Mary, Just Mary Chapter Two

I tried not to look at Jake during the car ride home. I found that the more I looked at him, the longer I wanted to look. There was something…different about him. I knew he wasn’t like Albert or anyone I had ever met. Showing kindness to the parishioners at the church, defending Ronald Ruby, offering to teach me to drive, it was so unusual. So fascinating. I wanted to learn more about him. Everything.

“Ahem. Jake, um, where are you from?” I asked casually.

“I’ve lived here since I was a boy. My father owned the bar on Owen Street. It’s…been closed down for ten years now.”

“Does he live with you?”

Jake swallowed hard. “He’s dead.”

I flushed. “I’m sorry. How…?” My voice couldn’t finish the sentence.

“What street do you live on?” Jake interrupted me.

“Oh. Garden Drive.” I couldn’t say anything else. He was also silent for a moment.

“Were you going to ask how he died?” Jake asked. I nodded.

“He was killed by a man who came in to rob the place. The man…pulled out a gun and demanded money from everyone.”

“Everyone down, now!” the man shot his gun into the air, and the frightened patrons screamed and cowered where they were. Sam Harper raised his hands and glanced at the storage room, praying his son would stay hidden. He looked back at the gunman so the crook didn’t decide to go look for whatever was in the storage room.

“Jake! Stay back!” Sam yelled.

“Shut up!” the gunman shouted. He made his way around the bar, pointing his gun at the customers, yelling “The money! All of it! Now!” The customers quickly emptied their wallets and pockets into his greedy hands.

 

 

“You’re not taking away my hard-earned money!”

“Ernest, please! Just give him what he wants!”

The gunman then turned back toward Sam and Marta Fraise, a waitress who also performed short concerts on occasion. She had hopes as high as the clouds, and wanted to be a famous singer, like Billie Holiday. Though money was tight, Sam always paid her for each concert.

“He…ripped the necklace off one of the barmaids, and decided he wanted to take her, too.”

A slimy, yellow smile broke across the gunman’s face as he ran his fingers across her neck, then ripped off her grandmother’s gold necklace. He cocked the gun and put it in her face.

“You’re coming with me, sweetheart,” he growled. Marta whimpered as he grabbed her by the hair and started leading her toward the door.

“My father wouldn’t let him.”

Sam leapt from behind the bar, grasping the man’s shoulders and pulling him to the floor. He grabbed the gun and tried to wrench it out of the crook’s hands.

“And then I heard it.”

Bang!

The patrons screamed. Sam fell. The gunman ran. A shadow jumped from behind the door of the storage room, and the seventeen year old boy collapsed at his father’s side. Sam tried to say his son’s name for the last time, but his life was spilling, staining the floor red with every passing second.

“Somebody call a doctor!” Marta cried.

“Pa! No! Pa…!”

 “I’m so sorry. Was he a God-fearing man?” I asked softly.

“He was.”

“Then he’s up in heaven now.”

“I suppose.”

“The Lord takes all of His servants home.”

“Maybe the Lord ought to just let things be. Stop taking people before their time.”

“Is your mother dead too?” I asked. I clamped my hand over my mouth right after the question slipped. It wasn’t my place to ask this man such personal questions. Jake sighed heavily, and I felt horrible for dredging up those memories.

“She died having me.”

“Forgive me, I didn’t mean to bring all this up.”

“No, it’s all right.”

“My parents are away on vacation right now, they’re both quite healthy. I can’t imagine losing them.”

“Have you…moved here?”

“No, I’m vacationing as well. This the first time I’ve been here, and it’s very nice. Small towns are so friendly.”

“They can be.”

I hung my arm on the opened window and rested my chin on it, watching the houses, trees, and small town shops as we passed by. I started to wonder what Jake meant by “They can be.” I didn’t know how this place couldn’t be friendly, because it was so lovely. Jake turned onto another street, and I looked up at the street sign that read “Garden Drive.” I sighed in disappointment that our trip was near its end. Jake slowed his truck down.

“Which house is it?” he asked.

“Twelve twenty-four,” I mumbled. He pulled into the driveway of the big, gorgeous house I was now calling home. I slouched in the truck as he got out and opened my door. I would have stayed there had he not given me another one of those breathtaking smiles. I gazed shyly at his smile until I heard the front door bang open and furious high-heeled shoes came running down the deck.

“Mary! Mary! What--? Who is this?” Mrs. Fickley ranted, waving her long, bony finger at Jake.

“Jake Harper, ma’am.” Jake held out his hand, but Mrs. Fickley scowled at him, making it clear she was not about to participate in a friendly handshake. Jake cleared his throat and lowered his hand. “I was just escorting this young lady home.”

“He’s a police officer,” I said.

“Police? Was there trouble?” Mrs. Fickley said.

“No, ma’am. I just wanted to make sure she got home safe,” Jake said.

“Oh. Do you want money?”

“Uh…no, ma’am.”

“Good. Mary, come inside now. Mr. Harper, good afternoon to you,” She put her thin hand on my shoulder and led me back into the house. I looked back at Jake, hoping and praying to the good Lord it wouldn’t be the last I ever saw him. Albert was waiting in the foyer and he jumped out of his chair and ran to me.

“Mary, oh, thank goodness. We were getting worried about you,” Albert said. “Where were you?”

“I just…went to church,” I said.

“Oh, well, I would have been more than happy to escort you, my dear,” he said, kissing my hand.

To a colored church? I doubt it. I thought to myself, smiling at the joke only I knew.

“You should at least not be seen around town with other men. People will talk, and you don’t want the whole neighborhood calling you a hussy now, do you?” Mrs. Fickley asked. I shook my head, and she smiled smugly.



I spent the rest of that week thinking about Jake Harper. Even the awful embroidering that Mrs. Fickley insisted I practice seemed less of a chore with him on my mind. The floral patterns on the doily I worked on in the conservatory began taking the colors of Jake. Stitch one, his light brown eyes. Stitch two, his friendly smile. That was white. Stitch three, his kindness. A light blue, like the sky. Stitch four, and I stabbed myself with the needle. I was never very good at sewing.

 

“Ouch!” I said. A drop of blood seeped into the pale yellow cloth. I set the doily down and walked into the kitchen. I ran my fingers under warm water at the sink and dried them. I glanced out the window and saw a police car driving by. I wondered if it was Jake’s. I even hoped it was. I smiled at the thought of him driving by, watching me.

 

Stop it, Mary.  You can’t think about him.  You’re not marrying Jake, you’re marrying Albert. I told myself as I broke my gaze from the police car fading in the distance.  I stared at the pristine sink for a few moments until I heard music coming from the den.  Music I knew and loved all too well.

 

 

Well since my baby left me

I found a new place to dwell

It’s down at the end of lonely street

At heartbreak hotel

You make me so lonely baby

I get so lonely

I get so lonely, I could die

I tiptoed into the room and saw Margie dusting and dancing to the sultry tunes of Elvis, perhaps the second most alluring man I ever saw. Mrs. Fickley didn’t like the way Elvis would shake his hips and make young girls swoon, and my records had to be kept hidden from her. But not from Margie, and she flicked the feather duster across Mrs. Fickley's numerous and useless knickknacks. I watched as she sang and cleaned, giggling at how she shuffled her feet and rocked her hips.

“Allllll…though it’s always crowded, you still can find some room…where brokenhearted lovers do cry away their gloom…” Margie sang into the feather duster, and I burst out laughing. She gasped and turned to me.

“Oh, Mary, I’m…I’m so sorry, I’ll get back to work,” she covered up her face and turned off the record player. I laughed and walked to her.

"It’s okay. You can listen to music while you’re working,” I said.

“It wouldn’t upset Mrs. Fickley?" she asked.

“Oh, it would. But she’s not here right now, so it doesn’t matter.” I said, smiling at her. I could see the corners of her mouth pull into a small smile.

“You really scared me, you know,” she said, resuming dusting on the fireplace.

“I think the way you’re dancing is what’s scary,” I giggled. She laughed and brushed the feathers in my face.

“Well, I’m sorry but I can’t help it. Were you trying to hide him from me?” she asked slyly, holding up the record sleeve.

“More like hide him from Mrs. Fickley."

“Ah. Ronald doesn't like it when I listen to Elvis either. See, he doesn’t want me swooning over a…” her voice trailed off in uncertainty.

“White man?” I asked. She shrugged. “Oh, but he’s so handsome!” I said.

“I know!” she said. We bumped hips and danced together as the King serenaded us, Margie with her feather duster, and I picked up the hose of the vacuum cleaner that was sitting in the corner of the room. We sang together and laughed, having a great time, even with something as simple as housework.

“I’ve been so lonely baby—”

“What is going on here?”

Margie and I froze.  I turned slowly and saw Albert, cross-armed, and his face looked very cross as well.  Margie quickly ran to the fireplace and started dusting again, and I set the hose of the vacuum down.

“I’m sorry, Albert. We were just having some fun,” I said in a small voice.

“Mary, my dear, she’s not here to have fun. She’s here to work,” Albert said, shaking his head disapprovingly. “You must be dreadfully bored then. Why don’t you go with mother to the market later?” I could think of a million other things I would rather do than go to the market with Mrs. Fickley, but I smiled at him and nodded. Albert gently kissed my cheek and walked toward his office. I walked out of the den and sat on the back porch, where it was quiet and bright, and the only thing weighing me down were my thoughts.

You make me so lonely, baby

I get so lonely

I get so lonely, I could die

Oh, I wonder what Elvis would say…

 

“Listen up, darlin’. You gotta follow your heart. Some things are meant to be.”

“Meant to be? But, I only met Jake a few days ago!”

“Honey, sometimes that’s all the time in the world to get you all shook up.”

"I…I just don’t know which way to go. I feel like I’m caught in a trap.”

 

“And I don’t feel as close to Albert anymore. We drifted apart.”

“And now you’re stuck like glue to Jake.”

“Heaven help me. What should I do?”

“You should take some action!”

“What do you mean?”

“Baby, I’m tired of talkin’ and you should be too. If you really care about Jake, you should grab your coat and start walkin’.”

“Walking? Where?”

 

“Mary? Mary! Mary, are you listening?”

“Huh? What?”

“Mary, grab your coat. We’re going shopping,” Mrs. Finney said.

I would have preferred sitting alone on the porch daydreaming about Elvis and Jake as opposed to listening to Mrs. Fickley complain about the prices of the groceries in the market and how the small town markets didn’t have exactly what she wanted. Margie and I tried to stay as far from her as possible, hoping that would make people think we weren’t with her. I slowly backed away from Mrs. FIckley, and promptly bumped into another woman that was standing nearby.

 

“Oops,” she said.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said. “I need to watch where I’m going,”

“Oh, no worries, baby,” the woman said with a smile. She walked over to the shopkeeper. He looked very relieved that Mrs. Fickely was walking away. “Hey, Fred, can I get a pack of Marlboros and a bottle of Irish Cream?” The shopkeeper smiled at her and nodded, and the woman turned back to me.

“You’re a fresh face. What’s your name, sweetie?” she asked.

“Mary. Mary Ellen Baker,” I said.

“Barbara Andrews,” she said. “You can call me Babs.”

“Do you live nearby?” I asked.

“Sure do. My husband and I just bought a new house, over on—”

“Mary! Mary Ellen, come here!” Mrs. Finney’s voice cut off Babs in mid-sentence, and she rushed to my side and started pulling me away from her. I tried to stammer out a quick goodbye, but all I could do was look at Babs helplessly as I was dragged away.

 

“The nerve of ordering alcohol at this time of day! And look at the way she’s dressed. That woman has no morals whatsoever! I don’t want you talking to people like her, Mary!” Mrs. Finney sneered. I quickly looked toward the door in alarm, wondering if Babs heard Mrs. Finney’s insults, but she kept walking away without hesitation. Whenever Mrs. Fickely was yelling it was hard not to hear her, but I guess Babs found it easy not to care about what she said.

No morals? I thought. But she seemed so nice. Mrs. Finney turned to the shopkeeper, berating him for selling the alcohol in the first place. I backed away from her again, trying to give my most sympathetic look to the poor shopkeeper. Margie stepped up beside me and put her hand around my elbow.

“Mary, look who just walked in,” she whispered.  Her tone of voice told me enough.  I didn’t have to look, but I ducked behind a shelf and looked anyway, just so I could see him again.  He was wearing his uniform, obviously on duty, but still managed to look as handsome as ever.  He tipped his hat to the weary shopkeeper, who was still listening to Mrs. Fickley's complaints, and a man in a cowboy hat and dusty pants called out to Jake.

“Jake!” the man called.

“John, how are you?” Jake asked, giving the man a firm handshake and a hug.

“Good, good.”

“How’s your father?”

“Better. Still on bed rest, but he’s holding his own.”

“Jake…” I whispered. I leaned closer, trying to figure out how to casually drop in on their conversation. I hadn’t realized how far I leaned out until I knocked over the box of oranges that was sitting on the shelf. The loud clatter it made was anything but casual. Jake and John both turned quickly and saw…clumsy me, trying to hide my face in embarrassment as oranges rolled across the floor. Margie was trying not to giggle.

“Mary?” Jake asked. Hearing him say my name made me blush even more.

“I’m...I’m sorry,” I said to the shopkeeper when he came over to clean up the mess. My eyes whirled around the shop looking for Mrs. FIckley. I was relieved to find her trying to pick out a suitable chicken, now complaining to the butcher and oblivious to my indiscretion. Jake and John helped the shopkeeper stack up the boxes I knocked over. I chased down every orange that escaped.

 

“I should probably find a better way to display this. These boxes are just so gosh darn flimsy, and always falling apart,” the shopkeeper said. “I apologize, ma’am."

“It’s all right,” I said. He nodded to me and returned to the front counter. Jake walked up to me and…oh, that smile again! My knees went weak and I thought I was going to fall on the boxes of fruit again.

“Hi, it’s good to see you again,” he said.

“Good to see you, too,” I replied.

“Oh, this is my friend, John Miller. He has some farmland down the road from here,” Jake nodded towards John, and John greeted me. “John, this is Mary Ellen Baker and Margie Ruby.”

Had I told him my last name? I wondered as I gently shook John’s hand.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Baker. Mrs. Ruby,” John said. Margie looked down shyly, and I understood her apprehension towards white men. She and her husband had little reason to trust them, even those who seemed friendly, like Albert’s business partners that came to dinner a few days ago. Thinking about Ronald reminded me of the conversation John was having with Jake moments ago.

 

“Mr. Miller, did you say you needed some farmhands?” I asked.

“Call me John, miss, and yes,” John said.

“Well, Margie’s husband has been looking for a job, and…” I glanced at Margie as she brought her head up timidly, a smile breaking across her face. John furrowed his brow and for a second I thought he would say the words that I’ve heard a million times out of other men: “I don’t hire them coloreds.” But he rubbed his rusty beard and gave a slight nod.

“Has he worked on a farm before?” John asked Margie.

“No, sir, but he’s a strong, hardworking man,” Margie said.

“Well, I suppose I can talk to him. Is he available tomorrow?”

“Oh, yes!” Margie said excitedly.

“All right, my house is just down the road from here, it’s the big white—” John’s sentence was interrupted when Jake pulled out a piece of paper and a pen from his breast pocket and gave it to him. “Thanks, Jake.” John scribbled down his address on the paper and gave it to Margie. “Have him come to this address at 8 in the mornin’.

“Oh, thank you, sir!” Margie said.

John nodded and tipped his hat to her. “I must be headin’ out now. Goodbye, Jake. Nice ta’ meet you both, Miss Baker and Mrs. Ruby.”

“Goodbye!” I said, waving. Jake chuckled.

“That was very nice of you,” he said.

“It was nice of John to give Ronald a chance,” I said.

"Yes, it was," Margie agreed.

“Well, John’s family comes from a long line of honest farm folk, and they judge a man by the hard day’s work he puts in every day and not what he looks like.”

“If only more people could be like that,” I said.

“Indeed.”

“Margaret!  Get over here and help me with this!” Mrs. Fickley snapped.  Margie rushed over to grab the chicken that was as close to perfection as the butcher could get.  “Mary!” Mrs. Fickley's voice changed to her sweet tone. “Mary, dear, where are you?  It’s time to go!”

“I have to go now,” I said sadly.

“Okay. Goodbye, Mary,” Jake said softly. He slipped in between the aisles of canned goods and box dinners and disappeared just as Mrs. Fickley came stomping up behind me, muttering about prices. I grimaced at her thankless attitude. We walked back over to the car, with Mrs. Fickley complaining the entire way. She snatched the grocery bag out of Margie’s hands.

“The war is over, isn’t it? Hmph, these backwoods hicks must not think so, with these prices,” Mrs. Fickley muttered while digging through the grocery bag. “Margaret, where are the eggs?”

“Ma’am?” Margie asked.

“The eggs, Margaret! I told you to get some eggs!” Mrs. Fickley snapped.

“You didn’t—“ I started to say, but Mrs. Fickley shoved the bag back into Margie’s hands.

“Go get them, now!” she said. Margie nodded and headed back to the store. Mrs. Fickley leaned to my ear. “Go with her. Make sure she brings back all my change,” she said.

I looked by the market, and saw John Miller and a young woman setting up stand in front of the market. Beside the stand was a sign that said “farm fresh eggs.” John Miller and the woman placed a few crates of eggs on the stand, and said a few things to each other before John kissed the woman and headed back to his truck.

That must be his wife. I thought. She had wavy blonde hair and a delicate frame, and looked very beautiful.

“Look, Margie, John Miller is selling eggs. We should buy them from him,” I said. Margie smiled and nodded. We walked over to the stand, and the woman looked up at us and smiled.

“How fresh are these eggs?” I asked her.

“Got them from the chickens myself this morning,” she replied.

“I’ll take a dozen, then,” I said. I paid for the eggs and thought about exchanging some pleasantries with her. I didn’t know most of the neighbors and I wanted to make a few friends if I could. “What’s your name?” I asked her.

“Becky. Becky Miller.”

“Are you John Miller’s wife?”

“Yes. How do you know John?”

“Oh, well, I know his friend Jake Harper,” I said, smiling at his name passing through my lips.

“Mm, Jake is a good man. A good friend to John…and to me. So, what’s your name?”

“Oh, it’s Mary. Mary Ellen Baker,” I said, shaking the girl’s hand. “And this is my friend, Margie Ruby.”

“Yes, John was just telling me about Mr. Ruby. I hope he decides to work as one of our hands.”

“Oh, I’m sure he will. He wants to work again so bad,” Margie said.

“Do you have any children?” I asked. Becky’s smile faded, and she slowly dropped her head.

For a minute she just sat there, very quiet.

“No,” she finally said in a whisper I could barely hear.

Suddenly, the silence was broken by Mrs. Fickley impatiently beeping the horn. Margie put the eggs in the grocery bag and thanked Becky, and briskly walked back to the car. I followed Margie, and looked back at Becky as she was rearranging the egg cartons, her hair covering up her face like a curtain. I felt sorry for her, and had the feeling that there was a reason why she didn’t have children, and it wasn’t good.

Maybe Jake knows why the Millers don’t have any children.

Or maybe it’s none of my business. I shouldn’t be prying into people’s personal lives.

I shouldn’t be talking to Jake anyway. I shouldn’t even be thinking about him.

“Too many things I shouldn’t do…” I murmured to myself as I climbed into the car.

“What did you say, Mary, dear?” Mrs. Fickley asked.

“Nothing.”

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.