Wayne Avenue runs downhill from Belmont to downtown Dayton. Great Aunt Mary lived in a building halfway down the slope in a neighborhood that had once been pleasant. We three kids climbed vinyl treaded stairs to her second floor apartment, knocked gingerly and waited. She opened the door with a big smile and invited us in. She had snow white hair, laugh lines, and a hoarse, rasping voice. She returned to a large oak table in her dining room, picked up a kitchen knife and cut dough into thin strips. I asked her what she was doing, and she said, “Making egg noodles”. She finished quickly, wiped the table and washed her hands.
Time for a tour. I saw a painting hanging in her living room, a winter scene of a snowy lane, a haloed moon, and frost covered trees. Beside it hung a still life of roses in a vase. Aunt Mary saw me looking at them and said, “Those were painted by a nun who used to teach at St. Mary’s parochial school. She came from Germany and spoke with a thick accent.”
Aunt Mary sat us down on a sofa and asked us questions: how do you like school? what do you like to watch on TV? what position do you play on your baseball team? She smiled and listened as we answered and never glanced sideways as if hoping we’d stop talking. (My grandmother, Aunt Mary’s older sister, had limited patience for me and my brother. We learned to keep our thoughts to ourselves in Grandma’s presence.)
Aunt Mary fed us supper, and we sat down in front of her black and white television after we finished. She asked for suggestions and turned the dial to Channel 7. The Sonny and Cher Show came on. Aunt Mary seemed bewildered by the odd commotion of the program, but she beamed at us as we pointed at the screen and laughed. She pretended to like it too.
We knew that Grandma carried a grudge against her sister, but no one explained how it started and why it was so one sided. Aunt Mary shrugged off Grandma’s snubs and pointed remarks and never struck back. I asked Aunt Mary one day if she felt hurt by that treatment. I had been on the receiving end of my grandmother’s spite on a few occasions and feared doing anything that would make her wrath permanent. But Aunt Mary said, “Oh, your grandmother doesn’t bother me. She’s always been that way.”
Mom and Dad took us to our grandparents on Sunday nights to visit. Talk inevitably turned to family history and gossip. Aunt Mary became the main topic one night. I heard that she had had an affair with a married man for years and years. My great aunt and the man were Catholics, and the man refused to get a divorce even though his marriage had long grown cold. Aunt Mary never made any demands. She understood that she and “Bill” would get married if the estranged wife died.
Bill suffered a heart attack and exited this world well before his wife. Aunt Mary never took up with another man, and years later remarked, “To hell with the Church. I should have married him while I could.”