Mary, Just Mary Chapter Three

My wedding.

My wedding.

My wedding.

Things were getting so confusing.

I had always loved when Mrs. Swartz, an old friend of Mrs. Fickley and the wedding planner, would stop by and discuss food, decorations, music…but when she came over again I couldn’t concentrate on anything she was saying. All my certainty was slipping through my fingers like someone had splashed my hands with water. It didn’t even feel like my wedding when we were making plans with the Hall of the Royal order of Llamas, where our reception was going to take place. The only thing I liked about this visit from Mrs. Swartz was that she brought her daughter Louise, who was also my best friend and maid of honor. Everything in Sharon was so new and unfamiliar that it was nice to see someone I had known my whole life.

I was hoping she could help me figure everything out.

“Here’s where we’ll put the bridal party. Mary, you’ll sit here, and Albert will be here. We’ll have the bride and groom’s family over at this table. How many will be coming for your side, Miranda?” Mrs. Swartz asked.

“Two hundred even, Francine, dear,” Mrs. Fickley replied. “But, could you please put Albert’s cousin Bernard on the far end of the table? His parents are so upset with him for not taking up the family business and becoming…an artist.”

“Oh, dear, that sounds dreadful. I’ll just put him here with the friends of family friends.”

“Wonderful. I’m so glad Albert never paid any mind to nonsense like that. No, he’s got a good head on his shoulders, just like his father, God rest his soul.”

I took Louise’s hand and pulled her off to the side while her mother and Mrs. Fickley further discussed who was good enough to sit at which table.

“Louise, can I talk to you?” I asked.

“Of course,” she said.

“I’m…I’m starting to feel…confused.”

“Confused?” About what?”

“I’m not sure if I am all right with all this.”

“Oh, you don’t like the peach tablecloths? I told Mama she should get the baby blue ones! I know it’s your favorite color!”

“No, it’s not the tablecloths. It’s…well…I’m starting to have my doubts.”

“Doubts about what?”

“About…marrying Albert,” I said in a whisper.

“What?” Louise exclaimed in a forceful whisper. She pulled me around the corner of the banquet room and into the foyer so we could talk privately. “Why would you say something like that? Albert is a wonderful man!”

“I don’t know…I mean, I do know, but…”

“Oh, Mary…” Louise smiled and hugged me. “You’re just getting cold feet, that’s all. You just have to remember how much you love Albert and how he’ll take such good care of you. Just think of it, Mary. You’ll never have to worry about anything. Albert has enough money to hire maids and nannies and whatever else you would need to be happy. I only hope that I find someone just like that someday.”

“I guess you’re right, Louise.”

“I know that when I find a man to marry, I’ll probably make sure he’s exactly like Albert! He’s the perfect man.”

I smiled at Louise, but my heart wasn’t in it. Her words rang true, Albert was the perfect man. He had a good job, a good home, a nice car, good credit, good relations with upstanding people, and he always granted me my every desire within a moment’s notice. I knew that happiness was an apple on a tree that I simply had to reach out and pluck. But the tree was no longer in sight.

Instead, a warm smile…

A pair of gentle eyes…

A kind voice whispering…

“Mary…”

“Mary? Mary!”

“Hm?” I asked.

“Are you okay?” Louise asked.

“Daydreaming again,” Mrs. Fickley said, shaking her head. “Mary, you need to stop such nonsense.”

“I do,” I murmured.

I really do.

I wanted to see him again. I knew it was wrong, but I couldn’t think about anything else. After we returned home, Mrs. Fickley complained about having a headache and sent Margie into the kitchen to get her pills. It seemed like she was taking a lot more of them than she was supposed to, but the stress from the wedding must have made them all the more necessary. I wished there was a pill I could take that would make me forget all about Jake. I slumped into the dining room chair and sighed as Margie walked by with the pills and a glass of water. She stopped when she caught sight of me.

“What’s wrong, Mary?” she asked.

“Oh, I just wish I could…get out of here for a while,” I said.

“How come?”

“I…I…” my face began to flush.

“Margaret!” Mrs. Finkley shouted.

“Coming, Ma’am!” Margie called. She hurried into the living room where Mrs. Fickley and Mrs. Swartz were having coffee. Their voices sounded like they were getting farther and farther away, until I couldn’t understand what they were saying at all. Listening to them talk about shopping, traveling, even my own wedding just wasn’t worth the time. Why had everything changed so fast? Was it just cold feet? Was it…
Jake?
Or something else?

Margie came back into the dining room and sat in the chair across from me. “You know…it’s a beautiful day outside. Why don’t you go for a walk and clear your head?” Margie suggested.
“Oh, I don’t know. Mrs. Fickley doesn’t want me going anywhere by myself. She’d never let me go if I asked.”
“I don’t remember saying anything about asking,” Margie said. “All she’ll know is that you’re upstairs taking a nap.”
I smiled at Margie, and stood up. She quietly opened the back door for me, and I hurried outside and down the street, walking briskly until I was sure I wouldn’t be caught. When Albert’s house was thoroughly blocked by trees and other houses I passed by, I slowed down to a walk.

The sun was just beautiful, and the birds sounded so lively. There wasn’t a car in sight, just a long stretch of open road surrounded by the countryside. I could see why Albert’s family loved to vacation here, but wondered why they felt like they had to keep going back.
“Oh, I could stay here forever,” I sighed to myself.
I closed my eyes to listen to the birds singing again, but instead heard a piercing noise coming from the house I had stopped near. My heart started to pound when I realized whose house it was. My hands began to shake as I timidly approached.

I saw him outside, working on a new mailbox. My heart began to race faster and faster the longer I stayed there. Usually, when something was broken at Albert’s house, he would call someone to repair it. I liked watching Jake do things on his own, taking the wooden plank and putting it in the ground himself, screwing the little red flag on the box himself.  Jake liked to fix things himself. He didn’t have to rely on others to solve his problems. I tried to drum up some courage to either talk to him, or walk away without saying a word.

“Jake?”

 Jake looked up, and his smile flashed brighter and warmer than the morning sun. “Hello, Mary. What brings you here?”

What did bring me here? I wondered. “I—uh…wanted to give you some money to buy a new mailbox!” I said quickly, completely forgetting that I hadn’t brought my purse along with me. Jake didn’t seem to notice, or perhaps he was too polite to point that out.

“Well, that won’t be necessary, as you can see,” Jake said, gesturing to the newly repaired mailbox.

“Oh,” was all I could say. I stood there feeling awkward, trying to think of some excuse to stay.

“Would you like to come inside?” Jake asked.

“Yes!” I said. Jake laughed and looped his arm around mine. I felt myself blush again when I felt his touch.

“I’m sorry you had to do all that work because of me,” I said.
“Oh, I don’t think it’s work. I like fixing things. It helps me unwind and think."
“Think about what?"
“Well… I was reading in the paper this morning about Korea. Said a prayer for the troops…and the people.” Jake put his hand on the newspaper.
“Hm…I don’t really know much about what’s going on over there. Were you in the army?”

 “My father was never drafted, because he was a single parent. I never had to enlist either.”

“How come?”

“Anaphylaxis.”

“Ana-fil-what-now?” I asked.

“I’m deathly allergic to bug stings. Bees, wasps, hornets, fire ants, if I get stung by any of those, my face will swell up like a balloon,” Jake puffed out his cheeks, and I giggled. “If I don’t get to the hospital right away and get a shot and an I.V., my throat will close up.”

“Oh, my, well I’ll be sure to keep all those bugs away from you!” I said, taking the newspaper and rolling it up, swinging it at the pretend swarm of pests. “If they even set one tiny foot on you, I’ll swat them to kingdom come!”

“Ooh, no bug would dare to even think about it!” Jake said, grinning.

Jake’s house was as beautiful on the inside as it was on the outside. It was much smaller than Albert’s, but it felt so much friendlier. The wallpaper was pale blue, and had dozens of pictures on the walls. The room was a bit cluttered with books, papers, magazines and other things sitting in piles on Jake’s coffee table and shelves. Mrs. Fickley would call it an ungodly mess. But…I thought Jake’s house felt more lived-in because of the clutter. A very old record player was sitting in the corner of the room. There was a record already on the turntable, and I saw the label was “Ella Fitzgerald.”

“Jake? Who is this?” I asked.

“Who?” Jake asked. I pointed to the name on the record. “Oh, Ella Fitzgerald. She’s a jazz singer. My aunt loves her, and wanted me to appreciate Miss Fitzgerald’s talents, so she sent me a record for my 17^th birthday.”

“She sends you records?” I asked.

“Records and books.”

Jake gestured to his bookshelf, which sat in the corner of his living room. I looked over at it. Some of the books were quite thick, like what I would find on Albert’s bookshelf, but many of them were also quite thin. I picked one of them up, titled A Doll House.  It sounded like a children’s book. Jake looked over my shoulder as I inspected the book.

“That play was banned in a lot of countries when it first came out,” Jake said.

“Why? Is it a bad play?”

“To some people, yes. Personally I think it’s very…enlightening.”

 “I’ll have to come back and read it some time. It looks interesting,” I said. I tried to put it back on the shelf, but he lightly pressed it back into my arms.

“You should take it with you,” he said.

“You’re giving it to me?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, thank you.” I looked back at the bookshelf, and noticed that there was a photograph on it. A young man in an army uniform. He looked oddly similar to Jake. Very handsome, friendly smile, sparkling eyes, light hair.

“Is this your brother?” I asked, picking up the photograph. Jake looked at it for a moment, and pressed his lips together.

“No.”

“A friend?”

“His name is Matthew Thompson, Jr. He’s Sheriff Thompson’s son.”

“Does he live nearby?”

Jake was silent. It was the same silence as when I asked him about his parents. He didn’t have to answer this time. I set the photo down gently and gazed at the smiling man wistfully. It felt haunting to look at him.

“What happened to him?” my voice almost disappeared.

“Battle of the Bulge.”

“How awful.”

“It changed everything for the sheriff. He just…fell apart. He drinks all the time because of it. In fact…the bar my father owned is where we met. He came into the bar one night, and asked for shot after shot of whiskey for hours. He said I reminded him of his son. I asked him where his son was, and he told me ‘He’s dead.’ I couldn’t talk to him after that. He got so drunk he couldn’t walk, and my father and I had to carry him to the cab. Pa had me go with him so we knew he got home safe. It was the first time I ever saw a grown man cry like a baby. It really put the war into perspective for me.”

Once again, I was speechless. I had never had this kind of conversation with anyone before. Jake put his hand over his face and groaned.

“Terrible conversation. I’m a terrible conversationalist,” Jake said.

“No, you’re not,” I said.

Before Jake could reply, his doorbell rang. He rubbed the back of his head and pointed to the door.

“I’ll just…get that,” he said.

 The door opened, and Jake’s wonderful smile broke out again.

“John! Hey!” Jake hugged his friend John Miller, and let him in the house.

“Becky!” Jake hugged her as well, and she gave him a light kiss on the cheek. I felt a lash of anger and for a second wanted to push her away, or even slap her or pull her hair, but then I came back to my senses.

Was I really that jealous? Don’t be so silly, Mary, she wouldn’t kiss another man in front of her husband if it meant something more than a friendly gesture.

“John, you remember Mary, right?” Jake asked.

“Of course. Good ta see you again,” John said.

“And, Mary, this is Becky, John’s wife,” Jake said.

“We’ve met already, actually,” Becky said, her voice soft as ever. I wondered if she remembered the last conversation we had, and really hoped that she had forgotten.

“So, to what do I owe the pleasure of my friends coming to visit?” Jake asked.

“Well, we wanted to invite you over to dinner tomorrow night. It looks like Dad’s gonna make a full recovery, so we want to celebrate.”

“That’s great news!” Jake said. “It would be an honor to celebrate with you,” Jake took a deep bow, and John chuckled.

“Mary, you’re welcome to come too,” Becky piped.

“I..I am?”

“Sure. Any friend of Jake’s is a friend of ours,” John said. “Would you like to come?”

 “Of course! I’d love to!”

“Wonderful! The more the merrier,” John said.

I smiled at John and Becky, and caught sight of the clock hanging just behind their heads. I had stayed both too long and not long enough.

 “Jake, I need to go. I’m sorry,” I said. Jake’s smile faded for a second, then it came back and he gave me a nod.

“Do you need a ride? We can take ya along,” John offered.

“Oh…I don’t want to be a bother,” I said.

“It’s no trouble.”

“Well then…thank you!”

 I turned to Jake, and gave him a smile.

“Thanks for having me over,” I said.

“I’m glad you came. Stop by any time you want.”

Jake wrapped his arms around me and hugged me gently, and I pulled him closer with a tight squeeze. He smiled at me and I turned toward John and Becky, who were watching me with apprehensive expressions on their faces. John cleared his throat and said, “Shall we?” I followed him and his wife to the truck waiting outside. John’s truck was very similar to Jake’s, except it was much more worn down. I told John where I needed to go, and we started heading back to Garden Drive.

I held Jake’s book tight.

“Mary?” Becky’s soft voice chirped.
“Hmm?” I asked.
“I…I hope you like Jake.”
“Oh, I do. He’s wonderful.”
“We think so too. He’s a good friend. A very good person,” Becky said in almost a whisper. “I wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to him.”
“Anything bad? Like what?” I asked.
Becky fell silent for a moment.
“That’s a beautiful ring you have,” she finally said, not looking at me.

I bit my lip and wrapped my fingers around it, as if my engagement was suddenly a shameful secret. Part of me felt like it was. I glanced out the window and saw the familiar house that I liked less and less. Mrs. Fickley wasn’t waiting for me by the front door, and I sighed in relief. I opened the truck’s door and got out.

“Goodbye…Thank you for the ride,” I said to John.

“Goodbye, Mary. See you tomorrow,” John said. I stared at his truck in shock as it drove away. I was sure that when Becky pointed out I was already engaged to someone else they wouldn’t want me around, but apparently I was still welcome. I opened the front door as quietly as I could, and the house was utterly silent. I peeked my head in and saw Margie dusting the paintings in the foyer. She beckoned me inside.

“Mrs. Fickley is out in the garden showing Mrs. Swartz her prized phlox. She and her daughter were about to leave and were asking for you, so I had to improvise. I suggested they have some tea in the garden before they go.”

“I’m sorry, Margie, I don’t want you to get in trouble. I won’t sneak out anymore.”

“It’s all right. This ain’t the first time I pulled one over on old Mrs. Fickley and I know it won’t be the last. Besides, I knew that they’d be out there for a while.”

 “…awful noisy things, those pickup trucks!” Mrs. Fickley’s voice rang through the living room. I walked toward the back door and saw Mrs. Fickley, Mrs. Schwartz, and my friend Louise coming inside. I quickly hid the book I was carrying behind a big, leafy potted plant.

“Well, at least your garden is perfect. You can set an example to those noisy neighbors of yours,” Mrs. Schwartz said.

“Hi, Mary, do you feel better? The maid said you wanted to nap for a bit,” Louise said.

“Her name is Margie,” I said.

Louise looked confused. “O…okay.”

“Well, Miranda, thank you for inviting us over. Louise and I are going to head back to Victor’s cabin. After Richard spent all that time fixing it up, it’s the least we can do.”

“Ah, yes, Victor has a good, hard-working son,” Mrs. Fickley said.

“Richard…” I giggled at Louise. She blushed. Louise has had a crush on Richard Walker since high school, and she was so excited when Mr. Walker offered his summer cabin to Mr. and Mrs. Schwartz so they had a place to stay before the wedding.

“So, have you met any new friends?” Louise asked, trying to change the subject.

“Oh, yes, I did, actually. A very nice couple invited me to dinner. Maybe you can come too,” I said. I walked over to Mrs. Schwartz.

 “Mrs. Schwartz, would you mind if I took Louise to dinner at a friend’s house tomorrow?” I asked.

“Of course you can, dear. Who’s your friend?” Mrs. Schwartz asked.

“John and Becky Miller,” I said.

“The Millers? Mary, you are absolutely not going to dinner at the Miller’s house!” Mrs. Fickley exclaimed.

“But why?” I asked.

“They’re not the sort of people we should be associating ourselves with. I heard that Becky Miller divorced her first husband, after running off on him. And she was living with John Miller before they were married! She’s a trampy little tart! And I’ve heard about her…mental problems. The neighbors around here know everything, Mary.”

I was shocked, I tried to protest, but no sound would come out of my mouth. Trampy little tart? Mental problems? I thought of how gentle and sweet Becky was, with a voice like a lamb. It couldn’t be true. My mind was trying to make sense of it all, and I could barely concentrate on saying goodbye to Louise and her mother.

Is she really a tramp?

She did kiss Jake…

But maybe Mrs. Fickley is wrong…

She kissed Jake.

It was harmless.

Wasn’t it?

I started walking to the living room and saw Jake’s book still hidden behind the gaudy plant. I picked it back up and settled in on the sofa to read, hoping to distract myself from what I had learned about Becky Miller, and what her relationship was with Jake. I opened the book. Written on the inside of the cover was a note.

Jacob,

Read this until you understand.

You don’t have to agree.

But you must understand.

Love, Aggie

The book proved to be more than just a fabulous distraction. I saw so much of myself in Nora Helmer, the main character of the play. I thought what she thought about love, and behaved how she behaved around other people. I wanted so much for her to have a happy ending.

In the end, I wasn’t sure what she got.

Or…what I would get.

Is it more about her…or me?

NORA: Maybe. But you neither think nor talk like the man I could bind myself to. As soon as your fear was over--and it was not fear for what threatened me, but for what might happen to you--when the whole thing was past, as far as you were concerned it was exactly as if nothing at all had happened. Exactly as before, I was your little skylark, your doll, which you would in future treat with doubly gentle care, because it was so brittle and fragile. (Getting up.) Torvald--it was then it dawned upon me that for eight years I had been living here with a strange man, and had borne him three children--. Oh, I can't bear to think of it! I could tear myself into little bits!

Living with a strange man.

His little skylark. His doll….so brittle and fragile.

I set the book down. It was making me think about things that never occurred to me before.

That won’t be my life in eight years…will it?

HELMER: Mary—I mean, Nora--can I never be anything more than a stranger to you?

NORA: (taking her bag). Ah, Torbert, the most wonderful thing of all would have to happen. Wait, did I just call you “Torbert?”

HELMER: (scratches his head in confusion, then snaps to attention) Tell me what that would be!

NORA: Both you and I would have to be so changed that--. Oh, Torvald, I don't believe any longer in wonderful things happening.

HELMER: But I will believe in it. Tell me! So changed that--?

NORA: That our life together would be a real wedlock. Goodbye.

She left him? She left her children? How could she do something like that?

I don’t understand…

“What are you reading? Give me that!” Mrs. Fickley snatched the book out of my hands, and her face twisted up when she read the cover. “I’ve heard of this horrid play! Who gave it to you?” she snapped.

“I—I…” What could I say? If I told her the truth, that I got it from Jake, I’d be in even more trouble. She wouldn’t like finding out that I had visited the man at his house not once, but twice. Mrs. Fickley waited for my answer, scowling and ready to strike like a mad dog.

And, like a heroic little bird guarding its nest from the dog’s foaming jaws, Margie flew to my side and sacrificed herself.

“It’s my book. I let her borrow it,” Margie said timidly.

“I don’t want you bringing this filth into my house!” Mrs. Fickley shrieked. “What do you think you’re trying to do? It might be okay for you coloreds to walk out on your husbands and children, but it certainly isn’t okay for good, respectable women! You’re lucky I don’t throw you out of my house right here and now! Get back to work!” Margie nodded and quickly darted away, and Mrs. Fickley turned to me again. Her angry look turned to a look of sympathy and she gently put her hand on my shoulder.

“I’m not blaming you for this, Mary. You just don’t know any better. You have to be careful. It’s not good for a young lady to be reading things like this. You don’t want to turn into a floozy now, do you?” I slowly shook my head. Mrs. Fickley walked over to the fireplace, and in one swift flick of her wrist, she threw the book into the fire. I gasped softly and almost tried to save it, but I stopped myself. Mrs. Fickley glared at the book triumphantly as it burned. 

I could only stare as Aunt Aggie’s gift to her only nephew--Jake’s gift to me--slowly turned to ash.