On Agate Hill

by Lee Smith

  So then we were almost late, and off we went down the street toward the Masonic Lodge, falling in with a great raft of people all dressed up and talking gaily. Good evening, Miss Brown, Miss Worthington, good evening, girls. Gentlemen tipped their tall hats. It was already dark. Lanterns shone. You forget how dark it is out in the country until you come to town. Adeline and Ida ran off with their friends, so Mary White and I were free to hold hands very tight and walk behind Aunt Cecelia and the widow.

  What do you think . . . , Mary White started to say.

  But I said Sssh for Aunt Cecelia was saying, The situation is rapidly becoming intolerable. Honestly I sometimes believe that my brother has lost his mind.

  Then we arrived in front of the square two-story Masonic Lodge which was all lit up, every window blazing, luminaries placed at intervals from the road to the steps of the hall. Oh look! cried Mary White. For we were greeted at the door by a personage in a turban and a shimmering gold cloth wrap, whether man or woman I could not say. Kerosene lamps lined the wooden stage, and other huge lanterns hung on ropes, as dazzling as the sun. Beautiful music came down from the balcony where only a few candles glowed, so as not to take away from the tableaux. Every chair in town must have been gathered up for the audience, while we children sat on the floor at the front. Adeline and Ida complained.

  Laydees and gentlemen! The velvet curtain parted and out came Doctor Lambeth dressed in a top hat and tails. Everyone cheered. The ladys of the Hillsborough Relief Association welcome you to their Tableaux. You may rest assured that all proceeds from this event will go toward the care of the neediest among us, especially widows and orphans of the Confederacy. And now, on with the show! Doctor Lambeth bowed low to the crowd which screamed when two birds flew out of his upraised hat and swooped around the hall, finally to disappear in the vast dark shadowy balcony where the hidden musicians were playing dramatic music.

  And now—Doctor Lambeths gray hair streamed down to his shoulders—And now, allow me to take you back in time to ancient Greece where we shall present The Nine Muses!

  Two little boys dressed in red suits appeared at the center of the stage then went running back on each side to pull the heavy curtains open revealing a classical scene like an engraving from a mythology book. Everyone in the audience gasped. Applause began and continued. The Muses did not respond to the cheers but held their poses perfectly, moving not a muscle. They looked like statues. White columns of varying heights stood at either side of this tableau, while the floor in front of the Muses was strewn with cunning cloth roses. Aunt Cecelia had edified us so much we all ready knew that the Muses were nine in number, daughters of Jupiter and the Goddess of Memory, Mnemosyne. We all ready knew their names too which were written out on placards in fancy printing.

  Each white-gowned Muse had a placard propped up in front of her. Calliope, Muse of Epic Poetry and Rhetoric, wore a Grecian war helmet over her long golden curls. One pretty hand rested on the short sword stuck in the rope at her waist, while she glared off to the side at some oncoming enemy army. Red spots gleamed on her cheeks. But the one I most wanted to be was Tragedy, who knelt in an attitude of misery and dispair. Her head was bowed so low that we could not even see her features. She wore a crown of myrtle leaves over her smooth black hair.

  Polyhymnia, the Muse of Religious Hymns, held a songbook aloft and appeared to be singing vigorously. This meant that she had to stand still with her mouth wide open which is very hard, Mary White and I have since tried it. Plain red-headed Clio sat at a little spindly-legged writing desk wearing gold-rimmed spectacles, looking down at a huge thick book which said HISTORY across its cover. Erato, the prettiest, held one hand to her heart for she was the Muse of Love Songs.

  The Muse of Lyric Poetry, Euterpe, appeared to be begging someone for something, arms outstretched, her face in anguish. The great fat girl who wore a jesters hat was Thalia, the Muse of Comedy. She looked like a big puffy cloud in her billowing dress. I poked Mary White and pointed, for Thalia was the best, really. You had to laugh when you looked at her. Urania was a serious round-faced girl who carried the moon in one hand and a little globe of the earth in the other. She is the Muse of Astronomy. Terpischore wore full white trousers and held a difficult dance pose, to everyones amazement. Immediately I wanted to be her, instead of Tragedy.

  Everyone in the hall clapped, some crying out, Bravo, bravo! But the Muses did not move, or acknowledge the applause in any way, holding their attitudes. We all jumped to our feet, still clapping. Some wags called out things such as Watch out there Lucinda, you are going to drop the moon! Or why so sad Betsy? while others said, Hush boys, hush! We were directly in front of Tragedy who looked up once and gave us a wink. The curtain was drawn back together by the two little boys who had opened it, one of them stumbling over his own feet to the crowds delight. Bravo, they called out to him.

  I just do not think a married woman should participate in something like this. It is not right! Aunt Cecelia said severely to the widow Brown while a lot of bumping and scraping went on behind the curtain as the association prepared for the next Tableau, advertised as the death scene from Romeo and Juliet. Mary White and I could not wait for this one, as we had read the entire play in preparation, and it promised to be even more tragic than Tragedy. There was scattered applause here and there as the Muses came out to join the audience.

  Then the descending hush, then Doctor Lambeth bowed low and announced, Romeo and Juliet, the Death Scene, in a deep and serious tone. The fiddle wailed down from the balcony. Mary White and I held hands. This time, Calliope and Urania opened the curtain. We had to crane our necks to see, for a lot of this scene took place on the floor.

  Now the columns supported an arch, the entrance to the Capulet tomb. Flares burned in sconces. There lay Romeo dead on his back, the vial of poison still in his hand. Fair Juliet, also dead, lay in a pool of crimson created by the skirt of her silk dress. The jeweled hilt of the dagger jutted up from her chest, catching the torchlight— later, Mary White and I figured out that she had thrust it under her armpit. But it looked perfectly real, exactly like she had stabbed herself. Another young man lay dead beside her.

  That must be Paris, Mary White whispered pointing at this body whose sword lay at his side.

  Or maybe Tybalt? I couldnt remember.

  Friar Lawrence, whose face was hid in the hood of his gown, a plain old rope tied around his waist, stood leaning on a twisted cane. A soldier in uniform stood outside the tomb, arms crossed, while a King and Queen in gold crowns knelt by the bodies. Dazzling sparks of light glinted off the crowns, the swords, the jewels. Sad music from the balcony floated down over all. This time, no applause, but a general intake of breath, a huge gasp. Sobs were heard around the room.

  Then I caught on.

  Though Romeo wore a cap, a blue silk vest, black tights, and fancy pantaloons tucked into his high black boots, clearly he was a girl, one of the members of the Hillsborough Relief Association, her features calm and classical in death, large nose, dark brow. Paris too was a girl, as was the Watchman, the King, and even Friar Lawrence!

  Why, Romeo is one of those Walker girls! The widow Brown exclaimed aloud, causing titters throughout the hall.

  The mood was broken. Excited conversation erupted everywhere, as the Muses raced across the stage dragging the heavy curtain shut.

  Doctor Lambeth came back out. Laydees and gentlemen, it has been our great pleasure—, he began, but his voice was lost in the hubbub.

  Who was responsible for the choice of this scene? A pig-faced man demanded angrily, while another man said that personally he had found Romeo and Juliet to be totally charming and elevating in the manner of all great tragedy.

  Oh poppycock! A skinny lady with spectacles said to our right.

  Adeline! Ida! shrilled the widow.

  Stay right where you are, Aunt Cecelia said severely, pointing to us. She did not look a bit edified. She held her special-smelling handkerchief to her face while we waited for
the widow to grab up Adeline and Ida. Then Aunt Cecelia set forth across the hall, followed by the widow Brown. Mary White and I came in their wake, straight out the big double doors into the dark chilly night. I had to hold up the skirt of the blue velvet dress, which was too long for me, as off we went down the street toward the widows house.

  Well! Aunt Cecelia said. I must say I had misunderstood the nature of this spectacle. The Muses were all well and good, but Romeo and Juliet went beyond the pale, dont you agree, Muriel? And good heavens, those costumes—girls in pants, in public! What has become of modesty? of femininity? I would like to know. Young ladys should not appear in public at all if their judgment is shown to be this faulty, this rash. Especially not young married ladys, the very idea.

  Oh come now, Sissy, the widow Brown said in her high voice. Certainly there can be no immodesty in a young lady doing something which the whole community approves. Why these Tableaux are performed everywhere now, they are quite the thing. And look at how much money they must have raised, and for a very good cause, I might add.

  To say that a thing is done does not make it right, Muriel. Each of Aunt Cecelias words came out in a puff of white breath as we paused by the last streetlight on our way back.

  You need not preach to me, my dear. The widow sounded mad. Perhaps you have been too long in the country.

  Country has nothing to do with it, I assure you, Aunt Cecelia said. Those girls were not comporting themselves as ladys. Mark my words, this never would have happened before the War.

  Then it is high time for a few changes, the widow said. No one thought I could take over for Aldred either and yet I have done so quite competently if I do say so myself. For the widow owns and operates the Brown Printing and Engraving Co. Inc.

  It is a completely different issue. Aunt Cecelia bit off each word.

  No, I dont think it is, the widow said, but then we were there and all the dogs ran out barking. The carriage stood in front of the widows house with Virgil ready to tuck us all under the robes. Then he clicked to the horses and off we went through the clear and starry night.

  Molly? It was Mary White coming forward to sit on the bench with me and Virgil. Isnt it beautiful? Mary White said, and I said, Yes. It is beautiful. Soon she was asleep too, her head against my shoulder, her breathing as light as little Junius. Aunt Cecelia snored in the back. I made sure that Mary White was fully covered by the robes. As for me, I was much too excited to sleep. The dew fell all around us, turning fast to frost which had given the whole countryside a shine well before we reached Agate Hill. I pushed the robe down so I could feel the frost on my face, for I want to feel everything Dear Diary. I want to feel everything there is. I do not want to be a lady. Instead I want to be in a Tableaux Vivant myself, I want to be Tragedy, I want to be Juliet, I want to be Romeo. Thus with a kiss I die.

  December 7, 1872

  It was the worst thing I have ever seen Dear Diary or ever hope to see.

  It all started yesterday when Aunt Mitty sent for some of Liddys boiled custard, for Mama Marie continues to fail, and wont eat, and this is the only thing that will tempt her. Law Law! Aunt Cecelia said. Today of all days, and of course Virgil is gone, well I suppose Liddy can make the custard, but I just dont know how I can get it out there to Four Oaks. Aunt Cecelia patted her special handkerchief all over her face.

  Mary White and me can take it! I said, jumping right up for I love that walk better than anything.

  Now Molly, you know you must say, Mary White and I, she corrected me.

  Mary White and I would love to take it, I said.

  Yes, please please please Grandmother, please let us go, we can take it, we know the way, and we will come right back, we promise. You know you like for us to do good deeds, oh please let us go. Mary White hugged Aunt Cecelias fat waist and wound herself into her big skirts.

  Oh I suppose . . . let me just speak to Liddy then . . . but first you girls must finish your sums.

  Oh yes mam. We sat back down, surprised as could be, while she went back to the kitchen. Mary White copied my numbers down fast, for I am always right.

  So that is how we were excused from lessons and got to walk to Mama Maries on such a bright and frozen morning. Of course we have made this trip many times together in summer and in fall, yet never before in this biting cold when your feet crunch down the icy grass in the yard with every step. I could HEAR us walking! And when you breathe in, it goes straight to your brain like Uncle Junius liquor which we have tasted too. When you breathe out, your breath makes a cloud in the air. The sky was a bright deep blue, like the blue of Aunt Fannies Dutch plate which hangs on the wall in the dining room. We walked down the lane, through the whispering cedars, and set off on the path through the icy woods. Everything was sparkling.

  Why look at this, it is a work of art. Mary White broke off a weed encased in ice and waved it shimmering in the sun. She danced along the path in front of me, light as a fairy in her red coat. I followed, feeling drunk. We passed through a dark stand of big pines whose sharp scent stuck in our throats. Oh look! Mary White was all ready back out in the sunlight ahead pointing up to where a hawk was making big lazy circles in the sky. When he swooped down low we could see the red on his wings.

  Soon we came to the sandy spring, where we broke the ice with the gourd that lay on the rock just waiting for us. This is the best water in the universe, Mary White said solemnly.

  On we went, her red coat flitting in and out of the trees ahead of me. Sometimes she seemed not even to touch the ground. We came into the clear and struck out along a fencerow surprising the little birds who flew up all around us. We passed that pile of rocks which used to be the chimney of an old homestead, we know because daffodils pop up there every spring. Fannie said, Daffodils remember when the people are all gone.

  Finally we came to the bridge over the mill creek and crossed it carefully, holding hands with one hand while clutching our bottles of boiled custard tight with the other. The wild black river roared below us, edged in silver lace. Cold air rushed up under our skirts. The water wheel turned at the side with its dripping buckets, yet we saw no one. Shutters were drawn on the mill, like sleeping eyes. We saw no one at all, not even the crazy old man who so often sits smoking his pipe on the stone slab by the old red plank door, now closed and bolted tight.

  I feel like we are the only people alive in the world, I told Mary White who said she felt exactly the very same way.

  On we went speaking of this and that, I cant think what, for me and Mary White are such good friends it is like I am only thinking aloud when I talk to her. We passed by the fairy ring known only to us and then came to the biggest tree in the county, a tree so big that a man once lived in it, so they say, and we always go inside it where we can both stand up and walk around.

  We can come here, I said, if we ever really run away.

  We moved around in the woody dark.

  I can still smell him, Mary White said, all of a sudden.

  Who? I asked.

  That man who lived here! she said, which scared us to death so we ran down the road as fast as we could go.

  Now we walked between fences through the Big Field which is almost a hundred acres including the old orchard and the special meadow where Fannie used to have us gather sweet grass for the bureau drawers. Here the public road comes in from another direction, yet still we saw no one as we walked along to the privet hedge and Mama Maries stone gate which always stands wide open. Mama Maries house is very old and rambling, it has been added on to many times. Four huge oak trees in the front of the house have roots so high that all you have to do is lay some sticks across them for a roof, then make a carpet with moss, and then you will have a doll house. One time last summer when Mary White and me got to spend the night out there, we made five houses so our dolls could visit to and fro, and get married and die and go to church, and have a Social Life.

  We climbed up the steps and stomped on the porch, hallooing so they would hear us.


  Mama Marie is very sweet but Aunt Mitty is mean as a snake. She is not actually related to any of us, being merely Mama Maries old friend who came to visit one time about a million years ago and stayed on to help run the place after Big Papa died of a heart attack at the dinner table, falling forward into the gravy. Big Papa was a high roller. He raised trotting horses and made his own brandy and went to Congress and held parties that lasted for days. Mama Marie was just a young girl who got into a lot more than she had bargained for. But she got good at running things while he was off at Congress, and raised her children mostly by herself and with Aunt Mitty, and is beloved by all in the countryside.

  Hello, we called, stamping our boots on the porch.

  The door opened and there stood Susie, their only servant, a white woman from a good family in Raleigh which has cast her off. Mary White and I would love to know why.

  Yall come on in. Susie smiled as she took the boiled custard from us. Oh she will like that, she said. Didnt you get cold on that long walk? Lets put your coats back here to_warm up. We followed her back to the kitchen which is part of the house itself, and very old fashioned. Susie does all the cooking on the hearth, with cranes in the fireplace to hang pots and kettles on. She gave us a potato apiece, right out of the ashes. I ate mine all up plus most of Mary Whites, she eats like a little bird.

  Well now you will want to visit them, Susie said, leading us up the stairs into Mama Maries big sunny room where she has been confined forever. Mama Marie lay propped up in her lacy cap on the four-poster bed, she looks like Blanches apple doll. She is smaller every time I see her.

  You sweet girls, she said, Come sit right here and talk to me, which we did, both of us in the stuffed blue chair at the head of her bed. Her Bible sat on the table next to her knitting. Susie put a cup of boiled custard down on the table. Now what have you been doing? Mama Marie asked, and we told her all about Robert E. Lee and his weddings and the Tableaux Vivants and Uncle Junius bad health and the walk over there. Mama Marie laughed and laughed, her face all crinkled up. I swear, you girls are a tonic, she said.