Leech Hoose, part eight

Leta was engaged to marry Mr. Leech Hoose. Although she did not have an engagement ring or other token, they agreed the previous night that as soon as her divorce from her estranged husband Ora Freeman was finalized, they would marry. They spent the night celebrating, and Leta returned early the next morning. Her children were 14 and 12, old enough to be left alone with the door securely locked.

She was surprised, however, to find that her daughter Vivian was awake and sipping coffee at their kitchen table when she arrived.

“Good morning, Mother,” the girl answered so simply that Leta could not ascertain if she was angry, worried or simply unable to sleep.

For a few moments, the two sat in silence, neither sharing.

“Well, I suppose since you’re awake, we should have some breakfast,” Leta finally said. “We could try that blueberry jam your Aunt Flo made. On toast. I could fry up that bacon, too, if you like.”

“I thought that the bacon was for lunch,” Vivian said.

The girl would not look at her, and this made Leta uncomfortable.

Her statement was true. Leta had acquired a few pieces of bacon for her family to enjoy as a special treat. They rarely had meat of any kind lately, and when she brought it home the previous morning, Leta told her children that they would eat it after church.

“I can change my mind, can’t I?’ Leta said pointedly. “I am the mother.”

“Yes, Ma, of course,” Vivian said finally, as she rose. “But I think I’m going to lie down a little bit longer, if that’s all right.”

Leta was startled by the girl’s coldness.

“You and Dale can have the bacon if you want,” Vivian continued as she walked toward the bedroom the two shared. “I’m not very hungry.”

For the first time, Leta felt as though she did not know her daughter at all. While Vivian never shared much of what she was thinking, she had never been so cold toward her mother. As she sipped her own cup of coffee, Leta felt both disconcerted and angry. Was Vivian judging her? Didn’t the girl understand how hard it was to live the way they were living? That she worried continuously about providing for both of her children? That she was not sure how she was going to pay their bills from month-to-month? That the only pleasure she had in her life right now were her conversations with Mr. Hoose? That before too long she and Leech would be married and all of their problems would be solved?

The divorce between Leta and Ora Freeman was finalized on February 23, 1929, and she married Leech Hoose at the county courthouse one week later, on March 2. It was a Saturday, because Leech would not take off work for the occasion. Leta left the children with her brother Aaron and sister-in-law Florence for the weekend. She wore a new dress, purchased with the last of the money she received from Ora, which was even less than the small amount she anticipated, and nowhere near as much as she needed.

But her financial woes, she believed, were over. She had met and married a man with a good job, with whom she enjoyed making conversation, and with whom she wanted to make a home. She felt tremendous relief at a change in her life situation from the very moment they signed the marriage papers.

She was now Mrs. Leech Hoose. She and her children would move from their garret into a house with a full kitchen, with bedrooms for everyone, with a yard where she could grow some vegetables and Dale could play. They would eat full meals and be warm during the cold winters.

And every night she would share a bed with her life companion.

On Monday morning, she made Leech breakfast. This was not the first time she made him breakfast, but it was the first time she did it in their kitchen. It was a cold morning, but the warmth of the kitchen combined with the warmth of the new marriage repelled the chill.

“The children will be with us for supper,” Leta commented. “Is there something special you would like to eat?”

“Chicken,” Leech said.

“What would you like to go with it?” she asked.

“Potatoes,” he answered.

“I thought I would make a pie, too. Would you like pie?”

“Fine.”

“What kind? Apple? Cherry? Custard? Pumpkin?”

“Yeah,” he said so chokingly Leta wasn’t sure she understood him.

Then he put the morning newspaper between them, ending the conversation.

To be continued.