The newsreel ended and the main feature began.
Border Vigilantesturned out to be a Hopalong Cassidy movie, and the boys’ reaction made it well worth the six bits Will had laid out. He himself enjoyed the show, and Eleanor’s elation returned. But the boys-oh, those two little boys. What a sight they made with their entranced faces lifted to the silver screen while the masked rider fought for law and justice on his white steed, Topper. Donald Wade’s mouth hung open when Topper galloped into view for the first time and reared up majestically, his silver-haired rider flourishing a black hat like Will’s own. Baby Thomas pointed and stared with owl-eyes, his mouth forming a tight O. Then he squealed and clapped and had to be shushed. Eleanor’s expression shifted from one of rapt wonder to childlike delight as the scenes rolled on.
Hopalong got the lady in the end, and when he kissed her Will glanced over at his new wife. As if she felt his survey, she turned again. Their profiles, illuminated by fluttering light, appeared as half-moons in the dark theater while their own first kiss came back afresh, and they were reminded of the night ahead. In that brief moment feelings of anxiety somersaulted through them. Then the finale music swelled, Hopalong rode off into the sunset and the boys set up an exciting babbling.
"Is it all done? Where did Hopalong go? Can we come again, Will, can we, huh?"
In the car there was no talk between Will and Eleanor as there’d been that morning. Baby Thomas slept curled on her lap. Donald Wade-wearing Will’s hat-pressed himself against Will’s shoulder and exuberated over the wonders of Hopalong and Topper. Though Will answered, his thoughts projected to the night ahead. Bedtime. He cast occasional covert glances at Eleanor but she stared straight ahead and he wondered if she was thinking about the same thing as he.
At home, Will tended the evening chores automatically, his mind on the bedroom he’d never seen, their first kiss today, how guarded they’d been with each other, the night ahead, a real bed and a woman to share it. But a pregnant woman, pregnant enough to eliminate the possibilities of any conjugal commerce. He wondered what a woman as pregnant as Elly looked like naked and his body felt taut with a combination of chagrin at the thought of possibly seeing her that way, and the idea of lying beside her all night long without touching her.
Had he imagined a wedding day, ever, it wouldn’t have been like this-himself in blue jeans, the bride seven months pregnant, a dime-store ring, five minutes in a judge’s chamber and a Hopalong Cassidy movie with two rambunctious boys. But the unlikely events of the day weren’t over yet.
Supper-due to their late return-was scarcely a wedding feast. Scrambled eggs, green beans and side pork. Donald Wade bawled when Eleanor refused to let him wear Will’s hat at the table. Baby Thomas spit out his green beans on Eleanor’s yellow dress, and when she scolded him he swatted his tumbler of milk across the room. Eleanor, her skirt soaked, leaped up and slapped his hand. Thomas howled like a fire siren while Will sat by helplessly, realizing that family life had some surprises in store for him. Eleanor went off to fetch a basin and a rag, leaving him to ponder the probability that if this wedding day seemed a letdown to an unsentimental fool like him, it must seem a sore disappointment to her. She returned to the fiasco at the table but he wouldn’t let her get down on her hands and knees in her pretty yellow dress, especially when she had to struggle these days to get up and down.
"Here, I’ll do that." He took the pail from her hand, trying to imagine what it must be like to carry a bride across the threshold of a honeymoon suite on the twentieth floor of the Ritz Hotel. He wished he could do that for her. Instead he could only offer, "You go take care of your dress."
She lifted her face and he saw in her green eyes the same misgivings he had, the same strain, intensified by the boys’ uncharacteristic naughtiness on this night when it was the last thing they needed. He was touched more deeply by the fact that she was near tears.
"Thank you, Will."
"Go." He turned her toward the bedroom and gave her a gentle shove.
Funny how one bit of cooperation led to another. A half hour later he found himself beside her, drying dishes, and a half hour after that, helping her get the boys ready for bed.
The pair had had a tiring day and they surrendered to their pillows with remarkable docility. While she tucked them in he wandered the room collecting their discarded clothes, small items that smelled of spilled milk and first trips to town, popcorn and broomstick cowboys. From beside a scarred chest of drawers Will watched Eleanor kiss them goodnight, smiling at the scene. Two pajama-clad boys with faces scrubbed shiny being reassured by their mother that they were loved in spite of their recent misbehavior. She had changed into a worn smock of faded brown that bellied out as she leaned over Donald Wade, kissed his mouth, his cheek; touched his nose with her own and murmured something for his ears only. And next, Baby Thomas, over the side of the crib, kissing him, toppling him into a tired heap, then brushing his hair back while he clasped a favorite blanket and stuck a thumb in his mouth.
Resting an elbow on the dresser top, Will smiled softly. Again came the yearning for things missed, but watching was almost as good as taking part. In those moments, his love for Eleanor swelled, became something more than the love of a husband for a wife. She became the mother he’d never known, the boys became himself-safe, secure, cared for.
With a pang of awe he realized he would be part of this tableau every night. He could wash freckled faces, stuff arms into pajama sleeves, collect dirty clothes and hover over their affectionate goodnights. Vicariously he might recapture a portion of what he’d missed.
The ritual ended. Eleanor lifted the side of the crib and waggled two fingers at Donald Wade. Abruptly he sat up and demanded, "I wanna kiss Will goodnight."
Will’s elbow came off the dresser and his face registered surprise. Eleanor turned and met his gaze across the lamplit room.
She noted his hesitation but saw beyond it to the stronger tug of anticipation. "Donald Wade wants to kiss you," she reiterated.
"Me?" He felt like an interloper though his chest tightened expectantly. Donald Wade lifted his arms. Will glanced again at Eleanor, chuckled, scratched his chin and crossed the room, feeling awkward and out of place. He sat on the edge of the bed and the boy’s arms clasped his neck without restraint. The small mouth-moist and smelling faintly of milk-pressed Will’s briefly. It was so unexpected, so… so… genuine. He’d never kissed a child goodnight before, had never guessed how it got to your insides and warmed you from there, out.
"Night, Will."
"Night, kemo sabe."
"I’m Hopalong."
Will laughed. "Oh, my mistake. I shoulda checked to see which horse was tied at the hitchin’ rail outside."
When Will rose from Donald Wade’s bed, Baby Thomas was no longer lying down. He was standing at the rail of his crib with his mouth plump and his eyes unblinking, watching. Baby Thomas… who’d taken longer to warm to Will. Baby Thomas… who still intimidated the grown man at times. Baby Thomas… who imitated everything his older brother did. His kiss was hugless, but his tiny mouth warm and moist when Will bent to touch it.
Lord a-mighty, he’d never have guessed how a pair of goodnight kisses could make a man feel. Wanted. Loved.
"’Night, Thomas."
Thomas stared at him with big hazel eyes.
"Say goodnight to Will," his mother prompted softly.
"G’night, Wiw."
Never before had Thomas spoken Will’s name. The distorted pronunciation went straight to the thin man’s heart as he watched Eleanor settle him down a second time before joining Will in the doorway.