Imaginary Worlds

    Nelda DeFrow had been ailing for several days. Dr. Bradley had been encouraging, but recommended that she remain in bed for a time and rest. Being an active person, she had not felt this as necessary, she was not that ill. But Edward DuFrow had though otherwise, doctors' orders were to be obeyed, so Nelda remained in bed. That evening in Philips' home, their mother's illness was spoken of, and Phil turned to Maggie.

      "Perhaps you would go over and help Betsey, since you are in the nursing business."
      "I think not. Betsey will do just fine. Besides, old Mrs. Rodgers needs me more than your mother does."
    "Well, I'm going over in a few minutes, would you like to go with me?"
    "No, I'm tire."
Eagerly, Ruth said, "I'll go with you father."
    "Good. I'll be ready in twenty minutes."
Little Eddie said, "Me, too, daddy!"
    "You, too, Eddie."

Philips' family had always adored their grandmother DuFrow, as she had loved them. Now to see her in bed with sickness was new for them, never having seen her so. Ruth approached the sick woman's bed, leaned over and kissed her cheek. Before she could say anything, Nelda said with a smile, "And how's my girl this evening?"
"Oh, I'm fine, grandma, but you are sick."
"Not very sick, my dear, I'll be up and around again in a few days."
"I hope so, grandma, we don't like seeing you like this."

    Philip felt better about his mother after finding her so cheerful. His father assured him that it was nothing serious. Rest was all she needed.

    Phillips' sister Betsey, and her husband, David Douglas were staying at the DuFrow home during their mothers' illness. They now walked with Philip and his children, to the outside, as they were leaving.
David was saying, "What's this I hear about you selling your house?"
      "Where did you hear that, David?"
      "Chuck Corey asked me about it the other day. Seems that Maggie told Alice about it."

    A sad, pained expression appeared on Philips' face, and he was silent for a long moment, then replied, "I don't know why Maggie tells these things, she knows I am not going to sell."
      "I wondered over it, I didn't think you were, Phil."
      "Forget it, Dave, and if you hear it mentioned again, deny it."
      "Sure will."

    Betsey watched her brother and his children walk down the street, as she turned to her husband and asked, "Did it occur to you that Maggie has a nasty streak in her?"
      "I've known for some time there was something wrong with her, but didn't want to say anything."
      "Well, I'm growing depressed over the way she treats Phil."
      "Now, my dear, that will never do. Phil can take care of himself."
    He placed his arm around her, drawing her onto the porch, where he sat down on the swing, and drew her beside him. "Sit down, sweetheart, and I'll tell you something else I heard today."

    Betsey yielded to the pressure of his arm and leaned her head against him saying, "Now hurry and tell me, it's growing cold out here."
      "You're right, it is growing colder, come we'll go inside." The late October evenings were indeed growing colder. Betsey shivered as they entered the house. Inside, the house was shadowed with early dusk.

    Before lights could be turned on, Edward DuFrow came quietly down the stairs. "Your mother is sleeping now, and I wanted to talk to Philip."

      "Philip has gone, father."
      "I'm sorry, but since you are here, I'll tell you and see Philip later." He was silent for a moment, while the others waited. Without raising his head to look at them, he spoke. "I expect to sell part of my land. Since my boys have left home, I find I cannot manage too well. Outside help is hard to find, as all the young fellows are going into the new steel plant to work, and since there is such demand for property, I felt that this is the time to sell." Then very sadly, he finished speaking, "I guess no one wants to be a farmer any more."

    The two young people were shocked by the news, but after a moments silence, Betsey cried, "Oh, father, our beautiful home land, how can we part with it?"
      "It won't be easy, Betsey. This land has meant more to me than I could ever tell you, but there comes a time in a man's life..." He left the sentence unfinished, and not yet looking at them, he slowly left the room.

    Quietness filled the room for several minutes. David rose from the couch where he was sitting and turned on the lights. Glancing at his wife, he said softly, "Your father is right, Betsey, now is the time to sell. It is not only the steel mills, but there are other industries coming into the area."

      "I know, David, but you can't feel about it as I do. Why, do you know, when we were kids, we roamed all over the meadowlands, the wheat and corn fields, we used to pretend the corn shocks were teepees, and we were the Indians. And you would never believe how many battles we fought with the white man." He looked tenderly at his wife as she continued. "I wanted so much for our little one to enjoy this land as we did."

      "I know dear, I feel the same way, but until our baby is born and old enough to enjoy that kind of life, these fields will be turned into new homes. And please, Betsey, let's not make things harder for your father, because I'm convinced he hates doing this as much as we."

    Pensively, she replied, "I wonder what Philip will say..."

    When Phil returned home after visiting his mother, he found Maggie knitting, and at once asked,     "Where are the other children?"
"They're in their rooms." Ruth said. "And that is where I'm going. I have lessons to study." She immediately left, as her mother called after her, "See that little Eddie sets to bed first."
"Sure, come on Eddie."

The house grew quiet except for the endless clicking of the knitting needles. Philip was reading his Sunday school lesson for the next week, when suddenly Maggie said, "Father was here while you were gone."

"Yes - did he want anything?" Philip had learned a long time before, that big Tom Kenwick never came to their home without asking a favor.

"Yes, he did, he wanted you to lend him some money for a short time."

A deep frown etched itself on Philip's face as he answered, "But he never repaid the last loan I gave him."

In a petulant voice, Maggie demanded, "But he needs it, and father is growing old, too, you know."
"Of course I know, I also know your father is as strong as I am, and as able to work as any man."
   "Now listen to the preacher talk - that is what your Christianity amounts to, refusing to help one who needs it."

Philip was angry as he said, "I have never refused help to anyone who needs it, but I refuse to be a soft tough any longer to fellows who never try to save their money, and never repay me. I haven't that much to give away."
"But your strut around town trying to look lie a big tycoon."

He quickly go to his feet, a terrible anger sweeping over him. Maggie sensed his mood, and she too, stood up as he grasped her by the shoulders, shaking her as a baby shakes his rattle. Her knitting fell to the floor, she was frightened, never having seen Philip so angry, causing her to burst into tears.

At the sight of her tears, he released her and hurriedly went up the stairs. In his room he sat heavily down on his bed and collapsed, asking himself, "What has happened to me." He was deeply concerned over his frequent fits of anger that had tormented him the last year. Being of a patient, tolerant nature, he was forced to realize that it was always Maggie who managed to be insulting when there was no reason for it, that always brought these ugly spells on him. He simply did not know how to deal with her.

This act of his tonight of laying hands on her had been a brutal thing to do, and he was shamed with it. A real man never used violence against a woman, and Maggie was his wife. Slowly he made himself ready for bed, and his pillow was wet with his tears before he slept.

Philip was not weak or a coward. In school, he had held his own with other fellows, never running away from a difficult situation, or backing down from an aggressor, and often cam through the winner. But Maggie baffled him.

Perhaps he started wrong, always being kind and gently, because he loved her. And Maggie loved to dominate. He refused to place his marriage on a contest basis, each one competing to master the other. Such a situation was obnoxious to him. That she no longer loved him was plainly evident, but what could he do. His children were the first considerations and perhaps Maggie might yet change, and he lived with that hope. There were times when she would be endearing, but those times were infrequent and short-lived.

When Philip entered the big kitchen the following morning, his breakfast was waiting for him. His first glimpse of Maggie by the table caused his heart to skip a beat. Her brown curls were drawn back and tied with a blue ribbon, as he remembered first seeing her, her morning robe of blue, and innocent wide eyes, stirred him profoundly. Maggie was still a lovely woman, the mother of two, but still maintaining her girlish figure. After the usual morning greeting between them, there was nothing more said.

    When Philip had finished his breakfast, he looked at his wife across the table and said, "How much money did your father want?"
    Her face brightened as she answered, "Fifty dollars."
      "I'll have it for him this evening, but I'm warning you, it will be the last." She made no reply, and he left the house to begin his day's work, while the children came trooping down for their breakfast.

    When they were all off to school, Maggie hurried to clean up her morning work, then dressed and was on her way to see Mrs. Evans, who was confined to her bed with sickness.

      "Ah, my dear Maggie, you never fail me, what would I do without you."
      "There would be someone else, Emily, to care for you."
      "I don't know who it would be, neighbors are not what they used to be, and since my dear Joe has gone, I can tell you, it leaves me pretty much alone."

    Mrs. Evans was a small woman, sixty years of age, and a childless widow. As Maggie proceeded to bathe the frail body, place fresh linen on her and the bed, the sick woman continued talking. "You are a very lucky woman to have such a wonderful husband and lovely children. Now if we could have had a family, as we always wanted, everything would be different now."

    Maggie didn't want to hear anything more of Emily Evans' disappointments, and said quickly, "I have been told ther is to be a new hospital built in Northwood, and I hope it's true - I would like to work in one."

      "But why would you want to work outside your lovely home and away from your children?"
      "Sometimes, Emily, one's home is not quite enough." Maggie didn't want to continue this particular conversation, so added, "Now you be a good girl and I'll see you tomorrow."

    Out on the street she though to herself, "So - she wanted a family, well, if she had had one baby, she would never want another one. It's always these woman who never say, that want them, or think they do."

    It was late that evening, and all the DuFrow family had retired but Maggie and Phil, with Maggie at her incessant knitting. Phil and laid aside the paper he had been reading, and dropped his head back against the chair back, closing his tried eyes.

    After a long silence, Maggie asked, "Did you give father the money?"
"Yes, I stopped on the way home."
    After a long silence, then Philip spoke softly. "Maggie, may I come to your room tonight?"
      "You certainly may not."
      "But why, Maggie, why, I need you." He had raised his head to look at her when her cruel answer came to him.
      "I don't need you, besides, we are not legally married, and never have been."
    He sprang to his feet, facing her and almost shouting, "What are your talking about?"
      "You heard what I said, we are not married, because I am a Catholic, and we were not married by a priest."
    Philip was so stunned by this pronouncement, that he did not move. He found himself speechless with this erratic behavior of Maggies'. And Maggie continued her knitting as calmly as though she had announced only that it was raining outside. She had not looked up from her work. Philip stood looking down at her for several minutes, then spoke to her in a low, even voice.

      "Maggie, after almost nineteen years together, and four children, you say we are not married."
      "I not only say it, I believe it."

    With great patience, he spoke as to a child. "You have never been a member of a Catholic church, there is not one within twenty-five miles of here, furthermore, you have never been inside one! What makes you think you are a Catholic?"
      "Because my parents were members of that faith when they were in Ireland."
      "But in heaven's name, Maggie, it is forty years since they came to this country, and they have never been in a Catholic church since they arrived. Or any other church! Your father had never believed in churches, whatever their faith."

    She didn't answer, only her needles clicked faster and sharper, and he again said, "And why have you though of this only now?" His voice rose on a higher note as he reminded her, "You wanted to be married, and were very pleased to have our minister perform the ceremony."
      "Oh, Phil, will you please keep quiet, you have made me drop several stitches, and I must get little Eddie's sweater finished."

    Philip tossed in his bed, his eyes burning from needed sleep, yet sleep would not come. He stared through the window at the darkness, but no answers came. He was puzzled, frustrated, and angry, wondering how Maggie had come to such an outrageous decision. Had she been talking to someone, had another person planted the idea in her mind? In all their years together, this had been the first mention of this subject. The whole thing was so preposterous he could scarcely believe he had heard clearly. But the next few days convinced Philip that he had heard all to well.

    Maggie's fanaticism grew as the days passed. Several evenings later she prepared the usual good dinner and placed it on the table. When the family were all assembled, Maggie retired to the kitchen with the remark, "Don't wait for me." After a few minutes, Philip called to her, "Your dinner is growing cold," There was no answer, and their meal continued. With his thoughts on his work, and conversation with the children, he had momentarily forgotten Maggie. Now, with the start, he realized she had not come to the dining table. Immediately going to the kitchen, he found her eating at the work table, alone.

      Angrily he demanded, "Now what in heavens name is the meaning of this?"
    With the saintly expression she had come to assume she answered, "I told you we are not married, and I mean to see to it that we see as little of each other as possible."
      "Alright," he replied heatedly, "stay as far away from me as you like - but have you no consideration for the children?"
      "The children will understand."
    With bitter sarcasm he replied, "And I suppose you will tell them."
      "Of course, they must know the truth."
    In desperate alarm, he now cried out, "In God's name, Maggie, have you no conscience? Where will that leave them, what are they to think of themsevles?"
    Very blandly, her answer came. "They will get over it, they are young and intelligent."

    At that point Ruth entered the kitchen, exclaiming, "Mother, why haven't you come to your dinner?" Seeing the unfinished on the plate, she started speaking again, when her father quickly interrupted.
"Never mind, Ruth, your mother does not feel well this evening - and isn't it time you were beginning your studies?" With these words, he placed his arm around her shoulders, guiding her form the kitchen.
"But father, if mother is not well, I should stay and help her."
"It's not necessary, Ruth, I'll help her if she needs it. Now you get busy with your school work."

When Philip turned back to his wife, he was still angry and determined. She had risen from her chair, and turned her back to him. "Sit down Maggie, I want to talk to you." She obeyed him but said nothing. He was surprised that she did me, and started speaking at once.

"Now I positively forbid you to speak of this matter to the children, now, or any time in the future!"
Her voice had a mocking tone, "You forbid!"
      "I demand that you keep silent on this subject. If you should tell them, they will hate you for it, and you will gain nothing."
      "And if I don't, where will that leave you?"
    Philip looked steadily at her as he said, "At least with their respect, all the rest you may ignore."
    A sly smile passed over her lips as she said, "What will you do to reward me for not telling?"

    For the first time in their lives together, Philip was feeling an aversion toward Maggie. He had loved her with all the love of which a man is capable, overlooking her idiosyncrasies, being patient with her whims and stubborness. But this was different, at last he saw her as a woman willing to bargain for the love and respect of her own children. Philip loved his children as only a good man can. His own family had been an affectionate and close one. That his own children should otherwise was an intolerable thought.

      "I'll do anything within reason, if you promise not to destroy the lives of our children." The great pity was that Philip knew Maggie would keep her word about telling them, and according to his standards, anything would be better than that.

      "Alright, now that that much is understood, you can sell this house and move to Northwood."

    Her words were like blows in his face, thinking she had forgotten that, as it had not been spoken of for a long time. Without answering, he left her and went to his room with a stone in his heart.