More in Anger (2 page)

Opal had hoped, even expected, that Mac would propose marriage to her before he left, but her prayers went unanswered. In fact, he didn't even kiss her goodbye, so caught up she supposed he was in the adventure that lay ahead for him, and overseeing his luggage's delivery to the baggage car, as well as his
trunk full of books. Mac was distracted; he was excited about his new job, Opal said, sobbing against her mother's breast all the way home from the station.

But he hadn't abandoned her completely. He wrote to her, or to her and her family, once every two weeks, while Opal restricted herself to writing to him every Sunday night. In his first letter he mentioned how he had indeed celebrated his birthday by starting work, and that it would remain forever in his memory because it was also the day the
Titanic
went down—the news of the sinking was on Mr. Walker's desk when Mac went in that first day.

Opal took great care with her letters: Mac had made it clear that to him, language served a purpose, both in and out of business, and words beyond the conveyance of useful information reflected a “frivolity and excess” he found generally repugnant. In his opinion there was no point to much of anything or anyone that was not useful, which made it difficult for Opal to relax enough to write with confidence or pleasure. It wasn't only the
how
to write to him she found hard, but also the
what
. As a result she became terribly anxious each time she sat down, and sometimes went through half an inch of paper just trying to begin.

A year and a half later, Mac had returned to Winnipeg for a visit, and finally—finally!—he proposed marriage. They were standing together on the bank of the Assiniboine River, where they had been sharing a picnic that had taken her days to plan and prepare. Mac took both her hands in his and told her in an unlawyerish voice that shook with nervousness that he cared deeply for her and hoped they could forge a life together. And then he had knelt, getting grass stains on the knees of his trousers, and taken the ring out of his jacket pocket. “Will you marry me,
Opal Elizabeth King?” he had asked. “Oh yes!” was her immediate answer. He had bruised her mouth when he kissed her, hard, and then pulled away again. The intensity of his kiss knocked her off balance, and rendered her speechless for several minutes—an intensity as great as the subsequent coolness when, after reciting Robbie Burns's “My Love is Like a Red, Red Rose” from memory, he walked off alone along the riverbank. It was as though he had merely forgotten—or was it had become?—himself for those few passionate moments, and then remembered how he wished to remain viewed by his future wife, his
fiancée
, and the world. But in her opinion he had shown her a piece of his heart; she knew he cared for her deeply even if he was so cautious about its expression.

Miscellaneous Shower for Bride-to-Be

Miss Opal Elizabeth King was the recipient of many pretty gifts at a miscellaneous shower given in her honour on Sunday afternoon. The reception room where the guests were welcomed was decorated with purple lilacs. In the tea room, lily of the valley centred the table where Mrs. Edward Poskitt presided over the tea cups. Miss Rose Greenham cut the ices. Little Miss Elsie Trick attended the door. The gifts were placed in a smartly trimmed basket which Miss Elsie presented to the bride-elect.

Her life since the announcement of their engagement was filled primarily with the topics Mac abhorred, and employed the very kind of language he had no use for, so at first she had been
uncertain how much to tell him about all the showers and parties when she sat down to write. She had wanted to include him in what was going on in his absence, and had made one or two attempts to tell him about the festivities in their honour, conveyed in words that would suit him, but she soon gave up. Anyway, he told her flat out in his first response that he was genuinely uninterested in these “female activities.” She had despaired at his blunt words. Her mother consoled, “Men sometimes have strange opinions on what is important. Other things occupy their minds.” And Mac hadn't been
completely
brusque with her, had he? Well, yes, he had. He had said she could keep the stories for later—to tell her daughter, he said. So she wrote about the weather, and the family hardware store, and what her brothers had caught or shot, and left out the showers and dresses and flowers, and was careful not to open her heart too much.

Yet she continued to wish that he wrote back more often, and that he might occasionally add even a smidgen of romance, or some indication that he missed her. And that his letters weren't quite so full of legal anecdotes and weather reports. Phooey! Thankfully, she had plenty of thoughts of her own to fill her head. There was so much in the way of preparation for the wedding, so much in the way of showers and parties, and she was at the centre of them all. Just planning what to wear occupied considerable time.

Kitchen Shower for Bride-to-Be

The Misses Nettie and Ruby Lough, 129 Sherbrooke Street, were hostesses at a kitchen shower this afternoon
given in honour of Miss Opal King. A wedding ring hung from the chandelier, pink and white carnations centred the table, and four vases of lilies of the valley decorated the table corners. The Misses Lillie and Pearl King, and Mrs. R.F. Lough attended to the wants of the guests.

Opal Elizabeth was the eldest child of Georgetta and Reginald King, proprietors of King Hardware at 666 Main Street, Winnipeg. The Kings had seven children: Opal, 25, Lillie, 23, Reggie, 21, Pearly K, 19, Farley, 17, Melville, 14, and little Jimmy, 12. Lillie had just finished her third year at university. Reggie had entered law. Farley was finishing high school and working at the hardware store. Melville and Jimmy were both still in school, though Melville, who had never been quite right in the head, seldom made it into the classroom and likely wouldn't make it through another school year. His favourite pastime was picking fights with Pearly K—they were like oil and water, their mother said—though Pearly K was in no mood to fight with anyone these days. She'd left home on the train to make her way in the world with a government job in Ottawa, but within a month the MP she worked for had made inappropriate advances, and she had come back home. Since then she spent most of her time locked in her bedroom crying and writing poems she wouldn't share and that Melville tried unsuccessfully to find.

Georgie was from what Reg referred to as a “good family” in Truro. She considered herself a progressive woman, and her husband
liked to say that she was “a woman of remarkable intelligence and vision,” while he himself, being from, he said, lesser Oshawa stock, felt lucky to have married her.As far as Opal knew, only one issue had ever caused a serious disagreement between her parents, and that issue had first involved her. Georgie believed that her daughters had every right to be at university if the desire was there and the means were available. As that was the case, she expected Opal, as the eldest, to go first, and Opal badly wanted to. But Reginald King said no. He tried to explain. Education beyond the basics for women was a waste of time. He couldn't name a friend or acquaintance who thought otherwise. He loved his daughters dearly, but he was a businessman. “You don't invest in something that isn't going to pay you something in return,” he told his wife. “You'd be thought a fool. I don't sell things in the store that are no use to anyone, now, do I? We'd be out of business in no time if I did.” However, he added, in an attempt to smooth waters that were clearly roiling, his intention was that their three lovely daughters could and would be as happy as he could make them. He would make sure of it. All three were attractive and bright, and they would marry well. “Therefore,” he said—holding up his hand to stop the objections about to burst from his wife's lips about daughters not being crates of nails or screws—“they
do not need to go to university
.” The wiser choice was spending the money sending Reginald to study law, and then perhaps the other sons—excepting Melville, of course—should they evince a desire to do other than continue in the business with him, which he hoped Farley would do, and perhaps little Jimmy too, later on. Melville would always have employment stocking the shelves, sweeping and generally helping out.
Meanwhile, Reginald had had a good year and the girls could get one or two extra new dresses each, and more new shoes, and the sorts of gewgaws girls liked.

Georgie was angry and the air was cooler in the house for many months. But Reginald did not budge, and after graduating high school Opal went to work as a secretary at Mr. Tupper's law firm. She did not want to be the cause of discord between her parents; she was more inclined to peacemaking than trouble-making, and stifled her disappointment. “It's all right,” she told her mother. “I like working there.”

“It is
not
all right,” retorted Georgie.

When Lillie graduated from high school, Georgie asked her husband again. There was a warning in her voice along with the question. Reginald said no again. But after an abundance of thinly veiled threats from his normally warm and loving Georgie, and an atmosphere of considerable coolness that showed no sign of dissipating, supplemented by pleading by Opal on her sister's behalf, he finally relented enough to say that Lillie could go if the money did not come from him. So Georgie contributed, and Opal provided the balance from her salary.

What was turning out to be the frosting on the cake for Opal was that Lillie was far more socially than academically inclined. She did not like being the so-called lucky one, and she wriggled out from under the mantle of a crusader for “women's rights” whenever she could. She cut classes, slept in, forgot to study, and flirted. If she eventually scraped through with a degree, it would be a miracle. Tiny seeds of resentment were sown in Opal each time she witnessed Lillie's lack of appreciation for all that was being done for her. Still, she was the perfect sister to have around
when there was a wedding—she was funny, and lively, and had such good ideas when it came to the parties.

China Shower for Bride-to-Be

Miss Opal Elizabeth King, a bride of early June, was the recipient of many pretty bits of china at a shower given in her honour this afternoon. A large basket was attractively trimmed with white ribbons, and the parcels wrapped in tissue paper were placed therein. The unwrapping, with the reading of messages from Miss King's many girl friends, formed an interesting part of the afternoon's entertainment. The reception room was decorated with yellow tulips. The hostess wore a gown of black charmeuse with silk net tunic, the bodice of variegated chiffon. Miss King was wearing a smart costume of rose satin, with white ninon sleeves, and collar prettily trimmed with French embroidery. In the tea room the table was centred with red tulips. Mrs. Harry Johnson poured tea. Miss Lillie King cut the ices. Assisting were Misses Leta and Myrtle White, and Miss Pearl King.

Opal suspected that Mac's home life and growing-up years in Scotland hadn't been the happiest, but he was close-mouthed about his family. He had told her the basics—that his mother and father were still living in Thornhill; that he had a brother
nine years younger, and two older sisters, both married. But beyond that he would not go. Only once did he mention that his elder sister, Joan, had married “badly,” but when Opal asked for more, he would not elaborate.

As their wedding plans progressed, Mac did tell her that he had written to his family in Scotland to inform them of the impending marriage, but he cautioned that she should not expect to hear from them. Also, he said quickly, they were poor: she should expect no gift. “Oh, I hadn't!” she said, mortified. “I expect nothing at all!”

When Opal telephoned Mac in Calgary with the exciting news that she had received a letter from his mother, she was broadsided when Mac immediately flew into a murderous rage. He yelled at her into the telephone. How
dare
his mother interfere with his plans. How
dare
his mother stick her oar in where it was not wanted. On the other end, Opal felt faint, felt ill, so surprised was she at the hatred in his voice that she dropped the receiver. And when, picking it up again with trembling hands, she tried to break in to explain to him that the letter had been such a
nice
letter, he refused to listen, refused to let her speak as he continued to shout, and then turned his fury on her. Of
course
Opal could not see what the problem was, he sneered. Of
course
she would take his mother's part. That was a
female
for you. He spat the words angrily. He demanded that she forward the letter. Sobbing, she promised.