From the Relief Society Magazine, June 1952 –

Vacation Plans

By Dorothy Boys Killian

Jane Cummings looked across the table at her blue-eyed Bill and wondered how on earth any woman could feel it a nuisance to have her husband come home for lunch.

“Wait till you’ve been married ten years instead of ten months,” her friend, Sandra, had chuckled over the phone this morning when Jane had said she was whipping up a pudding for Bill’s lunch. “You won’t want to have your day cluttered up with a man on your hands during the noon hour.”

“You’re looking at me rather fondly, my dear,” Bill said teasingly. “Have I unwittingly done something wonderful?”

“Don’t be so cocky, Mr. Cummings,” Jane grinned back at him. “But I’m so glad you came home to lunch today even if I am in the midst of spring housecleaning because …”

“Because it’s been four long hours since last we met? I feel that way, too.”

“Well, yes, that,” Jane agreed, smiling, “and then I had a phone call this morning from Sandra Jamison with the most exciting news!”

“From Sandra?” Bill’s voice suddenly became cautious.

“Yes,” Jane said, “but, Bill, this is something you won’t be able to resist. She’s asked us and two other couples to spend our vacation with them at their cottage on the shore. Won’t that be glorious? Swimming, tennis, wonderful meals …”

“Jane, you know how I feel about the Jamisons,” Bill interrupted. “They’re all right, but what’s the use of kidding ourselves? We just can’t afford to travel in their crowd.”

“But this won’t cost a cent, Bill. A luxurious two weeks for nothing. What more could you ask?”

“And with the luxury,” Bill groaned, “we’ll have mobs of people milling around, no privacy at all, suitcases full of clothes …”

“That’s just it,” Jane broke in. “We have those clothes now, and we might not have them later. I was looking over my summer trousseau things this morning when I was cleaning out my closet, and I wouldn’t have to buy a stitch.”

“Do you remember,” Bill said, “that I wanted to go to the North Woods on our honeymoon, but you insisted on that summer resort instead? Oh, Janie, if you could only see the place I want to take you! The quiet woods, and that sparkling lake – it would be perfect – cooking eggs and bacon over a campfire in the cool of the early morning, paddling our canoe into a shallow cove among the water lilies, taking a dip when the sun got hot … if you’d only give it a try!”

“Someday, of course, Bill,” Jane answered impatiently. “But I just can’t bear to pass up this opportunity. Besides, it will be good for your business for you to meet all the people who are sure to drop in there. Please, Bill, just this one more time?” Jane pleaded.

“I’m wondering if it will always be ‘just this one more time,’” Bill said quietly.

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic! We probably won’t have another chance like this for a long time anyway.”

“Are we, by any chance, working up to our first serious quarrel?” Bill tried to laugh, but it didn’t quite come off.

“Maybe we are,” Jane said, her voice rising. “But you’re being so unspeakably stubborn! We can go camping any old time, but this invitation …”

“Is one I would rather not accept,” Bill said flatly.

“Perhaps I had better accept only for myself then?” Jane gasped at the import of her own words. She looked fearfully at Bill.

His lips were a tight line as he deliberately pushed back his chair and looked down at her from a great, cold height.

“Do as you please, of course. This is a free country,” he said and stalked out of the kitchen.

Jane pushed her untasted pudding aside and ran pell-mell upstairs with the vague idea of having a good, hard cry. But the bedroom was upset, with the cleaning half done. She remembered how they had laughed last night as they had fairly dug their way to bed through clothes bags, curtain rods, and hat boxes.

“Somehow it makes you feel really established in your own home, this going through your first spring housecleaning,” Bill had said, removing a pair of shoe trees from his pillow slip.

“You may not feel so happy about it Saturday when you help wash the kitchen walls and woodwork,” she had warned.

“Honey,” he had answered, coming up behind her and putting his arms around her, “doing anything with you is fun.”

“Anything except going to a house party with me,” Jane muttered to herself now as she mechanically smoothed the sheets on the bed. They had gone much farther than she had meant to, she realized sadly, but now that the issue had come to a head, she could be just as stubborn as her husband.

She yanked the bedspread up over the pillows and literally threw herself into the job of cleaning out Bill’s closet. She picked up his bag of golf clubs and pitched them out into the room. Behind them, on the floor, tucked way back in a corner, she saw an oblong canvas bag. Some of his old army stuff, she supposed.

She was just about to toss it out to join the golf bag when she saw what looked like a sales slip tucked into the leather strap which bound it. Backing out of the closet holding the heavy canvas in her arms, she read, “Mr. William Cummings – 2 sleeping bags – $35.00.”

When on earth had he ordered these? She looked back at the date, “5/3/50.”

May 1950, last year, two months before their wedding! Jane let the heavy gear drop on the floor as she sat down heavily on the bed.

So he had been quietly planning this camping trip down to the last details, and then the bride had ridden over his dreams with her own preferences, hardly even listening to his ideas. The bride is everything.

But now, a year later, she was doing it again. Only this time she wasn’t a bride any longer, she was a wife, and marriage is a sharing thing.

She looked, shame-faced, at Bill’s picture on her dresser, gave the sleeping bags a tender flick with her dust rag, and then started downstairs to phone the office. Bill wouldn’t mind being interrupted to hear the news she had to tell him!