“Somebody had to,” she said. “Once I heard about last night’s menu.”
Joe laughed and kept hugging me. “I thought maybe a cookbook. Trouble is,whatcookbook?”
“I’ll ask my mom,” Susie said. “What she doesn’t know about housekeeping isn’t worth knowing. I’m one of six.”
“Ah,” Joe said. “Catholic?”
“Yep.”
“But I’m Catholic as well!” I said, delighted.
Susie stared at me, then turned down the fire. “Before I respond to that, we need to toast those hamburger buns. I’m going to show you, but I’m also going to supervise, because you’re too easily distracted by your husband. Who I thought was Jewish, and I said it, too. ‘Your mouth runs away with you before you’re brain’s engaged,’ my dad says. Alas, too true.”
“JoeisJewish,” I said. “That’s why I didn’t buy any bacon. I do know how to cook bacon. More or less.”
Susie’s red eyebrows rose. “How do your folks feel about that, Joe?’
“Oh,” I said, “they’re perhaps homicidal.” And giggled, because I couldn’t help it. “But Joe, Susie is going to take me shopping for clothes, and to buy more pots and pans and other kitchen things, too, because she says you don’t have enough for proper cooking, only one skillet and a small saucepan. There’s a department store—this is the word for aKaufhaus,because it has many departments. So practical a name. We’ll go there on the bus, so we can bring all the heavy things home. And before you remind me not to spend too much money, I still have some of mine, remember? I’ll use that to outfit our apartment. Isn’t that a lovely thought?”
“Uh-oh,” Susie said. “Now, if this weremyhouse, tempers would be rising, and we kids would be ducking. Never get between a husband and wife talking about money.”
“No ducking necessary,” Joe said, but he had a line between his brows. “We can talk about this later, Marguerite.”
“No,” I said, “I’d much rather talk about it now, for it’s really very simple. This is our apartment together, our life together, and I intend to build it along with you. On Saturday, when you don’t have school, we can sit down together and you can show me all about the … the money, the …”
“The finances,” Joe said.
“Yes,” I said. “The finances. My mother, you know, had a great many money matters to oversee for our household, which was large. She looked as fragile as a flower, but she had quite an efficient nature and kept very good records. She was from Schleswig-Holstein, and the people there are most industrious and reliable. So I think you must not hesitate to share with me, so we can make a plan together of how best to manage. And Susie has promised to show me how to make many inexpensive dishes that men like. This meat is called “hamburger,” which is very funny, as that is of course a person from Hamburg, but it’s from a cow, naturally. She says that men like it very much, and that it’s easy to cook and not expensive. And there are ways to make chicken go a long way, too—this is what it’s called when you divide the meat up among many servings—for she says men must have meat.”
“That’s fine by me,” Joe said. He’d already hung up his hat and was loosening his tie. “I think I may owe you a debt, Susie.”
“You can pay it off if you know any nice young men,” Susie said. “Maybe not Jewish ones; I don’t want my future mother-in-law dreaming of ways to murder me. A Stanford man, though, back from the wars and all grown up? One who strangely admires girls with red hair and freckles? That would suit me fine.”
“Absolutely we must do that, Joe,” I said. “We’ll have a dinner-party, as your mother said, once I learn to cook a bit better, andnotleave the men over Cognac and cigars, but roll up the carpet and dance to the radio instead. I’ll have Susie to help me with the menu and make sure I don’t burn things, and we can invite Myrna, too, who Susie says is very witty in a dry sort of way, like you, and you must find two nice men to join us so we can be a proper married couple hosting our guests. But I’m afraid we will have to borrow some chairs. And Ithink I must buy some things for baking, too, because I really cannot—no, absolutely not—eat this terrible bread with the dots on the package, or the strange cheese in a box. Nor will I feed it to you. Steak, I most definitely do not need, and Cognac only tastes nice when it’s very old, but good bread and cheese, we must have in our home. Absolutely.”
12
NIGHT NOISES
Joe was in his uniform, clinging to a board in the freezing Arctic waters. His mouth was open, gasping for breath, the surface of the water slick with oil. Behind him, a ship was on fire. It was the same one I’d taken to America: theQueen Mary.I could see the name through the smoke, but it was facing the wrong way. It was nearly vertical, in fact, because the ship was going down.
More shapes in the water: men swimming, struggling. I was aware of them only vaguely, because I was shivering so hard, trying once more to heave myself onto my board, for I was Joe now, and my body was so racked with cold, I could barely move. My legs and arms were burning, for I was in the fires. I shivered and panted and tried to call out. “Marguerite,” I begged.“Marguerite.”
When I woke, I was confused. Still half inside the dream, but Joewascalling my name, or I thought so. The blankets were all pulled over to his side of the bed, his legs moving under them as if he were running, his head thrashing from side to side as he moaned. I leaned over, put my hand on his shoulder, shook him, and said, “Joe. Joe!”
I didn’t see it coming. His hand landed on my cheek with aCrack!I called out loud, and the pain bloomed. But Joe was still thrashing, still flailing, still gasping.
My cheek was on fire, but I was only dimly aware of it. I clambered out of bed, my nightdress all askew, hurried to Joe’s side, knelt beside him, and said, as loudly as I could without sounding angry. “Joe.Joe.Darling, it’s me, Marguerite. Wake up now. It’s a dream. Just a dream.”
He sat up in bed. “Wh-what?” As breathless as I’d dreamed him, and shivering almost as violently. “What?” he said again, more coherently. “Marguerite?”
“I’m here.” My hand on his cheek now. “I’m right here.”
He fumbled for the light on his nightstand, and I turned it on, then handed him his glasses, because he always said he couldn’t think without them. “It was a dream,” I said again. His cheek was wet with sweat, and his pajamas must be soaked. “Just a bad dream. I’m going to get you clean pajamas.”
When I would have risen, though, his hand clamped around my wrist. “What’s wrong with your face? Why is it so red?”
“You hit me,” I said. “Accidentally. In the dream. I was trying to wake you, and?—”
