Breeding Like Rabbits Read online

  Britt sat on the sofa, reading a magazine when a tall, well-dressed, and attractive, dark-haired woman entered. She was slender but also obviously pregnant.

  “I’m Mrs. Kelly. You must be Britt. Let’s sit down and talk.” They sat down across from each other at the table.

  Mrs. Kelly placed a sheet of paper with several items written on it in front of her. She took out a pen and began: “I need someone to help with the evening meal and cleanup afterward. I also want the bathrooms and the fireplace cleaned on Saturdays, and the noon meal prepared—usually hot dogs and soup. It would be for my husband and two boys. I write for a fashion magazine, and I have to go into the city and meet with my magazine’s editor on Saturdays. One more thing—Mr. Kelly and I sometimes go out at night. You’ll then babysit. Do you think you could handle all that?” She had checked the items off on the sheet of paper as she talked. She looked up, eyebrows raised.

  “Yes, Mrs. Kelly. I’m through with school at three each day. I should be able to get to your home on time if there’s a bus going out that way.”

  “There’s a streetcar stop only a block from our house. You can ride it in the morning to go to school and to come back here in the afternoon. We’ll pay your streetcar fare. By the way, where are you from?”

  “A small town in Minnesota, Great Prairie, not far from the Canadian border—you’ve probably never heard of it.”

  “No, I haven’t. Does your family use a horse and buggy to go church on Sunday?”

  “Oh, no … we have cars.”

  “I’m sorry. I hope I haven’t offended you. I come from Boston. I think we have a different idea about how people live in the Midwest. We also believe Midwesterners are hardworking and honest.”

  Britt got the job. She left the Y and moved in with the Kelly family. Mr. Kelly was a lawyer, and he and his wife had two sons—Ian, aged five, and Sean, aged two, with a third child on the way. She definitely needed help. Britt would be paid a dollar an hour for fourteen hours a week, an extra dollar an hour if she had to babysit. She wouldn’t have to walk to school anymore. She could take the streetcar—much better for someone having to wear high heels; the school made all female students wear high heels to school every day. She used her time on the streetcar to study shorthand and bookkeeping.

  Christmas was coming, and Britt dreaded it. She’d written her parents and told them where she was living, but they didn’t write back. She didn’t want to spend Christmas wandering around uptown, nor did she want to intrude on the Kellys’ Christmas. She’d window-shop and go to a movie, and on both Saturday, Christmas Day, and Sunday, her day off, she would go to church.

  A letter arrived from Andy. He’d just learned that his leave time started on Friday, December 24, and ended on Sunday, December 26—they could spend Christmas together. Would she be able to come to North Chicago? He missed her a lot. Would she! She had Friday off, so she could leave Friday morning and be in North Chicago before four in the afternoon. Andy could meet her and take her to the hotel where she’d reserve a room in her name for two nights. Sunday morning, she’d again board the train and get back to the Kellys’ in the afternoon. Britt wrote Andy, telling him she was coming and when he should come and pick her up at the train station. She also gave him the Kellys’ phone number in case he needed to make any changes.

  Britt packed on Thursday night. She wanted to look her best for Andy. Green and red plaid skirt and red sweater—what could be more in tune with the season than that? What a shame she had to cover it with her navy blue storm coat—at least the coat had a nice fur collar. She threw in her pajamas, underwear, and three pair of nylons (just in case). No need to bring a girdle; she’d be wearing that. The navy blue jumper with the light blue tailored shirt always looked nice—she’d wear that on the train, both coming and going, but she better pack an extra shirt. Her black dress shoes would go with everything—no need to bring an extra pair of shoes. Now to put in some makeup, and she’d be all set, and it all fit into her small suitcase.

  Friday morning, Britt was on her way to North Chicago. She brought a book with her, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn by Betty Smith, but was too excited to concentrate on reading. She debated whether she should eat something at noon in the dining car but decided against it. She didn’t want to spend the money, and she was too excited to eat anyway.

  Why was it taking so long? Maybe her watch had stopped. She lifted her arm up toward her ear. No, it was ticking. She tried reading again, but her mind kept drifting off, thinking of Andy. Right on time, the train pulled into the North Chicago station. Britt looked out the window and saw a sea of sailors all in their navy blue dress uniforms. She’d never find Andy. In a panic, she got off the train and just stood there and then decided that that’s what she should do. Andy could find her more easily than she could find him—and he did. He grabbed her and hugged her, they kissed, and he took her small suitcase with one hand and cupped her elbow with the other. He guided her to the waiting cab.

  After he settled her into her hotel room, they took a cab out to Mary’s Pizza Place. It was close to the Navy Training Center—Andy wanted to show off his future wife to his buddies at this favorite eating place. Britt was very hungry. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and she was also curious to find out how a “pizza pie,” the kind Dean Martin sang about in “That’s Amore,” tasted.

  Britt met a couple of Andy’s friends, and then they sat down to eat their pizza—she liked it. They talked and talked—catching up on news. Luke was a medic on the island of Okinawa. Hannah had broken up with her boyfriend and was concentrating on bringing up her grades so that she could go to the college she had her eye on. Wedding plans made up the bulk of their conversation. Britt told him that the banns in his hometown church were going to be read and that she’d buy the license. They exchanged Christmas presents. Britt had had a gold ID bracelet engraved with Andy’s name on the front, and in the back was engraved “All My Love”—their song. Andy pulled out a small package and handed it to Britt. With shaking hands, she unwrapped—an engagement ring!

  “I didn’t want you wandering around Minneapolis free as a bird. I want people to know that you’re spoken for.” He got up, pulled her to her feet, and enfolded her in a big hug. He then planted a big smooch on her lips. Neither one heard the cheers and whistles of Mary’s Pizza customers.

  Britt breakfasted alone Saturday morning. She was glad she’d brought a good book. Only having a book to read made eating alone tolerable. Andy picked her up at nine thirty. The first thing they did was take a cab out to Lake Michigan. Britt wanted to see the lakeshore, but the day was cloudy, windy, and cold. Even cuddling close did not stop their shivering. Enough of that. They went back to the hotel and the restaurant and ordered hot coffee to warm up. What now? They had only this day together, and they wanted to make the most of it. They decided to go to a movie at a theater nearby. It was showing White Christmas, starring Bing Crosby, Danny Kaye, Rosemary Clooney, and Vera Ellen—dancers and singers. Way up in the balcony, they could watch the movie, and if it wasn’t very good, they could spend the time necking. They did both.

  After the movie, they walked back to the hotel for dinner. Britt noticed one old guy sneaking looks at them. Midnight Mass, a Hughes Christmas tradition, was next on the agenda. The incense, the flowers, the singing of Christmas carols were uplifting, filling both of them with reverence at this holy time. Andy walked Britt back to her hotel, kissed her good night, a long, passionate kiss, but that was all. The aura of holiness still clung to them, preventing them from doing what they’d soon be doing with God’s blessing.

  Britt woke up to a sunny day, but inside she was not sunny. She’d be leaving today—she wouldn’t even see Andy. He was stuck on base. She dressed, packed, and went down to breakfast, bringing her book. Scrambled eggs, toast, and coffee should hold her until she was back in Minneapolis.

  While she was waiting for the cab she’d called to take her to
the train station, the old guy who’d been eyeing them last night at dinner came up to her.

  “Young lady, I saw you at dinner last night with your sailor boy—an attractive couple. You looked especially fetching in your red sweater.”

  Not knowing what to say and not wanting to be rude, Britt said, “Thank you.”

  “I book acts for a vaudeville and burlesque theater in the Twin Cities. If you’re ever looking for a job, honey, look me up. It’s good pay.” He handed her his business card.

  “Uh, well, I’m marrying that sailor boy in March. I don’t think he wants me to work.” She pocketed the card and said, “There’s my cab. I have to go.” Was that a compliment or an insult? On the train, Britt shredded the card into little bits.

  There’d be no more leaves for Andy until he finished his training the end of February, but they’d write—that was enough for now. Britt was busy with school and with the planning of a small wedding. Not much to it, the main thing being that she and Andy show up at the appointed time at the church with two witnesses, but she did buy a packet of twenty-five invitations. She sent one to her aunt Stella, who lived in a Minneapolis suburb, and a few to school friends of hers and Andy’s, and to Andy’s parents—though she knew they wouldn’t come because of the cost. Britt also sent an invitation to her parents, though she knew they would not attend a Catholic wedding. The banns were read. She mustn’t forget to buy the marriage license—Andy would owe her for that—and she had a dress to buy. She wished her mother were there to help her find one.

  In her mind’s eye, Britt stood in the middle of her room, admiring it. It was 1951. She’d miss this room when she graduated in June. She’d decorated it herself. She’d taken out the old linoleum and painted the floor gray and added a red area rug. Her bed was built into the alcove below the slanted ceiling. She’d chosen red and yellow as her colors. Her three-quarter-size bed was lined with pillows—she loved pillows. Someone told her once that she must not have had enough time at her mother’s breast, and that’s why she loved pillows so much. Maybe. She’d made ruffled pillow tops for them, and then she’d curtained the alcove with floor-to-ceiling draperies, using tiebacks to secure them in swags to the two walls. Cozy.

  Half of a round kitchen table became her vanity. She’d skirted it in yellow, gathered material, and then she’d padded a stool top with red to form the seat for her vanity (an apt name, that’s for sure). A wardrobe and a chest of drawers, both painted white, were the walls of her built-in desk to the left of the door. In the southwest corner of the room was a red armchair with a good reading light. She would miss this room very much.

  It was in this room that she’d learned about her mother’s pregnancy. Ingrid had tapped on Britt’s door and entered, wearing an old shirt of her husband’s. Mother and daughter stood, facing each other.

  “Britt, I have something to tell you. I’m pregnant.”

  “What? You’re too old. And we were finally becoming friends.”

  “I know, but it’s true. You’ll be going off to college in the fall anyway.”

  “I’ll leave sooner than that. I have a job for the summer at the drive-in—I’m going to rent a room in town. I need money for school clothes, and this way I won’t have to babysit. Hannah will be glad to. She loves babies—look how she treats her stuffed animals. She kisses all of them good night. Sickening.”

  “She’s younger than you. It’s okay if she feels tenderness even if it is toward stuffed animals. I don’t want her to grow up too fast and leave.”

  “You worry about being lonely, but don’t. Maybe you’ll have the boy you always wanted. If you do, it’s too bad Grandma Anderson isn’t around to know it. She thought it was awful that you didn’t pop out sons to help your husband, her favorite son, with farm chores.”

  “Britt, that’s enough.” Ingrid turned and left.

  Saturday at the Kelly home, Britt was preparing noon lunch when Mr. Kelly handed her a letter. It was from her mother.

  Dear Britt,

  I need to be part of your wedding even if I don’t approve of your marrying a Catholic. I want to come to the Cities and help you find a nice wedding dress. I’ll only be there for two days, but I need to do this.

  Love,

  Mother

  Britt shared the letter with Mrs. Kelly but did not share with her the last conversation she’d had with her mother right before she’d left for business school. It was a conversation she’d never forget.

  “Mother, when I was at the university, I took a religion course. I told you that, but I didn’t tell you that it was Catholic Marriage and Family Life or that I was baptized a Catholic.”

  “What do you mean, you were baptized a Catholic? You are a baptized Lutheran; you’ve been confirmed!”

  “I know. And the priest said my Lutheran baptism was good. He just wanted to make sure and so he baptized me again. It’s okay.”

  “Wanted to make sure! Did the pope make him do that? Don’t you have any free will anymore?”

  “Mother, I know you’re upset, and I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but Andy and I had sex once; at least I think we did.”

  “Think you did? That doesn’t make sense.”

  “Remember the time Andy and I borrowed his dad’s car and went to his aunt and uncle’s place in Lebrun for their fiftieth wedding anniversary? Well, on the way home, he went by the cemetery where his grandma and grandpa are buried. He found their graves. He cared a lot for them; they lived with Andy’s family until they died. He knelt and prayed a while, then came back to the car, quite emotional.”

  “So?”

  “Andy opened the door to the backseat and motioned for me to get in, ‘Just for a little while.’ I thought he just wanted some comfort—to be held and maybe a few kisses—but he, well, he put his hand on my thigh and slid it upward, pulling up my dress at the same time. I couldn’t wiggle free; he was leaning on my chest. He unzipped his pants and was tugging at my panties and shaking. I-I helped him. I was curious! It was over in seconds, whatever ‘it’ was—I didn’t feel anything. Honest! But I think we did it, as least he did. Some sticky stuff that smelled like bleach was on my dress—I threw the dress away. If we did do it, the Bible says we have to marry: ‘If a man entice a maid that is not betrothed, and lie with her, he shall surely endow her to be his wife.’ You remember that verse, Mother; it’s in Exodus.”

  “Oh, Britt, Britt, why are you always so curious? Curiosity killed the cat. You know that saying. Now you’ve gone and ruined your life. I guess you better marry him. There’ll never be anyone else for you.”

  Ingrid took the train from their small home town to Minneapolis a week before the wedding. Mrs. Kelly allowed her to stay with Britt, sleeping in her room.

  They went shopping in secondhand shops for a wedding dress and found one: ecru lace over satin with long sleeves and a V-neck. Britt did not care for the veil at all—a circle of fake pearls with a veil attached that smashed her hair—but the price was right: seventy-nine dollars. Britt’s mother would go back to her three-year-old twin boys, William and Owen, knowing that she’d done something to show Britt she still cared for her, even if she couldn’t support her wedding.

  That night, as Britt and her mother shared the double bed at the Kellys’, Britt lay on her right side, back to back with her mother, pretending to be asleep. When she heard her mom’s soft snore, she turned and opened her eyes and looked at the back of her mother’s head. It was tightly pin-curled, covered with bobby pin crosses, the top bobby pin securing the bottom one, so that no curl could unfurl. So typical: she wanted things to be right and nailed down, and my wedding was none of the above.

  Ingrid would board the northbound train in the morning. Britt wished that she could get on a train and go far, far away. At that very moment, Britt heard a train go by and imagined that she was on it. Where it was going didn’t matter, as long as it was away. What had
she gotten herself into? License bought, invitations sent, banns proclaimed, a wedding dress purchased—it was simply too late to back out now. Her train had left the station. Exhausted, she fell asleep.

  Britt and Andy became husband and wife on March 20, 1954. They were married in the Catholic church Britt had attended ever since she’d moved into the Kelly home. She wore her wedding dress with its ugly veil. Andy wore his navy blue sailor’s uniform. Britt said, “I do,” and Andy said it too. They exchanged rings, and they kissed.

  A couple of Britt’s business school friends and several of Andy’s high school classmates, along with Britt’s sister, Hannah, came to the wedding. One of Andy’s classmates, John Kraal, was his best man and witness. Andy’s sister, Mary, stood at Britt’s side as bridesmaid and was the other witness. She scolded Andy for not buying Britt any flowers.

  An unexpected and very welcome wedding guest was Stella, Britt’s father’s sister, eight months pregnant. Britt thanked and embraced her with tears in her eyes.

  Janet, a business school friend of Britt’s, invited the wedding party of six to come to the house that she and three roommates rented. She wanted Britt to have a wedding dinner, if pizza, the new baked dish from Italy, and beer could be called a wedding dinner. Janet did her best to make it more formal. The dining room table’s four leaves expanded so that it could seat twelve. A white tablecloth, napkins, and a centerpiece of white carnations with a tall white candle on each side of it did add a touch of elegance.

  Ten people, including Janet’s three roommates, sat around that table, enjoying the pizza and beer. The bridal couple, who hadn’t eaten since the night before their wedding, would have happily dined on bread and water. The inevitable then happened, and it was just as annoying as the tapping of a spoon on a glass of champagne—someone rapped his pizza fork on his beer bottle. Andy and Britt had to stand up and kiss—again and again.