Vows (16 page)

 
The piano notes drifted upstairs, through Josephine's bedroom and out the open door to the veranda where Josie smiled and stopped polishing. She dropped her head against the back of the chair and closed her eyes, unconsciously tapping a half-polished spoon against her knee in rhythm with the music.

 
When she opened her eyes, Edwin was coming home along the street below. It was halfway between dinner and supper, and she felt a stir of gladness to see him arriving at the uncustomary time. She waved and he waved back, flashing a smile up to her. She watched him cross the yard and disappear onto the porch below while the music continued, and Fannie's voice came along with it.

 
"
…the devil take the blue-tail fly. Jimmy crack corn and I don't care…
"

 
Downstairs, Edwin stepped into his front parlor to find it transformed. Sunlight cascaded through white lace curtains, lighting the polished floor to the color of deep tea. The furniture had been thinned, and uncovered, and was complemented by only a few figurines and knicknacks and a single feathery fern beside the bay window. The piano, with its back against the wall and its top swept clean of all but an oil lamp and their family pictures, rang out while Tarsy clapped and his children laughingly danced an untutored, reckless polka.

 
Fannie sat at the piano, pounding the ivory keys and singing gustily. Her head was covered with a white dish towel, knotted top-center where sprigs of peachy-colored frizz stuck out. Her apron and skirts were hiked up to her knees, showing black high-topped shoes, which thumped the foot pedals powerfully enough to set the oil lamp rocking. She saw Edwin's entry reflected in the polished wood of the piano front, and turned a glimpse over her shoulders, continuing to sing and play full force.

 
"
That horse he run, he jump, he pitch, he throw my master in de ditch…
"

 
When she reached the chorus, the children chimed in, and Edwin stood laughing.

 
"Sing, Edwin!" Fannie ordered, interrupting herself only for that second before jumping back into the song.

 
He added his inexpert tenor, and the five of them together made enough racket to shake the soot out of the kitchen stovepipe. Still dancing, Emily tripped over Frankie's feet. They giggled, caught their balance, then continued thumping their way around the room with as much grace as a pair of lumberjacks.

 
During the final chorus, Fannie raised her face to the ceiling and bellowed. "
Are you singing, Joey?
"

 
In that instant Edwin felt a burst of renewed love for Fannie.

 
He made it upstairs—two at a time—before the final chorus died and found Josie, indeed, singing softly to herself on the veranda in the sun, with a smile on her face.

 
Sensing him behind her, she stopped and smiled self-consciously over her shoulder.

 
"Edwin, you're home early."

 
"I left a note on the door at the livery. I thought they might need my help downstairs, but it doesn't look like it." He stepped onto the veranda and went down on one knee beside her chair, squeezing her hand, which still held the polishing rag and spoon. "Oh, Josie, it's so wonderful to hear you singing."

 
"I feel so much better, Edwin." Her smile reiterated her words. "I think I can go downstairs tonight … for a while anyway, and greet Emily's guests."

 
"That's wonderful, Josie…" He squeezed her hand again. "Just wonderful."

Looking into her eyes he recalled their own betrothal party. How he had despaired, and how he'd hidden it. But their life hadn't been so bad after all. They'd had twenty good healthy years before she'd grown ill, and from those years had come two beautiful children, and a lovely house, and a deep respect for one another. And if their relationship had not been as intimate or demonstrative as he'd hoped, perhaps it was partly his fault. He should have admired her more, complimented, wooed, touched. Because he hadn't, he did so now.

 
"You look very lovely sitting here in the sun." He took the spoon from her hand and fitted his palm to hers, entwining their fingers. "I'm so glad I came home early."

 
She blushed and dropped her eyes. But her glance lifted in surprise when he turned his head and kissed her palm. With her free hand she tenderly touched his bearded cheek.

 
"Dear Edwin," she said fondly.

 
Downstairs the piano stopped and laughing voices drifted off to the kitchen. For a while, both Edwin and Josephine were happier than they had been in years.

Chapter 6

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W
ith two hours to spare before the guests began arriving, the house was in perfect order. The finger sandwiches were sliced, the cakes frosted, and the brandy punch mixed. Tarsy had gone home to change clothes; Josephine, her hair freshly washed, was resting; in the kitchen, Edwin was combing Frankie's hair and giving him strict orders about allowing Earl no more than two sandwiches before getting him out of the house and over to Earl's, where the boys would spend the night.

 
Upstairs in the west bedroom Fannie was having a grand time creating a mess, strewing dresses from her trunks like a rainbow across Emily's bed and rocker.

 
"Green?" She whisked a silky frock against Emily's front. It was pale as sea-foam and trimmed with bugle beads. Emily scarcely got a glimpse of it before it was gone. "No, no, it does nothing for your coloring." Fannie tossed it onto the pile, while Emily's eyes followed it longingly.

 
Next Fannie plucked up a splash of yellow. "Ah … saffron. Saffron will set off your hair." She plastered the dress to Emily, gripped her shoulders, and whirled her to face the mirror.

 
Emily found the yellow even more inviting than the green. "Oh, it's beautiful."

 
"It's good … still … mmm…" Fannie lay a finger beside her mouth and studied Emily thoughtfully. "No, I think not. Not tonight. We'll save it for another time." The becoming yellow dress went flying while Emily disappointedly watched it hit the bed and slide to the floor in a puddle of material. "Tonight it's got to be the absolute perfect frock … mmm…" Fanny tapped her lips, perused the jumble on the bed, and abruptly spun toward the closet. "I've got it!" She fell to her knees and dragged out another trunk, thumped the lid back, and scavenged through it like a dog disinterring a bone.

 
"Pink!" Kneeling, Fannie held it high—a dress as true hued as a wild rose. "The perfect color for you." She stood and whacked it against her knees, then whisked the rustly creation against Emily's front. "Would you look at how that girl can wear pink! I never could. I don't know why I bought this thing. It makes me look like a giant freckle. But you, with your black hair and dark complexion…"

 
Even wrinkled, the dress was stunning, with a dropped neckline bordered by embroidered tea roses, wondrous bouffant elbow-length sleeves and a matching pouff at the spine. When it shifted, it spoke—a sibilant whisper telling of Eastern soirees where such frocks were customary. The dress was more beautiful than anything Emily had ever owned, but as she gazed wistfully at her reflection she was forced to admit, "I'd feel conspicuous in something this eye-catching."

 
"Nonsense!" Fannie retorted.

 
"I've never had a dress this pretty. Besides, Mother says a lady should wear subdued colors."

 
"And I always told her, Joey, you're old before your time." Conspiratorially, Fannie added, "Let your mother choose all the subdued colors she wants for herself, but this is your party. You may wear whatever you choose. Now what do you think?"

 
Emily gazed at the strawberry-pink confection, trying to imagine herself wearing it downstairs in the parlor as the guests arrived. She could well imagine Tarsy wearing such a dress—Tarsy with her blond curls, pouting mouth, pretty face, and undeniably voluptuous figure. But herself? Her hair might be dark, but it had not been curled since she was old enough to say no to sleeping in rags. And her face? It was too long and dark-skinned, and her eyebrows were as straight and unattractive as heel marks on a floor. Her eyes and nose, she guessed, were passable, but her mouth was less than ordinary, and her teeth overlapped on top, which had always made her self-conscious when she smiled. No, her face and body were much better suited to britches and suspenders than to rose-colored frocks with bouffant sleeves.

 
"I think it's a little too feminine for me."

 
Fannie caught Emily's eye in the mirror. "You wanted to make Mr. Jeffcoat eat his words, didn't you?"

 
"Him! I don't give a rip what Mr. Jeffcoat thinks."

 
Fannie whisked the dress into the air and brushed at the wrinkles with her hand. "I don't believe you. I think you would love to appear downstairs in this creation and knock his eyeballs out. Now, what do you say?"

 
Emily reconsidered. If it worked, it would be better than spitting in Tom Jeffcoat's eye, and she had never been one to resist a challenge.

 
"All right. I'll do it … if you're sure you don't mind."

 
"Heavens, don't be silly! I'll never wear it again."

 
"But it's all wrinkles. How will we—"

 
"Leave that to me." Fannie flipped the dress over her shoulder and went off to shout over the banister, "Edwin, I'll need some fuel … kerosene, preferably! Coal oil if that's all you have." A moment later she stuck her head back into Emily's bedroom. "Brush your hair, light the lantern, and heat the curling tongs. I'll be right back." Again she disappeared, trailing a call. "Edwiiiiin?"

 
Within minutes she returned with Edwin in tow. From the depths of a trunk she produced a hunk of steel she introduced as a steamer. She held it while Edwin filled it with coal oil and water, and when it was lit and hissing, she put him to work steaming his daughter's dress while Fannie herself took over the curling tongs and arranged Emily's hair.

 
Submitting to her cousin, Emily watched her transformation while Papa, happy and humming, exclaimed as the wrinkles fell out of the pink satin; Mother came from across the hall dressed in a fine midnight blue serge dress, with her hair neatly coiled, and sat on the rocking chair to watch. Clamping a tress of hair in the hot tongs, Fannie described the newest hairdos from the East—crimps or waves, which would Emily prefer?

 
Emily chose crimps, and when the hairdo was done, piled atop her head like a dark puffy nest, she stared at herself disbelievingly, with her heart jumping in excitement. Standing behind Emily, inspecting her handiwork in the mirror, Fannie yelled, "Frankie, where are you?"

 
Frankie appeared in the doorway behind them. "What?"

 
"Go downstairs and pick a sprig of impatiens and bring them here—and don't ask me what they are. Those tiny pink flowers beside the front door!"

 
When he returned, and when the delicate blossoms were nestled in the misty-looking curls above Emily's left ear, Frankie stood back with big eyes and open lips, exclaiming in astonishment, "Wowwww, Emily, do you ever look pretty!"

 
At eight P.M. she stood before the dining room mirror feeling pretty, yes—but conspicuous. She dipped down to peer at her reflection and glimpsed her flushed cheeks. Goodness! It was a little breathtaking to see one's self in pink and crimps for the first time. She touched her chest—so much of it was bare—and stared.

 
She had never spared time for feminizing herself; she'd had no reason. Most girls primped and preened to attract the attentions of men, but she'd had Charles's attention forever. Staring at her reflection, she felt a sting of guilt, for it was not only Charles she wanted to impress tonight, but Tom Jeffcoat—that jackal who'd called her a tomboy. What pleasure she'd take in making him eat his words. All the while Fannie had been fussing over her Emily had gloated, imagining it.

 
But now, peering in the dining room mirror with her stomach trembling, she feared she'd be the one who felt awkward, instead of him. Fannie had powdered her face and chest with a light dusting of flour, and had tinted her cheeks by wet ting swatches of red crepe paper, then rubbing them lightly on her skin. "Lick your lips," Fannie had ordered. "Now clamp them hard over the paper." Again … magic! But it was very uncertain magic, for a mere touch of the tongue removed it. Staring at her pink lips, Emily scolded herself silently: So help me, if you lick them before Jeffcoat arrives, you deserve every name he's called you!

 
"Emily?"

 
Emily jumped and spun around.

 
"Oh, Charles, I didn't hear you come in."

 
He stared as if he'd never seen her before. His cheeks became pink and his mouth dropped open, but not a word came out.