Chapter 3: New Romances

Since the McGraw family had no phone, relying mainly on their neighbors for emergencies, they used the mails to communicate with family members. At the time, there was twice-a-day delivery of mail in most urban areas, and Evelyn and her mother turned to writing letters to communicate. Usually, both knew if they posted their letters before 10 a.m., the letters would get to the other person in the afternoon mail.

Several days after the visit when her father had destroyed the Shirley Temple doll, Evelyn received mail from her mother. Her handwriting was fairly tiny, but it was clearly written.

Dear Evelyn,

I’m so sorry that your visit Sunday ended so bad. Your father was so cruel. I must apologize for him.

You’ll have to forgive him, dear. He’s not been himself since can’t support the family as he’d like. His injury has bothered him, and I think he’s drinking too much.

But he’s always been sweet to me and to you and Frank. I don’t know what got into him.

I know you vowed never to return to this house, but please come back, honey, and bring Merritt. I know Thomas is only worried about the boy and his future.

Merritt is our only grandchild, dear. Please don’t cut us off.

Love, your mother

Evelyn read the letter while still in the foyer, and she was crying when Viola Buckner entered, asking:

“Have you got the afternoon mail there, Evelyn?”

Evelyn sniffled, cleared her throat, nodding, “Yes,” and handing all of the mail to her employer, including the tear-stained note from her mother she had just read.

Viola gave the note a quick scan, and looked up quizzically, “What’s this all about, Evie. You never mentioned this.”

Evelyn dried her eyes with a handkerchief and told Viola about the visit at her parents and how her father had treated Merritt and off his violent destruction of the Shirley Temple doll.

“Why didn’t you tell me about this sooner?”

“I didn’t want to embarrass my family,” she explained.

“Well, dear, you’re also part of THIS family, and you can share things with me. You know that?”

“Yes, Mrs .Buckner.”

“It’s Viola, remember.”

Viola took Evelyn in her arms, and gave the young woman a comforting hug; it was a moment that slowly eased Evelyn’s mind and she found herself truly grateful for this warm expression of concern from her employer. Maybe Viola was right: maybe her true family now was her at the Buckner estate.

As time went on, however, Evelyn missed her mother and her brother Frank, and she began writing her mother several times a week, telling of her work at the Buckner estate and relating tibits about Merritt, carefully not mentioning any of his girlish moments, in fear her father would see the letter.

In the meantime, Merritt became the joy of the entire Buckner estate.

*****
Elizabeth Buckner, now 13, had gained several girl friends and they spent much time at the Buckner mansion, giggling in the girl’s bedroom and, in warmer weather, around the pool. She had always treated Merritt as a “little sister,” introducing the boy to dolls, pretty dresses and skirts, and even makeup. She was always rummaging into clothes that she and her sister had outgrown to dress Merritt.

Merritt loved these times when Elizabeth had her friends over. One breezy summer day, Merritt heard their giggles from Elizabeth’s room. He was in the kitchen at the rear of the mansion, assisting Mary, the cook, in cleaning vegetables.

“Bethie’s got friends here, Mary. I think I’ll go now.”

“Now don’t bother them, Merritt,” she said.

“Mary, they like me. They play with me.”

“Honey, they’re girls, they don’t want a little boy around,” Mary said, patting his blonde curls.

“I’m a girl for them, Mary.”

“I know, honey, but let them alone.” Mary O’Hara knew his mother’s concerns about him being too girly, and now that he was five-years-old, she was trying to make him more of a boy before school began.

“I wanna go to see them. Let me,” he pleaded.

Finally she gave in, warning him not to stay if they didn’t want him to. He skipped off.

*****
“Here’s our Merry,” screamed Elizabeth as the boy, wearing shorts and a white shirt bounced into the room.

She scooped the lad up into her arms.

“Where’s your dress, Merry?” asked a pudgy-faced Annette, one of the friends.

“Mommy don’t want me to wear any dresses,” he said, a pout appearing.

“She doesn’t? Why?” asked Agnes, a thin and wiry girl, with pronounced problems with acne.

Elizabeth explained: “His mother’s worried he’s too much a girl and that he’ll have trouble in school this fall. She’s trying to make him a boy.”

“Oh, I hate that. He’s pretty, and I hate it they cut off his hair,” Annette said.

“Don’t you wanna be a girl, Merry?” Agnes asked

The boy, looking fragile and pensive, didn’t answer, standing with a forefinger in his mouth.

“You’re a pretty little girl, Merry,” the girl persisted.

He looked up at the questioning girl, who smiled down at him, encouraging him to answer. He so wanted to pleased her, since Agnes was always nice to him, and made sure his hair was always combed so prettily. He knew the girl would always seek to make him feel good as a girl, assuring him that he was the “prettiest little girl” in Riverdale. Tears came to the boy’s face now, and he fought to hold back a cry.

“I like being Merry,” he said finally.

“Oh my darling,” Agnes said, gathering the boy up in her sinewy arms, holding him tightly. “He’s such a doll. Let’s make him real pretty.”

Elizabeth, knowing that both Evelyn and her own mother would object, sought to end the conversation. “We better not, my mom’ll kill me.”

“She’s not home, Bethie,” Annette said. “We can do it for an hour. She won’t be home for a while.”

“Yes, let’s,” echoed Annette.

“Can I be Shirley?” the boy asked eagerly, is face still moist from the tears. The smiles that filled his cherubic face were intoxicating.

“Shirley?” asked Annette.

“Yes, that’s the outfit I fixed up for him last week, making him just like Shirley Temple, a flared skirt, white blouse, embroidered vest, white socks and black shoes with straps.”

“Yes, Bethie,” Merritt clapped. “Dress me like Shirley.”

“But your curls are gone honey,” Elizabeth reminded him.

Merritt placed both hands up to his head, running his hands through his now-straight hair.

“That’s OK, dear,” Agnes said, still holding the boy in her arms, as she sat on the side of the bed.

“We’ll figure out something about Merry’s hair,” Annette said.

Within a few minutes, Elizabeth had located the Shirley Temple clothing he had worn before, and the girls worked to dress him up, applying modest makeup and light touches of lipstick and eye shadow.

“Shirley Temple never wore heavy makeup,” Elizabeth reminded them, when Agnes sought to apply a dark red color to the boy’s lips.

“Isn’t she so pretty now?” Annette asked, as they finished.

They paraded Merritt in front of a full length mirror in Viola’s large, sumptuous bedroom, a room with a Victorian flavor, canopied bed and frilly, pink and teal colored drapes with a matching duvet.

The boy jumped with glee, and began posing in exaggerated feminine stances, even making faces at himself. He giggled out loud.

“But what are we to do about his hair?” asked Agnes.

She sat down on a vanity bench, drawing the boy to her. “You’re such a darling little girl, Merry,” she said, holding him tightly.

“I love you, Agnes,” the boy said.

Finally Elizabeth said: “I got an idea. Let’s put a bonnet on her head.”

“Yes, let’s,” Agnes agreed. “What have you got?”

Elizabeth skipped from the room, and Annette and Agnes fussed with the boy for a while, trying to fix his hair, testing out how various headbands looked. He cooperated as a lovely model would, smiling sweetly.

“I wished we had a camera,” Annette said. “I left my Brownie at home.”

“I wished I had a Brownie,” Agnes said, speaking of a popular box camera of the era, which cost a whole $3 to buy, a substantial purchase for most families during the Depression. Both Agnes and Annette came from working class households, where their fathers were either jobless or working on shortened hours. Elizabeth’s mother, thanks to the family fortune, was able to live more comfortably than most.

“But wouldn’t the drugstore guy see the picture of Merry, and wonder why a boy was dressed as a girl?” Annette asked, realizing they’d have to drop the film off at the drugstore to be developed and printed.

“He wouldn't know it was a boy,” Agnes replied. “He'd think it was a girl, and if he asked who she was we could say she was a cousin from upstate.”

“Here I got it,” Elizabeth bounded into the room, carrying a bonnet that strapped under the chin. It was light blue with white lace trim. “Come here, Merry, dear.”

She tied the bonnet on the boy’s head. It was much like a Little Bo-Beep bonnet, and they all admired how cute it looked. The boy, however, scowled.

“That’s not like Shirley,” he complained.

“It’s so perfect for you, honey,” Elizabeth said.

“I want it like Shirley,” he persisted.

“We don’t have one like that, Merry,” Elizabeth explained. “I looked all over.”

“You still look so pretty, Merry,” Agnes said, gathering the pretty boy in her arms again, holding him tightly, caressing him, comforting him.

Just then, a door slammed downstairs, and the girls froze.

“Mom’s home,” Elizabeth exclaimed.

“Oh my God, what’ll we do?” Annette said, in a panicked voice, as she tried to quiet her anxiety.
“We’ll never get Merry out of her outfit.”

“I know,” Elizabeth said. “Let’s at least get back to my room.”

The three girls and Merritt scampered across the hall, their footsteps echoing on the wood floor, despite their efforts to be quiet.

“What’s going on up there?” they heard their mother yell.

The four quickly ducked into Elizabeth’s room, locking the door.

“Quick, let’s get this stuff off him,” she ordered.

They worked frantically, but it seemed only moments before there was a loud knocking on the door, and Viola Buckner, yelling: “Open this door, Elizabeth.”

“Just a minute, mom,” she yelled back.

“Now, girl, now!”

The pounding increased in intensity as the girls succeeded in removing the bonnet, the headband and the shoes.

“YOU OPEN THIS DOOR YOUNG LADY.”

“I better,” she said.

“But he’s still got the skirt and blouse on.”

Elizabeth ran to the door, opened it. Her mother rushed into the room.

“Elizabeth Buckner, what did I tell you about dressing him up?” Viola yelled at her daughter, grabbing her by her arm.

“I know mom, I know. But he looks so pretty.”

Hearing the ruckus, Evelyn, Merritt’s mother, appeared in the doorway, looking at her half-dressed son, still looking so much like a cute little girl.

“Don’t spank Merritt, Mrs. McGraw,” Elizabeth said. “It was all our idea.”

By now, Merritt was crying, upset by the loud yelling and obvious angry outbursts. The Buckner household was known for its civility; rarely was there any yelling or screaming. Evelyn gathered the boy’s regular clothes, and guided him out of the room, tears streaming from his face.

*****
That night, after the children were put to bed, Evelyn and Viola gathered around the kitchen table, sipping a white wine out of jelly glasses. In spite of the wealth of the household, Viola still enjoyed reverting to her earlier days growing up in a machinist’s household in the lower flats along the river. The two women shared a working class heritage that they enjoyed reliving, in spite of their current plusher environment.

“I’m not sure I’m doing the right thing, Viola,” Merritt’s mother began. “Merritt seems so sad now that we’ve cut his hair and taken him out of dresses.”

“He really does seem to enjoy dressing pretty,” Viola agreed. “I'm sorry about what Beth did today, dressing him like that. I had told her we had to stop doing it.”

“I know you told her, but I guess she and her girl friends were just consumed with the idea of making him so pretty.”

“Well, I've told her she can't have the girls in for a week, and she was really sorry. And, Evelyn, I want you to know that Merritt refused at first, but then wanted to be dressed as Shirley Temple.”

Evelyn smiled, realizing how hurt the boy was when they cut his curls.

“Did I make him this way, Viola? You know, all he sees here are girl things, and I guess I've encouraged that.”

“I know, a household of women.”

“And Mike has tried to encourage the boy to work with him on the cars,” Evelyn continued. “He's even taken him fishing, and the boy giggled like a girl he said when Merritt brought in a blue gill, wanting to keep the fish alive and give it a name.”

“And my daughters haven't helped the situation much, by dressing him constantly,” Viola added.

“I think it's more than that, Viola,” Evelyn said, measuring her words more carefully now. “It may be something in him, maybe he's got a problem from birth.”

“I don't know, but I think you're doing the right thing trying to get him into more masculine stuff.”

“Thanks, Viola, you're such a good friend, I can't thank you enough for taking us in like this, giving us a roof over our head, when no one else would. It's been five years now.”

“I enjoyed having both of you here, and it's not like you haven't been working, caring for the girls in my absence, keeping the house neat and clean.”

Viola smiled now, reaching over and putting a hand Evelyn's arm, adding, “You know, I've grown to love you, Evelyn, and your beautiful little boy.”

Evelyn blushed, putting her other hand over Viola's, the two women growing flushed, perhaps from the warmth of the day, the wine or the sharing of heat from their respective bodies. Evelyn felt something else rising between them, an unmistakable feeling of togetherness and she wanted now, more than anything to find herself in the older woman's arms, protected by her warmth and affection. She remembered the comfort she felt in Viola’s arms the day she shared her mother’s letter about her father’s behavior against Merritt.

Viola must have subconsciously sensed Evelyn's feelings, for she removed her hand from under the other woman's hold. She, too, felt pangs of affection for Evelyn, finding her pale blue Irish eyes and pale soft complexion so appealing. She felt almost light-headed.

“Well, I should check on the girls,” Viola said, finding an excuse to cut off the conversation. Her wine finished, she got up, and took both empty glasses to the sink and was about to leave.

“I'll take care of them,” Evelyn said.

Evelyn sat there a few more minutes, still shaken from the momentary feelings of love and affection she felt for Viola.

My God, she thought. What was I thinking? What was I doing? I wanted to kiss Viola. To kiss her. How disgusting! It's a sin. Oh dear God, will I have to confess this to Father Paczkowski at confession?

She still felt fuzzy as she arose from the table to clean the wine glasses and straighten the kitchen. The idea of loving another woman had never entered her head, since it would be so unnatural. She had heard stories of women being together and kissing, but had never seen examples of it. Besides, what did two women do together? It didn't make sense. Now in the year 1935 there was lot of talk of “modern women” and of “free love,” all concepts that were foreign to Evelyn, whose education ended at high school and who had been sheltered by life in the mansion of the Buckner estate.

Evelyn resolved not to let her friendship with Viola grow any more intense. She wasn't quite sure how to avoid feeling an attraction to the older woman, but she knew she had more serious problems ahead in dealing with her son's future, and the fact that he desired so strongly to be a girl. Her sleep that night was troubled, interspersed with what steps to take concerning Merritt's persistent girlishness and with again desiring to feel Viola's lips upon hers while the two embraced passionately. Both thoughts fought with her for attention.

*****
Evelyn loved the Riverdale Public Library, a huge 1890's structure building a gray concrete, complete with massive front steps and a huge atrium trimmed with ornate plasterwork and murals. The building’s concrete block, once a light cream-color was now growing gray with the soot of the area. Riverdale was home to many manufacturers and in the community's air was full of tiny particles, so intense that after an hour on the streets of downtown Riverdale you'd end up with a face so soot filled that the wash cloth you used on your face would be black.

On the day after her conversation with Viola over the growing girlishness of her son, Evelyn took the streetcar downtown to the library. Maybe there was a book about boys like Merritt.

Evelyn wore simple dresses that went below her knees' usually they were dark with white lace trim, and belted. She wore her light brown hair straight and relatively short still retaining the plastered —down flapper style, a result of Mary O'Hara's hairdressing talents. She wore a scarf over her head, tied under her chin, even in the warmest of days. Respectable women of the 1930's had to keep their heads covered.

Probably due to the expert culinary skills of the Buckner cook, Mary, Evelyn had added some weight to her slender bone structure, and her face retained cherubic appearance that given the hint that she might still be under 20, when in fact she was now 25. In a word, she was a cute and comely young lady, and she always attracted looks when she went in public.

It took her time to find materials having to do with sexuality in the Library. Such materials were not on the regular shelves, and the card catalogue for several books covering the topics said “See Librarian.” She dutifully copied down the Dewey Decimal system numbers of the books, and headed for the librarian’s desk.

As she approached the desk, she was shocked to find just one young man waiting to serve her. She had hoped for a woman to be there; it was rare to see a man librarian in those days.

“What do you need?” the young man asked.

“These books,” she said, handing over the information.

“Oh?” he said, looking up at her. “These are in the restricted area, miss. Are you 18?”

She blushed, “Oh yes. I'm 25.”

“Really,” the man answered. He stopped for a minute, looking at her closely, and then added: “Oh yes, of course you are. I'll get the books.”

He stepped away, leaving Evelyn to wait, and she wondered what the man was thinking of her. Did he think she was lying about her age? Did he think she wanted to read the books for sex?

Her thoughts were cut short.

“Here you are, miss,” he said, handing over two books in dark red covers.

“Thank you,” she grabbed them, not looking up.

“Wait, miss,” the man said. “Aren't you Evelyn McGraw from high school?”

Evelyn stopped in her tracks, looking up at the man, realizing she recognized him, although she didn't know from what circumstance.

“Yes,” she said, faintly, hating to be recognized while looking at books on sex.

“I'm Bob Casey. Don't you remember me?”

Evelyn looked at him. Of course, it was Bob. He had been quiet, slender boy and the two had had several classes together. She had been teamed up with him once for a project in English and found him to be fun. Other than that, she knew little about him.

“Of yes, Bob, I do now. I'm sorry.”

“What are you doing now?” he said, as she was aware he was looking at her hand for possible signs of a wedding ring. There were no such signs.

“Working for a lady in a house along the lake,” she answered simply.

“That's nice,” he replied, speaking in the soft tones typical of librarians. “It's good to have any job these days.”

“I know.”

“I got laid off from the tractor works,” he volunteered. “I was lucky to get this clerk job here, thanks to my good grades in school.”

“That's right, I remember you were an honor student,” she smiled.

“You were, too, Evelyn.”

“Thank you.”

“Evelyn, I'm getting off in 30 minutes, care to have coffee with me?”

She agreed that she would be looking at the books for at least 30 minutes, and that maybe then she'd consider having coffee with him. She knew she would say “yes.” Evelyn had not been with a boy or man since her affair more than five years earlier with the father of her child. And, Bob Casey seemed nice and harmless.

*****
Both books were scholarly tomes on sexuality; one had been written in 1925, and a glance through its pages told her it was outdated in theory, and likely contained more myth than fact. The other book was printed in 1933, and told of the first medical experiment done to turn a man into a woman. It also used the word “transvestite,” which she had never heard before, to describe such men who liked to dress as women or wanted to be women.

What struck her most intensively was the story of Einar Wegener who in 1931 became Lily Elbe in what was thought to be the first sex change operation ever completd. The desires of this once young man (already an accomplished and renowned artist) to be a woman were so intense that he suffered through the difficult operation in Denamrk. There was no doubt in her mind that some boys were born with male parts, but a female psyche. Was that true for her Merritt? If so, she thought, his future was faced with uncertainties and unhappiness.

She cried, silent tears cascading down her face, interrupted finally by Bob Casey's soft question: “Are you all right?”

*****
Evelyn had read about 15 pages of the academic tome when Casey interrupted her thoughts, pretty much exhausting what could be known at the time about boys or men who desired to be girls or women. She handed the two books back to the young librarian and asked him to check out Pearl S. Buck's book, Good Earth, a best seller from 1932.

The two settled down at the Childs Restaurant, part of a prominent national chain, in the downtown area for coffee and ice cream sundaes; the bill was 40 cents, five cents for the coffee and 15 cents for the ice cream. There was no sales tax, and Casey left the waitress a tip of 10 cents.

“That's very generous of you, Bob,” Evelyn said. “You know I once was a waitress.”

“No I didn't. Where?” he said.

Evelyn looked at Casey, seeing quiet brown eyes; the young man looked so gentle, not at all like the young men she had seen around town, full of braggadocio, swagger and confidence. She was particularly drawn to Casey's slender wrists and pretty hands. They were soft hands, and his lips had a fullness that accentuated almost a feminine demeanor. She liked what she saw in the young man.

“I worked right after high school at the country club,” she volunteered. “But that was just for a summer. It was after that I went to work for Mrs. Buckner.”

“You've been there since?”

“Yes. She's treated me very well.”

“I've heard she’s very rich,” Bob said, more a statement than a question.

“She is, but she's very nice, Bob. She came from a neighborhood just like ours, but married Mr. Buckner, you know, from the banking family.”

She could see Casey was shy, and was beginning to wonder how the librarian had found the nerve to approach her for coffee that afternoon. Maybe, she thought, it's because I'm so plain. She dressed very old-fashioned, too.

“But how about you Bob?” she asked.

“Well, I went to work at the Baylor Works in assembly until last year, when I got laid off with others,” he said. “It was so hard, and I hated the guys I worked with. They teased me, called me 'Bobbie,' 'cause I didn't fit in so well.”

“Bobbie, like the girl's name?”

“Yes, I guess. I was not as rough as they all liked to be. The layoff turned out to be a blessing, since I was able to get this clerk's job.”

“That's nice,” Evelyn said.

“It's kinda weird though.”

“Why?”

He blushed. “You probably noticed. All the other clerks are girls.”

“So what,” Evelyn said. “You've got a job you like.”

The two lingered at the restaurant for another hour, sharing stories of their life, and, for the most part, telling each other parts of their lives that they never before shared with others. But, Evelyn kept one secret to herself: she never told Bob she had a son.

As they parted and Evelyn began heading for her streetcar, she turned back and asked: “Will you be here two weeks from now, when I return this book?”

“That's my usual day on the desk,” he said with a smile.

*****
“What took you so long, Evelyn,” Viola asked her, when she arrived home about 5 p.m.

“Oh I met somebody from high school and he bought me a sundae and coffee at Childs. I hadn't seen him since graduation.”

“Oh,” Viola said, her face showing concern. “A boy?”

“Well, yes. Bob Casey, he's a clerk at the library.”

“Oh, well, you're late,” her voice sharp. “Next time let me know when you're going to be late.”

“Ok, Mrs. Buckner,” Evelyn responded curtly.

That response caused the older woman to tense up, and she began to respond, but stopped short, finally saying in a false calmness, “You're never to call me that. I'm Viola.”

Evelyn nodded, and almost in tears ran to portion of the house she shared with Merritt, wondering why Viola had responded so angrily to her lateness. It had never seemed to bother her before, and Evelyn had often dallied in her trips into town, maybe doing a bit more window shopping than the time allowed.

It finally dawned on her: when she mentioned having stopped at Childs with a young man, Viola seemed to redden and become tense. Did Viola object to her having a man friend, even one as innocent as Bob Casey? Yes, that was it. Viola resented her possible friendship with a man, perhaps in jealousy that Viola herself had no such “gentleman caller.” But then, Viola talked like she wasn't interested in another man after her husband died. Was Viola really concerned that Bob Casey, or some other young man, might steal her away from the Buckner household and the arms of Viola herself?