What About Wickham? Page 2

  “You’re supposed to eat in your room, honey.” Her voice sounded funny. “And after your father’s eaten, he’s going to town...” She took a deep breath and let it out in huff. “He’s gonna have a talk with Teddy Martin.”

  Heaven help me. I’d been so busy feigning my love for him, I’d forgotten Teddy Martin was a real person!

  CHAPTER TWO

  My mother made the ultimate sacrifice for me that evening. She was plenty nervous, but instead of pacing in her room lighting up cigarettes, she sat in my room with me. She’d done this once before that I could recall. It was when I was ten.

  There had been a boy who lived next door to us, and was therefore rich enough to be allowed to be my friend. His name was Nathan Rasmussen. And since rich kids were few and far between, I took what I was offered. Back then it didn’t matter if kids had anything in common besides being, well, kids. You’re a kid. He’s a kid. Go off and play.

  But that year Nathan got a bicycle for his birthday and I knew that our friendship would be brief. A girl on foot is no match for a boy on wheels and I soon stopped trying to catch up—probably about the same time that he stopped looking back over his shoulder when he rode away.

  One evening I heard a ruckus outside and followed my mother out the front door. A bunch of people gathered in a circle on our lawn like they were gathered for prayer or something. My mother stopped halfway between the house and the crowd and pointed to the front door.

  “Stay back, Ivy!”

  I would not dare defy a direct order, so I backed up and sat on the steps. My mother stood her ground and folded her arms, waiting for someone to come explain—she didn’t mix with all our neighbors, even if they were on our grassy knoll. Soon a white form emerged from the circle. It was Gay. She seemed relieved when she saw me on the steps, then hurried to my mother’s side. It was the first time I saw Gay touch my mother, the only time I remember seeing my mother show any emotion in public, as Gay put her arm around Mother’s shoulders and led her back into the house as if a storm had just broken overhead.

  I loitered in the butler’s pantry and eavesdropped when Gay used the telephone to make sure an ambulance was coming. Nathan Rasmussen had been struck by a car while riding his bicycle. His body had flown almost forty feet to land on our lawn. The car that hit him belonged to the doctor himself, who also lived on our uppity street. Gay supposed Nathan was lucky to have the doctor on hand. I thought it would have been luckier had the doctor stopped at the Pine Lodge instead of rushing home that day.

  So my mother sat with me, as if sitting was what women were supposed to do while waiting for word that someone was dead. Waiting for Daddy to come back from his talk with Teddy Martin felt much like the day the doctor hit Nathan. Daddy had come to the door of my room and shaken his head, then Mother had followed him out. Gay had explained to me that Nathan hadn’t survived, but then she’d had to explain that hadn’t survived meant Nathan was dead.

  I stared at my bedroom doorway, dreading what my father might do when he returned, hoping he’d do anything but shake his head and walk away. For of course I’d never meant for Teddy to actually get involved in our little romance, let alone be punished for it.

  My other fear was that my parents were about to discover that indeed I had not been traipsing around with Teddy Martin and therefore had allowed my daddy to go make a fool of himself in front of all and sundry. That led to a string of worries, the first of which was, how old must a girl be before her father was no longer allowed to beat her? I had never had a beating in my life, but if I ever deserved one, it was for causing Teddy Martin grief.

  It didn’t really matter what Teddy said, of course. I’d planted those seeds, you see. I’d made sure that no one would believe me if I denied it, so no one was about to believe Teddy Martin. If I’d pled with my father not to go looking for Teddy, or tried to convince my mother it was all just a lie, it would only cause embarrassment. And for my family, the pledge of allegiance should have gone something akin to “with liberty, justice, and the avoidance of embarrassment for all.”

  That’s why my little plan had been so clever. The threat of a little shame was a powerful motivator.

  Daddy never came to my room that night to collect my mother. When the grandfather clock in the foyer chimed ten o’clock, Mother helped me into my pajamas like I was a little girl, then tucked me into bed and patted my cheek without saying a word. There were tears in her eyes, and tears in mine, but I was fairly certain we were weepy for far different reasons.

  She was probably thinking her little girl was growing up.

  I was thinking Daddy was in jail and Teddy Martin was dead.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Saturday mornings, I was always allowed to sleep in. Usually, what woke me were the squeaky wheels of various bicycles and wagons parading down our sidewalk—a parade that started around eight a.m. My remedy was to sandwich my head between two fat pillows and go back to sleep. At noon, Gay would poke her head in the door and ask if I was going to sleep all day. It was the routine of my life and I'd have given anything to have awakened on Saturday morning—or afternoon, rather—only to find that the worries of the previous night were only a nightmare. When the parade started, however, even my goose-down pillows couldn't keep those worries from flooding back to mind and waking me up like the horn of a freight train coming through my room.

  What had Daddy done to Teddy Martin?

  When I emerged from my bathroom, Gay was waiting. If she'd have dressed to match the look on her face, she'd have been draped in black.

  “Ivy Delilah,” she said, letting me know right away, by the use of my middle name, there was trouble on my horizon. “You are to get yourself dressed and ready for company. You wait in your room and you'll be called down when you're wanted.”

  Company?

  It was a word rarely used at our house. Company meant I was to be on my best behavior since all parents were judged almost entirely on the manners of their children. But whoever company was that morning, it seemed they would have something to do with my trouble.

  The word trouble did disturbing things to my insides. Some people used the word trouble to mean 'in the family way' and I certainly wasn't in that kind of trouble. I wasn't even aware of the particulars of how one got in the family way. And besides, I was still young enough to find trouble in regular ways, like sneaking into the cookie jar without asking permission.

  Amanda Barlow, just two seats ahead of me in Mathematics, got into trouble when she accidentally stole from the five and dime. She'd hung around at the soda fountain for so long that she'd forgotten to pay for her gum. And when she'd walked out, Mrs. Farson went to the sheriff’s office and complained. Of course, after Amanda explained, it was Mrs. Farson who was snubbed for a long while after, for thinking a good girl like Amanda had stolen something on purpose. Eventually, the woman had been forced to apologize publicly to Amanda's mother before the rest of us felt much like buying a soda again. When all was forgiven, they say Farson's business perked back up just fine.

  But other than such misunderstandings, girls didn't get into trouble. And I wondered if my parents were capable of jumping to horrible conclusions, if perhaps their company was going to be a preacher with Teddy Martin in tow.

  The idea made me laugh. It was a fact, I giggled the entire time I was dressing. When I was presentable, looked at myself in the mirror and my gaze dropped to my belly. Just imagining a bulge there turned my laughter into hysteria, and that sound scared me into silence.

  I shook myself and took a deep, fortifying breath. I'd sown the damned seeds. I was going to reap what I'd sewn, good or bad. And as long as there was a possibility Teddy was dead and buried in the bottom of one of my father's drill sites, there was a possibility that damnation was all I'd get for my harvest.

  Looking back, I probably should have worn my white suit and gloves, but the skirt was a bit tight and I didn't know how much sitting and waiting I'd be doing. So I wore the grey sweater and black A-li
ne that went nearly to the floor. No sack cloth, but I had the ashes down pat.

  When Gay came to collect me, I was sober enough for my own hanging.

  She led me not to the formal living room, but to the dining room. My mother was seated at the table with Teddy's own mother. Why that surprised me, I didn't know. I had seen her several times either entering the Lodge or leaving it. I always pictured the woman at a desk at the Pine Lodge writing in a Steno notepad, I supposed. I never pictured her at home, let alone sitting in my house.

  She and my mother were clutching their drinks as if they were afraid they might spill, but the woman had a kind smile for me, which was almost my undoing. If Teddy was dead, she was being awfully nice, considering.

  My father stood behind his chair at the head of the table. Another man stood behind him, looking out the French doors into the garden.

  “Ivy.”

  My father so rarely spoke my name it sounded foreign. I had to convince myself he was addressing me.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “This is Mrs. Martin and Mr. Martin.” Daddy stepped aside to allow the other man to face me.

  “Mr. Martin,” I said. “Mrs. Martin.” I nodded to each of them in turn. I did everything but curtsy. “I'm very pleased to meet you.”

  Mr. Martin stared me down like the dog I was, I supposed. He stretched his neck a bit as if his tie were too tight. Of course men wore ties for every occasion, even working in the garden, but Teddy's father looked like he did not appreciate the need to wear one on a Saturday morning in any case, and he clearly blamed me. At least, that’s what I hoped that was the reason for his glower. When he looked away, his eyes caught on his wife's drink for a second or two before he turned his back again.

  “I'd like ye to do somethin' fer me, Ivy,” said my father in a tone that implied he was not requesting at all.

  “Whatever you require, sir,” I said meekly. I was keen for anything that might postpone that hanging and my meeting with God, or more likely, the devil.

  Daddy pushed the curtains away from the other French door revealing the fact that Teddy stood out in the garden.

  “I want you to go outside and say goodbye to Ted,” he said. I had the impression he'd like to tell me exactly how many steps to take, which words to use, and how many seconds I had before I'd better be back inside the house, but he didn't.

  “Is Teddy going somewhere?” Surely the man hadn't found a reason to throw the boy in jail. Of course, out of everyone I knew, Teddy was the most likely to see the inside of a jail cell, eventually, but he wasn't going to go there because of me.

  “He's goin' tae Laramie,” my father said, as if that's all I needed to know. But wasn't there a prison in Laramie?

  I folded my arms and waited to hear more.

  My father was not pleased at my sudden change in attitude. He took a step toward me and Mr. Martin actually put a hand on Daddy's arm.

  “He's going to Laramie to attend the college there, sweetheart,” said Teddy’s dad. “He's going to be a college man.” He let go of my father, then walked over behind his wife. The woman had tears in her eyes and I thought Mr. Martin was going to console her, but he reached over her shoulder and took her drink instead. Then he threw back his head and swallowed everything but the glass in one long gulp. I couldn't tell if his wife was more upset about losing her son or her morning Scotch.

  “College?” I was happy for Teddy, but then I realized my chess piece was still in play and it was my turn. “When does he leave?” I asked in a dramatic whisper and stopped short of sticking out my bottom lip.

  “T'dee,” said my father to the room at large, as if the Martins needed convincing.

  I lifted my chin and walked to the door as if to say, “We'll see about that.”

  It was very theatrical. I hoped Gay was somehow watching.

  “We'll wait here,” said my father. What he really meant was he wasn't going to take his eyes off me.

  Teddy turned at the sound of the door snapping shut. The only expression on his face was a little pucker between his eyebrows where they pushed together. Almost sad. Slightly worried. When he opened his mouth to speak, I suddenly wondered how thick the panes of glass were and raised a finger to my lips as I walked toward him. A slight nod told me he understood. I gave him a big smile that no one else would be able to see.

  “Teddy Martin. Congratulations. I hear you're going off to college. I can't tell you how worried I was about you.”

  He bit his lips. I could tell he was pleased about the situation, but he covered it well under patina of anguish. He shook his head as if in denial. “Isn't it wonderful?”

  I almost laughed.

  “Teddy. I'm so sorry about this, it's just—”

  “Ah, don't worry about it, Ivy. We all do stupid stuff to get our parent's attention. It's worked out well for me, though. I won't be tending sheep for the rest of my life, thanks to you.” He blushed and looked away. “Who knows? Maybe I'll come back and be mayor of this stupid town.”

  “Oh, Teddy.” I rushed forward and threw my arms around him, partly because I was happy for him (though I was not partial to hugging), and partly because our parents would be expecting some show of emotion. It wasn't as if we were on the front steps or something. The neighbors would never know. And I could just imagine Daddy and Mr. Martin stumbling over themselves to get the French doors open.

  But nothing happened.

  Teddy kept hold of me as I pulled my head back to look at him.

  “Why haven't they stopped us?”

  “Well, I'm not going to complain.” He looked at my lips. “Maybe they're going to let us have one last kiss.”

  I gasped. “I don't know...how.”

  He grinned. “I'll show you.”

  And he did. It was a lucky thing Teddy Martin had never kissed me before that day or I might well have given up all thoughts of Scotland and my parents would have been right to send him away.

  I was just catching on, of course, when I heard the throat clearing about five feet behind me. And if throat clearing could carry an accent, this one was Scottish.

  “Goodbye, Ivy,” Teddy said as he set me away from him. I didn't even remember him picking me up. “I'll always remember this.”

  My daddy snorted.

  I touched my lips and smiled. “So will I.” And for our audience, I added. “And I'll keep my promise...”

  Daddy stared me down as the Martins made their exit. As soon as the door shut, he stepped close.

  “Ye will tell me what ye've promised that lad.”

  “Promised?” I shook my head. “I promised to remember him,” I said innocently.

  Daddy shook his head. “Ye will do no such thing. Ye will forget him, do ye hear?”

  “Forget him?”

  “Forget him. I command ye to forget him.” Daddy’s head turned dark red beneath his thick orange hair.

  “Of course,” I said. “Of course I'll try.” And as I walked around him, I rubbed one finger along my lips.

  By the time the invitation arrived from Maude Mary, I'd already made a list of what to pack.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Wickeder

  My mother escorted me first to Denver, then to New York City where she met with a woman who would act as my chaperon on the ship bound for Great Britain. By the time we reached New York, I was slightly tempted to confess all and ask to return home, I was that sick of traveling. But the sight of the enormous buildings perked me up like a scoop of ice cream, and I decided to see it all through.

  Since the temperature in Wyoming was similar to that of Scotland, my father decided I had no need for shopping. My mother, God bless her, had her own ideas and we picked up a few things just in case my father proved to be wrong. She suggested that when I returned to Wyoming, there was every expectation that the new things would have been purchased in Scotland.

  “I would never lie to your father, of course,” she said. “It’s just that he won’t actually care to know the truth.”
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  A truer thing was never spoken. And I was certain my mother was not referring solely to the purchase of new clothes.

  I do believe, while in New York, a slight bond grew between the two of us not unlike the bonds between normal mothers and daughters. But I expected that we’d go back to the way things were just as soon as I got back to Wyoming.

  The money to cover my expenses was handed over to the captain, who locked it in a safe until it could be handed over to my uncle, who was to meet us in Glasgow, Scotland. I felt as if they were transferring possession of the key to my chastity belt—though I wouldn’t recognize a chastity belt if one dropped into my lap. It was as if my virtue were somehow connected to the dollar amount inside that leather envelope. Of course I was never told how much my virtue was worth. To ask would have been vulgar.

  Mother offered only one bit of advice as she pretended to kiss my cheek.

  “Don’t go falling in love with any Scottish boys, Ivy. They’ll only break your heart.” Then she stepped back and waved her hankie at me as if to erase the words she’d spoken. I was left to wonder how her heart had been broken by my father. It didn’t take more than an idea or two to convince me I didn’t really want to know.

  Sergeant Sparks, which I later came to call my chaperon (I think her given name was Bonnie), dragged me up the gangplank. By the time I found my way to the railing to wave, my mother was gone. I didn’t want to be the only one besides Sergeant Sparks who was not waving, so I flapped my hand at a little boy who grinned and waved back. When he realized he did not know me, he put his hand on his little hip and frowned, like I’d stolen his lollipop.

  I blew him a kiss.

  He frowned harder.

  I stuck my tongue out, then pulled it back in so fast he couldn’t be sure I’d done it. He turned to tattle to his mother. I was gone before he got her attention.

  And I hoped he got pinched for lying.

  ~ ~ ~

  England was a surprise. I stood at the railing and watched most of the passengers disembark since Sergeant Sparks and I would travel on to Glasgow. While she stood beside me, we watched a band of ragamuffins waving from the dock. Waving back was discouraged by a warning look from my grumpy chaperon, but when the boys didn’t get the reaction they had hoped for, they aimed a variety of vulgar gestures at my companion, including some gestures I wasn’t familiar with but understood well enough from the expressions on their dirty little faces.