Well Behaved Wives(67)

Ruth had no idea that Shirley would know about the law. She looked at her mother-in-law anew.

“He’s allowed to do this?” Lillian asked, her eyes wide.

“Absolutely,” Shirley said.

Lillian put her hands on her hips as if she were challenging this new side of Shirley. “And how do you know?”

“It’s not so much allowed as tolerated,” Ruth said. “He’d have to kill her to get in any real trouble.”

Carrie gasped.

Lillian slapped her hand over her mouth, muffling a yelp.

Ruth’s heart pounded, her indignation rising with each thump. They couldn’t let this happen to Carrie and the baby.

Carrie, pale beneath her bruises, stared at Ruth.

Silent sobs clogged Ruth’s throat. If only she could make Carrie leave Eli. But she couldn’t. It was all up to Carrie.

No one spoke. The passing of the occasional car, the chirping of a bird, all sounds seemed to be louder than normal in this room of anticipation. This room of fear.

Fancy food, pretty clothes, ample money, and higher education didn’t matter—and etiquette could go to hell. There was a beaten woman in their living room. Were even these privileged women powerless to help?

Shirley left the room and headed for the kitchen.

Where did Shirley go, just when they all needed her?

Guilt swallowed Ruth. She’d have known the Pennsylvania laws and precedents if she had finished studying for the bar exam—or she’d have access to them through professors, and librarians, and fellow students. She’d have the same kind of connections and insights she’d left in New York. The particulars she’d lost amidst the picnics and lunches and shopping trips.

They sat in silence as Shirley returned with a bag of frozen peas and gently placed it over Carrie’s bruises. After five minutes according to the wall clock—what seemed like five hours according to Ruth’s internal clock—Carrie finally spoke. “You have no idea how hard this is.”

Shirley gently rearranged the frozen peas over another spot, so Carrie’s skin didn’t get too cold in any one place. “I do. I know it’s hard,” Shirley said, training her eyes on Carrie.

Ruth was surprised and touched by Shirley’s compassion, by her attempt to show camaraderie in order to help this poor girl she barely knew.

“How could you possibly know? No one knows how hard it is.” Carrie’s voice was a whisper, but that whisper was tinged with anger.

“Because it happened to me,” Shirley said.





Chapter 25


LILLIAN

The room fell silent. The faces around Lillian showed disbelief, confusion, irritation, and shock. And, in her own case, hopefully nothing at all. Lillian deliberately arranged her expression into something as blank as a whitewashed wall, though beneath her coral silk blouse her heart was pounding.

Lillian was sure she’d misheard, or at least misunderstood. Shirley was her best friend. She’d been here in Shirley’s living room countless times over the years. Things like that didn’t happen to people like them; they weren’t beaten by their husbands, weren’t abused. Not here.

Lillian’s parents were a different story. Her father was a laborer, her mother a seamstress. These things could happen in their neighborhood.

But Carrie? And Shirley? Shirley was the woman who’d taught Lillian how to be the perfect housewife and hostess, how to teach etiquette lessons, for goodness’ sake.

Lillian looked around Shirley’s living room. Carrie, Irene, and Harriet were looking at Shirley—and no wonder. Ruth’s face had drained of blood, and her eyes held a dazed expression. For once she said nothing.

Lillian’s heart sank. Not Leon. That sweet man adored his wife; anyone could see that. He could never have beaten her up—not even in some distant past. Yet she’d never known Shirley to lie. Omit the truth maybe, spin a few euphemisms, but not out-and-out lie.

It was Shirley who broke the silence. “I was engaged to someone else before I married Leon.”

Lillian heard a collective sigh and realized she hadn’t exhaled in quite a long time. She hadn’t been the only one holding her breath.

“My first fiancé beat me—badly.”

Lillian saw something in Shirley’s eyes that made her want to comfort her. “Shirley . . . I’m so sorry. I had no idea. You never said.”

She suddenly wondered if Shirley had assumed no one would believe her—just as Lillian hadn’t believed Ruth about Carrie.

Her mother’s scar. The cigar. Keeping her husband’s abuse locked away to protect herself, her family. So as not to encounter any of the shame or blame associated with it. After all, people in the neighborhood she grew up in used to say that the wives probably deserved it. That marriage was private. That it wasn’t their place to interfere.

Shirley nodded at Lillian before she went on. “No, I never said. I was ashamed of it. It was rough. He broke my arm, and my ribs. I had a concussion. Besides, he was always sorry afterward.”

Sorry? When he’d broken her bones? No wonder Shirley was so tough.

Ruth gasped and reached out for her mother-in-law’s arm. Lillian was glad that Ruth hadn’t hesitated to support Shirley. The girl hadn’t hesitated when it came to Carrie, either—and Lillian had done nothing to help. Worse, she’d practically kicked her out the door.