Maiden Flight (14 page)

As I had no intention of interrogating Kate about her wedding plans, and she was clearly in no hurry to bring up the subject herself, we pulled back into our shells, each of us waiting for the other to make the first move. At length, I decided to have a word with Lorin—only to discover that my older brother already knew about Kate's move to Kansas City, but hadn't wanted to be the first to tell me. As far as I was able to determine, there was no one but me in the entire family who wasn't in on the secret.

I waited and waited for Kate to lay her cards on the table, but she refused to give me even that satisfaction. It was just like after Will died, when none of us could find anything to say to save our souls. There was no consolation to be had in talking. Words were even more painful than the reality of Will's death—talking about it only made it seem more real. Kate and I spoke about Harry's new
position at the paper, our trip to Kansas City in 1919, when he took me downtown to meet his associates—practically everything
but
her secret engagement. Harry came up to the island again for our joint birthday that summer, but we couldn't talk there either, and I for one was in no mood to celebrate.

I knew that Swes was counting on being married at Hawthorn Hill. Neither of us could ever forget Ivonette and Scribze's wedding—how the house was filled to the rafters with flowers and the minister got the wrong name on the wedding certificate and we all rolled up our sleeves and served a buffet supper to the crowd when the extra help we had hired failed to show. And we often recalled the summer Leontine and John got married here—the summer it was so beastly hot that I had to put an electric fan blowing over a tub of ice to cool us off. I can still see the look on the newlyweds' faces when I presented them with a pirate's chest supposedly full of nails that magically turned into gold coins!

Yes, this house was made for weddings, all right—
other people's
weddings. As I recall, it was Kate herself who made the observation that we had better import a few weddings, since neither of us planned on having one of our own. I was of no mind to change my ways simply because she had gotten some fool idea of marrying into her head. I made my position crystal clear to Lorin, but I might as well have been speaking Chinese for all the difference it made. He actually tried to persuade me to make it up with Kate and allow the ceremony to take place here. That was the limit. Evidently, my brother had forgotten how broken up Swes was when he and Netta got married. She moaned and groaned about each of us boys deserting her one by one. Well, it was time she got a taste of her own medicine.

I have no regrets about sticking to my guns. It was the right thing to do—the honorable thing—the only thing I
could
do under the circumstances, no matter what anybody says. If I can stand up to the secretary of the almighty Smithsonian Institution, I guess I can stand up to my own family sure enough. Not that it was easy, mind you. Saying no to Sterchens was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do. Even sending the flyer overseas didn't give me so much trouble. We had never had a serious disagreement before in our entire lives. But Kate finally left me no choice. If I couldn't stop my sister from leaving me, I could still be master in my own house.

Orv's spirits seemed to revive as the summer wore on. I expect he had convinced himself that I wouldn't leave him when it came right down to it. So long as we gave the topic of marriage a wide berth, life got back to pretty near normal. At the island we did the things we always loved to do—fishing, swimming, boating, napping, and generally lolling about like sloths. I ought to have taken more pleasure in Harry's visit than I did. If I had been easier in my mind about Orv, I would have enjoyed nothing better than doing some honest-to-goodness planning for the house. Isn't that what people about to get married are supposed to do? But the only way I could have enjoyed thinking about coming to be with Harry was to ignore everything else.

The upshot was that I did practically nothing all summer long
.
I couldn't go ahead with Harry as long as things were as they were between me and Orv. It was my fault mostly. I was never able to talk to him about being married. I used to say I could always bring
the boys around to my way of thinking if I just had patience enough to rely on the sun instead of the wind to produce the desired state of mind—but not this time. Every look at Little Brother was a stab in the heart. I began to see what a relief from responsibilities death can be. No one could help me in my particular trouble. No one else knew all the little things that made up the background of our story. Sometimes I had a notion to leave without telling Orv, but I was afraid I wouldn't be much good to Harry if I came that way. I
wasn't
free and knew it, and yet I went ahead anyway—and now I'm paying the price.

By the time we got back home from the bay in September, I simply had to confide in someone, so I decided to have a word with Lorin. He was so dear to me when I was a little girl and Mother was ill and couldn't do things for me. He brushed and braided my hair and saw that I was all right to go off to school. If Lorin understood and encouraged me, I thought I could go ahead with the wedding. I was afraid I was in trouble with the whole family, but it turned out I needn't have worried. Everyone was sympathetic—Lorin, Lou and Netta, all the nieces and nephews. Carrie too, of course—she did everything to help me when I got near the breaking point. Whenever I looked washed out, she said very little but stayed late and put dinner on the table. That was her way of showing sympathy. “It's all I can do for Miss Katharine,” she said.

What a blessed relief it was to have the family behind me! All the girls, in particular, were interested in seeing that I had the proper clothes for the wedding. I believe women just naturally love romances! Netta wanted me to be married in white, but I didn't want a wedding such as young people would have—a plain traveling suit was just fine for me, thank you! Netta was so sweet
to me. She said I had helped her more than anyone else when her children were little, and she had not forgotten it. She and Lorin promised to do everything they could to help Orv and to give me a pretty wedding. I wanted Netta to sing and Lou to play the piano at the ceremony—nobody from outside, just the family.

I had almost begun to hope that Orv would come around—until Lorin spoke with him and slammed up against another brick wall. When the Lords came to visit and Louis went to see Little Brother, it was the same story. Orv flatly refused to attend the wedding, which meant that we couldn't have it at Hawthorn Hill. He wouldn't even allow us to use his name on the announcements. I could hardly believe my ears. All my dreams for a lovely, simple afternoon ceremony at home went up in a puff of smoke. So that was that—Harry and I couldn't have a proper wedding after all. We had to be “just married” on the quiet in a small ceremony somewhere away from Dayton. I was so ashamed of myself, so sorry to spoil Harry's little bit of happiness—his
and
mine.

Harry sent me a lovely wedding ring, and we fixed the date for November 20, 1926. The Lords were happy to let us be married at their home in Oberlin, but everything had to be kept hush-hush. We tried to arrange it so no one would know that Orv wasn't there. We put it on the grounds of wanting to have President King marry us and so have the wedding in Oberlin—a pretty lame excuse! But I knew our secret was safe with the Lords. If anyone else asked who was going to be there, “the family” would answer. Mr. Deeds put a notice of the wedding in the
New York Times
and papers in Washington, Cleveland, Dayton, and Kansas City. That way people would assume that we hadn't tried to send announcements.

It was just too bad to have to scheme around in such an undignified way, but it couldn't be helped. The whole situation would have been utterly ridiculous if it hadn't been so terribly sad. Fancy two grown-up men waging a tug-of-war over little Katie Wright! I had been pulled in both directions so hard and for so long that I scarcely knew which end was which anymore. I only knew I couldn't go on much longer. I had been pretty poor in the pinch, but I couldn't fail Harry now and endure myself. Wasn't that a queer way to get married?

The strain between Kate and me didn't let up as time wore on. On the contrary, it got worse. We slunk around the house taking care not to cross paths, like enemy ships keeping each other at bay. Toward the end, there was virtually no communication between us at all. Swes thought that by holding the wedding in Oberlin and putting it out that no one but the family would attend, she could avoid offending our friends and causing a scandal in Dayton. But I let it be known that I would boycott the ceremony no matter where it took place. My word was final: if Kate walked out of my house, I said, the door would be closed to her for good and always.

The rest of the family took her side, of course. That was to be expected. Love makes fools of us all, it seems, especially women of a certain age. Kate always was impulsive and unconventional in her friendships with men. I almost think she took pride in being what she calls “queer.” I could understand about Netta and Lou getting behind her—women can always be counted on to stick together in a pinch—but Lorin's attitude stumped me. Who would have
believed that my own brother would fail to understand my position? Will and I helped Lorin out more than once when he was in a tight spot. I had a right to expect his support.

Kate was adamant about not letting me stay on here alone—a sure sign of a guilty conscience, if you ask me. She and Carrie fixed it up that Edwards, the colored man who used to work for us, would come back and live with me. He had run off to France to be a magician's assistant or some such tomfoolery, but apparently he let slip to Carrie that he would welcome the chance to come home. To tell the truth, I'm happy to have him back. Edwards is a man of good character, pleasant, trustworthy, and easy to have around the place. Between him, Carrie, and Miss Beck, I consider myself well taken care of. But none of them can ever replace my Sterchens.

Katharine's plans for the wedding seemed to change with the weather. One day the sun was shining and she was burbling on about gowns and invitations. The next day the sky clouded over and she was shrouded in gloom. But she remained a loyal sister to the bitter end. The one thing she insisted on absolutely was that we do nothing to cast Orville in an unfavorable light. We agreed to have a small, private wedding in Oberlin at the home of our old friend Louis Lord. Katharine had the happy idea of asking President King to conduct the ceremony. If she couldn't have a family wedding, she said, she wanted to be married by someone from Oberlin and from the old days.

I didn't mind so much for myself, but Katharine deserved more fuss to be made over her. It was her fondest wish to be married at
home, surrounded by her family and a few close friends, and to be given away by Orville. She used to tell me about the big family weddings they held at Hawthorn Hill, complete with bridesmaids, fancy floral displays, and sit-down suppers. Our wedding, by contrast, was a simple affair, cloaked in darkest secrecy. I practically had to sneak into Dayton to get the marriage license. There was little danger of anyone recognizing me, but Katharine was a different matter. Pretty much all of Dayton knows the Wrights by sight, I should imagine, including the clerk at the Montgomery County probate court.

In spite of our elaborate precautions, the newspapers caught wind of our plans, which isn't surprising, really, seeing that the Wrights are the closest thing to royalty in Dayton. The next day's
Journal
carried a front-page story revealing that I had come to town, obtained the license, and proceeded to Oberlin for the wedding. The reporter telephoned President King for details but got no satisfaction. By the time he managed to track me down at my hotel, I had my speech all worked out. I told him that I wasn't married yet, but I declined to say I wouldn't be married within the next twenty-four hours. Katharine couldn't have done better herself—and she's a dab hand at telling little white lies.

After such a suspenseful buildup, the wedding itself was almost an anticlimax. My son and sister were there representing my family. Lorin and Netta finally decided they couldn't attend the ceremony without precipitating a breach with Orville. Consequently, no Wrights were on hand to see Katharine take the most important step in her life—none except Lorin's daughter, Leontine, who came down from Cleveland with her husband, John. As we predicted, the AP and most of the newspapers that covered the
wedding automatically assumed that “members of the Wright family” included Orville. Katharine and I felt no obligation to set the record straight.

Apart from the Lords, the only other outside guest was our mutual friend Raymond Stetson. We wouldn't think of leaving him out. If it hadn't been for the Prof, I might never have asked Katharine to marry me in the first place. It must have given him particular satisfaction to hear us recite our vows. He had always urged Katharine to set Orville's feelings aside and do what was best for herself. She had been a “lay sister” a long time, he said, but had never actually “taken the veil.” His words came back to me as I slipped the wedding band onto Katharine's finger. It hardly seemed possible that we were man and wife at last. And yet I couldn't help wondering whether the ring that Orville had given her years before didn't signify a stronger bond.

In the end, I left Dayton without telling anyone outside the family but Mrs. Deeds and my old friend Agnes Beck. It was all so undignified, going away as I did, with little more than the clothes on my back. I shall never forget that. I hated it so! Orv wrote me a check for a hundred and fifty dollars—his way of squaring accounts, I expect. But I had to leave behind almost everything I owned—my silver, my china, my linens, my books, my typewriter,
Mr. Akeley's bronze elephants—everything. I did manage to pack the pretty new dress I had just had made—black silk with a green trimming—along with a couple of old evening gowns. I was determined not
to look shabby in Kansas City, or Harry's friends would be sorry for him!

The ceremony at the Lords' house was lovely, even if it was a far cry from what I had imagined my wedding would be. The family all wanted me to have a traditional white dress set off by a big, colorful bouquet. Instead, I wore a plain new suit and carried a nosegay of white carnations mixed with sprigs of holly. Simple elegance! Hawthorn Hill always looked so enchanting when it was gussied up for weddings, with flowers spilling out everywhere and food and music galore. Harry, bless his heart, wanted to make up for all that, so he ordered pretty arrangements of autumn flowers—including an assortment of my favorite roses, nestled among sprays of baby's breath—and the Lords laid on a small supper for the guests after the ceremony.

There was a big article in the Dayton paper, of course, accompanied by that horrid picture of me—the one that makes me look as much too soft as the one with a hat makes me too hard. I shudder to think how Orv must have reacted when he read about my contributing “money and an inexhaustible supply of enthusiasm” to the invention of the flying machine. Talk about a yarn that springs up out of nothing and travels a long distance! And then to have that mob of reporters descend on Hawthorn Hill after the wedding, pounding on doors and trampling on the flowers. Carrie says Orv was as mad as a hornet. Lucky for them I wasn't there—my sting is a whole lot worse than his!

Some way moving to my new home took it all out of me. If it had only been a matter of exchanging one house for another, my worries would have been nothing. But it is not so easy to say good-bye to things and people over and over at my time of life. I sometimes feel
that I can't hope to see old friends in Kansas City. It is so far away from New York and everywhere that people naturally come. Only lately have my friends in Dayton been writing to me and sending me gifts and messages. As for new friends—close ones, I mean—I am afraid I won't make many here. In Dayton I grew up with everyone and never knew what it was to go out and make friends. Harry had to do that when he first went to Kansas City, but now he's been here more than half his life, so he has a big head start on me.

When it comes right down to it, I am pretty old to be starting afresh in a new place. What if I shouldn't make a success of it? I would never want Harry to be ashamed of me. All the women he knows are clever and energetic about their houses and know all the latest furnishings and gadgets. I don't know much about such things. And I've always had an inferiority complex about cooking. Our house is clean and neat as a pin, but not at all fancy. Harry is so considerate of all my “queerness”—but I try not to be so queer that people feel sorry for him! I'm just not built for stylishness and that's that. All those widows who seem to thrive in Kansas City—what must they think of me? “That little snip! No style—no nothing.”

The debut of the second Mrs. Haskell left much to be desired, I fear. I felt as if I had been dipped into hot water, wrung out, and pulled through a keyhole. There was nothing left of me but some limp strings. I had sort of gone into a little heap, a pathetic little heap. I can never regret doing what I did—but Orv casts a great shadow over my happiness. If he would only let me come and stay with him all I can. I could be there often and stay for weeks, just as I intended. Will I ever wake up from this bad dream and find him as he always was? Oh, Harry, darling Harry—it is so hard to say the final word!