The Stolen Marriage by Diane Chamberlain
“You? When have you ever had too much to drink?”
“That night I did. Martinis. Too many. And when we got back to the tourist home…” I pressed my hands together so hard they hurt. “I don’t even remember how it happened, actually,” I said, “but Henry—that’s his name—ended up in my room.”
Vincent frowned. “Did he rape you?”
I shook my head. “I’m so ashamed,” I said again.
“You willingly had relations with this man? This Henry?”
“Yes.”
“Good Lord, Tess. I thought you were going to tell me he was so charming that you instantly fell in love with him. Not that you slept with him within hours of meeting him.”
“I know. It was as though some other girl had taken over my mind and body.”
“Gina was a terrible influence on you.”
“Don’t blame Gina. She slept alone. I made my own poor decisions that night.”
“So you started seeing him and he swept you off your feet and—”
I shook my head. “No. I didn’t see him again,” I said. “I was mortified by what happened and felt so undeserving of you. So guilty. And then … here’s the terrible part, Vincent. I discovered I was pregnant.”
He caught his breath. “You have a child?”
I shook my head. I felt overwhelmed by the whole story. “When I realized I was pregnant by another man, I knew you and I were finished. I decided the only thing I could do would be to move away. I’d tell people I had a husband overseas. I’d start fresh. I didn’t know where I was going to go but I knew I needed money. And I knew Henry had money—he owns a furniture factory here in Hickory. So I came down here to ask him for money. Instead, he asked me to marry him. I know it sounds crazy. We didn’t know each other, but he wanted to take responsibility for the baby. To give him a name. And so I felt like saying yes was the best thing I could do for the baby. But a few months later…” I pressed my fists against my belly, feeling the loss all over again. “The baby came too early,” I said. My voice broke. “It was terrible.” I wouldn’t tell him about the accident. About Lucy. It was too much to go into just then. This was enough. “I loved my baby,” I said. “He was all I had, and then he was gone and I was trapped, married to a man I don’t love. I’m still trapped.”
We were both quiet for a moment, and when he spoke again, his voice was soft. “You made one mistake,” he said. “You slept with someone else. I can hardly believe the Tess I knew would do that, but you did. But then you compounded it with a thousand other mistakes instead of just coming to me. Telling me what you did. Why didn’t you do that, Tess? Didn’t you trust me to forgive you?”
“How could you forgive me when I couldn’t forgive myself?” I asked. “I ruined myself that night in Washington. I ruined myself for you. I knew you didn’t believe in premarital sex and—”
“I think you had me on a pedestal,” he interrupted me. “I’m nearly twenty-eight years old, and I decided long ago that I didn’t want the life of a priest,” he said. “Do you think I’ve been celibate all my adult life?”
I was shocked. “You … while we were together?”
He shook his head. “No, of course not. But there were a couple of girls before you and I were serious. And one since you and I … since you left.” His new girlfriend. The nurse Gina had told me about.
“But,” I said, “you and I never…” I let my sentence trail off.
“I knew your feelings about sex before marriage and respected them,” he said. “I was willing to wait because it was so important to you. Or so I thought.”
“I wish I’d known that about you,” I said. “Maybe I wouldn’t have felt so … dirty.” I thought we’d known everything there was to know about each other but obviously that wasn’t the case. “Gina said you’re involved with someone now,” I said, fighting the jealousy rising up in my chest. “Is it very serious?” The thought of him being with someone else, loving someone else, was excruciating.
“I’m not seeing her any longer,” he said. “It was … casual.”
“If I had come to you last fall,” I said. “If I’d confessed what I’d done … how would you have reacted?”
“I would have been very upset, that’s true,” he said. “Though probably not as upset as I am right now. I’m angry at you for”—he shook his head—“for everything. For leaving the way you did, without a word. For not trusting me and our relationship.”
“I didn’t want you to know. I felt like I didn’t deserve you.”
“You’re human. You made a human mistake. I would have forgiven you. I loved you.”
I noticed the past tense. I still love you, I thought.
“So,” he said. “This Henry. What is he like?”
Images flashed through my mind: Henry, early that afternoon, sitting on Jilly’s bed, making her giggle. Henry, staying out all night with flimsy excuses as to where he’d been and what he’d been doing. Henry, holding me in his arms as I cried over our lost son. Hiding money in the armoire. Berating Reverend Sam for no good reason. “For the most part,” I said, “he’s a good man, but I don’t think I can ever love him. We … there’s no closeness there. No emotional closeness. No physical closeness.”
He raised his eyebrows, and I shook my head.
“It’s strange, Vincent. There was that one time in Washington, when we’d both had too much to drink. And when we got married, he never seemed attracted to me and I realized he only married me for the sake of the baby. And when I lost the baby, I thought we could get divorced, but he refused. Then I thought we could have our marriage voided, since we’d … there’d been no consummation, at least not since we’d been married. I asked him and he got angry about it. And that night he … suddenly there was. Consummation. As though he wanted to lock me into our marriage. But there’s been no … no closeness since.” My cheeks burned. “It’s as though he both wants and doesn’t want to be married to me.”
“And what do you want?” His jaw was tight. I knew that tense, angry look. I’d missed every one of his expressions, even this one.
“I want my old life back,” I said. “I’d give anything to turn back the calendar. To be back with you the way we were. Looking forward to our wedding and our future together. I know I ruined it all. I’m so sorry.”
He sighed. “Are we going to be able to work together?” he asked. “Will our past get in the way?”
“We can’t let it,” I said. “The work here is too important.”
“I don’t ever want to meet your husband,” he said with a flare to his nostrils. “I’d knock his block off. He took advantage of you. What kind of scum picks up a girl in Washington and sleeps with her that same night?”
“What kind of girl does the same thing?” I gave my head a weary shake. “He’s no more to blame for that night than I am,” I said. “He did the honorable thing by marrying me, though I know he doesn’t love me.”
“Do you love him?
I shook my head. “I love you,” I said, before I could stop myself.
He looked away from me. “A little too late for that, isn’t it,” he said, and I winced, wishing I’d kept my feelings to myself.
“Can you take me home now?” I asked. If I didn’t get home soon, Henry would be full of questions.
He turned the key in the ignition without another word. It had grown dark and I guided him out of the site, through the woods and onto the main road. I hated for him to see where I lived. I didn’t want him to think that I’d been attracted to Henry for his money.
“Where are you staying?” I asked as we neared my neighborhood.
“The Hotel Hickory,” he said. “Strange environment,” he added. “Eighty nurses, an epidemiologist, and me.”
I nodded, trying to imagine how different the hotel must feel right now from when I’d stayed there with Henry.
I told him where to turn, and when he pulled up in front of the house in all its grandeur, the front porch lights warm and welcoming, he
“I’m sorry you’re not happy, Tess,” he said. “Truly, I am.”
68
July 8, 1944
Oh Gina,
He’s here. Vincent. I was in shock when I first saw him. We have to wear masks and gowns in the hospital and it wasn’t until he was right in front of me that I recognized him. Those beautiful eyes. How I’ve missed them! How I’ve missed him!
I told him everything. He’s angry with me for the way I handled what happened and I’m angry with myself. I told him I still love him. I didn’t mean to say it, but the words slipped out. I don’t think he loves me though. He’s too angry and disappointed in me. He knows I’m not happy with Henry and that Henry won’t give me a divorce. Even if he would, I don’t think Vincent wants a future with me any longer.
I still think of leaving Henry to start living the two years apart that will be necessary for me to have a chance of getting a divorce, but even if I could figure out where to go, I can’t possibly leave right now. The hospital needs me and, frankly, I need it. I love being a nurse so much, Gina. That’s the one good thing in my life.
I’m so torn. On the one hand, I’m thrilled Vincent is here and that we’re working together (which is what we always wanted to do!) and I don’t ever want him to leave. Every time I see him across one of the wards or walking around on the grounds, my stomach does a flip. On the other hand, it’s painful to know he could have been my husband and now I can’t have him.
Thank you for getting that doll for the little girl I told you about. She adores it! And thank you for keeping my secret all these months, Gina. Vincent told me you did a good job of it!
Love,
Tess
69
“You’re so quiet lately,” Henry said as he drove me to the hospital the third morning after Vincent’s arrival. “Are you all right?”
“Tired,” I said. “The work is exhausting. But I love it,” I added quickly, not wanting him to suggest I stop. “It’s a good kind of tired.”
To be honest, if I wasn’t completely absorbed by a task I was doing, my mind was on Vincent. Whether by coincidence or design, he and I never seemed to be in the same place at the same time since our conversation in his car. Oh, we were often in the same ward—that was unavoidable. But I would be at one end, usually caring for Jilly or Carol Ann or behind the curtain with Amy Pryor, still in the iron lung, and he would be at the other. I had to fight with myself not to look at him. My greatest fear was that I would arrive at the hospital and he would have left. Gone home to Baltimore. I wouldn’t be able to bear it, even though I couldn’t have him or touch him or talk to him or even look into his eyes. I needed his presence. I needed him close by. I would be bereft if he left.
I thought we were both doing our best to avoid contact at the hospital. On his part, there was anger. I felt certain of that and I didn’t blame him. On my part, there was shame and regret. My regret was strong enough to consume me, and outside of the hospital, I grew quiet and introspective, so much so that Henry was beginning to notice. I passed it off as fatigue every time he mentioned my strange mood.
The one good thing in my life was that my patients were doing well. Carol Ann’s polio seemed to have stabilized and now it was just a matter of keeping her limbs from atrophying. And Jilly Johnson’s fever was gone and, with it, most of her aches and pains. She was still very tired, though, sleeping for hours each day, but she waved to Honor through the window with more energy, and one morning I was able to help her walk over to the window, where I lifted her up to say hello to her overjoyed mother.
I was getting more comfortable working with the iron lung. Amy couldn’t breathe for more than a few minutes on her own when I slid her out of the steel tube to bathe her and give her an enema, so it was often a three-person task. Grace would operate the handheld inflator to keep Amy breathing, while one of the other nurses rolled her onto her side and I washed her and got her bowels moving the only way possible. When I’d slip her back inside the lung, I’d rub moisturizer over her face and drop oil in her eyes because the tiny air leaks from the lung made them dry and scratchy. Amy could say a few whispered words and they were often “thank you.” She was so sweet. Sometimes, caring for her, I wanted to cry. That would do no one any good. Instead, when I moved away from her to care for someone else, I’d say a prayer for her recovery. A prayer for her and her unborn baby.
On the fifth day after Vincent’s arrival, I knew that something was different the moment I walked into the ward. The shift was changing and things were always a little chaotic during that time, but the charged atmosphere seemed like more than that. I glanced quickly at Carol Ann and Jilly and they looked fine. Jilly sat up in bed, coloring, and one of the Hickory volunteers was reading to Carol Ann. But I could see at a glance that we didn’t have enough nurses.
“Sophie and Lillian are sick and we’re swamped!” Grace said as she passed me with a bedpan. “Sophie just has a cold, but they think Lillian has polio.”
“Oh no,” I said, my hand to my chest. It was a risk we all took. I knew the odds. One out of every ten nurses in a polio ward was likely to contract the disease. We’d been lucky so far.
I tucked the news about Lillian into the back of my mind and joined in the fray, planning to help with Sophie’s and Lillian’s patients as well as my own. First, though, I needed to check on Amy Pryor. I approached her curtained cubicle just as Amy’s night nurse, a very young woman I’d met only briefly the day before and whose name I couldn’t remember, was coming out.
“She’s been crying and complaining all night long,” she griped loudly enough for Amy to hear. I honestly felt like hitting her, I was so angry at her attitude. All our nurses were dedicated and kind. She was the only sour apple in the bunch.
I spoke quietly. “You’d cry and complain too if you were stuck in an iron lung, away from your family and your soldier husband and your little boy, not knowing if you’re going to survive,” I said.
She was wise enough to look guilty. “It’s just been a hard night.” She brushed a strand of auburn hair under her cap. “I need to get back to the hotel and sleep.”
“Did you give her her morning enema yet?” I asked, because I was beginning to doubt that Amy had been well cared for by this woman.
“No, she wouldn’t eat so I figured nothing would be moving—”
“She wouldn’t eat?” That was worrisome. Although swallowing could be challenging for her, Amy had so far been able to get down small amounts of soft food.
“She just shook her head when I tried. Very obstinate today.”
I was going to hit her if I didn’t get away from her, so I walked past her, slipping behind the curtain that surrounded Amy and the iron lung.
“Good morning, Amy,” I said. I knew right away something was wrong. She was pale and perspiring. Her eyes were closed, her face in a frown, and she didn’t react to my voice the way she usually did. I opened the side port and reached into the iron lung to take her pulse. It was rapid. Too rapid. I closed the port and moved to her head, bending over so that she’d be able to see me in the small mirror that was tilted at an angle above her face.
“Amy?” I said. “Can you hear me?”
She opened her eyes and moved her lips, trying to speak. I leaned my ear close.
“Stomachache,” she whispered.
“You need that enema, don’t you,” I said. “I’ll get it ready for you and then you’ll feel a whole lot better.”
I saw Grace applying lengths of wool to a little boy in the bed next to Jilly. I’d get everything ready and then have her come help me. Somehow the two of us would have to do what was usually a three-woman job.
I prepared the warm soapy water, filled the enema bag, and had the treatment tray ready to go before I opened the iron lung. I rolled out the bed, then poked my head through the opening in the curtain, trying to hurry Grace along. Grace held up a finger to let me know she’d be with me in a moment. I was
“Grace!” I shouted, not daring to move away from Amy long enough to open the curtain. “Get a doctor! Hurry!”
I had no sooner gotten the words out of my mouth than the little head slipped from Amy’s body. My hands barely had time to move into place before the tiny infant turned to the side and slid into my palms, where it lay gray and lifeless. I could barely breathe myself.
Grace burst into the curtained enclosure. “Dr. Russo’s coming,” she said. “What’s … Oh my God!”
“Get the inflator for Amy!” I said, knowing Amy wouldn’t be able to breathe on her own much longer.
Grace grabbed the inflator from the bottom of the cart and raced to the head of the bed.
“He’s not breathing.” I tried to keep my voice calm for Amy’s sake. I didn’t know how much she understood of what was happening. Her body was completely still now that the baby had been born. I cleaned him with a towel, trying to rub life into him. I couldn’t bear the limpness of him. I put him on his back next to Amy’s legs, pulled off my mask, and bent over him, lifting his chin and covering his tiny nose and mouth with my mouth. I remembered from my training that I should only use the air from my cheeks, and I blew gently. I saw his pale chest rise and fall.
I was only vaguely aware of Vincent stepping into the cubicle as I continued trying to resuscitate the infant.
“He’s not breathing,” Grace said to him.
I felt both of them watch me for several seconds as I continued breathing for the baby, then Vincent spoke. “Stop for a moment, Tess,” he said. “I think he’s breathing on his own now.”
I lifted my head and saw the baby’s chest rise and fall without my help. Already, his skin was turning pink. I looked up at Vincent and let out my breath. I hadn’t realized I’d been holding it. I felt overwhelmed by the miracle taking place in front of me.