Veda: A Novel (13 page)

“What’s criminal? Not wanting to get pregnant? What business is it of his?”

“I think he knows I’m not married.”

“You
are
married. Remember?”

“Yes, but I don’t have a husband, do I? Please, just take me home.”

“No. Not until we go to the drugstore,” she said. “I know you, Veda. If you don’t do it now, you’ll never get the diaphragm.”

The letter from Mrs. Forester, the woman who raised Ed, came out of the blue. She was widowed and alone, she said, and was writin to ask me to come out to her place so she could see Ed’s babies. I’d only met her twice. Once was right after we got married. She wasn’t friendly, so Ed never took me back. I didn’t want him to. Then when he disappeared, me and Laird went out to ask if she had any idea where he was. I had Janie with me that time, and she could see I was pregnant. She told us Ed stopped comin around. She hadn’t seen him in months.

Anyway, gittin that letter made me feel kind of sorry for her. I figured she must miss him too, and maybe I owed her a look at the babies. Lila drove me. The place was out in Rogue River. I remembered that it was way back in the trees and you couldn’t see it from the road. We took a couple of wrong turns before we found it. The house was old, wood all weathered and dry, had a big wrap-around porch with a half dozen rockin chairs, all different.

This time she was nice as could be. Oohin and ahhin over the babies, sayin how cute they were, and how they took after Ed. Said Eddie was his spittin image. She didn’t ask us in the house, just motioned to the chairs and brought out lemonade. She kept takin the babies, one at a time. Carryin em up and down that long porch, standin at the railin, facin toward the trees. First Janie, then Eddie. Over and over. It give me the oddest feelin. Like maybe Ed was out there. Watchin from behind a tree or somethin. Like maybe Mrs. Forester had got me to come so Ed could see his babies.

Back in the car I asked Lila, “Didn’t that seem strange to you? The way she kept doin that with the babies? It was like she was showin em to him.”

“What are you talking about?” she asked. “Showing em to who?”

“Ed. I’m talkin about Ed,” I said. “What if he was out there? What if he was wantin to see his kids and she was holdin em up for him to see. Showin em off.”

“Veda, stop,” she said. “Ed’s gone. You’ll drive yourself crazy thinking he’s out there in the woods spying on you.”

“But what if? What if he’s out there somewhere? Maybe he’s in some kind of trouble and he has to hide. Maybe he wants to come back to me. It makes sense that he’d want to see his babies. What if he’s still alive and he comes back and finds out I slept with another man?”

“Veda, Ed isn’t coming back. You have to accept that and get on with your life.”

I tried to git on with my life, but I couldn't stop thinkin about Ed. I loved him and I wanted him back. But part of me wanted to punish him too. Punish him for leavin me. I let Lila set me up twice after that. “Let em buy you dinner,” she said. “Give em what they want. It’ll be good for you.”

I was miserable both times. I knew what I was doin was wrong. And I worried about what Rosalie knew. She paid attention to things. I wondered what she’d remember when she was older. And what she would think of her mama. I told Lila to stop gittin me dates. I didn't want to go out with nobody.

.

27

C
HRISTMAS CAME AND WENT
without hearin from Raymond. He never sent presents, but he did usually send the kids a card. Then in January, I got a letter from him sayin he’d got married.

Said he had been assured by his pastor that he had a “Scriptural right” to do so. That as the “innocent party” in our divorce, he could remarry without damage to either his soul or his standin in the church. His new wife was not Adventist, but he had studied with her, and had her examined by his pastor to insure she was ready for baptism into the Adventist Church. In other words, he made sure she was good enough to marry him.

I couldn’t have cared less about him gittin married, but it was another excuse not to send the money he owed me. “I have another family now,” he wrote, “which includes two teenage children, and expenses beyond my ability to pay, so I am taking steps to get a legal reduction to my child support.”

Well, I had expenses too. The welfare check barely covered the rent and groceries. I was takin in ironin again, doin ever’thin I could to make ends meet. After I put the kids to bed, I’d set up the ironin board, turn on the radio, smoke cigarettes, and stew about Raymond never livin up to his responsibilities. It was one thing to let him slide on child support while Ed was around, but I needed that money now more than ever. The more I thought about it the madder I got. I went back over all the times Raymond fell short. How he’d just accepted the fact that Mama’d feed us, and how he thought my marryin Ed took him off the hook. Now he was tryin to walk away from his obligation altogether.

In spite of the bad feelins I had about the Dorcas ladies takin Raymond’s side in the divorce, bein away from the church weighed on me. I had strayed and done things I was ashamed of, and in my mind I could hear Mama … scoldin, quotin the Bible. And Raymond … remindin me of my “double offense” against God.

It took me a long time to muster the courage, but one Sabbath I called a cab, and me and my kids marched into church like we never been gone. I got a lot of hard stares that time, but I kept goin. After a couple of weeks folks warmed up, and that was ’cause of Sam. Even self-righteousness melts a bit when a four-year-old wants to shake hands.

The Dorcas Society started sendin over things they thought we could use. There was always baby clothes and things Ruthie and the boys could wear, but almost never anythin for Rosalie. She was startin to fill out, and she was gittin particular about how she looked. If she tried on somethin and didn’t like it, she’d do what I used to do, slump and slouch, maybe drag a foot, and whatever it was would look so awful I couldn’t bear for her to wear it.

All except for that fur coat. It had belonged to the minister’s wife. It looked expensive.

“I’m not wearing that,” Rosalie said.

“Yes you are. You don’t have a winter coat and this is perfectly good.”

“But, Mom, it’s ugly.”

“No it’s not. It’s nice,” I said. “All women dream of ownin a mink coat.”

“But I’m not a woman, I’m a kid.”

I made her put it on, and she left for school cryin. I watched her walk down the block, waddlin like a fat little bear, and called her back. I kept her home and we spent all day cuttin my coat down so it would fit her.

It was one thing to give me hand-me-downs for my kids, but the ladies of the church didn’t want me anywhere near their husbands. That didn’t keep the husbands from wantin to be close to me. I was young and I was pretty. Ed convinced me of that. Not a Sabbath went by that one of em didn’t offer to help me with somethin. I turned em all down. All except Charlie Steele.

Charlie was a tall, square-shouldered man who bounced on the balls of his feet like some kind of big shot. And in a way he was. He’d belonged to our church as long as I could remember. He was a deacon, Sabbath School teacher, greeter, usher, collection plate passer, and all around handyman. I knew him and his wife Agnes from way back when I was married to Raymond. Agnes had always been snooty. Held her head so high you could see up her nostrils. God knows what she had to be so proud about. Her and Charlie owned a couple acres with a big garden. They had a cow and some chickens, but the house was shabby. Didn’t even have indoor plumbin. Me and Raymond went there for Sabbath supper a few times. Agnes fed us a good meal, but it was clear she done it out of Christian duty and nothin else.

I almost didn’t recognize Charlie. He’d got heavy and lost most of his hair. Combed what he had over the bald place. Still had that proud walk of his though.

I asked about his family, and if they lived in the same place. He said they did. Said their boys were gittin big, and they all kept busy with the garden.

“Say,” he said, “we have more beans and tomatoes than we can eat. Could you and your kids use any of it? The extra just goes to waste.”

“Well,” I said, “since you put it that way, we sure could. That’s real nice of you.”

“Don’t mention it. You’d be doing us a favor.” He told me he worked a early shift at the creamery and he’d be glad to drop some things off on his way.

He started comin by a couple times a week and leavin stuff on the steps. He brought eggs too, and gallon jugs of milk. I’d hear him out there settin it down, and after the first few times, I got up to thank him. Ask if he’d like a cup of coffee. Adventists aren’t supposed to drink coffee, but Charlie did. He said he wasn’t a tight-ass like so many of em. I liked that he could joke like that and still be one.

So that’s how it started. Me gittin up and makin him coffee, then settin with him just to talk. Lila had stopped comin around after I told her not to set me up with men, and Rosalie was just about the only one I had to talk to. So Charlie filled a gap in my life. I told him all sorts of things. About why I left Raymond and the hell I went through after Ed disappeared. He was a good listener, and I thought of him as a friend. But I guess he seen it different. After a while he started doin things like pattin my bottom and puttin his hands up under my robe. I told him to quit, that I didn’t want him doin it. Said I liked him, but not that way. He’d stop, but then he’d do it again.

“What about your wife,” I asked. “What about Agnes?”

He said she wouldn’t let him touch her. That she was afraid of gittin pregnant again. I said that wasn’t no reason to cheat on her. That she could use somethin, or he could. But he said that wasn’t all. He said she was frigid.

“She’s still your wife. You shouldn’t be messin around with me or anybody.” That’s what I told him. But the thing was I didn’t want him to stop comin to see me. So I went on makin him coffee, and it got to be harder and harder to say no. I let him touch me. Told myself maybe Agnes was cold. Maybe she didn’t deserve him. Maybe I did.

Four o’clock in the mornin the kids were asleep. I let him come in my bed, but I made sure he was gone before they woke up. Charlie wasn’t handsome and he didn’t make me feel the way Ed had, but he was comfortable to be with. I liked how strong he was, and I liked how he smelled. I meant it when I told Lila I didn’t want to go out on dates, and I hadn’t meant for nothin to happen with Charlie, but it was nice bein with a man again.

.

28

C
HARLIE STARTED SPENDIN
more and more time at my place. In the mornin, and then comin by after his shift at the creamery. He was handy at fixin things. Patched the leaky roof, stopped the faucet from drippin, and propped up the place where the porch sagged. He brung over a used bike for the kids, too, and taught em to ride it. Even helped em with schoolwork. They got used to him bein around.

Then somebody reported seein his car parked at my place “for longer than it took to deliver a jug of milk,” and the church busybodies swarmed down on us like bees. Three of em come one day, and while one was at the door handin me a casserole, the other two was around the side of the house lookin in the windows. I seen what they was up to and heaved the casserole, dish and all, far as I could throw it. Told em to git the hell outta my yard or I’d call the police. It caused a huge stink. Agnes got wind of what was goin on, threw Charlie out and filed divorce papers.

Charlie found a house on the other side of town, we moved in together, and he started helpin me with the bills. Ever’body was talkin about us and Mama took the news better than I expected. “It’s wrong for him to take up with you while he’s still married,” she said, “but he’s a good man and there’s not many willing to support a woman with six kids.”

In January Raymond wrote that he was comin to visit his children, and I knew it wasn’t the children he wanted to see. When he showed up, Bubby and Ruthie kissed him, but Rosalie kept her distance. She still held it against him for sayin she couldn’t go to Bea’s for piano lessons.

“Happy birthday, darling,” he said, handin Rosalie a wrinkled paper sack.

She eyed him, suspicious. He never brought presents. “My birthday’s not for two weeks.”

The sack held a red plastic pocketbook, the kind you give a three-year-old. Rosalie looked at it and then pushed it up on her arm. The strap was too tight even before it got to her elbow.

“Oh looky, it’s a purth,” she said, skippin across the floor.

Raymond looked puzzled. “Do you like it?”

“Oh yeth,” she said in a little girl voice.

I took her into the kitchen. “That was rude,” I said, “you go and apologize.”

“But Mom,” she said, “I’m not a baby. Why doesn’t he know that?”

“It’s how he remembers you kids,” I said. “Little, like you were then.”

“I’ll say I’m sorry,” she said, “but I don’t want his stupid baby purse.”

I couldn’t let her git away with bein rude, but I didn’t like defendin him either. Raymond never did see the kids for who they really were. Didn’t notice how they were growin up. Rosalie was almost a young lady.

Raymond hung around for a couple of days, eatin my food and sleepin on my davenport. Charlie stayed away, but if it was proof Raymond came for, he had it. Charlie’s flannel robe was on a hook in the bathroom and his shavin mug was by the sink.

“This saddens me, Veda,” he said before he left. “I fear for your salvation. And I loathe my children being subjected to this adulterous arrangement.”

“You’re not sendin me any money,” I reminded him. “Maybe if you took care of your kids another man wouldn’t have to.”

.

29

March 8, 1951

Dear Sister Landres:

The Church has been made aware that you are living in a state of sin. Despite the attempts of members to advise you, you have decided to reject our counsel. We are grieved to inform you that we will be removing your name from our membership roll. We continue to pray for your everlasting soul.

Yours in Christ.

D
O YOU SUPPOSE IT
was just one self-righteous sonofabitch wrote that letter,” I asked Charlie, “or did it take a whole goddamn committee?”