Neither one knew how to start. Instead they spoke about the war.
“My mother wouldn’t come with me,” Jonas said pouring another drink. “I pleaded with her but she wouldn’t leave the farm. She said they’d survived before and would survive again. It will pass, she said. My brothers and sisters stayed, too. They’re probably dead. Or in prison. Or Siberia.”
Years later he would learn that his mother and sisters had been shipped to Siberia. His sisters would survive to return home but his mother would not. She would lay buried far away in unfriendly foreign soil. His brothers would perish in prison. Grunting at the imponderable, he knocked back his drink.
Then, like a farmer at market, Jonas got down to business.
“So. What about these children of ours? My daughter. Your son.”
Brunius, an old soldier, scratched his head.
“What do you think we should do?”
Their eyes met in the frank understanding of men talking only because their wives wished it. Two generals, their armies ranged up behind them, they had galloped out to the middle of the battlefield to see if hostilities could be averted. Brunius knew that he owed Juze loyalty. Jonas knew that Ona would make life hell if he came home without the doctor. Neither man knew how to prevent bloodshed.
“Let the youngsters figure it out for themselves,” Jonas said.
“Yes, let them take care of themselves,” Brunius said.
The men didn’t mind whom their children married, only wishing them to be happy. Having discussed the matter, satisfied they could report back to their wives with clear consciences, they spoke about their lost country. Will we ever see it again? their eyes said, meeting once again. Will we ever go back? And in the darkened kitchen, they drank the last pure burning shots.
Juze stood in the bedroom, examining Vytas’ striped brown and white shirt. Waving away Ona’s offer of Danguole’s services as a laundress, she had washed it herself by hand. Your daughter is not washing my son’s clothes, Juze had thought. And suddenly sensing the girl hovering in the doorway, watching from behind, she turned to see a private knowing smile.
“What are you smiling about?”
“You’ll find out soon enough.”
Juze felt a slight alarm.
“Where’s your mother?”
“Outside. She can’t help you. There’s nothing you can do. There’s nothing anybody can do now.” She leaned against the doorframe in languid contentment.
Dear God, Juze thought. The girl’s pregnant.
“If you’ve done what I think you’ve done,” she said, stepping forward and gripping the girl’s arm, “then God help you.”
“Don’t touch me,” Danguole said, lifting her arm free with exaggerated dignity. “You have to treat me with respect now.”
Juze’s heart plunged. How could this have happened? How could life turn out like this? This would never have happened in Lithuania. They would be shackled to this family for life. And pushing past Danguole, she stormed out in search of Ona.
She found her in the garden, tending cucumber plants. Bending over, lifting the hairy vines, she untangled them. The thick succulent stalks broke easily. She worked with the knowledge of centuries. And reaching in between the large serrated leaves, she rearranged the plants upon on their mound of earth.
“So your daughter is pregnant,” Juze said, hands on hips.
“Stupid girl,” Ona said, stepping back to survey her work. “She’s told you already.”
So, the plan had been to say nothing until they knew for sure, an advantage which the girl, in her impatience to triumph, had given away. An ugly hope flashed across Juze’s mind. Perhaps the girl would miscarry. She dismissed it with disgust. All life was good.
“She seduced my son. She trapped him.”
“Oh I don’t think so. From what she tells me, it was the other way around.”
“Are you saying my son seduced her?”
Ona did not reply.
“What kind of marriage will it be, starting out like that?”
“Better than mine,” Ona said.
There was a pause in hostilities.
“He doesn’t love her.”
“What of it? She’s not a bad girl. She cooks, cleans and sews. She keeps house. She will take care of him and the children. My daughter’s happiness for your son’s reputation. Not a bad bargain.”
Juze had a sudden glimpse of the woman’s life as it must have been at home, an existence confined to the farm yard. Within the daily drabness and toil, the marriage of a daughter would have been a shining star on the horizon. Maybe so, Juze thought, but they’ve trapped my son. They’ve trapped all of us. She shook off the unwelcome sympathy.
“She’ll clean his office, too,” Ona continued. “Of course, you would still be in charge. Danguole will listen to her mother and to her mother-in-law.”
Checkmate, Juze thought.
She squinted through the clear June day. Their new lives, towards which they had been travelling, hovered in the distance. The vision seemed to wait and watch. Then it turned. And gliding away, rising over a hilltop, it sank out of sight on the other side.
Wait, Juze wanted to call out. Don’t go. Don’t leave us here.
“I will make a nice quiet wedding,” Ona said. “Here. Among family. At home.”
“No. My son will not hide in shame.”
If it had to happen, it would happen in daylight. He may become your son-in-law, but he will never be yours. Never. I will make sure of that.
Ona shrugged her shoulders as if to say, Nice to have such money.
“We will have grandchildren, you and I,” she added after a pause.
The child, Juze thought. She had forgotten the child. The present could not be changed but the future was not decided.
“We will name the child. No farm names. Something pretty. Aušra. Dawn.”
Once again, Ona shrugged.
Ona plucked a curved cucumber, short, stubby and stout. Watching the farm woman running her thumb over its prickly bumps, Juze pondered the sour ironies of life. They had evaded dropping bombs. They had outwitted Russians and Germans. Falling for the oldest trick in the book, they had been bested by peasant cunning.
Chapter 5
Danguole stated that, not only would she have four bridesmaids, she wanted one hundred guests. Juze pointed out that few young women in their circumstances could afford a fancy dress for only one occasion. It’s my wedding, Danguole said, tossing her head. No, it’s not, Ona said. We are paying. In the end Danguole got two bridesmaids, fifty guests and no say.
The wedding took place on a Saturday at the unattractive hour of 9:00 a.m., the only time free in a city filled with exiles and a church calendar crowded with weddings, births and baptisms. Standing on the church steps in the cool September morning, the guests looked up at the clear blue sky. Everyone wanted everyone else to marry. Everyone wanted a home and children. Everyone longed for a happy return to normal life.
Every mother sitting in a church pew remarked on the good fortune of a farm girl catching a doctor. Pretending not to know the reason for the marriage, they watched the proceedings. Poor doctor, every mother thought, he could have done so much better with my girl. And lamenting the lost opportunity, eyeing every unmarried man in church, they turned their thoughts to the next likely prospect.