They were five of the longest days of my life. I’d been grieving Joe, fighting near-constant nausea, and dealing with Charlie’s almost pathological lovesickness.
I felt—and God help me for this, because I loved Charlie on so many levels—like a hostage. Oh, I knew I wasn’t; I’d entered into the marriage completely of my own volition—but still. He had the right to paw me, to kiss me, to touch me, to look at me anywhereand anytime, and I didn’t have the right to tell him no. I’d signed up for this. It struck me that marrying Charlie was a lot like joining the service; I would do my duty, even if it killed me.
And there were times I felt like it might. Oh, he was very gentle and sweet and considerate, but he was overeager and inept and desperately anxious to please, and his anxiety... well, it kind of repelled me, which made me feel ungrateful and monstrous. Charlie was doing me and the baby a favor, I reminded myself. The constant lump in my throat that threatened to gag me was morning sickness and grief, but it was hard not to think it was revulsion at Charlie.
On the fifth day, we went back to New Orleans. We stopped by Lucille’s house, gathered up my belongings, then swung by the newspaper so I could turn in my resignation. I had wanted to stay and work until Charlie found us a place to live in Wedding Tree, but he wouldn’t hear of it.
“No.” His voice had been adamant. “We’ll go back and live with my parents.”
He insisted on accompanying me to the paper to turn in my resignation. It was our first fight, and it was a doozy.
“This job is the only thing in my life that was all mine,” I told him. “The only thing that I made happen all on my own, the only thing that really, truly belonged to me, just me, and I want to leave it on those terms.”
He thought I was ashamed of him, of his gimpy leg. I told him not to be ridiculous. He wanted to know if there were other men at the paper that I’d been involved with. I glared at him.
“What kind of girl do you think I am?”
“Frankly, I’m not so sure,” he’d snapped. “I never would have thought that you were the kind of girl to find herself in this position.”
That stung, but the truth was, I’d never thought so, either. And here I was.
“If it’s so damned important to you, come on,” I’d told him. “But understand this, Charlie: I will never get over resenting you for it.”
To his credit, he acquiesced. I went in and met with Thomas while he paced the sidewalk outside. I hugged people good-bye. I cried. I gathered up my things. I went in the darkroom for the last time.
Thomas took me aside. “Is he treating you well?”
“Yes, of course. Why would you ask?”
“Well, it’s none of my business, but you don’t look like a bride should look.” He looked down and busied himself flecking crumbs off that day’s sweater vest.
I realized then that I needed to step up my game or I wouldn’t be able to pull this off once we got back home. It was important for my baby’s future that everyone think I was happy so they wouldn’t suspect Charlie wasn’t the father. “I’m fine. I’ve just got a little bug, that’s all.”
He patted my arm. “We wish you the best, Adelaide. You did a splendid job. Never expected a woman to take such good photos. You’re just as good—actually, you’re better—than most of the men working here.”
•••
Hope laughed, pulling me back to the moment. “He actually said that?”
I grinned. “It must sound silly to you, but back then, it was the highest compliment I could get. I walked out of there feeling ten feet tall.”
Until I saw Charlie, waiting on a bench on the outside sidewalk.
“Go on with your story,” Hope urged.
1943
It was evening when our bus pulled into Wedding Tree. Both sets of parents were waiting at the station, and they threw rice as we disembarked.
My mother’s face was positively aglow. “I swear, Adelaide, Idon’t know whether to hug you or spank you! Don’t you know I’ve been looking forward to your wedding since you and Charlie were both in diapers?”
“And, Charlie, my only child!” his mother cried.
“We didn’t feel like making a big fuss,” Charlie said. “We just wanted to be together.”
I smiled throughout, but it was tough. We went to my parents’ home, where my mother had prepared a small wedding cake, and half the town showed up to wish us well.
My father took me aside as the evening wore on.
