signed off on her lobotomy. Sometimes Hilda suspects that her mother actually faked her craziness just to get away from him.
Like her mama, Hilda always has a lit cigarette nearby, its smoke ascending now from the crystal ashtray on the vanity. It rises, then curls before dissipating into the thick air like the minutes that ticked by as she counted down the long-awaited exit out of the sad, dark home of her childhood.
She canât help but wonder if Little Hilda prays the same way she once didâ God, get me out of this nut house and get me on with my life. Thatâs exactly how Hilda felt when she married Angus. Their union was her freedom. Her ticket out of hell.
~ SEPTEMBER 6, 1969 ~
Hilda tried to sprint down the aisle to the kind and handsome medical student beaming at the other end. Her high school sweetheart. But every time she lurched forward toward the altar, her father pulled her back.
âTake your time,â he murmured; then he tilted his head toward one of the mill executives who was seated on the brideâs side of the church and nodded. A whole group of the executives had flown down from New York for the wedding, and they had presented Hilda with the most extravagant gifts: a hand-cut crystal ice bucket from Austria, five place settings of her finest china, and four square sterling silver candelabras from Tiffanyâs that weighed more than the dumbbells Angus used to lift in the weight room of the high school gymnasium.
Angus was grinning from ear to ear that day as Hildaâs father placed her hand in his, and when he felt the soft touch of her white gloved fingers, tears literally rolled down his full, flushed cheeks. She knew he was full of hope about their life together, so sure it would be as idyllic as his own parentsâ marriage.
Hildaâs father cleared his throat as if to say, âPull yourself together, boy,â and she even squeezed her intendedâs hand and lifted her chin high behind her veil like a bothered nanny to let him know heâd need to collect himself to get through the vows.
Hilda guesses that describes her marriage in a nutshellâAngus gushing with emotion and her striking a stiff posture behind a veil. As she stares back at the reflection of her daughter standing behind her, she thinks of the time Angus saw an adolescent alligator skulking through their backyard and he called Cousin Willy. Those two went outside and wrestled it down and hung it on the tree until Marvinâs Meats came by to pick it up for processing. It was one of the biggest fights sheâd ever had with him, needling him about why they had to hang the creature in their yard instead of Ray and Willyâs.
âFor one thing, it came onto our property, Hilda,â he said. âAnd for another, we only have one child to keep away from it, and they have three .â Laura had run away for the first time by then, and Ray was looking after Justin too.
Thing is, Angus wanted more children, and he couldnât understand why Hilda didnât. It was the first real wedge between them.
âI want a family,â he said many a night, cuddling up to her, stroking the back of her head. âI want brothers and sisters for Little Hilda. I want to fill up every bedroom in this big old house, and I want to wake up to the sound of several pairs of bare feet on the staircase. Donât you?â
It was all too easy to roll away from him and curl up into herself beneath the sheets like she did when she was a child. He would fall back on his pillow and sigh, but the next day he would greet her sweetly with a kiss in the kitchen and a pat on her satin shrouded elbow, and they would sit at the breakfast table admiring their daughter as his spoon knocked around the edges of the coffee mug so that the sugar dissolved in the blackness.
Looking back, Hilda sees that she was pretty good at giving him the cold shoulder. At shutting down whenever he reached out with the
Like her mama, Hilda always has a lit cigarette nearby, its smoke ascending now from the crystal ashtray on the vanity. It rises, then curls before dissipating into the thick air like the minutes that ticked by as she counted down the long-awaited exit out of the sad, dark home of her childhood.
She canât help but wonder if Little Hilda prays the same way she once didâ God, get me out of this nut house and get me on with my life. Thatâs exactly how Hilda felt when she married Angus. Their union was her freedom. Her ticket out of hell.
~ SEPTEMBER 6, 1969 ~
Hilda tried to sprint down the aisle to the kind and handsome medical student beaming at the other end. Her high school sweetheart. But every time she lurched forward toward the altar, her father pulled her back.
âTake your time,â he murmured; then he tilted his head toward one of the mill executives who was seated on the brideâs side of the church and nodded. A whole group of the executives had flown down from New York for the wedding, and they had presented Hilda with the most extravagant gifts: a hand-cut crystal ice bucket from Austria, five place settings of her finest china, and four square sterling silver candelabras from Tiffanyâs that weighed more than the dumbbells Angus used to lift in the weight room of the high school gymnasium.
Angus was grinning from ear to ear that day as Hildaâs father placed her hand in his, and when he felt the soft touch of her white gloved fingers, tears literally rolled down his full, flushed cheeks. She knew he was full of hope about their life together, so sure it would be as idyllic as his own parentsâ marriage.
Hildaâs father cleared his throat as if to say, âPull yourself together, boy,â and she even squeezed her intendedâs hand and lifted her chin high behind her veil like a bothered nanny to let him know heâd need to collect himself to get through the vows.
Hilda guesses that describes her marriage in a nutshellâAngus gushing with emotion and her striking a stiff posture behind a veil. As she stares back at the reflection of her daughter standing behind her, she thinks of the time Angus saw an adolescent alligator skulking through their backyard and he called Cousin Willy. Those two went outside and wrestled it down and hung it on the tree until Marvinâs Meats came by to pick it up for processing. It was one of the biggest fights sheâd ever had with him, needling him about why they had to hang the creature in their yard instead of Ray and Willyâs.
âFor one thing, it came onto our property, Hilda,â he said. âAnd for another, we only have one child to keep away from it, and they have three .â Laura had run away for the first time by then, and Ray was looking after Justin too.
Thing is, Angus wanted more children, and he couldnât understand why Hilda didnât. It was the first real wedge between them.
âI want a family,â he said many a night, cuddling up to her, stroking the back of her head. âI want brothers and sisters for Little Hilda. I want to fill up every bedroom in this big old house, and I want to wake up to the sound of several pairs of bare feet on the staircase. Donât you?â
It was all too easy to roll away from him and curl up into herself beneath the sheets like she did when she was a child. He would fall back on his pillow and sigh, but the next day he would greet her sweetly with a kiss in the kitchen and a pat on her satin shrouded elbow, and they would sit at the breakfast table admiring their daughter as his spoon knocked around the edges of the coffee mug so that the sugar dissolved in the blackness.
Looking back, Hilda sees that she was pretty good at giving him the cold shoulder. At shutting down whenever he reached out with the
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