Chapter 20

Anmoore December 1945

My dear brother and sister-in-law,

All three boys arrived home to stay this week, just in time for Christmas! It feels like a miracle they all made it through the war, and without a scratch. Of course, I should not call them boys. The years in the navy have turned them into big, strapping men, but they will always be my boys, no matter how old they—or I—get.

The carbon plant across the street is busier than ever, and because the foremen remembered how well Luis and Manuel worked before the war, the company is hiring the three of them immediately. How I wish Antonio had lived to see this day, the boys home and set to make good lives for themselves.

Now, I feel I must tell you something that I have hidden from you over the years. I have wrestled mightily with how and when and whether to write you about it, and never have because I find it such a horrible thing. But I suppose my advancing age and the many hours I have spent looking back at my life over this year and a half since I lost Antonio make me want to settle all the things I have left undone. And this certainly is one of the biggest.

As you know, Julia never has married. What you do not know is that she has not lived a virtuous life. She has three children, and would have two more but miscarried them. All of them have different fathers. Her son was born in 1936, and he lives with us. Pilar and I have done our best to raise him because Julia has never had much to do with him. The second, a girl, Julia gave up for adoption in 1942, and next month we will take the newest, another girl, to the woman who arranges the adoptions.

It pains me greatly to see my daughter debasing herself and damaging her soul, and I detest that she is throwing away her own children as our father threw me away. I have been so angry and frustrated with her that I have barely been able to be in the same room with her, which, of course, puts me, in a way, down on the same vile level as our father. I know I should just love her and forgive her and pray for her, but I have been unable to find that in myself. And I feel like a complete failure as a mother that she grew into such a wanton creature in the first place.

I hid this from you for a selfish reason, because you always have lived such moral and responsible lives, and I feel that I have brought shame to our family even from so far away. And now I tell you for a selfish reason, because I do not want to reach the end of my life knowing that I have kept something so significant from the two people I have loved more than anyone other than my own children. I hope you will forgive me for all of it.

Mercedes González Conde

* * *

Steubenville, Ohio

January 1946

Mercedes, Pilar and Pilar’s husband, Jim, climbed out of his car with the baby girl wrapped warmly in a wool blanket on the winter day.

“They’re here, Ginny,” Elsie shouted back through the rambling house toward the kitchen. She let the curtain fall back across the front window and went out to the porch. “Hello again,” Elsie said cheerfully as Mercedes, Pilar and Jim approached. Virginia quietly emerged from the house and stood behind Elsie. Mercedes lingered at the foot of the stairs. She still spoke no English, and she wanted this shameful business concluded as quickly as possible. Pilar introduced Jim to Elsie.

“Just married? Well, that’s wonderful,” Elsie said. “Congratulations! What happy news.”

“Yes,” Pilar said. She beamed at Jim. “It’s been a whirlwind, and it still seems like a dream. Jim was just back from the war, and he came into this coffee shop with some buddies where I was with some of my friends. One of the girls pointed him out and said he’d been looking constantly in my direction. I was embarrassed, but I nodded at him when we made eye contact. And then he got up, came over to our table, introduced himself and sat down.”

“She was so pretty,” Jim cut in, letting loose a booming laugh that matched his burly frame, “that I had to talk to her.”

“And two weeks later, we got married,” Pilar said with a big smile.

“Two weeks!” Elsie exclaimed. “That must be Fate.”

“It sure feels like it,” Pilar said.

Mercedes, standing away from the rest of them, had no idea what they were talking about. But it annoyed her that they all were so jovial. Pilar looked down toward her. “And you remember my mother—”

“Martha, right?” Elsie said. She descended the stairs.

Mercedes winced at the sound of her Anglicized name and limply shook Elsie’s hand.

“Th-that’s right,” Pilar stammered. She knew her mother hated the name, but it was what the Americans all called her. Looking up to Virginia, who had remained on the porch standing silently near the door, Pilar said: “I’m sorry. Hello there. I don’t think we’ve met.”

“Oh,” Elsie said. She turned from Mercedes. “That’s Ginny. She helps me around the house with my kids, and with the babies while they’re waiting to go to their new families.”

“Nice to meet you, Ginny,” Pilar said with a friendly wave. Virginia mumbled something Pilar took to be a greeting.

“Don’t let her shyness fool you,” Elsie said. “I’ve never seen anybody with a bigger heart and a better way with children. They’ll be screaming their heads off, and I can’t do a thing with them. Then Ginny comes in, and in five minutes, all is happy and peaceful. I don’t know how she does it.”

Pilar looked down at the swaddled little girl in her arms. “I’m glad she’ll be in good hands.” She kissed her niece on the forehead and handed her to Elsie. “I’m sorry we’ve had to call on you again.”

“Aw, there’s nothing to be sorry for,” Elsie said. “These things happen all the time. The preachers and politicians like to act like they don’t, but they’re too wrapped up in their own business to really give a hoot and holler about what happens with real folks.”

“Thank you,” Pilar said.

“And how’s your sister, the baby’s mother?” Elsie asked.

“She’s fine, thanks,” Pilar said, though Julia was far from fine. She was depressed and swilling at the roadhouse until all hours of the night again as soon as she had recovered from the delivery. Julia was taking the birth, John Goad’s unceremonious departure, and the return to Anmoore hard.

“And did she give this little girl a name?” Elsie asked.

“We’ve been calling her Mary,” Pilar said. She extended a finger for the baby to grasp with her tiny hand.

“Mary. That’s a nice name. Hello there, Mary,” Elsie said to the baby, but Mary’s black eyes were fixed on Virginia, who had come down from the porch without anyone but the infant noticing, and stood at Elsie’s side. “We’re going to take good care of you.”

An uncomfortable silence fell. There was nothing else for them to say or do. Jim cleared his throat and spoke up. “Well, I suppose we’d better be going.”

“That is a fair bit of a drive for one day,” Elsie said. She handed Mary to Virginia. “You folks have a safe trip home,” Elsie told Pilar and Jim as they started down the stairs. “And don’t you worry about little Mary. I already have a nice couple lined up who can’t wait to get her.”

Pilar turned back and asked: “Can you tell me where she’ll be living?”

“No harm in that,” Elsie said. “She’s going to be a west-coast girl. The couple is from California.”

Pilar frowned. “California. That’s a long way.”

“Yes,” Elsie said, “but I promise, you have nothing to worry about. I insist on spending some time with all the prospective parents, and these are kind, loving people.”

“That’s good. Thank you,” Pilar said. She knew she should feel assured, but it made her miserable to think of Mary growing up in such a distant place. Elsie had placed Julia’s first daughter with a couple only a few towns over from where Pilar and Jim lived, and she was able to keep surreptitious tabs on the girl. With Mary across the country, she never would know anything of her again.

Pilar nodded and the three of them trudged toward the street. Mercedes was sad and disgusted with Julia. Jim was shocked that a perfectly healthy woman would give away her children like a litter of barn cats.

“It was good to see you again, Martha!” Elsie shouted across the yard. Mercedes looked back at her, and got into the car without a word.

* * *

The California couple took a baby closer to home. Two months had passed since the adoption fell through, and Elsie was beginning to feel desperate. She could not find another adoptive family. With three young children of her own, she could not afford to keep Mary much longer. Then her brother came rolling back into town.

“Good lord, Sammy,” Elsie said as he climbed out of the big Buick. The car’s spotless navy blue body and generous adornment of chrome glistened in the late-March sunshine. “Where’d you get that?”

“I won it!” Sam exclaimed, “playing cards over in Columbus.” Sam was living wherever the cards were hot. The army had discharged him four months before, under circumstances that were still not entirely clear to Elsie.

“So you’ll probably have it until the next card game,” she said. “Come on in the house. We were expecting you two hours ago. Supper’s on the table.”

Sam eagerly tucked into his heaping plate of food. “Ginny, you make the best fried chicken I ever ate,” he said. He grinned at her from the other end of the dining room table. His new gold-capped incisor gleamed like the Buick. “Better than my mom’s even.”

A very slight smile came to Virginia’s thin lips, and she looked down at her plate. She never knew how to take a compliment.

Sam turned to Elsie. “So, how’s the baby business, sis?”

“Not so good,” she said. “A Spanish family from over in Anmoore brought me a little girl two months ago, and the new family fell through. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

“What the hell’s the matter with them spics, anyway?” Sam said. “Giving their kids away. We ought to send them all back to where they came from. We didn’t just fight a war for that kind of trash.” He helped himself to another piece of chicken and more mashed potatoes from the platter and bowl on the table.

“Sammy, for God’s sake, don’t say things like that,” Elsie chastened. “A girl just got herself in trouble. Like any girl from anywhere can. Like plenty of white girls do.”

Sam sucked a lodged strand of poultry from between his teeth. “Well, if their parents took a belt to them more often when they were growing up, they wouldn’t get themselves in trouble. Spics and white girls.”

Rather than descend into yet another shouting match with her brother, who would never change anyway, Elsie got up and went to the kitchen to get the fresh pot of coffee that had been brewing as they ate.

“So, how are you doing, Ginny?” Sam asked after his sister left the dining room. “You look as pretty as a picture. I couldn’t hardly wait to get back here and see you again.”

“I’m okay, Sammy,” Virginia said. She pushed the last of the food around her plate with her fork to avoid meeting his gaze. “We’ve been busy with the kids.”

“I’m ready to be busy with some kids of my own,” Sam said. He grinned wider and winked at her. Sam craned forward, his elbows on the table. “I haven’t told Elsie yet, but I got me a job with the city, down in Huntington.”

“I been to Huntington a couple times. I growed up down in Logan,” Virginia said.

“Huntington’s growing like crazy,” Sam said. His voice brimmed with excitement. “The steel mills and glass factories are booming. I’ll have a good, easy job for life, working for the city.”

“What kind of job is it?” Virginia asked.

“Sanitation engineer,” Sam said. He reared back in his chair and pulled a cigarette from a pack of Winstons, lighting it with a battered Zippo. He was going to be a garbage man. “And that’s just to start. My brother went to work for the city six months ago, and he’s already been promoted twice.”

Elsie returned from the kitchen with the pot of coffee. “What are you two conspiring about in here?” she asked.

“I was just telling Ginny about my new job,” Sam said.

“You got a job?” Elsie was astounded.

“Yep. Down in Huntington, working for the city,” Sam said proudly.

“Well, that’s great, Sammy.” Elsie tapped a Pall Mall from her pack on the table. “I was starting to think you’d make a career of gambling.”

Sam laughed heartily. “No, that’s just for fun. If I’m going to get married and have kids, I need a steady job.”

“Get married and have kids?” Elsie asked, astounded again. “I didn’t even know you had a girl.”

“Ginny’s my girl,” Sam declared. “Ain’t you, Ginny?”

Virginia dropped her fork, and it clattered to the floor. For a few seconds, Virginia was unable to form any kind of response. “Oh, Sammy, you’re so full of shit,” she finally said.

“You’re not the first person to say that,” Sam said, chuckling.

“Amen!” Elsie said.

“But I’m serious,” Sam said to both of them. “I ain’t married. Ginny ain’t married. And now you’ve got that little baby with no home. What do you say, Ginny? Let’s you and me get married and take that baby to Huntington.”

“You’re crazy, Sammy,” Virginia scoffed. But she did not say no.

“What’re you going to do?” Sam asked. “Hang around here at my sister’s house, taking care of her kids and these cast-offs all your life?”

One other factor spurred Sam’s enthusiasm for the idea. He was sterile. Only he and an army doctor knew it. From the time he was old enough to throw a punch, Sam had been an enthusiastic brawler, especially after he got some booze in him. He was a private in the army during the war, serving in the Canal Zone in Panama. The dearth of combat provided many opportunities to swill beer, throw dice and fight. His constant boasting did little to endear Sam to his fellow soldiers.

One night as he was sleeping in the barracks, a group of other privates bound him in a blanket and proceeded to beat him relentlessly. One took particular pleasure in pummeling Sam’s scrotum with the belt from his uniform. The soldier made sure to land as many blows as possible with the heavy brass buckle.

For a month, Sam recovered in the post hospital. His testicles had swollen to the size of navel oranges. “There is no way to be certain at the moment,” the army doctor told him, “but my guess is that the damage has been too extensive. It is highly unlikely you ever will father children.”

“So, what do you say, Ginny?” Sam prodded. “Will you marry me?” He removed the garish gold and diamond-fleck ring from his pinky finger. It also came from a poker pot. Sam pushed his chair back from the table, got up and walked over to where Virginia was sitting. He took her chafed hand and slipped the ring onto her finger. “What do you say?”

Virginia looked at the ring, at Sam, at Elsie, and back to the ring. “You’re crazy, Sammy,” she said again. She looked at him, and then Elsie again. During his visits over the past months, she had suspected he fancied her, though she could not imagine why. No man ever had taken an interest in her, and the way he talked about the big times he had in one city or another, she presumed he had a string of women.

However, Sam had surmised correctly. Elsie always was kind and fair to her, but Virginia wanted a life of her own. She never dwelt on it, because she had no other prospects. Until that moment. She looked once more at the ring and then at Sam’s eager face. “Okay,” she said. “Okay, Sammy. Let’s get married.”

Three days later, a Justice of the Peace administered the minimal vows and signed the paperwork. Elsie and her husband served as the witnesses. Sam, Virginia and Brenda—“We’re naming her ourselves,” Sam had announced to his wife and sister, and then told them the name he had chosen—loaded up in the big Buick an hour after the marriage ceremony and drove the four hours south to Huntington.