Читать книгу All Waiting Is Long - Barbara J. Taylor - Страница 14

Chapter six

ONE WEEK AFTER ARRIVING at the Good Shepherd Infant Asylum, Lily felt her baby kick for the first time. It was Saturday, the first of March, the morning of her sixteenth birthday. Although it was too dark to see, Lily knew all of the girls would still be asleep at that hour. Even the most troubled ones succumbed to exhaustion by early dawn. The baby kicked again, and Lily couldn’t decide how to feel about this startling sensation. Until that moment, she’d managed to convince herself that everyone around her must be mistaken. Perhaps her recently blossomed belly would turn out to be too much fried chicken and applesauce cake like Alice Harris next door, or better yet, stomach cancer like Mrs. Manley down the street. Lily often imagined herself lying on her deathbed with an inoperable tumor while her mother and sister begged for forgiveness. She’d absolve them with her dying breath, and they’d collapse in tears over her cold body.

But now, as the baby kicked, Lily could no longer deny its existence. She had a life growing inside her. And all because she wanted to prove to George Sherman that she was no longer a child.

* * *

George Sherman Jr., the most handsome fellow in Scranton, lived in a sprawling house in the neighborhood of Green Ridge, where the moneyed people laid their heads at night. His father, George Sr., owned several company houses and the Sherman Colliery, an anthracite mine a few streets over in the Providence section of Scranton. It had some of the richest veins of coal in Pennsylvania. Even with the recent decrease in demand, Sherman’s mine continued to operate at full capacity. Almost everyone in Providence had family at the Sherman, including Lily. Her father worked there as a miner and had for the better part of thirty years, and even though the family struggled to survive on such low wages, they were still better off than so many others who’d lost their livelihoods outright in the months after the stock market crashed.

George Jr., who attended the Providence Christian Church with his parents and siblings, never took particular notice of Lily until Easter of ’29. Prior to that day, if he paid her any mind at all, it was due to her incessant fidgeting in the pew ahead of him. George had four years on Lily, and by that fateful Easter Sunday, almost a full year of college behind him. Later that summer, while trying to steal a kiss, he would tell her that on Easter Sunday, when the entire congregation stood for the invocation, she turned to borrow a hymnal, and he saw her as if for the first time. She’d suddenly transformed into a woman, with ringlets of thick dark hair, lovely curves, and those sapphire eyes.

When George showed up a few days later at the Morgan house on Spring Street, Lily had to pull her mother’s hand off the curtains. “You’re embarrassing me.”

“He has his own automobile.” Her mother stayed planted at the window.

“No daughter of mine is going out in a car with a boy.” A fit of coughing rolled through Owen with the intensity of a freight train. “I don’t care what his last name is.” To catch his breath, he leaned against the Tom Thumb piano in the front parlor—the only parlor in their four-room company house.

“Making him pay for the sins of his father, is that it?” Her mother crossed the room and dragged the piano stool out.

“The man may own my house,” Owen said, dropping onto the seat, “but he doesn’t own me.”

Lily looked pleadingly at her parents as George walked up the front steps.

Her father pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his mouth. “Let the boy in,” he said with a wave of the blood-speckled hanky.

Most of that evening, George and Lily sat on the porch steps, talking and drinking lemonade. Around nine, Lily’s father opened the screen door and barked, “Time for all good souls to say good night.” The screen door snapped shut behind him.

“Yes sir,” George called back, but he didn’t budge. Instead, he slid closer to Lily and started to play with a rebellious curl at the nape of her neck. “I’d sure like to make you my girl this summer,” he said, “but I’m afraid you still have some growing up to do.”

When Lily tried to object, he pressed a finger to her lips. “I’m a Yale man. I need a girl who can ride around with me.” He nodded toward the front door. “Someone without a bedtime.” He stood up to leave. “Maybe we should try this again when you’re a little older.”

Lily hopped up from the step, grabbed George by the shirt, and set her mouth against his ear. “I’m old enough to do as I please.”

“That’s what I wanted to hear,” he said, and whistled all the way to his car.

After that night, George would send Little Frankie over to the Morgans’ house when he wanted to be with Lily. Seventeen-year-old Franco Colangelo, a runt of a kid with oversized ears and slicked-back hair, looked closer to thirteen, so as George explained to Lily, her father would see him as less of a threat. Frankie lived over in Bull’s Head, a predominantly Italian neighborhood in Scranton where his uncle ran a numbers racket out of a speakeasy behind the barbershop. Since Frankie supplied the Green Ridge boys with homemade vino and directions to the occasional game of chance, they allowed him to pal around with them, as long as he kept his hands off their sisters.

When George wanted to see Lily, he’d have Little Frankie go over to her house with enough pocket change for both of them to take the Northern Electric Streetcar to Lake Winola. George’s family had a cottage up there, and he and his friends spent the better part of their summers at the lake, unchaperoned.

The plan worked well for most of July. Frankie had a crippled sister whom Lily sometimes visited, so no one thought it odd when he came by the house to pick her up. Lily was thankful that George was willing to go to such lengths on her account, and George seemed happy to have her on his arm without the watchful eye of her father.

George couldn’t live without Lily, he told her the afternoon he kissed her in the front seat of his Nash. They’d gone alone to pick up corn for the roast that night, and on the way back, ended up necking on the side of the road. Lily wanted to yell Stop!; she tried to yell Stop! but the word melted in the heat and slid off her tongue.

“I think I’m falling in love with you,” he said, placing a hand behind her head, pressing his weight on top of her.

A whispered “No” slipped past her lips like steam from a kettle.

His fingers searched for the hem of her skirt, and he pushed it past her garter. “I thought you wanted to be my girl.”

“No!” Lily stretched her arm and pointed out the window.

George shot up. There, on the driver’s side, Little Frankie stood with his face pressed against the glass.

“Get the hell out of here, you greasy Guinea.” George slammed his hands onto the steering wheel.

“Everyone’s out looking for you.” Frankie watched as Lily tugged her skirt down past her knees and adjusted her blouse before dropping his eyes. “Thought maybe you was wrecked somewheres.” Frankie blushed, stepped back from the car, and raised his hands. “My mistake.” He turned and started to walk away.

George lunged from the car and took a swipe at Frankie’s head. “What do I always tell you?” He glanced back at Lily hunched over, crying in her seat. “Never come looking for me!” He climbed back into the car and started the engine.

Lily made George drop her off at the Northern Electric stop, a mile over from the lake. After trying to placate her with words of affection and consolation, he yelled something about seeing her when she grew up, and disappeared in a cloud of dust. Sweat trickled down her face as she stood waiting for the streetcar in the late-afternoon sun. What had she done? What had she almost done? The streetcar finally arrived, and she took a seat in the rear, away from the handful of passengers who boarded with her. She closed her eyes and felt the burn of his hand on her thigh. Even with the windows open, the smell of him clung to her skin and stirred some unnamed feeling within her.

Little Frankie showed up at Lily’s house the next day to apologize. He said he hadn’t thought George would try that—not with a girl like her. He was just worried when they didn’t come right back. He felt responsible for her since he’d brought her to the lake in the first place. Lily thanked him, said she understood, but told him she needed to be alone.

For the rest of the week, Lily thought about what had happened that afternoon. She’d been embarrassed, but that didn’t mean she had to run home like a child. Now she’d ruined everything. George hated her, she was sure of it. He’d find another sweetheart, someone older, like Debbie Tomasetti, the lanky blonde who always showed up at the lake uninvited. Or worldlier, like Janetta Baugess, the voluptuous one with the big eyes. Lily needed to talk to George, but what would she say? That she was sorry? That she loved him? No matter. Seeing him was out of the question. She knew if she spoke to him, smelled the sweetness of his breath, she’d surrender to the dangerous longing she’d felt every minute since he’d pulled her into his arms.

When Frankie came by a few days later, Lily’s heart raced. She was sure George had sent him, that he wanted a chance to make things right. What would she do? Resist? Succumb? But Lily didn’t have to worry. Frankie had stopped by out of concern for her. And no, he hadn’t seen George for days.

By the end of the summer, Lily returned to high school and George to college. Though the longing continued, it started to burn more slowly. She tried to convince herself that she was over him, and she succeeded for the most part—until the hayride.

Lily hadn’t expected to see George that day. He was supposed to be off at college that first full weekend in September. She’d gone to Grayce Farms with Little Frankie, in part due to her mother’s prodding. “Get outside and blow some of the stink off you”—her way of telling Lily to stop sulking. She noticed George at the far side of the wagon, but just as she started toward him, Janetta Baugess, the most buxom girl in Lily’s grade, pushed past her, settled next to George, and took his hand. “Stop teasing,” the girl was saying. “You know very well how to say my name.” She held up a finger as if to chide him. “It’s Jane,” she paused, “and etta.” She laughed. “My mother knew I’d never be a plain Jane.”

Lily dropped onto the bench across from them, pressing her palms into her lap to stop them from shaking. As Janetta prattled on, Lily learned that George had come home for his sister’s birthday, and intended to return to school on Sunday. Until then, the couple planned to spend every moment together. Lily looked up at George, trying to see the truth of the situation in his eyes, but he turned away from her and watched the horses. Being ignored is worse than being hated.

When the driver pulled up alongside a table of cider and doughnuts put out by the ladies of the church, Lily allowed Frankie to take her hand to help her down from the wagon. “Why, you’re the sweetest boy I know,” she said, at a volume that rivaled Janetta’s. Frankie grinned. Once on the ground, she held his hand for another minute or two, long enough for people to notice.

“Little Frankie,” George called, patting the pocket of his coat, “my turn to provide the hooch.” George motioned toward a line of white birch trees at the edge of the pasture. When Frankie nodded toward Lily, irritation registered on George’s face. “She can come, I suppose.” His eyes slowly traveled up and down her body. “Providing she’s grown up some.”

“Let’s go,” Janetta said, already facing the woods. “What are you bothering with them for?”

“Frankie here’s an old friend. A man always sticks by his friends.” George shot an elbow into the boy’s side. “Even the I-talians,” he said, chuckling.

“So why are we standing around?” Lily said, as if George had been addressing his comments to her all along. “Last one across the field is a rotten egg!” She sprinted ahead of them, hoping the blush of her cheeks would be mistaken for exertion, but slowed soon enough with a stitch in her side.

George pulled Janetta by the arm, and the two took the lead. Little Frankie hung back initially, but quickly caught up with Lily. “I’m not sure this is a good idea,” he said. “No telling what George has in mind.”

“Don’t worry,” was all she could think to say, as they made their way past the birches, into a forest of golden ash trees whose leaves had already changed.

Frankie walked ahead of Lily, lifting fallen branches, clearing a path. “Watch where you’re walking,” he said.

“Over here!” George’s voice thundered from up ahead.

Lily noticed a wooden structure about twenty feet in front of her, too small for the four of them to share. The roof rose to the height of a full-grown man, but the walls only reached the halfway point. George entered through what could be described as more of a gate than door, and handed items out to Janetta.

“Never knew there was a turkey blind out here till my brother mentioned it.” He grabbed a quilt and stepped back outside. “He found it hunting with a buddy of his. Makes a pretty good hiding place.” He snapped the cover across the ground and looked at Janetta. “It’s going to get chilly,” he said to her. “I have a couple more blankets in the car. Would you mind?” Before Janetta could object, he kissed her cheek. “I thought you wanted to spoon in the moonlight.”

“Don’t start without me,” she said, winking.

“Wouldn’t think of it.” George kissed her on the nose and squeezed her behind. “We’ll wait right here.” He motioned for Lily and Frankie to sit as Janetta walked away. “And grab a plate of those doughnuts if there’s any left.”

As soon as Janetta disappeared, George unwrapped newspaper from around three of the four quarts of homemade beer he’d stashed in the turkey blind. “Down the hatch,” he said, passing two of the bottles to his companions. George watched as Lily touched the beer to her lips without drinking. “Still yellow, I see.”

Lily looked at him straight on, took three large gulps, and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She closed her eyes to keep them from tearing as the beer burned its way down her throat. When she raised the bottle again, Frankie pried it from her fingers.

“Give the lady what she wants,” George said, offering his beer to Lily with one hand while removing a flask from inside his coat.

“She’s had enough.” Frankie grabbed Lily’s arm.

“Let go!” She pulled away and took a generous swig. “I’m not leaving till I talk to George.”

“You have to drink a little more first.” George tipped the bottle up to her lips and held it there.

Frankie stood. “You told me to bring her here so you could apologize. That was it.”

“I’ll apologize,” George said evenly.

Lily looked up, and pointed at Frankie with the bottle. “You brought me here for him?” She turned to George. “This wasn’t a . . .” she stopped to think of the word and giggled at her momentary lapse, “coincidence?”

“I’m taking you home,” Frankie said. When Lily didn’t budge, he added, “You don’t need him. He looked down at his shoes. “A girl like you could have her pick of guys.”

“Well, I’ll be.” George squinted up. “The Guinea’s in love.” He slapped his leg. “That deserves a drink.” He pushed Lily’s beer to her mouth again. They both laughed and the foam dribbled down her chin.

“Don’t be silly,” she said to Frankie. “George is trying to make up with me.”

George draped his arm around Lily and pulled her into his chest. “Get outta here,” he said to Frankie. “I like to say my sorrys in private.” He winked and tossed the flask to him. “Compliments of the house.” He leaned into Lily and nuzzled her neck. “Now go find Janetta before she comes back,” he said to the boy, “and keep her company for a while.” He winked again.

“You’re too good for him.” Frankie stretched his arm toward Lily once more. She put down her beer and waved him away as George pulled her in for a kiss.

Frankie stood for a moment longer, watching as George lowered Lily onto the blanket, their lips locked throughout the descent. “Son of a bitch,” Frankie mumbled. He unscrewed the flask, poured its contents down his throat, tossed the empty container aside, and walked away.

George stretched toward one of the bottles and placed it in Lily’s open hand.

Lily caught her breath and half sat up. “I need to say something.”

“Sure,” George replied, taking a swig from the beer she held. His fingers trailed the length of her neck, lingering at the top curve of her breast. He pushed her back down, rolled on top of her, and kissed her hard.

She shivered underneath his weight. “I’m scared,” she said weakly.

“That’s how love feels.”

“Tell me you love me.”

“I love you, baby.”

She pushed his head back a little so she could see into his eyes. “Who else do you love?”

“Nobody. Just you. Just my beautiful baby.”

“I’ll baby you.” Janetta stepped onto the blanket and threw a napkin filled with doughnuts at George’s head.

George jumped up, shaking powered sugar out of his hair.

“Send me on a wild goose chase!” She kicked over a half-empty bottle. “For Little Miss Goody Two Shoes over there?” Her foot landed in George’s shin and he buckled slightly. “Nothing but a dirty two-timer, that’s what you are.”

Lily sat up, pulled herself over to a tree, and leaned against it, a safe distance from the scuffle.

George took Janetta’s arm and leaned in close. “Let me explain.” He looked at Lily again. “Later.”

“Never you mind, George Sherman.” Janetta wriggled out of his grip. “You told me I was your girl.” She spit in Lily’s direction. “Just remember,” she leaned in close to George and lowered her voice, “she’ll never do for you like I done. We both know it.” Janetta kicked over the second bottle of beer and stormed away.

As soon as Janetta had disappeared into the trees, George turned back to Lily and sat down. “Now where were we?” His pressed his palm against her thigh and circled the flesh with his thumb.

“Everything’s ruined!” Lily burst into tears. “It’s not supposed to be this way.” She pushed his hand away and pulled her legs up to her chest.

George inhaled deeply. “Come on, baby.”

“You said you loved me!”

“And I do, baby. I do.” He dabbed Lily’s tears with sleeve. “Only you,” he said, pushing her hair back from her face. “She’s nobody. I brought her here to make you jealous.” He dropped his eyes and kicked at the ground with the toe of his shoe. “Stupid, I know, but I get crazy when it comes to you.”

Lily’s shoulders relaxed, and she stretched her legs out.

“All the other girls give me what I want.” George reached up and stroked Lily’s cheek. “But not you.” He looked at her straight on as if seeing her for the first time. “I’ve never known anyone like you.”

She rested her head inside his palm. Pulling himself closer, George slid his free hand between Lily’s calves, slicing his way past her knees to her trembling thighs.

“Stop,” Lily said, pushing his hand away. “I can’t think.”

“Don’t think. Just trust me, baby.” His hand found its way to her thigh again. “I love you.”

“I need time,” she said, and drew her legs up to her chest once more.

“Time?” He tried to rest his hand on Lily’s knee, but she pushed him away. “Don’t make me beg.”

“I mean it,” she said, and twisted away from him.

George stood up, slammed his foot into the trunk of the tree, walked over to the blanket, and knocked over the third quart of beer. “Janetta!” he yelled as he started to sprint. “Wait up!”

* * *

Frankie came back and found Lily sitting on the blanket, crying.

“He said I’m not grown up enough for him.”

“A girl like you deserves better.” Frankie knelt on the ground and handed her his hankie.

She blew her nose and wiped her face. “He’d rather spend his time with girls like Janetta.”

Frankie reached over for the last quart of beer, peeled back the newspaper, and took a long swig. “Janetta can’t hold a candle to you.”

“You’re sweet, Frankie.” Lily grabbed the beer and sipped. “Why can’t George be sweet like you?” She started crying again.

“He’s a damn fool.” Frankie scooted in next to Lily and held her in his arms. “You’re the most beautiful girl in Scranton,” he said, caressing her cheek.

“You really think so?” Lily looked up at him. Dizzy, she fell back onto the blanket, pulling Frankie on top of her. They bumped noses hard as they landed, setting off a fit of tears and giggles. And kisses. Awkward at first, but rhythmic in short time, and soon enough, Lily gave herself over to him, thinking of George and Janetta. She lifted her hips as Frankie fumbled with his trousers, groped for her bloomers, and pressed his body into hers.

* * *

Lily felt the baby kick again, just as Sister Immaculata charged through the door and turned on the first light. “This is the day that the Lord hath made.” She stopped as she did every morning and waited for the women to respond from their beds.

“Let us rejoice,” Lily said, blinking tears from her eyes, “and be glad in it.” She turned her head toward Violet’s bed and saw that it hadn’t been slept in. “Must be down with that baby again,” she whispered to her belly. She turned back toward Muriel’s bed. It too was empty. Lily rolled onto her side and dropped her feet to the floor before standing. “Birthdays are supposed to be happy,” she mumbled on her way to the washroom.