Skirting Tradition
Page 23
When Mrs. Boyd finished, the audience broke into wild clapping. Sarah was thrilled to overhear women exclaim, “I had no idea she could play like that. Why, she’s absolutely professional!”
Antonio held up his hands to silence them. “She makes me afraid.” He confessed in a stage whisper as he winced. “How can I compete?” He stroked his beard in mock concentration. “I think of something moltissimo rapido!”
He raised his violin, and the spirited tune of Paganini’s “La Campanella” spilled out and raced throughout the room. Sarah had never heard such exuberance from an instrument, and she grew dizzy watching Antonio whip the bow across the strings.
As the last note bounced off the walls, the guests jumped to their feet, shouting “Bravo!” and clapping wildly.
“No, no!” Antonio protested. “You should be shouting brava! Mrs. Boyd is the winner, and she is decidedly female. Bravo is for man. Brava is for lady.” Antonio hurried to Mrs. Boyd’s side and gently raised her arm into the victor’s position. She protested, but he knelt at her feet and kissed her hand.
When he rose, he announced: “We play together now. A wise man knows not to compete with his superiors. We play for you some Brahms. You will like this.”
And indeed they did.
***
At nine thirty, Sarah slipped out the front door, heartbroken to leave but also very tired from the excitement. With Antonio’s violin music following her, calling her back, she hurried down the walk, pausing a few seconds to gaze up at the fountain in the moonlight. A shadowy figure stepped closer as a gentle voice asked, “May I escort you to the carriage?”
Sarah nodded her agreement and took Lee’s extended arm. “It’s been an extraordinary evening,” he said. “I’m sorry you must leave.”
“I have had the privilege of listening to them practice for three days. I suppose that must be enough.”
“Is there ever enough of the beautiful experiences of life?”
Sarah looked up into his serious eyes but said nothing.
“I would like to spend more time with you, Miss Novak. May I call on you at your home?”
An instant image of Pa’s angry face flew through her mind. “No! I mean …”
“Your father would object.”
“He would. He has his own plans for my future.”
“Promise me that you will not comply.” Lee’s voice grew more urgent. “Promise me that we will become better acquainted!”
Sarah bowed her head and covered her face with her hand.
Lee calmed his tone. “I see I have distressed you. Forgive me. I am certain you have your own plans for your future as well as the fortitude not to be deterred by either a father or a suitor.”
Sarah met his eyes. “Yes, I do.”
He smiled down at her. “I shall wait, Miss Novak, and cheer you on, but I shall not go away.”
He helped her into the carriage. When she was settled, she glanced at him with the intention of nodding a cool good night. His eyes sparkled in the moonlight, and the strains of Antonio’s violin drifted on the air. She could not prevent the smile that spread across her face.
CHAPTER 18
Accompanied by Maude and Antonio, Victoria entered the sanctuary of St. Paul’s Episcopal Church on Christmas Eve. Midnight was drawing near, and the paneled cherry walls of the historic church glowed in the gentle light emanating from standing candelabra. Swags of greenery draped each stained-glass window, and over each window a red bow reigned, its streamers swirling down, pointing to the single candle on the ledge. The altar bore two golden urns piled high with pine, magnolia, and bright-red nandina berries, but the undisputed focal point was the ornate golden cross. It had been carried into Texas in the 1830s by the Hodges family when they helped found Riverford on the Trinity River. Hayden’s ancestors had crossed the Sabine River from Louisiana and, with their personal wagon train of possessions and slaves, had traveled west, fording the Angelina River and finally settling on the Trinity River. It was his family that hosted the new parish’s first church services in their log home and had eventually built the present church.
Victoria glanced around the sanctuary, knowing she would find Hayden busily managing some aspect of the service. She spotted him to her left, assisting an elderly lady into a pew. He looked up, and their eyes met as Antonio placed his hand under her elbow urging her to proceed down the aisle. She did not move. It was her intention to walk down that aisle with her husband. Hayden smiled his understanding and hastened up the side aisle to meet her.
“The church looks beautiful,” Victoria whispered as she took his arm.
He grinned at her. “I brought an artist all the way from England to decorate. Had to marry her, but it was worth it.”
Victoria rolled her eyes at him.
Maude whispered, “Shouldn’t we be seated before the choir processes on top of us?”
“Good idea,” Hayden agreed, then looked back at Antonio. “Follow us, Antonio. I happen to know of a pew with our name on it.”
In the Hodges pew, Victoria barely had time to kneel and pray before the choir began singing “O Come All Ye Faithful” out in the narthex, and the congregation rose to join them. As the choir made its stately progression down the center aisle, Hayden put his arm around his wife’s waist and gently pulled her toward him. Joy surged through Victoria. I belong! Finally, I belong! She struggled to hold back the happy tears forming in her eyes, but to no avail. Gratefully, she accepted Hayden’s handkerchief as they knelt for the opening prayer.
When it came time for the reading of the Psalm, Hayden rose and ascended the steps to the lectern. He looked out at the congregation, many of whom were also descendants of founding church members. When he began to read, he glanced down at Victoria and delivered the first verse to her. “O sing unto the Lord a new song; sing unto the Lord, all the whole earth.” Victoria’s heart swelled with gratitude. My husband. Oh, thank you, God! Maude reached over and took her hand. She understands, of course. Oh, that she could be so blessed as well.
The ancient Christmas hymns were sung, the Gospel according to Luke was read, prayers were said, and finally the time came for communion. Much to Victoria’s surprise, Antonio rose from the pew. As he proceeded to the front, General Gibbes handed him his violin, and the congregation murmured. Moments later, the notes of “Panis Angelicus” lifted off the taut strings and ascended to the heavens. The congregation fell into a profound silence.
“Panis angelicus fit panis hominum,” Maude murmured when Antonio finished playing.
“Bread of the angels is made bread for mankind,” Victoria barely breathed the translation.
As Antonio returned to the pew, the priest raised his hands to the heavens and the congregation knelt. The communion service began. “Almighty God, unto whom all hearts are open, all desires known, and from whom no secrets are hid, cleanse the thoughts of our hearts by the inspiration of thy Holy Spirit, that we may perfectly love thee and worthily magnify thy holy name, through Christ our Lord. Amen.”
Victoria’s spirit grew ever quieter as the service progressed, listening in a way she never had before. When the time came, she approached the communion rail, knelt beside Hayden, and lifted her hands to receive the body of Christ with an eagerness she had never known. Back in the pew, she knelt as was the custom. No words of prayer came to mind. She simply knelt there, peacefully staring at the gentle glow of the golden cross.
Others walked past, to and from the communion rail, but her attention remained on the cross. After final prayers of thanksgiving were said and the congregation, still on their knees, began to sing “Silent Night,” she listened to the familiar lyrics, awed by their meaning for the first time in her life. “Christ the Savior is born.” Words of hope for a needy world. Words of hope for me. Her meditation was broken when the organ sounded the first exuberant notes of “Joy to the World.” The congregation rose and heartily joined the recessing choir in the announcement, “The Lord is come!”
***
At tea time on New Year’s Eve, Maude pronounced Sarah an excellent student. “I never dreamed she could make such progress so quickly. Sarah has the mental discipline of a gladiator and is going to be a trailblazer for young women.”
“Forgive me if I’m not surprised,” Miss Victoria said. “I knew it the first time I looked into those serious blue eyes.”
“Una grande tragedia,” Antonio declared melodramatically. “A great loss for the world.”
“I’d like to know why!” Maude demanded.
“She will break many hearts. Mama mia! What a sin it is to deny such beauty. Think of the hordes of heartbroken men!”
Maude huffed. “Men indeed! Think of the hundreds of students she will lift out of lives of degrading stagnation.”
“Degrading stagnation? This is what you think of amore! Mama mia! I say you are perpetrating a great tragedy on the world. You are too grave for me, Miss Maude.”
“Any woman who thinks about more than her hairstyle is too grave for you, Antonio.”
Sarah interrupted before Antonio could tease Maude any further. “I owe everything to you, Maude, and to Miss Victoria.”
“You owe everything to your hard work, Sarah,” Miss Victoria insisted. “I simply don’t know how you have kept up this pace of yours.”
“I can’t afford to fail. My whole future depends on passing the entrance exam.”
***
As the last hours of 1895 ticked down, Sarah labored on the farm to help her mother prepare for a New Year’s Day visit from the Sykora family. Pa played no games about his intention. “Bake some kolaches for Havel. No tricks this time, girl. And see to it that you show him a good time. Don’t mention those books of yours; no man wants his wife to be smarter than he is.”
Sarah gritted her teeth, determined not to argue with him, but as soon as the day’s work was finished and the supper dishes were washed, she slipped up the ladder to her attic room and read for several hours after the household had settled into sleep. She had no way of knowing the exact time, but nevertheless, she opened the attic window and leaned out to greet the New Year. The air was frosty, but the sky glittered with a vast community of stars, and, at that moment, she felt closer to those distant shining worlds than to the people who slept beneath her. To Sarah, the stars were symbols of all the unknown but soon-to-be-experienced possibilities of life. “Happy 1896!” Sarah fervently whispered as she waved at the sparkling sky. “Oh, happy, happy New Year!”
Settling back on her heels, she grew pensive. I’ll soon be seventeen. Seventeen! Just think of it. If things are going to be different for me, I must change things now. These are the days that really count! A shiver ran through her. Excitement. Apprehension. Yearning. They all collided in her mind. “Where, oh where will I be in a year?” she asked the sky. “At the college? Oh please, God, make it so. Do You know how hungry I am for knowledge? Do You even know I’m down here? I’m going to do everything I can, but I don’t know if ...” She stopped as apprehension became anxiety.
She sought out the moon, needing the hopefulness of a full moon but knowing it was little more than a quarter full. “That’s me, intellectually speaking. A quarter full, and I won’t make it if I can’t learn more and learn it faster. Oh, God! What more can I do? Tell me! Please tell me. I’ll do anything! But You and I know what tomorrow is about. Pa is going to marry me off if he can. Did You bring me into this world for that? If You did, You shouldn’t have given me this burning desire to learn!”
Hot tears of frustration rolled down Sarah’s cheeks. “Something has to change,” she muttered as she closed the window. “I’ll never make it if something doesn’t change.” She slid between the icy sheets and shivered.
***
New Year’s Day 1896 was sunny and cold, and a heavy dew had turned every stubble on the farm into crystal. Tired, Sarah rose with the sun and recorded her New Year’s resolutions in her notebook. It didn’t take her long. Pass the entrance exam. She wrote that in capital letters. Complete the fall semester of the teacher program. She underlined that. Lee Logan … She followed his name with a question mark as she murmured, “Why am I even thinking about him? Teaching is enough.”
“Sally!” Pa called up the attic stairs. “The day ain’t gettin’ any younger.”
All morning long, Sarah worked alongside her mother, occasionally running outside to check the temperature in hopes of setting up tables in the sun.
“I think it’s warm enough,” she finally reported.
“Thank the Lord!” Mama declared. “We’ve got quite a crowd coming. That Sykora family seems to grow weekly.”
“They’re going to have to grow without me,” Sarah muttered.
“Be careful, honey. You and I both know what your pa has in mind for today. Just slip by as easy as you can. Just smile and don’t commit to nothing.”
“Don’t worry!” Sarah’s tone was sharp.
“Whatever you do, don’t embarrass your pa in front of the Sykoras.”
Sarah sighed. “I’ll keep my head down and my eyes on the ground. Isn’t that what a farm wife is supposed to do?”
“Sykoras are coming!” Norbert called out as he popped his head in the door. “We’re setting up the tables under the oak. Sally, Pa says to come on out here and welcome Havel.”
“I’ve got to help Mama.” Sarah turned away and ran to the pantry. When she returned, her mother had stepped outside to welcome their guests. Sarah peeked out the window, and among the men was twenty-year-old Havel. Like all the Sykora men, he was of medium height, stocky, and sported a black beard. She watched as he kicked at the dirt with the toe of his boot, nodding his head in agreement with whatever Pa was saying. Once Pa turned toward the other guests, Havel spat out the tobacco he had been chewing. Sarah’s stomach turned as she jerked the curtain shut. “I will starve first!” She hissed at the empty room. “I’ll live under a porch like Ada’s children. I will!”
After the men had been served, the women withdrew to a separate table to eat and visit. Sarah ate little and said nothing. She had nothing to add to a conversation about pickling cabbage for sauerkraut. The worst moment came when Havel approached the table and asked her to take a walk. All her protests that she must help clean up were silenced by refusals of her assistance from the Sykora women who cast knowing glances at each other and grinned. There was nothing she could do but go.
Havel offered her his roughened hand with its dirt-encrusted nails as they left the crowd behind, but Sarah, feigning shyness, silently thrust her hands into her skirt pockets and clenched her fists. A mockingbird perched at the top of the old live oak on the crest of the hill and filled the air with a variety of songs, but none lifted Sarah’s spirits. She watched her own feet doggedly creating little puffs of dust as she marched on.
“You can see our farm from here.” Havel intruded on her intentional separateness by grabbing her arm and turning her to the right. “See, over yonder, just on the other side of that patch of pines. That’s where our farm starts. Pa’s gonna give me those first fields, and I figure I’ll build our house right about—”
“Our house?” Sarah jerked her head up and glared at him.
Havel shrugged and whipped his hand across his tobacco-stained mustache. “Ain’t no point in pretending, Sally. Our folks got a plan, and I figure you’re plenty pretty enough for me.”
Sarah’s fists flew out of her pockets and landed on her hips. “Do you indeed?”
Havel met her eyes, and Sarah saw stony determination there. “I’m a strong man, Sally,
a good farmer. And if you’ll just work with me, I’ll be good to you.”
“And if I don’t?”
Havel kicked at the dirt and sent a heavy clump flying. “I figure your pa can handle you. After the wedding, I will.”
Sarah opened her mouth to retort, but her mother’s warning raced through her mind. Just slip by as easy as you can. Just smile and don’t commit to nothing. She gritted her teeth, whirled around, and stomped away from him.
“This don’t have to be a fight, Sally!” he called after her. “Ain’t no use anyhow. Your pa’s already decided for you.”
The sound of a fiddle and the laughter of the party below wafted up on the breeze. Sarah stopped and looked down at the farmyard. Novaks and Sykoras of all ages were dancing on the dead grass under the bare tree. Sarah studied the women—their stocky frames, their hair drawn into tidy buns, their awkwardness as their drab, homespun skirts swirled around their ankles. Good women. Loving women. But ... I wonder how many of them can read.
Havel walked up behind her and put his hand on her shoulder. “You want to dance, Sally?”
Memories of the musicale at Hodges House flitted through Sarah’s mind. Silken skirts flashing under crystal chandeliers, lace-flounced sleeves fluttering as graceful women strolled through Christmas-bedecked rooms. The gallantry of General Gibbes. Antonio’s yearning love expressed by the haunting lyrical melody of “Thais.” The feel of Lee’s hands, the tenderness of his eyes.
Sarah clamped down on her anger with Pa and Havel. I will not lose my future!
“Yes, Havel. I do.” She turned and smiled at him. “I want to dance.”
He grinned, his tobacco-stained teeth barely showing under his curling mustache. “Course you do. You ain’t no different from any other woman. I figured you’d see reason in the end.”
Sarah forced herself to brighten her smile. Oh, this is not my end! I’ve only just begun. She turned and ran down the hill.
Havel laughed and raced after her.
***
As the sun sank closer to the horizon, Sarah danced and thanked God for the shortness of winter days and continued smiling under the approving eyes of Pa and the Sykoras. At dusk, the men built a campfire, and the adults, reluctant to end this day of play and face the work of tomorrow, gathered around and sang the old Czech songs of their youth. Sarah hung back, busying herself making coffee, her mind traveling farther and farther away as the books in her attic room called her name.