Face the Winter Naked (3 page)

Again,
her mother's voice cut through her dreamy veil. LaDaisy half listened, half
not.

"I've
been thinking," Vera said. "You might as well divorce him."

The
fly landed on the web and fluttered its wings; the more it fought, the tighter
the spider glue held. Divorce Daniel? She struggled to refocus her eyes. The
rocker stopped rocking.

"What
did you say?"

"I
said you can divorce Daniel for walking out on you. I know this nice lawyer,
name's Roger Belton. He—"

LaDaisy
straightened up and blinked to clear her eyes; she'd almost fallen asleep
listening to her mother's constant drone. She glanced down at her infant,
softly stroked the fine, moist curls.

"Daniel
loves his babies. He'll be back."

"When?
He could be dead for all we know." She went over and picked up one of Daniel's
caps, stared at it for a few moments without speaking, then laid it on the end
table and brushed her hand on her skirt. "When's the last time Daniel said
he loved you?"

"More
recently than Rufus told you, I'm sure."

Mary
wiggled and grunted. LaDaisy raised her up against a shoulder. The last thing
she wanted was for Mary to wake up. If she didn't get her nap out, the house
would be in an uproar the rest of the day. She commenced rocking again, softly
patting Mary's bottom. The wet diaper had soaked LaDaisy's smock.

She
became aware of her mother staring, and looked up.

"It's
none of your business if he loves me or not."

Vera
crossed the room and retrieved her bag from the table by the front door.
LaDaisy thought of a little girl's Sunday school pocketbook; she could imagine
in it a hanky, two pennies, a stick of Spearmint gum, and the crumpled scrap of
her Sunday school work sheet.

"A
man who loves his wife tells her so," Vera said. "I'll bet Daniel
hasn't said those words since your wedding night."

"We
already know how each other feels," LaDaisy said, weary of the
conversation. "You don't live with someone, go through something like this
terrible Depression, and not know what they're thinking and feeling."
I
am so tired of defending him.

"Ha!
Did you read his mind the day he ran out on you? If you did, you'd know where
he is, wouldn't you? But you don't know, and he isn't coming back to his
responsibilities. Mark my words, LaDaisy, Daniel saw his chance for
freedom."

LaDaisy
ran a shaky hand through her bobbed chestnut hair, around back of her neck. She
made no reply, but waited for her mother to leave.

Vera
stood on the other side of the room, as firmly planted as the giant oak out
front, her roots growing through the linoleum, her hand on the screen door
handle and gazing at her daughter.

"What
are you and the children eating? Or do you send them to their aunt's house for
meals?"

"We
manage."

"On
the meager wages you get from hemming up a few dresses and sewing rips in other
people's clothes? You weren't brought up for menial work, LaDaisy. Why land
sakes, a daughter of mine doing maid's work. Do you also take in laundry? No
wonder people call you La Crazy."

LaDaisy
frowned.
La Crazy, La Lazy.
Childhood nicknames her sister had called
her. She was doing well to get her own family's clothes washed.

"Laundry?
Hmmm, thanks for the suggestion."

"Daniel
wasn't good for anything except making babies," Vera said. "He made
another one, then took off, leaving you to give birth and care for four
children alone."

Mary's
diaper was soggy but it could wait. It was all LaDaisy could do to sit and
listen to her mother insulting Daniel Tomelin, the only man in the world she
couldn't live without.

"I
already told you he didn't know I was expecting."

Vera
shook her head, her curls bouncing close to her cheeks. Her rouge was too
bright against the pale funeral makeup, as was her lipstick. LaDaisy could
never understand why her mother, with all her money, would go around looking
like a clown.

She
knew Vera was peeved that she'd married into such a "plain" family—Vera's
own words. Now, something inside the younger woman snapped. Years of coping
with her mother's insults rose like bile in her throat.

"If
you ever talk about Daniel that way again, so help me God, I'll never speak to
you as long as I live."

"I'm
just offering my help."

"Your
help isn't needed." LaDaisy felt her face redden. "It's like Hoover
sitting up there in his fancy mansion telling us to cheer up, things are
getting better. Well I don't have chicken on my table every Sunday. Dammit to
hell, Mama! We know it won't be all right for a long time, if ever. I've got me
a scrub bucket out on the back porch. Why don't you and Hoover come over and
scrub my floors?"

"Now
you listen here!"

"No,
you
listen. I don't need you or Rufus Baker, President Hoover, Daniel's
folks, or Clay Huff to take care of us. If Daniel never comes home, you'll see
I don't need him, either. We'll manage without charity."

Vera
tried to speak again, but LaDaisy cut her off, her eyes glistening with tears.
"I'm a Tomelin now, Mama, and we have pride if we don't have much
else."

Vera's
hand flew up to her chest, fluttering there like a moth. "You're not
yourself. I'll come back when you're feeling better." She paused in the
doorway, holding the screen door open. "Rufus will be by here later with a
box of clothes that might fit the children."

More
charity.

LaDaisy
had no grudges against her stepfather, for Rufus had always treated her well.
Still, she thought he should assert some authority over his wife and call her
down when she became a meddling shrew in her oldest daughter's life. The fact
is, the man was content to let Vera run things at home while he attended to
business at the store.

After
she left, LaDaisy carried Mary to the bedroom, put her down in the cradle, and
changed her diaper. Mary sighed and stuck her thumb in her mouth; for once,
LaDaisy left it there. She glanced at the basket of dirty laundry a neighbor
had delivered earlier, dreading the thought of heating water and filling tubs
to scrub the clothes by hand.

She
lay down on the bed and closed her eyes, settling her body from its emotional
onslaught in order to make milk; but her whirling thoughts would not settle.

Her
life was falling apart since Daniel disappeared. Could her mother be right?
Would he never return? She didn't know what to believe.

Politicians
encouraged citizens to hang on—"Things have to get better." But many
of their friends and neighbors had been out of work for months. Their lives had
become a hellish existence. Their children wore rags, and everyone slept in the
same bed in cold weather. Some had burned their furniture to keep warm. The
mothers were too depressed to look after the kids, and their papas had given up
looking for work and sat staring into space, smoking stale cigarette butts
collected from the gutters.

My
kids won't ever be in that condition, if I have to mend and scrub the shitty
underdrawers of all the gentry in Missouri.

As
for Daniel, wherever he was, he could still be proud of his family. LaDaisy told
herself he still cared what happened to them, but for some reason, he was
unable to face the hardships of the Depression. She thought of his mandolin on
the walnut shelf he made to keep it away from small, destructive hands.
Something must've bothered him badly to run off without it, or even a word of
good-bye.

Her
breath came heavily after the confrontation with her mother. A pulse battered
her temples and brought the first signs of a migraine, as though she hadn't
enough to contend with. When tears threatened, she willed them to stop—there
had to be milk for nursing Elizabeth Channing's infant. Strong, painful
emotions would dry up her supply.

Her
mother would faint if she knew that within the next hour her headstrong
daughter would wet-nurse another woman's baby.

She
reached over to the nightstand and switched the radio on, lay back again and
let the music soothe her mind.
All of me. Why not take all of me.
Her
hand moved absently to her belly and rested there while she remembered.

Her
husband had taken all of her before leaving for God knows where. She hadn't
thought about it much until now, when the memory of the embarrassing act
returned full-force. He'd seemed distracted when he finished too soon and
rolled over with his back to her. Was that when she'd conceived Mary?

She
hadn't suspected she was pregnant when Daniel left, and when she realized it
was true, the shock was frightening. Alone and pregnant? It was the worst thing
that could happen. But she gathered her wits and sought work to support herself
and the three children. She ironed and sewed for financially secure families in
big iron-fenced houses. To save money, she delivered Mary herself.

Mary's
arrival had been a blessing in disguise, for it provided a way to feed her
family. When she learned that young Elizabeth Channing was unable to feed her
own baby, LaDaisy seized the chance to wet-nurse baby Ralph in return for milk,
eggs, butter, and meat.

After
a few minutes of rest, she left the house by the enclosed back porch, past the
old wringer washer and galvanized tubs, and followed the path to the privy.
Returning, she heated water and bathed her breasts, inspecting her nipples for
signs of irritation. She toweled them gently and slipped into a clean brassiere
and smock.

She
looked in on her youngest son, grateful that Bobby usually napped long enough
for her to nurse Ralph. Quietly returning to the front room to wait for
Elizabeth, she considered her children.

While
blond-haired Bobby was the spitting image of his dad, six-year-old Earl was a
mix of both families, having inherited her side's dark hair and the Tomelin's
gentle disposition. Strong-willed Catherine was her daddy's joy. Beneath the
sugar-spun curls, behind the wide hazel eyes, was a four-year-old imp who put
her brothers to shame finding mischief.

What
possessed a father to abandon his children as if they didn't exist? No matter
how many times LaDaisy asked herself that question, there was never an answer
that made sense.

She
glanced at Daniel's old cap on the end table. Surely it wasn't true what her
mother had said about him not coming back. Of course he would. She'd been
around the Tomelin clan long enough to know that when they made commitments,
they honored them. But what had changed in his life to cause him to leave?

Still,
she often felt nagging doubts. Daniel was different from the others in many
ways, a wanderer at heart. Maybe he needed to get it out of his system and the
Depression gave him an excuse. But whatever it was, she was sure he still loved
his kids. She didn't want to think he'd stopped loving his wife.

"I'm
stuck with you," she whispered, "whether I want to be or not."

She
picked up the cap. Pressed it to her nose. Inhaled his scent in the material.
She turned it over and saw the sweat line on the band. Had he taken his other
cap? She hadn't seen it around the house, and Daniel Tomelin could not live
without his flat cap.

She
closed her eyes tightly to dam the flood of tears welling for the second time
that day. Drawing in a deep breath, she opened her eyes and gazed at the cap
for a long time, as though his face would materialize beneath it. With a cry of
anguish, she hurled it as hard as she could to the other side of the room,
where it landed on top of a lamp shade.

LaDaisy
got mad and threw the cap at least once a week.

Calmer
now, she wiped her eyes, hating herself for the doubts her mother had planted
in her mind. But suppose Vera was right and he never intended to come home?
What would she do if it turned out he no longer loved her? Divorce? Out of the
question. No matter what he was up to, she was his wife and she still loved
him. LaDaisy Tomelin was still Daniel's girl. Everyone knew that.

A
short time later, Rufus arrived with a box of used children's clothing and
missed Elizabeth Channing by minutes. LaDaisy watched nervously out the window,
hoping she wouldn't have to explain to her stepdad about the wet-nursing. It
wasn't common knowledge around Independence. Not to mention that Rufus and Mr.
Channing belonged to the same men's club and were on the county election board
together. No, she would keep the secret: Elizabeth produced less than a thimble
of milk for Ralph.

The
heat had clearly gotten to Rufus. His pulpy cheeks were moist and red, and even
his eyes appeared to sweat. Carrying the box had been an effort.

"It's
pretty warm out," he said.

"Would
you like something to drink?"
Say no, please.
"I have cold tea
in the icebox."

"I
can't stay, LaDaisy. A glass of water will do."

Rufus
declined to sit, and she went to the kitchen and returned with a glass of
water.