Chapter 31 Domestic Felicity
Perfect domestic bliss is unachievable for even the happiest of couples, however, Roger held on to small bits of potential hope as he entered the married state and Belle went headlong into it, expecting happiness. Both were surprised at how things proceeded, for life always has a way of surprising a person, for good or for bad.
They started rather well, certainly.
Roger came home that first week and couldn't help but feel as if he were walking in on a dream of some sort. He would open the door and the house that had been small yet empty before, now felt somehow less small and at the same time, cozy. There were smells and sounds and life inside that invited him in, and the moment he had closed the door behind him he would hear sounds-the sound of humming or of plates clanking, or cabinets closing and hear an almost squeal before getting an armful of smiling, bouncing Belle.
She was quiet in the mornings. Her hair all tied up in a dark headscarf that kept her curls from becoming too flat. Belle had told him that she always was too lazy for rollers or rags to make her curls tighter. 'I am content to work with the curls God gave me, to try to pin them the best I can and then use the rest of the time I would have used in catering to my hair to do something much more important.'
'Like reading' He smiled teasingly in answer, not caring what she did with her hair, of course, and rather intrigued that it seemed so effortless for her.
She bit her lip and nodded. 'Exactly.' She had said. 'Like reading.'
So their mornings were pleasant, albeit quiet. He had learned to drink coffee (she had mentioned that she liked the bitter stuff, so he had gone out and bought her the means to make it the following day) and he, who had managed to go well over a year in the military and not drink it, could be influenced so greatly by his wife-though it was well worth it. Bitter coffee (she had told him it was better with a good deal of the rare commodity of sugar and then also cream-consequently exactly how she took her tea as well, but both seemed like things he would rather not do) and hot toast, and he felt like a king in the mornings as his wife sent him off to work with a smile and a kiss to go. He left the quiet house in time to drive to the other side of Portland, and during the time he was gone, apparently all of Belle's energy grew until it was full to bursting once he got home once more.
She would be all aglow with wanting to share what she had accomplished that day.
She had twirled on one particular day, gesturing around the living room, fluttering her eyelashes in hope. 'Notice anything different?'
'Would be easier if you weren't so distracting, Sweetheart.' He had chuckled. 'But I think I might see some curtains made out of the material we bought Monday?'
She had clapped her hands, almost like a child (though he would never make that comparison out loud). 'And….?' Now she was biting her lip again and wringing those same hands nervously.
'They're lovely.' He finally smiled. 'Much better than the concoction of colors that was there before-quite like the blue.'
'Come.' She had taken his free hand, conscious of how slow he was in comparison to her, and led him to the kitchen, where the same gauzy curtains were fluttering in the open window. It had been a rather warm day for September, but the cool breezes, mixed with whatever was coming from the stove, felt exactly what he always imagined home might be like and so much more.
Belle was once again queen of her domain. Princess, Roger had insisted with a shy smile when she had said something of the sort. She felt like one too. She had to be careful about mentioning things she liked or used to enjoy for it seemed to be the prompt for Roger to either surprise her with said thing after he came home from work, or he would whisk her away after dinner and have her choose it herself. She had said something about the curtains and they had purchased fabric for those and an apron, and would she like to pick something out for fun? Dress, skirt? She had teasingly scolded that they would have no money if he always bought her things, but he shrugged and asked her what she thought of the soft yellow.
She had mentioned that the couch might look a little better with a throw of some sort, and the next day he came home with several large balls of yarn and knitting needles and taught her how to knit. She had been embarrassed over her lack of skills, but she had explained that by the time she was to take home ec., there was a war on, and rubber collections seemed much more important than quilts or knitting. He didn't seem to mind, in fact, if she could guess, and she was getting better at that, he seemed to be quite pleased that he was the one to show her. He very quietly and gently showed her where she had dropped stitches or made one bigger or smaller than another, until he kissed her for her good efforts and made them some tea while she made the stitches more uniform. It would take some time and a few yanked out stitches to begin some rows over, but there was a finished square completed then another, and then another, until there were enough to sew together before Christmas.
Being the queen (or princess, rather) she was in charge of her own schedule and loved dividing up her day into little chunks to better pass the time before Roger would come home in the evenings. At first there was much to do to brighten the little space. One of her first changes once she had put up the new curtains consisted of setting the beautiful tea set on the counter as a display, the blue of the curtains and the blue on porcelain complimenting each other so well. Roger quite liked that she loved it enough to display and had set about wanting to find other treasures to fill their home (though all fitting in their budget, they would remind each other). Roger would spread out the ads in the morning and they would quietly look over it for anything of interest. Roger would circle an upcoming sale and they would spend free weekends searching for treasures, Roger would then take the inexpensive things they found and bring new life into them. This was something she hadn't fully realized about her husband-that he was quite handy, and she found something very-home-like about him working on such things.
A month after their marriage, Roger had spread out a few tools, polish, and rags, and was working on a wall clock from the turn of the century. They had both liked it because of the ornamental touches in the dark wood, though it no longer worked and was dusty and hadn't been used in decades. He had helped her clean up after supper and spread everything out while she began washing the supper dishes. With it being just the two of them (quite different from the mountain of dishes at Morris' house!) she was done in a few minutes and turned to see Roger's focused gaze on the gears before him. He pulled things out and put things back in with such a knowledgeable air-an air that she had seen before-before and her eyes filled with tears at the image. Before she realized it, she had sniffled and Roger's head shot up to take her in. In a moment his face was full of worry and he began trying to rise out of the chair, though Belle realized what he was doing and went to meet him before he had to go to so much trouble.
'What's wrong Belle?' He had taken her hand and brought her close to him.
'W-watching you, it reminded me of Papa.' She tried to smile through her tears, showing him she was really alright. His face softened, visibly relieved, though still clasping onto her hands. 'I wish he would have gotten to meet you, he would have liked you.'
Roger had felt her need to talk about him, and he abandoned his work for a good while while she cried on his shoulders.
…
Roger realized then that Belle most likely was never able to properly mourn after the death of her father and he was incensed once again on her behalf against the person she called brother. After she had a good cry she seemed to get great amusement in watching him work. She had made their tea that time and brought a more informational book (a book they had borrowed from the Portland Public Library, a place they visited on their errand day-a large collection of Burns poems may have been the first borrowed book, and one that she had asked to him to read aloud every day for the entire week) to look through so that she would feel less engrossed, and therefore, he found himself being watched from time to time with a smile that seemed both happy and sad at the same time.
'Did your father work very much at the kitchen table?'
'Mmm, yes, really any clear surface he could find was transformed into a work area.' She had smiled thoughtfully, her mind taken to another time. The book was set down and she began telling him tales of her father and his many inventions-both successful and not.
'I have one of his patent books, would you-would you like to see it?' She bit her lip.
'Aye, I would, very much.' He said this genuinely, cleaning up after his tinkering.
Belle came into the living room a few moments later, cradling the book to her chest, as if she was pulling a bit of her father closer to her. He had made his way to the couch by this time and she nestled beside him, and they began to look through the many gadgets her father had invented.
'That looks familiar.' Roger commented on one particular kitchen gadget.
'Yes, this was mass produced by Morris. Papa invented it for mama, you know-he invented many of his best things that way, for the people he loved.' She wiped away a stray tear and he squeezed her tighter to himself in comfort.
'I remember you saying that your brother insisted on his name as being part of the invention.'
'Yes?' Her forehead wrinkled curiously.
'Did he do that with your father's patents too?'
'Yes, there was another notebook where the better inventions went to be patented.' She nodded her head and bit her lip, seeing where the conversation was going.
'But this was done by your father, and not Morris, the evidence of it sitting right before us.'
'Mmm, you're sounding a bit like a lawyer now.' She giggled, trying to lighten the conversation a bit. He knew the mention of her brother made her uncomfortable, but his wonder at what he saw in front of him had distracted him from such thoughts for a moment.
'Aye, perhaps.' The slight tremble he felt beside him had him stopping for now, though his curiosity was now raised. He now had a strong itch to raid the small section on intellectual property at the university.
He was spending long hours there, the university, and thankfully the owner of the law firm had allowed him to come when he had finished and work the rest of the day there, as well as the full Friday he didn't have classes. He had taken his cut in the amount he had made in stride, his wee Belle scowling at any trinket he had wanted to buy her, only allowing the most practical of gifts and they had gotten through the first month or two rather well, all told. He always wished he could do more for her, but she seemed happy, and he wasn't one to argue. He was happy, that was a novel thing.
Smiling, he went to his door, ready to smell the warm smells, and to hear all the little sounds that meant that his Belle was presiding over her little kingdom, their home. Instead he got a whimper when he shut the door behind him.
'Roger' Belle whispered as she came out of the shadowed corner of the living room to his surprise. He had not seen her there, the lights surprisingly sparse in that room, something quite the opposite of how they normally were when he came home.
She walked slowly towards him and his heart quickened, and he began to panic. Her eyes were swollen and red, her fingers trembled. What had happened? He looked about him for signs of a break in, evidence that someone had perhaps been in their home, something. This was done in a moment, for the next he was trying to hold onto Belle, trying to see if he could find what was wrong with her person. .
'Belle! What is the matter? What is it?' He pleaded. He pulled her in, but she pulled out of his embrace, his heart hurting further from the action, so foreign was it to him. She had never pulled away-it was something he always felt surprised by, but was thankful for it all the same. Something was horribly wrong.
She was shaking her head at him. 'Oh Roger, when you know what I've done.' Her whole body visibly trembled, she went to wipe away the tears that were steadily falling and he noticed the cut across her hand.
'Belle! You're hurt!'
'Oh it's nothing.' She sniffled, he could only try to take it and try to look for what had caused it, which seemed to distress her further. 'It's nothing when you see what I've done.'
'What happened Belle!' He said rather too loudly and watched as she jumped at the noise. Hating himself, he allowed her to lead him to the kitchen where on the counter sat a small mountain of delicate china, broken to pieces, with one solitary cup standing alone beside it.
'I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.' She buried her head in her hands. 'I had only planned to move the tray of tea things over to the kitchen table to give the counter a good cleaning.' She said between sobs, he was in almost bewilderment as he heard the tale unfold.
…
Belle couldn't look him in the eyes. She had not stopped shaking since tripping and breaking his beautiful Victorian China. Instantly the memories of Morris' booming voice and insistence that she choose some sort of punishment came involuntarily to her mind, causing her to shake even worse. Roger was not Morris, but this was a beautiful, rare, valuable thing that she had so foolishly, so childishly broke. She would deserve it if he did decide to shout at her, but even worse, she trembled at the thought of seeing him being so thoroughly disappointed in her.
'I tripped.' She tried to say. 'I'm so sorry Roger.' she was finding it hard to breathe. 'Only one of the cups survived and even it's chipped.'
Suddenly she was enveloped in warmth. Her subconscious would later think about how he must have leaned against the counter so he could balance on his prosthetic and take her with both arms, his cane later found discarded on the hard floor.
'Shhhh, hey, it's 'lright Sweetheart, you hear me.' She shook her head as her sobs seemed to pick up even more steam. He couldn't mean that. He should be angry and hurt.
'Look at me.' His voice was both firm and yet soft. He lifted her head, cradling her chin with his fingers, waiting until she hesitantly met his eyes.
'Those things are just that-things. It's just a cup and a tea pot and a couple of saucers.'
Her eyes scanned him for falsehood, though she knew, her Roger was not one for saying things he didn't mean.
'I'm much more concerned over this.' and he took her hand and planted a gentle kiss on her cut.
'Oh Roger, you're much too good to me.' Her trembling began to subside but apparently her sobbing had not, and he had to assure her a few times as they cleaned up that he truly meant what he had said.
The chipped cup had somehow ended up back in the cabinet she had kept it because it was a reminder of the beautiful set that he had bought for them, a reminder of their wedding day. He told her later that he hoped she would keep it because he thought the chip gave it some character.
…
The last item of great significance that entered its way into the couple's first months of domestic felicity happened a little before Christmas time and did not end until the middle of January. Newspapers and radios broadcasted the horror that was coined The Battle of the Bulge. It was a surprise attack and brutal in it's execution. While the allies eventually won, it came at such a loss and with such horrid details coming back to the home front, it had made Roger on edge, tense, jumping at the least provocation. Belle set a bowl down on the table, he would jump, if a person at school would shut a door hard, he would jump, and if he heard a car backfire, he would have to grip onto whatever he could find to keep himself upright, and would need at least a good ten minutes before he was able to get his breathing back under control. Hearing what the soldiers were going through had made their way into both his waking and unfortunately, in his sleeping moments.
This time he was somehow in Germany, a country he had never been. It looked an awful lot like Italy. Jeffries was somewhere, laughing and putting out his cigarette. Cassidy was there, of course, he always was, and they were leaning against a building, the men chatting and smiling, and their surroundings seemingly peaceful.
Thunder rumbled in the distance, but then it came closer, and then closer still, until he realized that it was not thunder, but German bombs. Everyone around him was running around in frantic panic, Cassidy's face was white, pure terror written on his young face. As for Roger, he was frozen in place, he could not move even though his mind was screaming at his body to help. He shouted, he tried to will himself to do something. No matter how much he shouted, he could not move, he could not do anything, but as he saw everything crumbling around him, he also began to feel a wind about him. On the wind was a gentle voice.
'It's alright, It's alright. You're safe, Roger.'
What? He tried to grab at his friends, somehow get them to the safety he seemed to be trapped in, bombs going off around him but not seeming to touch him.
'Roger, it's alright, Roger. You're safe, nothing to harm you here. Shhhh, Roger.'
The darkness closed in on him, yet he found he didn't mind so much, he felt useless to fight it. All the sudden he felt someone putting fingers through his hair, the shushing sound getting louder, the voice having a familiar ring to it.
Belle. He had to get to Belle. Was his sudden thought.
His eyes fluttered open and he took in the face of his wife. A lamp had been turned on, and he realized that his head was laying in her lap. She couldn't be comfortable, yet she laced her fingers through his hair and soothingly spoke, assuring him that he was alright and he was safe.
'Belle?' He whispered, reality hitting him.
'Hey.' She whispered back. Her smile made a wave of mortification engulf him. He was drenched in sweat, his place on her lap and the strewn covers had him realizing that he had been moving about. He had an episode. He closed his eyes, feeling the bitter tears of embarrassment come.
'I-I didn't hurt you, did I, Belle?' That was his first worry. He vaguely remembered trying to reach out to Jeffries and Cassidy and wondered if he might have lashed out somehow.
'Oh no, you were restless, but you didn't do anything to me, Roger.'
'Belle, I-I'm sorry. I-you shouldn't have had to see me like that. I'm- I'm broken.' He sobbed out. Belle only held on to him tighter.
She seemed lost in thought for a moment. 'I think I might be too.' Her voice was so small. His heart clenched and for a moment he couldn't remember his own pain.
'No, no!'
'Yes, I am, and you've helped me so much, you know.' She traced his cheeks with her gentle fingers. 'Now may I help you?' He swallowed another sob and nodded.
Author's Note:
History Stuff: The Battle of the Bulge began in December 16, 1944 and ended in January 25, 1945. It was a surprise attack from the Germans and hit the Americans the very hardest, with massive amounts of casualties. It was 'the beginning of the end' for Germany though they would not surrender until September 1945. I looked up information on how people with curly hair took care of their hair during the 1940s and tried to make this as accurate as possible. The information was not as available as those who used curlers or who did rag curls. The Portland Library was in the Baxter Building and it looks like a gingerbread house-so cute! There were libraries who later went to Roger's and Belle's area of Portland, but not for a couple of decades. There may be more that I'm missing (you can let me know if you have any questions), but my computer shut down on me and was not working properly, so I had to get rid of all the tabs I had saved for my end notes. Story Stuff: I only lightly mentioned school here, and I feel like I didn't do the best job at capturing him doing both work and school at the same time, however, I wanted all the focus to be on the domestic stuff (we also don't have letters from friends, Dove, neighbors, etc that I am also wanting to put into future chapters), so that is what I did here-apologies if it felt less realistic because of it. The broken tea set is a nod to not only Belle's 'chipped cup', but also to the time that I accidentally broke something valuable that my then fiance had given me. After my life with my uncle, I remember shaking, spending hours in horror and dread over what kind of reaction my fiance would have to me breaking something he had spent so much money on. And like Belle, worried more for somehow disappointing him, because my uncle always reminded me on how much of a disappointment I was to everyone. Of course, my fiance was great-totally chill about the whole thing, told me he was more worried about me :) Even though we were already engaged, I never felt more certain in my life that he was 'the one'! I forgot to add this to the last chapter, but their little house was not only chosen because I could get pictures of the inside, but the outside-it was peachy pink! that was the sign it was the right house to use, lol The nightmare is also based on a scene from 'The Best Years of our Lives' the movie I mentioned before. Almost all of these scenes (broken tea set, patent book, and nightmare) were all scenes I've had in my head from *almost* the very beginning and it was such a blast to write. It took forever to get this updated because of holidays and family get togethers, however, the actual writing of it came easy, thankfully! The plot shall be moving at a much faster pace for the next few chapters. I am hoping to get this story finished by maybe 35 chapters? We shall see. Thank you so much for reading! I love hearing what you think!
