Galveston (56 page)

My spirit had always dwelt alone.

Maybe I could marry Rodney and save its isolation still. I could play a pretending game, smiling as he came near me at night until he could no longer see my face, then smiling in relief rather than gratitude when he was through with what was to be done. How could he know the difference?

I actually wondered if he would be able to tell the difference.

I could keep putting off having children. There were ways to prevent that sort of thing, even without a husband knowing, if necessary, and I would learn about them before the wedding. We could work together and become a highly successful team of real estate people, and he would love me because I would be a key part of his success, unlike Mother, because she never had anything to do with Dad's accomplishments.

I called Rodney Sunday morning and invited myself to look at properties.

“Great. I'll pick you up around noon. And, Willa, have you had a chance—well, never mind, we can talk about it in the car.”

We drove to two lots on Bellaire Boulevard, looked at a ten-thousand-dollar home in Audubon Place, and stopped by at the Heights house to see how the paint job was wearing and whether the grass needed cutting. We seemed often to migrate to the Heights house, and this is where we finally got around to talking, while we sat out on the cool front porch.

I was surprised to find I couldn't look him in the eyes. “I've thought about it,” I said, “and if you want me, I'll marry you.”

He put a finger under my chin and said gently, “It's not polite to say a thing like that without looking at me. Willa … are you sure this is what you want? I didn't intend to rush you …”

“Of course. There's only a thing or two you've got to understand, though. I'd go on working for you.”

“Sure, until the time we had a kiddo on the way, then you could retire to the nest and I'd—”

“That isn't what I mean, Rodney. I don't know whether I ever want children. If I should decide I do, fine. For now, I don't.”

“Oh.”

“See, I'm probably not the marriage material you thought I was.”

“Oh, but you'd change your mind after a while, I just know it,” he went on. “It's hard for you to imagine having a real family, having grown up an only child, but believe me, it's such a good feeling to be part of a big family.”

“You may be right, all the same it isn't fair for you to enter into this blindly. You must be prepared not to ever have any children, if you marry me.”

“We won't worry about that now. It's too remote. You'll change your mind, and probably be thankful for the chance to kiss the real estate world good-by.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

“All right. What else?”

I was going to tell him my feelings about sex, going to lay it all out for him so he'd know what to expect, but then something jackknifed inside me and I couldn't do it. My mouth was dry and the words stillborn.

“Come, come, I thought you said a thing
or two
. There is something else, isn't there?”

Still, I couldn't answer. Finally I turned to him, smiled, and said, “How about a December wedding? We could upstage Santa Claus.”

“December? Oh, Willa, if you'd said next week it wouldn't have been too soon for me,” he said, and kissed me right there on the front porch of 1204 Heights Boulevard, sweetly, Rodney-like.

I thought, a bit uneasily, this can't be so bad after all, can it?

Chapter 5

One does not have a wedding. One is had by a wedding: a victim swimming helplessly in a sea of invitation lists and catering arrangements, seed pearls and lilies of the valley.

When I told Mother and Dad on Sunday night that I was going to marry Rodney, I thought I'd be able to keep everything under control.

“Let's keep it small. After all, I haven't all that many acquaintances, and no one is interested in my getting married.”

“On the contrary,” said Mother. “All our friends will want to be invited. It would be unkind not to at least have a reception to welcome them. I mean, you couldn't just go down to the justice of the peace.”

“That's what we did, honey,” said Dad, and as I glanced across the table at him, I knew she'd cut him by her remark.

“Yes, but that was different,” she said. “We hadn't the means to do anything more fancy. We can do much more for Willa, and whether she realizes it or not, I want to do the very best by you, dear,” she ended, looking back at me. She'd been having pain in her back and legs lately—more so than usual—and had been wearing her support corset for several days. The stiffness of her carriage seemed to accentuate her determined face.

“All right. I didn't say it couldn't be nice, only that we want to keep it small. Okay?”

“Of course, dear. It's your wedding.”

Later that night she came up to my room, and what passed between us was one of the most amusing conversations I can ever remember having with my mother, and proved more than anything just how little she knew about me.

“I must say, Willa, you're certainly casual about your news of the marriage. I mean, it's as if you had told us you were going down to pick up a loaf of bread or something.”

“Well, that's rather what it's like, isn't it? Rodney and I could have come to you and Dad together, announced it with a background of flowers and violin music, but that's so corny, don't you think?”

A long sigh escaped her, as though she'd expected something like this, and she lowered herself stiffly to the vanity bench. “Willa, are you doing this because you love that boy, or for some other reason?”

I didn't catch her meaning at first. “Because I love him, of course. Isn't that why everybody gets married?” I said, and picked up my hairbrush to begin the nightly ritual.

“I mean, you'd tell me, wouldn't you, if you were in some sort of trouble?”

It hit me then, what she was leading to, and it was so uproariously funny, so wide of the mark, that I might be in the family way, I burst into laughter.

“Well, you will admit you haven't exactly been an angel in your lifetime,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “I'm only getting things straight from the start, so we'll know just what kind of wedding to plan. I'm not going to have your wedding picture plastered all over the Social Page and you delivering a baby, seven months hence.”

“Mother, I can't believe you're asking such questions! I never knew you could be so crude. In fact, it almost seems as though you've been talking to Velma …”

“Just be honest with me.”

“All right. I'm lily white, just as lily white as the day you delivered me … oh, that's right, I forgot. You didn't deliver me at all. You picked me up later.”

“We chose you, Willa, because we wanted you. Why, in all these years, could I never convince you of that?”

Because it isn't true, I thought, but said, “Okay, Mother, I don't feel like going into it right now. Just be assured that I've every right to go down the aisle in glistening white, should I choose to. On the other hand, I might wear a navy suit. I hear navy's going to be a very fashionable color this winter.”

“Dear, as a matter of fact, I have spoken to Velma on the phone a few minutes ago, though we certainly didn't discuss what you think.”

“Oh, but you told her?”

“Yes. I didn't think you'd mind. And she raised a good point.”

“Velma always raises a good point … among other things.”

“She reminded me you were my only daughter. This will be our only chance—your father's and mine—to stage a really lovely affair, and remember, you refused to come out as a debutante. After you've gone from us, we'll have nothing left to look forward to in the way of watching our children grow up and marry.

“She suggested we ought to try to persuade you and Rodney to do
us
a favor and have something a little larger than what you had intended.”

“I can well imagine.”

“I find I agree with her, Willa. A big wedding could be such fun—something for all of us to remember forever. I know there would be lots of work, but I could do most of it for you, subject to your approval, of course. With you working, and Velma and Maybelle and me free all day, we could help in so many ways. Oh please, Willa, let's have a grand one. It would mean so much to me.”

“Would it really? I don't know. Rodney's for keeping it small. His family's not wealthy, you know. They might be uncomfortable.”

“You could persuade him, dear. And there's no need for his family to worry. We would handle all the expense.”

“Of course.”

“Velma has promised to help all she can.”

“I'll bet she has.”

“Well, I know she puts you off sometimes, but remember, she has only poor Maybelle. Likely as not, she'll never get the chance to throw something spectacular for her. The poor girl is so homely, although she's just as sweet and loving as any girl I've ever seen. But Velma despairs she hasn't ever had a serious suitor.”

“Velma can probably thank herself for that. But don't grieve, Mother. After all, I did manage to keep someone as fine as Rodney around for this long, so there must be hope for Maybelle.”

“Yes, perhaps you're right. But there is some talk among the family—strictly confidential, you know—that she may enter foreign missionary service next year.”

“Oh? Well, I can't think of anyone more suited to a life of dedication to the Church.”

“What do you think of having Maybelle for your maid of honor?”

“Velma suggest that, too?”

“Not in so many words, but … of course, it's your decision. You might prefer having someone from Rodney's family, or another girl friend perhaps.”

“There isn't anyone I know better than Maybelle. After all, if her mother is going to be running this show—don't shake your head—then Maybelle might as well have a big role, too. Besides, if she becomes a missionary, this may be her last chance to have a fling at anything so glamorous, if you can look at it that way.”

“Always flippant, aren't you, dear? Still, it's kind of you to see it in that light. I'll tell Velma. By the way, do you think you could take some time off in the next couple of weeks—there's so much to do—clothes to buy, arrangements to make?”

“I've been off a week already, and I'm serious about my work, if you can believe it. I'll meet you on lunch hours every day if necessary, but I won't take any extra time.”

“All right then. I'll see if Velma can go with me to town tomorrow, and we'll come by for you, go to The Fashion and to Levy's—see their autumn collection of hats. Their ad was in the paper this morning. And maybe we could stop by the Rice to see about a reception. And, oh yes, you will be married in Christ Church, won't you?”

“I haven't set foot in there for ages.”

“Well, I go occasionally, and we've kept up our pledge all these years. Surely we have some right to the use of the sanctuary.”

“All right. But don't count on me tomorrow. I'll have a desk piled high with work. Make it Tuesday at the earliest.”

One Saturday in early October Rodney and I had our picture taken together for the
Post
. He wasn't too big on the idea at first, but Mother pulled and persuaded me through arrangements and dress fittings, and I in turn cajoled and coaxed him through the part of the wedding affair that would include him. I was like someone riding a raft downstream. There was no time for considering what I really wanted or needed, and this was fine because the less I was forced to think about what was happening, what all this would ultimately lead to, the less I dreaded it.

After the picture, Rodney told me he had a surprise, and we drove out to the Heights. He was excited that afternoon, and I was in a good mood, too, having finished with a good part of the foolishness of wedding planning. In the weeks ahead there was only left the tying up of loose ends and the shower at Maybelle's, which I did not want but couldn't refuse.

He drove up to the curb at 1204, which had become something of an armageddon to his career in real estate. After over a year on the market, the house still defied his efforts to unload it, and lately we hadn't even discussed new ways of trying to find a buyer for it.

“Lost cause, isn't it?” I began.

“Depends on how you look at it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Wait'll you see.”

I think somewhere between the car and the porch, which Rodney insisted we span at a pace close to running, I had visions of a client holed up inside with his checkbook pulled out, ready to sign; yet never in my wildest dreams did I expect what Rodney had planned for me.

As we entered the spacious entrance hall he said, “Well, what does the future Mrs. Younger think of the purchase I've made? It isn't too big, of course, couple of kids from now, a dog or two, we'll have outgrown it. But it'll do for a while, won't it?”

“What in the world are you talking—?” I stopped then and looked at him closely. “You've bought this house for us.”

“My wedding present to you, Willa.”

“But how could we afford—you really did it? What did you use for—how perfectly insane—oh, I simply adore insanity! You crazy man!”

I was as excited as he, and we laughed like two idiots as he picked me up and twirled me around and around in the big entrance hall.

“I just knew you'd like it.”

“But can we afford, I mean on your—?”

“I was able to make a good deal. The owner was tired of waiting around for it to sell, and I persuaded him that instead of giving it to another agent, he ought to make matters easy and sell it to me. He'd save money because there would be no commission involved. I've had a little money tucked away, and you know that the past couple of months have been good. We couldn't furnish it all right away, but I'm sure we could manage. Of course, we couldn't afford any help to keep it for us either, but we could do a fair job together, don't you think?”