Promise to Cherish (17 page)

“He’s not the best man around here. You don’t know him.” The words slipped from her lips before she could trap them deeply behind her heart.

“Well, I heard that you chased after him at the party—chased him—” she repeated. “Really, Christy, I thought you had more self-respect.”

“He was upset and I thought I could help. I wasn’t chasing him. I was checking on him. There’s a difference.”

“A grown man doesn’t need to be checked on. What else happened? Obviously something did for him to not ask you on a real date after.”

“He did, Ma. But I said
no
,” she blurted.

“What?” Her mother’s eyes rounded and she took hold of the countertop as if she were going to fall over. She pulled
out a chair and sat down, then pulled out the one next to it and gestured for Christine to sit. “Now, start from the beginning and don’t leave anything out, young lady. I deserve an explanation.”

Christine sat down and suddenly covered her abdomen in some maternal way of protecting the baby inside from the anger she already sensed from her mother. What would she do when she learned the whole truth?

“Did he kiss you? Or maybe you didn’t let him? I know I’ve told you that you shouldn’t kiss on a first date, but this is different. This is Jack Delano.”

Christine rolled her eyes.

“What, that’s a valid question. I am trying to figure out where you went wrong so maybe I can help you fix it.”

“You can’t fix what’s wrong this time, Ma.” Her voice was low.

“It can’t be all bad.”

“It is.” She looked up at her mother. “Yes, he kissed me that night. I kissed him back.”

Her mother sucked in a deep breath. “All right. Then he likes you. He wouldn’t kiss you if he didn’t like you.”

“A lot more happened, Ma. A lot more than kissing.”

Christine watched her mother’s face move from confusion to the dawning of truth.

“More? Do you mean you . . .” Her mother’s hand covered her open mouth. “Christine Freeman. Have you disgraced yourself and your family?”

Christine nodded silently, unable to speak.

“Who else knows?”

“Jeanne.” She didn’t think mentioning the doctor mattered right now. “Ma, I told Jack no. I promise you I did.” She decided against giving any more details about the beer and the whiskey and the way she’d kissed him back before she realized his intentions.

“But the way you were dressed that night—and if you let him kiss you on a first date. What do you think a man’s supposed to expect?”

She didn’t respond. There was no point in arguing when there was so much more to confess.

“It doesn’t matter now. It’s done and I can’t take it back.”

There was a grating silence between them.

“There’s more.”

“More? What more? Are you pregnant?”

Christine’s eyes snapped to her mother’s and it was almost too terrifying to watch the intensity that came over her mother as realization hit her.

“Yes, I’m . . . pregnant.” Christine could barely say the word. She looked down and closed her eyes. She took several long breaths in and out, desperate to keep her composure.

“You’re pregnant with Jack Delano’s baby?”

Christine nodded and looked up at her mother.

“I don’t know what to do.”

“Have you told him?”

She shook her head. Tears pooled in her eyes.

“And it’s for sure Jack’s?”

“Ma,” Christine said, scowling at her as she held out the “a”
sound for several long beats. She stood and paced the kitchen. “You know I haven’t even kissed a boy since I was seventeen and that was barely a peck. Of course, I’ve never ever been with a man and it wasn’t supposed to happen. I told him no.”

“I just wanted to make sure; since you’re dumping all of this on me at once, I am wondering now what other secrets you might have.”

“There’s nothing else,” Christine assured her.

“How could you get yourself into such a bind. I could hardly get you to go on a blind date and now this? It doesn’t even seem possible.”

Christine’s eyes finally overflowed, unable to keep the tears at bay.

Her mother stood and wrapped Christine in her arms. “Come here, darling. Come here.”

Her mother shushed and patted her for several minutes. It was like a protective cocoon inside her mother’s arms.

“Okay, let’s sit and figure this out,” her mother said and directed her to the kitchen chair.

Margie handed Christine a handkerchief and she wiped her face and eyes.

“How are we going to manage, Ma? I won’t be able to work like this—unmarried and . . .” She didn’t want to tell her that she would be fired within days. “What money are we going to live on? Doris doesn’t make enough money to feed a cat, let alone a whole family. The house is going to get taken away from us.”

“Let me worry about that.” Margie tapped her mouth. “First, you have to go to Jack and tell him. If I were a betting lady I’d say he’ll marry you.”

Her mother almost looked excited at the prospect, but there wasn’t anything about that idea that excited Christine. No one wanted to marry anyone out of obligation, least of all someone who they weren’t sure they even liked, let alone loved enough to marry.

“He’s not going to marry me. Even if he did, I don’t want to marry him.”

“Do you want to be an unwed mother?”

Christine didn’t answer. Of course she didn’t.

“You don’t know that he won’t marry you, and it’s your best option—really your only option. Otherwise you’ll have to go to one of those unwed girls’ homes.”

“What? You’re going to send me away? I’m a grown woman, not a high school girl still wearing bobby socks. You can’t send me away.”

“Darling, what option do you have? If Jack doesn’t marry you, then I’ll look into a home. I doubt he’ll refuse his own child. But come on, Christine, this isn’t some fairy tale. This is real life and it would be a real problem if Jack says no.”

There was a long moment of silence.

“He forced himself on me. How could I marry a man like that? It wasn’t like I asked him for it.”

“Did you kiss him and lead him on?”

Her silence was her answer.

“Listen, you cannot stay around here unmarried. You know that. There are too many reasons to list.” Margie stood and leaned against the kitchen cabinets. “Oh, Lord. Oh, Lord. Oh, Lord.” She repeated in a whisper over and over.

“People judge you by your past and where you come from. I don’t want that for you. That’s why you have to go to Jack—today. Before you start to put on weight.”

Christine shook her head.

“You have that pretty peach dress in your closet. It’s a jot humdrum, but I still think it’ll brighten you up some. We’ll wash your face and get you cleaned up. By the time he sees you on his doorstep, you’ll be a knockout.”

“What if he’s not home?”

“He is. I heard his mother talking about it at the Ladies Aid.”

Over the next thirty minutes Margie dolled Christine up and out of weakness, Christine let her. Her mother was right. What choice did she have? Was marrying Jack worse than walking around with the stigma of her condition? Was it worse than being sent away to a home? These questions were unanswerable. If she were honest with herself, she would have admitted that she found nothing redeeming about Jack. What about her reputation, though? Deep down inside she believed her child should have a chance at a real father. Christine wasn’t confident
her mother knew what she was talking about, but it was all she had to go on.

By the time she looked in the mirror through her glasses she wasn’t sure who she was looking at. She started pulling pins from her hair. She rolled her hair the way she liked it and rubbed off half the red her mother had painted her lips with.

“Well, I’m not sure you should look so plain to see Jack, but there’s no time to do anything more about it.” Margie sighed. “Now, I want you to go down to his house, and you let him see how pretty you are. If he liked you enough to kiss you and—well, you know—then I know you know how to use your womanly wiles on a man.”

Christine nodded, feeling comforted that her mother was taking charge. Maybe she wouldn’t have to deal with this alone.

Christine walked down the sidewalk with her arms wrapped around her. She was thankful for the chill in the air. It helped push away the fog that remained in her head, despite the effects of the barbital being gone. She was near the bus stop when she heard the slight squeal of brakes sound behind her.

“Christy.”

She turned, surprised to hear her mother’s voice.

“I couldn’t let you do this alone. Come on. Let’s go together.”

Her mother chattered the entire drive through downtown Poughkeepsie. Christine was too nervous to talk. She prayed the entire way that Jack was home and not at Columbia. That way she could get this over with. She admitted to herself that she hadn’t prayed much over the past few months. Partly she was angry that God had let it all happen but mostly she was embarrassed to ask for anything after her behavior. But this was different. God knew she needed to talk to Jack. This could change everything.

They parked the car and without a word found the Delano house. They stood in front of the concrete steps leading to the front door and their eyes trailed all the way up the red-brick, ornate row house.

“Just think, you could be living the high life, Christy,” her mother said.

“Don’t sound so giddy about it.”

“I’m sorry, darling. I just am trying to look on the bright side.” Margie went up the stairs without waiting for Christine’s response.

Christine’s mother was right. The Delano home was beautiful. From the lead and stained glass around the double doors in the front, to the peaked tower at the top—everything looked expensive. Heavy drapery hung around the windows that reminded Christine of the Hollywood pictures.

She slowly climbed the stairs after her mother and, with some prodding, found the courage to use the doorknocker.

“Yes?” An older woman opened the door. She wore a black-and-white uniform and sour expression on her face.

“Is Jack home?” Christine was breathless.

“Yes, ma’am,” the maid opened the door wider and let her in. “Wait here and I’ll get him. Whom may I say is here?”

“Christine—Christine Freeman.”

“And Mrs. Freeman,” Margie interjected. “I’m her mother.”

The maid nodded and as she left the foyer Christine saw Jack come down the wide staircase in front of her.

“Christine?” Jack looked confused, but he smiled. “Mrs. Freeman.”

“Hello, Jack.” Margie approached him with an outstretched hand. He took it gently and nodded, but his eyes were on Christine the entire time.

“Hi, Jack,” she said, squaring her shoulders toward him.

“Can I take your coats?” he offered.

How was it possible that he was such a gentleman after what had happened between them? Maybe she was wrong. Maybe that night he wasn’t who he really was—maybe this was who he was. Maybe he’d just had too much to drink. Maybe it was just because of how upset he was over Sandy’s rumors.

The moment she shook her head no she wished she’d said yes. In her nervousness she had begun sweating. She cleared her throat. “I needed to talk with you.”

Christine’s voice came out harsher than she planned. Her mother’s elbow poked into her side. When Jack turned away toward the maid, Christine looked at her mother.

She gave Christine the look that she’d remembered since grade school. Yes,
be nice
, she reminded herself.

“Mrs. Burns,” he said as he walked over to a door that swung both ways, “please, bring tea into the parlor for me and my guests.”

Jack returned to them and led them to an ornately decorated room with windows facing the street. Everything was a mauve velvet and brass. She’d hardly seen anything like it in real life. Christine wasn’t sure where to sit.

He gestured at a wingback chair and offered again to take her coat. This time she let him, still feeling overheated. His hand brushed her shoulder and she shuddered. How could she expect to marry a man she didn’t want touching her, even in a gentlemanly way? Margie was looking out the window, saying something about the view, when Jack’s breath was warm against Christine’s ear. The heat of his breath on her skin brought more of a chill to her body than the February breeze.

“You look very pretty,” he whispered.

Jack pulled away as Margie turned.

“What a beautiful room, Jack.” Margie touched the velvet and silk drape. “Really, it’s quite breathtaking.”

Christine prayed that her mother would stop but instead she
went on and on about everything she loved about the parlor and house. She was glad when the maid came in with tea and interrupted her mother’s nervous chatter.

“Oh, how nice.” Christine’s mother sat at the edge of a wingback chair as if she were waiting to be served. When the maid left she cleared her throat and served herself. Jack and Christine sat down stiffly on the davenport with a wide space between them. All that could be heard for several long minutes were the clinking of spoons stirring sugar cubes into what smelled like peppermint tea.

“So, what did you need to talk about?” Jack broke the silence.

“It’s about the night you drove me home.” It sounded funny to say it like that to him when he knew better than anyone what had happened in the car was far more than just a drive home.