Two of the woman’s ragged, barefooted children had coughs and runny noses. The three oldest, who looked as though they should be in school, sat at a table doing piecework with their mother, sewing on buttons. “Can’t we do something more for that family?” Bebe asked after they returned to their carriage that first day.
“Of course not. It’s important to be charitable, but we mustn’t allow the poor to become dependent on us.”
“Shouldn’t the city officials be doing something about the sewage and all the garbage that’s piling up?”
“That’s entirely up to our civic government. It isn’t our duty to meddle in men’s affairs.”
Three years after Bebe’s first visit to The Flats, the neighborhood looked exactly the same. The garbage and sewage, the fleas and the flies remained unchanged. The only thing that had changed, as far as Bebe could tell, was the population, which had grown considerably larger.
“I don’t know how these families can afford to live with so many mouths to feed,” Bebe said after delivering yet another meal to yet another new mother. She felt guilty for parading into these families’ lives, well dressed and well fed, reminding them of what they lacked. To Bebe, her attempts at charity seemed like a tiny drop of goodwill in an ocean of need. “I counted five children in that apartment, and none of them looked well nourished,” she continued. “Surely there must be something more we can do than simply deliver one meal.”
“At least these women are willing to have their husbands’ babies.”
Bebe knew that Mrs. Garner had directed the jibe at her. She had turned twenty in July, she and Horatio had been married for three years, and she had yet to become pregnant. Bebe’s insides burned like hot coals as she forced herself to ignore her mother-in-law’s barb—just as she ignored countless other barbs every day. As if it were Bebe’s fault for being childless! Mrs. Garner herself had produced only one son. Bebe longed to speak her thoughts out loud but didn’t dare, and the coals of her anger burned hotter each day.
Her mother-in-law seemed convinced that Bebe was somehow to blame for her childlessness, when the fault rested entirely with Horatio. A man needed to be at home with his wife at night in order to produce babies, and Horatio rarely was. He arrived home with his father at six every evening, swearing that he’d missed Bebe and professing his undying love. He would eat dinner with her and his parents and then go out again.
“I have business to attend to,” he would say if she questioned him. She was often asleep when he returned late at night, the smell of alcohol strong on his breath. “So my nightmares won’t bother you, my dear one,” he explained. The more Horatio drank, the less he resembled the carefree, talkative man she had fallen in love with. The distance between them seemed to be growing wider and wider.
Bebe arose and got dressed long before he did in the morning, steeling herself to endure another long, lonely day with only his mother and her socialite friends for companionship. During the war years, when her life had been a daily struggle of hard labor, she had feared that the work would never end. Now that she didn’t have the usual women’s chores to do, her empty, work-free life also seemed as though it would never end. She hated her life. Then one night Horatio stopped coming home for dinner altogether.
“Where’s Horatio?” Mrs. Garner demanded when Mr. Garner arrived home alone.
“How should I know?” he replied.
Bebe had been waiting for Horatio in the parlor and didn’t intend to eavesdrop on his parents’ conversation in the foyer, but there was no other way out of the room without being seen. She shrank away from the parlor door as the Garners began shouting at each other by the front staircase.
“Well, he was with you all day at work. Why didn’t he come home with you?”
“If you must know, your son hasn’t been with me all day at work for a very long time. He fails to show up at all, half the time, nor does he do a full day of work when he does show up. He comes in late every morning and leaves whenever he feels like it.”
“Where does he go?”
“How should I know? I have more important things to do than follow him around all day. But I’ll tell you this much, I’m not going to put up with it any longer. I hired a new general manager last month to replace him. I warned Horatio that I was going to do it, and now I have. As soon as the fellow learns his way around, Horatio can look for work elsewhere, as far as I’m concerned. I’m taking him off my payroll.”
“You can’t do that! He’s your son.”
“No, he’s your son—you spoiled him shamelessly when he was a boy and—”
“Only because Horatio was so ill.”
“—and you’re still spoiling him to this day. It’s your fault that he never grew up.”
“How dare you blame me when the fault is yours? I told you not to force him to go to war. I begged you to hire a substitute for him when his draft notice came. He’s our only son! Horatio wept and pleaded with you, too, and you turned a deaf ear.”
A chill shivered through Bebe at their words. Horatio had told her the opposite story—that his father had offered to hire a substitute, but he had insisted on fighting. She wanted to believe Horatio’s version, except his nightmares told her otherwise. She felt stunned. Duped. He wasn’t the man she’d thought he was. And what did he do all day if he wasn’t working?
“I thought that going away to war would do him some good,”
Mr. Garner said. “Make a man out of him.”
“Well, you forced him to go and look what happened. He not only came back wounded, he brought home that ridiculous wife of his.”
“Well, you can’t blame me if he doesn’t come home now. He’s obviously not very happy with his ridiculous wife or he would be here, wouldn’t he?”
Mr. Garner’s words hit Bebe with the same shock she’d felt when she’d plunged into the river. Could it be true? Had Horatio stopped loving her? If so, she wanted to sink into the cold, dark water and drown.
Silence settled over the foyer as the Garners stalked off in opposite directions. As soon as the way was clear, Bebe ran upstairs to her room. She refused to come down for dinner and refused the servants’ offer of a tray. How could she eat? Horatio didn’t love her anymore.
On other nights when Horatio stayed out late, Bebe usually went to sleep before he came home. But tonight she sat up in a chair beside the bed waiting for him, growing angrier and angrier with each passing hour. Horatio was not the man she’d thought she had married. He was an irresponsible liar who seldom went to work, leaving her trapped at home with his hateful mother. He never was going to build a home for her—small or grand. How could he afford one if he never went to work to earn a living?
Anger kept Bebe awake until Horatio stumbled home at two o’clock in the morning. She knew the time by the hall clock, which had chimed every hour, half hour, and quarter hour before he arrived. Horatio blinked when he opened the bedroom door and saw all of the bedroom lamps burning. He shaded his eyes against the brightness. His clothes and hair looked disheveled.
“What are you doing up, my sweet Beatrice? It’s very late, you know.”
“I know. I’ve been waiting for you to come home. I need to ask you something.”
“What’s that, my dear?”
“Do you still love me, Horatio?”
“Of course! Oh, my dearest, how could you even think that I don’t love you?” He moved toward her with wavering steps. Drunk.
“You never spend time with me. You didn’t even come home for dinner tonight.”
“I’m sorry. Something unforeseen came up. But you must believe that I love you, my darling. I adore you.”
“I don’t know whether to believe you or not, especially when you’re like this.”
“Like what?”
“You’ve been drinking. Excessively, it seems.” She wanted to confront him with all of the other lies he had told her: how he hadn’t really volunteered for the war; how he wasn’t going to work every day; how he’d promise
d to move out of his parents’ house and build a house for her. Instead, she continued in a calm voice. “I don’t know what to believe. Where do you go all day and all night, Horatio? You’re never home. Your father says you haven’t been working at the tannery with him.”
His smile faded into a troubled frown. “I hate working there. It’s too noisy, for one thing. And Father and I don’t get along. He never listens to any of my ideas.” Horatio began to undress, kicking off his shoes and dropping his suit coat onto a chair. “He should have given me the foreman’s job. It belongs to me. But instead he hired Neal MacLeod, an outsider. So I left.”
Horatio turned toward the cupboard where he kept the bottle for his nightly drink, then seemed to change his mind. He wobbled toward Bebe, stopping in front of her chair to face her.
“I wanted to surprise you, Beatrice, but I suppose I’ll have to tell you now. I haven’t been going to work because I’ve been looking into another job possibility. I’m tired of being dependent on my father, and I’ve decided to start a business of my own choosing.”
His words offered her a tiny seed of hope, but she was afraid to plant it, afraid that it, too, would shrivel and die. “A job? Doing what?”
“I don’t want to say, just yet. I’d rather surprise you. But I’m working on something big.”
“Will we be able to move out of your parents’ house? They hate me, Horatio, and I’m sick of this boring, shallow life. I want to do something meaningful.”
“Yes, my love. We’ll move out just as soon as we possibly can.” He leaned forward and reached for her hands, gripping them in his. “It will be wonderful with just the two of us. You can do whatever you wish with your time. It will all happen soon, I promise you, my dearest.”
“And will you stop drinking, too?”
He released her hands and tugged off his tie, collar, and cuffs, tossing them on the bureau top. He dropped his suspenders and shirt on the floor. “I’ve tried to stop drinking, Beatrice, you know I have. But the nightmares always begin again.”
“But do you have to drink so much? Do you really need to get drunk every night?”
“I don’t get drunk—you’re exaggerating. Listen, can we talk about this tomorrow? I’ve had a very long day, and I have a very important appointment tomorrow. Our future is at stake, Beatrice. I need my rest.”
She wanted to remind him that he could get all the rest he needed if he hadn’t stayed out until two o’clock in the morning, but she held her tongue. He dropped his trousers onto the floor and left them there in a heap, then climbed beneath the covers.
“I’ve made up my mind, dear Beatrice. I believe I’ll accept that business proposition tomorrow. And as soon as the deal is signed, I’ll begin looking for a new house for us. Now, please, come to bed, my darling.”
Bebe wanted so badly to believe him. She rose from the chair, her muscles stiff with tension, and went around the room picking up his clothes and turning off all the gas lamps. By the time she took off her dressing gown and climbed into bed beside him, he had already passed out.
Horatio slept late the next morning, finally rising at noon. Bebe wondered if he remembered what they had talked about last night—and if he would keep all of his promises. He awoke in such a foul mood that she was afraid to confront him.
“I’ll go see about that job now,” he said when he’d dressed and had his coffee. He kissed her good-bye and rode off in the family carriage.
Bebe spent the next hour in an agony of waiting. As she paced in their bedroom she tried to think of Horatio’s good qualities and the reasons she had married him—but all she could remember were the lies. Maybe he was lying about the important appointment, too, and about the new business venture, and about their new home. When the carriage returned awhile later, she went downstairs to speak with the driver.
“Could you please tell me where you drove my husband?”
His eyes shifted all around. He seemed reluctant to answer. Bebe refused to back down, mustering all of her courage and standing in the man’s path as she waited for his reply.
“Same place I take him every day, ma’am—to his gentleman’s club on Foster Street.”
“I would like you to drive me there. Right now.”
Again, the driver hesitated, glancing around as if he wanted to run and hide in the bushes. “Begging your pardon, ma’am . . . but the club is no place for a lady.”
“I see. Can you please tell me what Horatio does at this club?”
“It’s . . . it’s a place where gentlemen go to drink . . . smoke cigars . . . maybe play cards . . .”
“You mean gambling?”
He gave an uneasy shrug. “I can’t really say for sure. They don’t let me inside, ma’am. And I doubt if they would let you inside, either, even if I did take you there.”
“I see.”
And she did. There was no important appointment, no new job. There would be no home of their own. Their future was not foremost in Horatio’s mind—liquor was. The man she had married was a liar and a fraud. She leaned against the carriage to keep from falling as her world collapsed on its foundations.
“Are you all right, ma’am?”
“Yes. I’ll be fine. Wait right here for me, please. I’ll be back shortly.”
Bebe hurried upstairs to her room, her decision already made. She removed the locket from around her neck for the first time since Horatio had given it to her and laid it on her dressing table.
Then she rifled through Horatio’s pants pockets and bureau drawers, collecting all of his loose change and dollar bills. After stuffing a few belongings inside two carpetbags, she hurried downstairs to the waiting carriage. The driver tossed aside his cigarette when he saw her and crushed it beneath his shoe.
“Where to, ma’am?”
“Please take me to the train station.”
CHAPTER
13
Bebe didn’t realize how much she had missed home until the crowded city was far behind her and acre after acre of rolling farmland and forests came into view. She had spent the night in the train station since there wasn’t a train home until morning, praying that Horatio wouldn’t come looking for her. Thankfully, he hadn’t.
The train reached the station in New Canaan by early afternoon.
Bebe breathed a sigh of relief that it wasn’t market day, when all of the townsfolk would be milling around. Hopefully, no one would recognize her beneath her veiled hat and city clothes, and she would be able to sneak out of the station and walk home unnoticed. She pulled the hat down low over her face, just to be sure, before stepping off the train. But there on the platform, hurrying to put a small stool in place for the convenience of the passengers, was her brother Franklin. She stared at him in astonishment. His crutches were gone and he was standing on two legs, using Horatio’s ebony cane for support. Bebe had to remind herself that her brother was only twenty-three. His trials during the war made him look years older.
“Franklin!”
He looked up at her in surprise. “Bebe? What are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same question. And why are you wearing that uniform?”
He gave a bashful grin as he helped her down from the train. “I’m the assistant stationmaster now. But . . . why didn’t you tell us you were coming? Are you home for a visit?”
Bebe hated to lie, but there were other people on the platform, unloading mail and freight, replenishing the train’s supplies of coal and water. If she confessed that she had left her husband and was returning home for good, the news would spread all over New Canaan before she walked through her mother’s kitchen door.
“I haven’t been home for a visit in three years,” she said instead. It was the truth.
“Well, why didn’t you tell us you were coming? There’s no one here to meet you.”
“I wanted to surprise everyone.”
“They’ll be surprised, all right. I can hardly believe my eyes . . .
Say, where’s Horatio? Didn
’t he come?”
Bebe shook her head. She was going to cry, and she didn’t want to. She pulled Franklin into her arms, hugging him tightly, avoiding his question. When she held him at arm’s length again, she said, “You look wonderful, Franklin. I’m so happy to see you doing so well.”
“I get around pretty good these days on my new leg.” He glanced around at the flurry of activity on the platform and said, “Listen, I’m supposed to be working. I don’t finish until six but I can drive you home then. Can you wait a few hours?”
She shook her head. “I’m eager to see Mama. I don’t mind walking home. I’ve done it before, you know.”
Bebe left her two carpetbags with Franklin and walked all the way home from town. Her fancy city shoes pinched her feet so badly that she took them off and carried them the last mile. Hannah was in the garden, hoeing weeds, but as soon as she spotted Bebe, she put aside the hoe and hurried up the road to meet her. Bebe’s tears started the moment she felt Hannah’s embrace.
“My goodness, Beatrice. Why didn’t you write and tell us you were coming for a visit? I would have driven to the station to meet you. Did you see Franklin?”
“Yes, I saw him. And I’m not visiting, Mama, I’m home to stay. I’ve left Horatio.”
“Oh my.” Hannah hugged her again, then said, “Let’s go inside. I think there’s still some coffee in the pot. And I picked rhubarb yesterday and made pies.” Neither of them spoke again until Hannah had poured the coffee and had set a slice of pie and a fork on the table in front of Bebe. “Now, tell me why you left your husband, Beatrice. Does he abuse you?”
“No. Horatio has always been gentle and kind. He would never hurt me.”
“Does he fail to provide for you?”
“No. Money isn’t a problem . . . even though he skips work most of the time. I suppose it will become a problem if he doesn’t start working soon. We live with his parents, and they provide everything for us.”