Seasons of Her Life (33 page)

The phone rang seven times before Evelyn picked it up. She'd been crying, that much Ruby could tell from the raspy tone in her voice. Her hand gripped the receiver more tightly.

“Evelyn, this is Ruby. Please don't hang up. Look, Andrew didn't even know he was on the selection list. We all thought, Andrew included, that Kent was a shoo-in.”

“That's all very easy for you to say, Ruby Blue, but we all know why those . . . those flags had dinner at your place. You're a regular little smarty-pants, aren't you? I could have done without this phone call, Ruby. You just called to rub my nose in it. Well, you succeeded. I could hardly hold my head up when I went to the Officers' Club to take down the decorations. Nobody trusts you, Ruby Blue. Nobody. And here's something that should put you and that husband of yours in a really good mood: Dixie Sinclaire lost her baby a few days ago. Chew on that, Ruby, while you and your husband are celebrating the promotion that should have been my husband's. Don't call me again, okay?”

“No, I won't bother you again, Evelyn,” Ruby whispered as she replaced the receiver in the cradle. Dixie lost her baby. How did they know? Tears burned her eyes. The tears overflowed, followed by great choking sobs that ripped at Ruby's insides.

“What's wrong with me?” Ruby cried. “Am I really no good, the way my father said? Why me, why me, why me?”

 

Andrew sat at the bar in the Officers' Club, his long legs tucked in the rungs of the barstool, with his commanding officer, Lieutenant Colonel Lackland. It had been his colonel's invitation and one he couldn't refuse. He was drinking scotch straight up, as was the colonel.

This little private celebration was deliberately timed, he realized now, to coincide with the girls' dismantling the party decorations. Lackland was a first-rate bastard and proud of it.

“How does it feel, Blue?” Lackland asked out of the corner of his mouth.

There was no point in pretending he didn't understand what his commanding officer was referring to. “Not bad, sir. I joined up to see the world.” A tiny voice warned him not to give Lackland anything to come back at him with. He was finally getting away from the son of a bitch, and if he had his way, he'd never think about what he'd done for him as long as he lived. He realized at that moment just how lucky he really was, thanks to Ruby. He grinned from ear to ear.

“Thanks for the drink.”

“You'll never make full bird, Captain,” Karl Lackland said out of the corner of his mouth. “I'll see to it personally.”

Andrew swung around on the barstool. “Wanna bet? My diary for yours, if I make it before you do. I have this infallible memory, probably the same kind you have,
sir
.”

Andrew was on his feet, towering over his commanding officer. He leaned over, and with a grin on his face for the benefit of the others in the bar, he whispered in Lackland's ear, “When it gets lonely in that godforsaken country and the general wants to make small talk, this whole thing will make for interesting conversation. What that means, exactly, is don't fuck with me, because if you do, you won't like the results. You're the one with the problem, not me. On second thought, I'll pay for my own drink,” he said, slapping two bills on the bar.

Conversation at the bar dropped to a low hum and then ceased altogether when Andrew strode out of the Officers' Club. His fellow officers were now ripping him up one side and down the other, Andrew decided as he set out on foot to walk across the base to housing. As if he gave a good rat's ass.

He walked slowly, his thoughts on the faraway land called Korea. At least he wouldn't have to worry about getting his ass shot off. Being aide to Brigadier General Frankel would ensure that. Frankel had a long way to go in the military, and the smart money said he'd go the distance. His own rank, if he proved indispensable to his commanding officer, would rise right along with the general's. He was actually looking forward to Korea and a bachelor existence again. Of late, Ruby had been smothering him. Her world was so boring, it irritated him. The baby did please him, but what pleased him even more was he wouldn't be around to see his wife grow fat and bloated. He hated it when she got up five times a night to go to the bathroom. He hated the sour look on her face when she got heart-bum and bouts of vomiting. He'd be away during the baby's sleepless nights. He wouldn't have to watch his wife pull out her tit to feed the baby. He personally thought it a disgusting practice, but Ruby was adamant about breastfeeding. Let her; he wouldn't have to see it. By the time he got back, the kid would be a little person, not a blob that demanded twenty-four-hour care.

It pleased Andrew that he was leaving behind a pregnant wife. She wouldn't be attractive to any of the free-swinging bachelors on base, and after she had the baby, she'd be too busy to even think about playing around.

His long-legged stride lost some of its momentum, however, when he realized he might miss Ruby. It was nice going to bed with her knowing she was his and he could do anything he wanted. Ruby was more than agreeable to sex in any position at any time of the day or night. Perhaps she was too agreeable. She got up when he did, made him breakfast, kept the apartment sparkling clean, and prepared dinners that were nutritious as well as inexpensive. Evenings, curled together on the sagging couch, were spent for the most part with his head in her lap or hers in his while they read silently or aloud to one another. He might miss that and he might miss the evening strolls they took together. But he doubted he would miss her enough to be miserable over it.

Andrew's stride quickened when the row housing came into view. He jammed his hands into his pockets and started to whistle. His good mood stayed with him until he opened the door and found his wife bawling her head off on the couch. His stomach churned. Christ, how he hated weepy, whiny females.

He squared his shoulders and sat down by her, his arms drawing her to him. He wouldn't have to put up with this all that much longer. Today he could be charitable.

“Nothing can be that bad,” he said soothingly.

“Dixie lost the baby.” Ruby hiccoughed.

“
That's
why you're crying?”

“Evelyn Aldridge told me. She sounded as if it were my fault. I never should have called her, but I wanted to do what was right so it wouldn't bounce back on you. I'll never do that again! I don't care what any of them do or think. I don't care,” she said, enunciating each word carefully.

Jesus, he was glad he was going to be leaving this petty bullshit behind. “C'mon, give me a smile. Listen, it's possible there's something . . . wrong with Dixie, you know, in her insides, that makes it impossible to carry a baby. It's not our fault, and I don't ever want you to take the blame for something like that.”

Ruby's head jerked upward. She wasn't blaming herself, he thought, she was blaming
him
. She untangled herself and stood up.

“What's for dinner?”

“Nine-bean salad,” Ruby said shortly.

“That's it? I didn't know there were nine different kinds of beans,” Andrew muttered as he made his way to the bathroom to shower and change.

 

Ruby was approaching her sixth month of pregnancy when her husband said good-bye to her at their front door. She was dry-eyed, and there was a tremor running through her body that she couldn't explain.

“I'll miss you, Ruby. I'll write. Probably not often, but I will write. That's a promise.”

“I'll write twice a week,” Ruby promised.

“The minute you have the baby, have the doctor call the communications office, and they'll get word to me right away. I set it all up already. You won't forget to do that, will you?”

“That's very unlikely, Andrew. Did you remember to take the box of cigars?”

“First thing that went into my bag. The second thing was your picture.” It was the truth.

The general's staff car pulled to the curb. The driver, a fresh-scrubbed lance corporal, jumped out and saluted crisply. Andrew snapped off one in return, and the enlisted man hustled to load Andrew's bags in the trunk.

“Stay right here,” Andrew said softly to Ruby. “I want to remember you here like this. I'll miss you.” He kissed her lightly on the cheek.

“Write,” Andrew shouted.

“I will,” Ruby shouted from the doorway.

Ruby watched the khaki-colored car with its single flag flying in the warm air until it was out of sight.

The apartment was quiet, except for the softly playing radio. It played all the time, but Ruby didn't actually hear it. She walked around the apartment. The breakfast dishes were still on the table. Last night's newspapers littered the living room floor. The bed was unmade and Andrew's wet towel hung over the bathroom door. It would take her an hour, perhaps a little longer, to tidy the apartment unless she wanted to scour the bathroom, which her husband left filthy.

Without stopping to think, Ruby pulled a bright yellow scrub bucket from the narrow linen closet and filled it with water. Forty-five minutes later there was no sign that a man had ever used the bathroom. “And it's going to stay this way for the next year,” Ruby muttered.

In the kitchen she turned up the radio two decibels. Now she could at least hear the music and commentaries.

“Long live Ruby Blue,” she said, holding her cold coffee cup aloft. “I promise to miss you, Andrew, at least once a day. I also promise to think about you every day. Occasionally, I promise to dream about you, and I will write faithfully. In short, I will keep our home fires burning.” What more could anyone expect of her? What more could she expect of herself?

As spring rolled into summer, Ruby summed up the time as whiz
zing by. She watched the trees dress themselves in full regalia as though to shade the tender, budding flowers she planted in front and back of her dreary apartment. The sun shone more brightly, she thought, now that Andrew was gone. One warm, sunny day melted into another. She was happy. She did miss Andrew, but not to the point of crying about it. She kept her word and wrote long, witty letters twice a week and received one in return every three weeks.

She read incessantly—novels, biographies, and every book on child care the library had to offer. When she wasn't reading, she did her stint for the Captains' Wives' Brigade, as it was known to all those who participated, willingly or unwillingly. She learned quickly that she could beg off anything by pleading swollen feet, nausea, or pounding headaches. All ailments were forgivable in her delicate condition. Mostly, she did paperwork, mailings, filing, and a limited amount of bookkeeping, all projects she could do in the evening when she was alone.

She ate well, perhaps too well. By her seventh month she'd gained forty-two pounds. She put herself on a diet, for the baby's sake, and started to eat more nutritious foods, although on Sundays she splurged and ate an entire pound of homemade fudge.

Nearly everything Ruby did was for the baby's sake. Be it a boy or a girl she carried deep in her belly, this baby would be hers alone by right of birth. It would always be a part of her and it would never want to leave her. Never, ever.

In addition to writing letters to Andrew, she often spent time writing to Nola's mother, Mabel McIntyre, and Janet Query. She also wrote letters to her sisters, but she never mailed them. In the evenings, when it was cool, she worked in the spare room that was to be the nursery. Now she was hand-painting nursery rhymes on a three-foot-high border that circled the small room, as Dixie had done. She'd already bought a used crib and rocking chair, and had stripped off their thick coats of paint, then primed them and added a sparkling white patina. Tonight she was going to sit in the rocking chair and sew the binding on a crib quilt she'd made by hand. It had taken her two full weeks to paint the walls and ceiling because her arms ached and she tired easily, but it was finished now. In the center of the room was a rug she'd braided that was so colorful, she wondered if it would keep the baby awake. She'd taken pot luck when she bought the bag of rags and had no choice but to use them. Once she finished the quilt she had only to mend the tears in the curtains she'd bought at a moving sale. The room would be finished in time for the baby's arrival.

At first, she'd wanted to put the crib in her own bedroom, but when she had mentioned it to Andrew, he'd written back so quickly, she'd been stunned. No, no, no, he'd written. Babies need their own rooms, and I do not, I repeat, Ruby, I do not want the kid in our room. She'd thought about it a lot and finally decided Andrew had a point. She would sleep in the baby's room on a quilt, but just in the beginning, until she was certain he would be all right throughout the night. Besides, she would have to nurse him, and what if she didn't hear his tiny cries? It was settled. What Andrew didn't know wouldn't hurt him. By the time Andrew returned home, she'd be back in their room.

Since Andrew had gone, she'd managed to save one hundred twenty-five dollars, and she wanted to buy herself a car now that she had her driver's license so she would be able to get around after the baby arrived. The only problem was she knew nothing about cars other than that they ran on gas. She'd written Admiral Query and asked him how she should go about buying a car and what it was she should look for. Instead of answering her letter, he arrived in person a week later and took her to Havelock, where she purchased a Ford that the salesman said was driven only to church on Sunday. A Baptist church, he'd clarified. The admiral had looked under the hood and pronounced that it looked as if what the salesman said was true. He himself had changed the oil, filled the tires with air, and washed the car before he said it was fit for her to sit in. Sit in it she did, sometimes for as long as an hour or until her belly got in the way of the steering wheel. Of late, Admiral Query had acted almost like a father to her. One of these days she had to think of something nice to do for him and his wife.

The car would open up the world to her. She could drive around and see things she'd only been hearing about. She could picnic with the baby in the spring and do just about anything she felt like doing. There were days now, Ruby thought, when she felt as if she lived in a cocoon. Still, she was enjoying her life and her second shot at independence. And she wasn't faltering, except that she occasionally found herself thinking of Calvin. She wondered where he was and what he was doing. Amber hadn't written for so long, and the last letter had no news of him. She daydreamed about what she imagined she had missed by not marrying him. She knew she had to, as Andrew would say, put a lid on it. She thought it harmless enough in the beginning, but as the days rolled along, she found herself carrying on imaginary conversations with him. She knew she had to stop before she started to lose touch with reality. Once again, by sheer will alone, she buried Calvin Santos deep in the recesses of her mind.

She was waiting. It seemed to Ruby that all her life, until now, had been spent waiting for one thing or another.

 

Ruby sat on her canvas chair with her feet propped on a wooden crate. Overhead, a mass of gray-black clouds scudded back and forth in an angry formation, as though they couldn't make up their mind which way to go. In the distance she could hear an ominous roll of thunder. A storm, one the radio said was to be the worst of the summer, was due to pelt the area with heavy rain by late afternoon. The brisk breeze gave way to a strong wind. A vicious bolt of lightning ripped across the sky, directly in Ruby's line of vision, but she didn't move until she saw a third bolt streak down to the open field to the left of the base. She thought she could smell the scorched earth and burnt grass. The area was too open for her to be comfortable outdoors now. Inside, she could curl up on the sofa and open the drapes if she wanted to watch the onslaught that was due any second. Obviously the weatherman was off schedule. It was just a little past noon.

Ruby walked around to the front of the apartment. She thought she heard Penny Galen's car, which meant she would have Ruby's mail, something she volunteered to deliver now that she was in her last days of her pregnancy.

“There you are! I was just going to knock on your door. You do have a load of mail today, Ruby,” Penny said, handing over occupant letters and requests for donations that came in crisp, crackly envelopes. Penny had just had her hair done, Ruby decided, and the strong wind was making more of a mess of it. Secretly, she would have given up her Sunday fudge allotment to know how any beautician could allow a girl as pretty as Penny to walk out of her salon looking as if she'd stuck both thumbs in a light socket.

“You better get indoors before this wind ruins your do,” Ruby said hastily. “Thanks for bringing my mail.”

“Ruby, are you okay? I know you have only a few days to go. You have my phone number, don't you? Dave or I will be glad to take you to the hospital when it's time.” She sounded so sincere that Ruby nodded.

It was dark as the inside of a vault now, Ruby thought as she hurried up the walk to her apartment. Inside, she turned on all the lights and opened the drapes. The weatherman might be early, but he was right about the intensity of the storm. She was glad that she lived in the concrete housing unit. The rain, when it came, slashed and tore at the windows, pounding down on her walkway with such force, Ruby cowered deep into her corner of the sofa. Five minutes later the power went off and she was up again, looking for candles. The letters she'd been holding dropped to the floor. She hissed in irritation as she set the candle on the end table. There was no way she could bend over, and if she did, she might not be able to get back up. She felt like a baby walrus as she struggled to flip the letters, one by one, with the tip of her shoe so that she could bend sideways to pick them up.

What seemed like a long time later, Ruby flopped down on the couch, her breathing ragged, her stomach cramping with her struggles. Penny was right, she did have a lot of mail. Her eyes widened when she saw Amber's return address had changed. She smiled at the name Mabel McIntyre on the second. She felt faint when she saw Opal's name on the third; Ruby opened it.

Opal's letter was a single page, expertly typed. The return address was for an apartment on Connecticut Avenue in Washington, D. C.

Ruby wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “I've missed you, too, Opal,” she whispered. “Someday I'll tell you how much.”

Ruby folded the short note and returned it to the envelope. She couldn't help but wonder if Opal had been the recipient of the “petty cash award.” Opal would have mentioned it. She laughed then until she had to hold her stomach—Opal involved with a midshipman who was a great kisser.

Mabel McIntyre's letter was a paragraph saying she'd taken the liberty of giving Ruby's address to Opal and expressed the hope that it was the right thing to do. She said she was looking forward to cooler weather and to drop her a line and to be sure to let her know when the baby arrives.

The envelope from Amber was like a lead weight in her hand. Perhaps she shouldn't open it. On the other hand, there might be a picture of Amber's little girl inside. She only had one other picture of her niece, one taken at the baby's christening, but the infant had so many clothes on, it was impossible to see anything but the tiny pinched face, so like Amber's.

She squirmed about on the couch, trying to get comfortable, but the nagging cramping in her stomach was getting worse. If she lay flat, she'd get heartburn. If she stood up, her back would ache. If she kept on sitting the way she was, she wouldn't be able to straighten up. “Damn, Ruby, just be still and open the stupid letter,” she muttered to herself.

Outside, the storm raged, but Ruby was oblivious of it as she read.