Late afternoon seemed like a good time to schedule a visit, but when the day arrives the hours drag. I sit primly in the parlor, clad in my best dress and new shoes, Suzanne in my lap. Petting her calms me, and maybe she will hide the thickness of my waist. Mama attempts to control my hair, finally cut into short curls, and begs me not to engage in strenuous activity that will set them free to bounce and frizz. I am not made for sitting idly in the parlor, nor can I concentrate on reading. Teddy is on his way to Castro Valley. I tug at my curls and try in vain to remember if the photograph I sent him had curls or braid.
My father sits in his big chair, hidden behind the newspaper. He insists on reading the New York Sun, even though Grandma Van’s relatives no longer own it. The front page faces me with a story about a labor strike in Seattle. I wonder if Seattle is near Camp Lewis. Papa states that he will not like Teddy and does not approve of this visit. I clench my hands and force them to relax.
Mama sits in her chair next to my father, working at her ever-present mending. Part of me hopes I will never have a son since the majority of her pile seems to be Carl’s and I am hopeless at needlework. I laugh inside at that thought. Both my parents would be horrified. Sons carry on the oh-so-important family name. Carl will do so with ours and I will need a son to do so for my husband’s.
The mantel clock strikes three, loud in the silent room. Carl will be home from school soon. It will be better if Teddy arrives first. Mama rises, setting her mending on her chair.
“I’ll check the cake,” she says as she leaves the room.
A splendid odor escapes from the oven and wafts into the parlor. Even Papa puts his paper down for a moment to savor it.
“Vanilla almond cake,” he says, then stares at me.
I shift my weight on the couch and cross my ankles. I don’t want to meet his gaze.
“This boy…” Papa begins.
“He’s not a boy,” I interrupt. “He’s thirty-two, a soldier returning from war.”
He ignores me. “This boy expects what from you, exactly? He has no family to go home to so he comes here?”
“I told you, Papa. His family lives in Scotland where his father is a Presbyterian minister. They’re English, actually, not Scottish.” As if that makes a difference. With no relations among people Papa knows and respects, Teddy sinks into unimportance. Religion doesn’t matter. Papa doesn’t attend his Unitarian church, and Mama leaves her Episcopalian religion within the walls of hers. We never discuss God at home. “The state of Utah gave him a medal for his service to the country.”
“Why Utah?” Papa asks.
“Teddy left Los Angeles with a friend, the son of the family he stayed with. They had an opportunity to acquire some land with oil on it.” I fidget, knowing in advance what he will say.
“Huh. That turned out well for him.” Papa chuckles.
“He used his army pay to buy three lots in the town of Berkeley. And he has a job already. He’s an electrical engineer at Mare Island in Vallejo.”
“Hmph.” Papa’s paper rises to hide his face again.
I know I should subside quietly, but I cannot. “Why can’t I meet him at the station, Papa? I told him I would.”
“Well, that was foolish of you, Eva. It’s not proper. If he wants to call on you, he should come all the way to the front door.” He doesn’t bother to lower his paper to respond.
My father is an honorable man, usually affectionate, always truthful. I think Teddy might be a similar sort. If I find that is true, I will marry him despite my father’s misgivings and the fact Teddy hasn’t asked.
Mama returns from the kitchen and resumes her mending. Silence stifles us once more. The clock ticks off the minutes. I have to trust it, but it seems an eternity since breakfast.
Discharged on the twenty-first of February, Teddy lives in a rented house in Berkeley right now but must find a place to live closer to his new job. I do worry about him living so near San Francisco, where the Spanish Flu rages. At least he didn’t return to Los Angeles, where the flu has virtually shut down the movie industry and killed so many. Even so, he will be moving farther away from me. I suppose we can continue to write letters.
The heavy silence inside amplifies outside sounds. Shouts reach me, and I rush to the window, dropping Suzanne to the floor. A car I don’t recognize drives away down the lane, pursued by twirling clouds of dust. Carl shakes hands with a stranger who must have gotten out of the car. My throat closes, and I swallow, rubbing my hands on my skirt. I want to run to the door, but I also want to run out back and hide among the almond trees.
Teddy wears crisply creased khaki pants, with shirtsleeves rolled to the elbows. He is shorter than I imagined, about five and a half feet tall. Brown hair sticks out from under his hat. Glasses hide his eyes. He is slender, which makes me self-conscious. He and Carl continue talking, and that worries me all the more.
The front door opens, and Carl leads him in. “Eva, Ed is here. He caught a ride in from the station.”
He grins but doesn’t make a smart remark. I am grateful. Teddy removes his hat. I am surprised that he is completely bald on top. Carl stifles a laugh, and I glare at him. Suzanne barks, then rushes to jump on the stranger, wagging her tail.
“Welcome to our home, Edward,” my mother says.
My father has risen from his chair and shakes Teddy’s hand. “Thank you for your service, young man.”
“You’re welcome, sir.” Teddy speaks with a wonderful Scottish brogue. I am delighted. “And you must be Eva.”
He turns to me, and I offer my hand to be shaken. Intelligent blue eyes regard me with affection. “So nice to meet you after all this time,” I murmur. I know everything about this man’s soul and have no idea how to begin conversation.
Mama expertly maneuvers us into the dining room and escapes to the kitchen. We settle around the table, Teddy next to me, and she returns with the vanilla almond cake and a pot of tea.
“Thank you, Mrs. VanValkenburgh,” Teddy says. “I haven’t had home cooking since I left Los Angeles.”
“What did you do in Los Angeles, Ed?” my father asks.
I sip my tea, which is too hot to drink, and try not to stare at Teddy. I also try not to catch Carl’s eye. He sits across the table from me, perfectly positioned to make faces or wink.
“I lived with the Irvine family, friends of my father’s. I picked oranges, paved streets, and after I got my license worked for Southern California Edison as an electrical engineer.” He laughs, revealing straight white teeth. “I had a beauty of a car, too. A 1914 Stutz Bearcat. Had to sell it when I went into the service.”
“Great car,” Carl says, eyes shining. If only Papa were so easy.
“This is wonderful cake, Mrs. VanValkenburgh. May I have another piece?” and with that, my mother is his.
“Eva tells me you have a job in Vallejo but are living in Berkeley.” My father makes it sound like the height of idiocy.
Teddy just laughs. “I start the job March 24, sir. That gives me two weeks to find new lodgings in the Vallejo area.”
Conversation becomes general then, centering on the East Bay and its communities. We speak briefly of Inverness, and longer of Castro Valley. My father speaks proudly of the land he owns that once belonged to the San Lorenzo rancho, property of Guillermo Castro, a Mexican soldier. I cannot see why he values a Mexican soldier’s history more than Teddy’s, but I know better than to comment.
By the time Teddy takes his leave, I have stopped dreaming of the white knight of his letters and fallen in love with the electrical engineer. He walks down the lane between the blooming almond trees, and I watch until I can no longer see him. At least my father could have offered to drive him to the train station.
Throughout the spring, Teddy visits often for Sunday dinner. Mama outdoes herself fixing a mammoth meal so that she can send leftovers home with him. The new job suits him well, and early in June Teddy arrives in a car.
“It’s a 1918 Model T,” my brother tells me, entranced.
“I wish I could have waited and gotten the new 1920 model. It will have an electric start. No more hand crank,” Teddy says.
“At least this one has the magneto-powered lights,” Carl says.
They engage in a conversation with words that put me to sleep: rear-wheel drive, planetary gear transmission, drop forged front axel. I laugh and tell them I will see them inside.
That night Teddy stays later than usual since he can drive straight home and not worry about catching a train. After dinner, we walk through the orchard holding hands and watch the sun set over the valley. We are surrounded by blossoms in the act of becoming almonds. I am truly happy.
“Carl tells me he plans to move to Santa Cruz when he graduates,” Teddy says.
I nod. “Yes. Mama isn’t pleased, but he wants to go into lumber like our grandfather. Of course, Grandpa died before Papa was born. Maybe Grandma Van’s tales of running the mill have inspired Carl.”
“Well, he’s got another year. Maybe he will decide to become a rancher before then. That will probably please your father more.”
“Probably.” I wonder if my father’s often obvious dislike bothers Teddy.
“Eva.”
His tone changes. With that one word we move from family pleasantries to something serious and private. I turn to face him.
“You are everything your letters promised,” he tells me.
He’s said this before. “As are you,” I respond, as I always do.
He drops to one knee, still holding my hand. With his free hand, he fumbles in his pocket. His fist encloses something small when he looks up at me, his blue eyes bright. “Eva, will you marry me?” He holds out a silver ring, a diamond sparkling as soon as the setting sun tickles it.
I have known it was coming, have hoped for it, so why am I surprised? Nonetheless, I gasp and giggle like some woman I am not. “I would be honored, Teddy.”
He kisses me for the first time, and my heart feels as it does in that moment before dusk when the sun lights the day with its most glorious rays.
Carl is ecstatic. Mama is thrilled. Papa is polite and congratulates us.
During the summer of our engagement I am transported to a new and wonderful world. I still care for the garden, play with Suzanne, and spend long hours reading and dreaming, but Mama redoubles her efforts to teach me to cook and care for a home. She has long ago given up on the delicate embroidery required of linens for my hope chest. I am so happy, nothing irritates me. I float on almond blossoms between Teddy’s visits.
In July, we walk in the orchard and discuss politics. We both oppose the country entering the League of Nations, although President Wilson supports it.
“My father admires Henry Cabot Lodge,” I tell Teddy, “and he is against the League.”
“Cabot Lodge has good family connections. Of course your father supports him,” Teddy says.
I listen for sarcasm or frustration in his tone, but do not find any. “I don’t suppose it’s the first time a president’s wishes oppose those of the American people.”
“Nor will it be the last,” he assures me.
“At least you and I don’t have to worry over such large issues.” I snuggle close to him as we walk. “When do I get to see your house?”
“I cannot take you there, Eva,” he reproves me. “It is most unseemly for us to be so alone together before the wedding.”
“Oh, Teddy, don’t be so stodgy!” But I cannot be angry with him when I am so content.
In August, he drives me to San Francisco for my birthday. We have dinner at the fabulous Cliff House, where I exclaim over the crashing waves and white seal rocks.
“Centuries of bird droppings have made those rocks white,” Teddy tells me.
“I prefer to believe it is a creation of God.” I laugh and take a bite of the best fresh crab I have ever tasted.
“It’s true God creates all manner of things. All manner of people, too. Do you believe in God, Eva?”
It’s a topic we haven’t really discussed, our own beliefs. I know his father ministers to a Scottish congregation. He knows my mother goes to church. “I think everyone should believe what they feel and not be coerced to believe what a certain doctrine dictates.”
“Many of the older religions have good theology,” he agrees. “I have not yet found one that suits me perfectly, though I believe man should treat others as he would be treated.”
“The Golden Rule. It’s a good one,” I tell him with a smile, “but it applies to women, too.”
“Of course it does!” he assures me.
In September, the coal strike in Indiana seems as sticky as the weather. I sympathize with the miners’ families, and Teddy for the men themselves.
“It is not right for the company to ban the United Mine Workers,” he fumes. “The union wants only to help the working men. Clearly the company doesn’t care.”
“They claim the miners are all radicals and Bolsheviks. Since when does wanting to eat regularly make you a Bolshevik? I feel sorry for the women and children who watch their men suffer in disgrace, and go hungry.”
“The women chose the life when they married miners. They knew it would be hard. The men are the victims here. They don’t get their pay or any respect. Hard for a man to live like that.”
“The women aren’t getting pay or respect either. Are you saying respect for the men is more important than respect for their wives?”
He looks confused. “Eva, no one who is starving puts women’s rights before bread.”
I subside, but his words trouble me. Later that night, I open the window of my bedroom to catch even a hint of cooling breeze and lay atop my bedding unable to sleep. In our letters, Teddy and I discussed all manner of things and usually agreed. It’s possible his convictions don’t run as deeply as mine in certain areas. I wonder if that will become a problem.
We marry in October. I am thirty by then, and Teddy thirty-two, turning thirty-three the day after Christmas. We are ancient for newlyweds, but still giddy with happiness. Mama’s Episcopalian minister performs the ceremony at home. Flowers from my garden cover the house: purple asters, pink roses, yellow chrysanthemums.
My family and friends surround us. Aunt Marion brought Grandma Van, s now ninety-two but determined to see me wed. Aunt Ellie and Uncle James Henry have come, but my cousin Hal is too busy with his family, and his sister Florence too deeply immersed in the San Francisco art scene to attend a barely-known cousin’s wedding.
My mother’s family is well-represented, too. Aunt Emily and Aunt Lil have come from San Francisco. Aunt Edith came, but Emily’s twin brother Ed is not. Uncle Paul, six years younger than me, has brought his girlfriend, Phyllis, who delights me. She holds Suzanne through the ceremony so the pup doesn’t get in the way.
Even Annie comes from Fruitvale with her husband. I was unable to attend their wedding three years ago, so he is a stranger who hangs back and tries to melt into the woodwork.
Teddy has no one. His parents are overseas, as are his two unmarried sisters. His only friends are in Los Angeles and out of touch, or from the army and scattered to their homes. I am giving him an entire family, not just me. I hope he knows what he is getting into.
After the vows, and the almond wedding cake, and the food and well-wishes, we drive off in Teddy’s black Model T. Mama and I have packed trunks with my things and sent them ahead to the small house in Napa that will be our first home. She will care for Suzanne until I send for her.
I am nervous. Mama would call it newlywed jitters, I suppose, but suddenly I feel I don’t know Teddy at all. I am driving away from my family to make a new life with him, but I don’t know what he eats for breakfast, or what brand of toothpaste he uses, or a thousand other things. I know what type of book he likes to read, and how liberal his politics are, but that seems like a thin basis for an entire life together.
We spend two blissful weeks honeymooning in Inverness, and he loves away my doubts. I see this beautiful wild peninsula as a tourist instead of one who lived here for years, and I enjoy sharing the sights of Tomales Bay with Teddy. All honeymoons must end, and Teddy becomes anxious to return to work. I am eager to begin our life together, so we pack up the car and leave Inverness behind.
Napa in October is all rolling hills of golden grassland dotted with groves of oak trees. Vineyards laden with grapes enhance the scenery. It is a beautiful place, like others I have called home. Teddy’s tiny house consists of just two bedrooms, a bathroom, a kitchen and living room. A small service porch contains a large metal tub with ugly serviceable faucets and an antiquated laundry contraption I shall never master. It is small, bare of furniture, and ugly, but it’s ours.
“Welcome home, my love,” Teddy tells me.
I bask in the warmth of those blue eyes and the soft brogue. I truly am home in heart and body.
Eva VanValkenburgh with Suzanne