Cautiously Marie reached into the freezer and lifted the package out. It felt as hard as a rock. The contents must be frozen now. She stacked her load of cartons rather wobblingly on the edge of the freezer, and opened the package that said “Blueberries.”
There were blueberries in it.
She could see them plain as plain through the trans parent polyethylene wrapper. Blueberries! How on earth could they have got there?
One of the as yet unfrozen cartons of apricots, falling from the edge of the freezer with a thump, startled her. She dumped them hastily into the freezing compartment, shut the lid, and went back to the kitchen with her blueberries. She tore off the polyethylene wrapper and pried one of the blueberries from the frozen mass. After a little hesitation, she tasted it.
She’d had blueberries only once or twice before, but they’d had the same inky flavor as this one. They—Marie Bates hesitated no longer. She got out a mixing bowl, flour, salt, lard. She was going to make a pie.
Henry ate two pieces of the pie at supper. Marie watched anxiously, while he chomped stolidly away. At last she couldn’t wait any longer. “How’s the pie, Henry?” she asked, brushing at the crumbs on the tablecloth.
“Pie? Oh, O.K.” He ran his tongue around his teeth. He sucked heavily against his upper plate.
She wanted to cry out, “But it’s blueberry! You said—It’s blueberry!” She didn’t. Silently she picked up the dishes and went out to the kitchen with them. She wasn’t going to cry over it, no, she wasn’t. She was fierce with herself. Those blueberries hadn’t cost her anything.
About 8 o’clock that night Bertha, her sister-in-law, dropped in. Bertha wore size 44 dresses from Sears Roebuck, but she wasn’t very tall. Sometimes Marie liked her and sometimes she didn’t. Tonight Bertha was being nice.
“Heard you got the freezer at Fergus’ sale, Marie,” she said after they had exchanged greetings. “Can I see it?”
“Oh, sure.” Marie led her into the pantry and opened the freezer lid. She had a sudden stabbing fear, as it went up, that the freezer would be full of blueberries, but it wasn’t. Nothing but apricots.
“It’s a beauty,” Bertha said appreciatively. “Nicest one I’ve ever seen. Listen, though, aren’t you afraid to use it? Maybe Fergus kept some of his poison chemicals in it. I’d be nervous about it.”
“That’s silly,” Marie answered. “People in Ovid were always prejudiced against Fergus. I guess he wasn’t a very good inventor—I never heard of any of his inventions working or his making any money out of them—but he wouldn’t have kept poisons in a freezer. There wouldn’t have been any sense in it.”
“Um. Well, you be careful, Marie. Fergus did blow his whole house up and kill himself. That freezer was about the only thing that was left.—Are you going to the church supper tomorrow night.?”
“I don’t think so. I haven’t got anything to wear. I’m ashamed of my old blue rayon dress.”
“Um.” Bertha looked down at the linoleum. She moved one of her black kid oxfords as if she were embarrassed. “You know, Marie,” she said without looking up, “Henry—well, he’s funny in some ways. He doesn’t say much, does he? He didn’t, even when he was a kid. But he always liked pretty things. You know, Marie, I—I think Henry’d like it if you got a pretty new dress.”
Bertha said good night. It was bedtime. Marie, upstairs, began to undress in the bathroom. She combed her hair, slipped into her nightgown. She decided to leave off her facial velvet cream tonight. She hesitated, and then touched her lips lightly with Venetian Rose lip pomade. Her lips did get so dry.
Henry was already in bed. She slid in beside him. He turned off the light.
For a moment there was silence. Then he turned on the light again. “Forgot to take out my teeth,” he said in explanation. There was a sucking noise and then a click as he dropped his plates into the glass of water beside the bed. Once more he turned off the light.
Marie couldn’t get to sleep. She thought, “He doesn’t care about me, really. No matter what Bertha said.” And then in a flood of bitterness, at the final personal devaluation, “Men are supposed to be selfish. They’re supposed to think of just one thing. Henry—Henry never really wanted anything from me.”
What was the use of thinking about it? He was her husband; she couldn’t make him over. She’d better try to get some sleep. She sighed and moved her feet.
She rolled over. The position wasn’t comfortable. She thought about the freezer, the blueberries, her old dress, what Bertha had said. She could have got a new dress, only she’d spent all her money on the freezer. The mo re she thought, the wider awake she got. She wished Henry wouldn’t be so distant, she wished she had a pretty dress, she wished… Finally, a little before twelve, she got out of bed.
Very softly she went to her closet. In the dark she fumbled over the three or four clothes hangers it contained. When she got the hanger with the blue rayon dress—she recognized it by the cotton lace around the neck—she drew it gently off the hanger. With the dress under one arm, she slipped out of the bedroom and down the stairs.
When she got to the freezer she hesitated. What she had in mind seemed suddenly foolish. In the light of the single bulb hanging from the ceiling, the white sides of the freezer looked coldly disapproving and impersonal. The idea she had about the freezer couldn’t possibly be right. She felt so ashamed of her foolishness that she almost turned around and went back.
But… Well, it might be a silly idea, but there was nothing morally wrong about it. The worst that could happen would be that her dress might get a spot or two from the ice on the sides of the freezer. Suddenly resolute, she raised the lid and spread her old dress out full length on top of the packages of apricots.
She turned the light out and tiptoed back up to the bedroom. Henry was still snoring; she hadn’t bothered him at all. She slipped between the sheets cautiously. In ten minutes or so, she was asleep.
Marie didn’t get a chance to look inside the freezer next morning until after the breakfast dishes were done and Henry had gone out. While she dried the last plates and put the forks in the drawer she kept telling herself not to be silly, nothing would have happened to her old dress. The blueberries had been a—a coincidence, that was all. Miracles just don’t happen. She mustn’t be silly.
But when she went out to the freezer, she was so weak with excitement that she could hardly lift the lid.
There was a long pink box lying on top of the apricots. There was no name on the box.
With fingers that trembled uncontrollably, Marie opened it. Inside there were sheets of carefully folded tissue paper. And under the tissue, carefully folded around more tissue, was a printed black and pink and gray silk dress.
It was the prettiest dress Marie had ever seen. The silk was as delicate to the touch as a caress, the colors were soft and subtle and rich. The neck—a V neck—was a little low, maybe, but it was surrounded by rows and rows of elegant self-fabric faggoting. And yet it wasn’t too fancy a dress, or too elaborate, for her to wear.
For a moment Marie stood motionless, breathing deeply. Then she took the box in both arms and ran upstairs with it to the bedroom, where the mirror was. She was so excited that she did not even remember to close the freezer lid.
Oh, what a pretty dress! Her lips parted with pleasure as she looked in the glass. It fitted so nicely, the colors were so soft and becoming! She got up on a chair to look at the bottom part of it and even the hem line was just right. Marie thought, even when I was a young girl, I wasn’t much to look at. In this dress I look prettier than I ever did. And my real age. Why, I’m only thirty-three! That’s not old. And yet I’ve been feeling like an old woman. If Henry likes pretty things…
She decided to take a bath and wash her hair. Luckily she’d bought a bottle of shampoo from the Rawleigh man the last time he’d called. While she was waiting for the water to heat, she went out and fed the chic kens and collected the eggs.
She had always rather disliked poultry, they made such silly noises and had such fussy ways, but now she looked at them cheerfully. If it hadn’t been for her egg money, she’d never have been able to buy the wonderful freezer at Fergus’ sale.
She washed her hair and pushed a wave into the damp, fresh locks. ‘While it was drying, she planned her campaign. She’d have something or other for lunch—it didn’t much matter what—but for supper she’d get a really nice meal. Chicken and slaw and butterbeans and the rest of the blueberry pie. She’d wear her lovely new dress and fluff her hair out around her face so the gray didn’t show. She had powder and rouge, though she didn’t use them much, and even a bottle of Avon cologne. If Bertha had been right about Henry… Marie felt a sick, excited feeling in the pit of her stomach, half guilty, half agreeable. She had to keep swallowing over it.
