said.
“Oh no,” I said, and Ruth took a step backward as though Hattie might be a carrier of the dreaded disease.
“How horrible!” Lucy pressed a fist to her mouth.
“Zeke come get me last night and brung me over Adora’s to help out before they knowed what was wrong,” Hattie continued. “Doctor says he’s the first case in Hickory. He’s real sick. Can’t move. Can’t even swallow and ain’t breathin’ right.” She looked up at us, a mystified expression on her face. “Why my baby cousin got to be the first one?” she asked.
“Poor Adora,” Ruth said, genuine concern in her voice. “Did the doctor give him some medicine?”
Hattie shook her head. “They come in a ambulance and took him away to Charlotte,” she said. “Honor’s all tore up. They wouldn’t let her go with him. They let me and Zeke leave the house, but Adora and Honor and Jilly is all under that quarantine now.”
“This is terrible.” Lucy twisted her hands together in front of her. “He’s such a sweet little boy.” Were there tears in her eyes? She ordinarily struck me as so self-absorbed. This was a different side to her.
Ruth looked at Lucy. “We need to take them something,” she said. “What do they need, Hattie?”
“They need their baby boy back,” she said, blotting her eyes with the handkerchief. “That’s about it.”
I remembered little Butchie running out of Adora’s house the day we took them the leftovers from the box supper. His adorable little suit and tie. The joy in his face at seeing Lucy. I hated to think of him so sick.
“I could make them one of those stuffed hams,” I said, wondering if my contribution would be welcome. Hattie had told me how much they’d liked my ham, but my connection to Adora’s family was peripheral at best. I looked at Hattie. “You said they loved it.”