The Art of Breathing

by Janie DeVos

  Bending down to look into the oval mirror sitting on top of my vanity, I tucked in a few thick strands of hair that had escaped the tight bun at the back of my head. I stood up and smoothed down my light green dress with the cream-colored lace collar. The dress was cinched at the waist with a wide belt that matched the color of the lace, accentuating the fullness of the skirt. The green of the dress made my dark brown hair a rich chestnut color, and brought out the darker green of my eyes. But as I took a last inventory of myself, I noticed that the light circles under my eyes were still there. They’d been darker when I first woke up and I’d hoped they’d fade away during the day, but a shadow of them still remained. I had slept pretty well, but was awakened in the middle of the night with a cough. It had started several days before we left Cabot, but had gotten worse on the train. It had been so dry lately, though, that I was sure it was caused by all the dust. Finally, I’d fallen back to sleep but woke up a little before seven. I was tempted to roll over for another hour of sleep in my old, familiar bed but I knew that the day ahead was a full one, so I’d forced myself to get up.

  “Would y’all please come on, now?” Daddy hollered from the bottom of the stairs. “Donnie and I been waiting on you women for nearly thirty minutes. If we don’t get a move on, we’ll be gathering to celebrate Prescott and Glory’s silver anniversary, instead of their wedding!”

  Mama laughed. “You have not been waiting that long. But we’re coming right now.”

  “I’ll grab your corsage, Mama. You left it on the bed.” I went into her room and picked up the white orchid that had little wisps of purple running through it. Daddy had bought it for her. It would be perfect on her lavender-colored dress.

  “Are we picking up the—” I started to ask about the wedding cake as I hurried down the stairs, but was stopped by a fit of coughing that erupted unexpectedly and violently, causing me to lose my footing and frantically grab the banister. Mama’s corsage, however, was in the hand that grabbed the railing and was instantly crushed.

  “Kate!” Daddy, still standing at the bottom of the steps, instinctively reached his arms out and took a step up toward us. Mama, hearing me stumble behind her, whirled around and reached an arm out, too, trying to stop me from falling into her.

  Pressed against the railing, I’d stopped coughing but was shaking and still trying to catch my breath. “I’m okay,” I rasped. “Water . . .”

  Mama was holding me firmly against the railing as my father rushed into the kitchen, where I heard glass clinking, immediately followed by the tap running.

  “Kate, are you sure you’re all right?” She was clearly frightened and continued to hold on to me as I slowly descended the steps; then she guided me to one of the living room chairs. “What got ahold of you?”

  “Dust.” I took a sip of water. I sounded hoarse, but wasn’t coughing. “It’s been really dry and the dust has been bad. I’m okay, really. But, Mama, your corsage! It’s ruined!” I held it up, showing her the smashed remains.

  “Lord, honey, don’t worry about some old corsage! I’ll pin a lily to my dress as soon as we get to the church—as long as they’re not half-dead.” She forced a laugh, trying to lighten the mood again.

  We took a couple of minutes to collect ourselves, and after I assured everyone again that I was all right, we headed out the door. But the frightening truth was I was beginning to feel like one of those lilies.

  CHAPTER 6

  A Shivaree

  “Jack, would you go on out back and make sure Gerald Parsons isn’t passing around any more of that lightning? I swear, more folks are heading out there, walking all straight-like, and then they come back in here zigzagging like they’ve just come off one of those rides at the fair.”

  Mama was watching as some of the men, and even a couple of the younger women, went in and out of the back door of the fellowship hall at Howling Cut United Methodist Church. As she had done all through the wedding, and was now doing at the reception, Mama was overseeing every detail. So far, everything had gone off without a hitch and she intended it to stay that way to the end.

  I’d been out on the dance floor with Donnie, teaching him how to waltz, but was taking a break while Daddy’s sister, Aunt Harriet, whirled him around during a lively square dance. She had come in the night before and was looking forward to a few days reprieve from her hectic work at Asheville’s Pelham State Hospital, where she worked as a psychiatric nurse. While she was back in town, she was staying at her childhood home, where her mother, my grandma Lydia, still lived. It was the original house on the orchard’s property. It was the one the Harris family moved into when Grandpa Harris bought the orchard, and Daddy and Aunt Harriet were just kids. Grandma Lydia still oversaw the orchard’s gift store, and continued to stock it with many of her wonderful handmade items.

  Early that morning, I’d gone over to have breakfast with Aunt Harriet and my grandmother before heading over to decorate the church with Mama. It was something I often did while I was growing up. It gave my grandmother and me some time for just the two of us, and since she was a wonderful baker, I often indulged in her luscious cinnamon buns, fresh from the oven, or the most heavenly pecan coffee cake.

  Now, with my aunt home, it was nice having a little time to catch up on her life. We rarely got the chance to see each other, but we’d always enjoyed our time together when we did. She was thoroughly engrossed in her work, which gave her little time for a social life, not that she’d been much interested in one, anyway, since her husband, Frank Pierce, passed away from stomach cancer two years before.

  I knew the one thing that she’d regretted, however, was not having a child. Frank had been an orthopedic surgeon, and the two of them had thrown themselves into the world of medicine, thinking they’d have a child at some point in the future, but the future came and went, and so did Harriet’s chance of bearing children. After Frank’s passing, and with no children to come home to, Harriet spent long hours at work, which for the last three years, had been at Pelham.

  The hospital was primarily a facility for the mentally ill, but also treated patients with pulmonary and respiratory diseases. For the first half of the century, Pelham had been Pelham Tuberculosis Sanatorium, but with a decline of the vast numbers of people stricken with the disease, the institution had had to reinvent itself as a multipurpose facility and became a psychiatric state hospital, as well. Thanks to government funding, the hospital was alive and well.

  As the reception continued into the evening, I sat down in one of the chairs that had been pushed back against the wall to allow more dance room for the more than one hundred guests in attendance, most of whom were from my side of the family. Glory’s parents were deceased and she was an only child. However, an aunt, uncle, and some cousins from the Piedmont area had come to witness their kin’s nuptials, and from the way several of those cousins were acting, it seemed they’d come to take full advantage of the reception’s refreshments.

  “Rachel, let’s just let ’em be for the time being,” Daddy suggested in response to Mama’s request that he check on the guests out back. “They’re not causing any trouble, at least not so far. If they imbibe too much, we’ll just put ’em in the backseat of their cars and take their keys, or lay ’em out in the beds of their wagons, unhitch their horses, and let ’em sleep it off until they’re fit to drive.”

  I was enjoying listening to the exchange between my parents as they stood at the long rectangular table serving punch. I felt like I was eavesdropping, but I stayed where I was anyway, taking a few minutes to cool down beneath one of the ceiling fans. Even though it was spring, the hall was stuffy because of the crowd. I had started to go outside for some air, but there was a soft rain falling, and the only overhang was in the back of the building, where the moonshine was being passed around.

  Closing my eyes, I leaned my head back against the wall. It was good to have a few minutes to myself. Since Donnie and I had arrived three days ago, we hadn’t stopped. Daddy had happily kept h
is one and only grandchild busy, while Mama and I had been at it from dawn to dusk, preparing for the wedding. Making the flower arrangements for the tables, as well as for the church, pressing tablecloths and napkins, and doing an endless amount of cooking, the hours had flown, and so had my energy. I was frustrated with myself for feeling so tired these days. My cough hadn’t gone away and I’d developed some chest congestion, and I worried I might be coming down with a cold. I was just glad it hadn’t become full blown before the wedding. My mother had needed all the help she could get taking over the responsibilities that usually fell to the mother of the bride. In the process, my mother and Glory had grown quite close, and I was glad for everyone’s sake, but most especially for Uncle Prescott.

  “Well, doggone, if it ain’t pretty Kate Harris, as I live and breathe!”

  My alone time ended and I opened my eyes to see my brother’s old friend Sparky Brody standing over me. The two had gone to school together since the first grade, and they’d had a love-hate relationship for the entire time. They went after the same positions in sports, and the same girls in school, and were too much alike to like each other or to hate each other for too long. The bottom line was that they were great friends, and had remained so, long after the last school bell had rung. “Well hey, Sparky. I saw you across the room with Becky, and was going to come over to say hello. How’ve y’all been?”

  “We’re doin’ real fine, thanks. How’s life in Cabot?”

  “Moving faster than ever.” I laughed. “How’re the young’uns? How many do you have now?”

  “Well, three . . . that I know of, anyway.” He grinned. “I want to hear all your news, Kate, but your Mama wants me to help corral everyone in here for the cuttin’ of the cake.”

  As if on cue, my mother called me over to help serve cake once Prescott and Glory had made their toasts to each other and cut the first piece, followed, undoubtedly, by the two of them smearing it all over each other’s faces. Tradition was tradition. I knew that soon after that the two of them would depart for Prescott’s home, which was only several blocks over, and then, about an hour later, the fireworks of the wedding night would start. I laughed to myself, thinking that the shivaree fireworks were most certainly going to interrupt theirs.

  After the guests had eaten their fill of cake, Mama asked Daddy and me to box some of it up so that we could take it to Grandma Willa the next day. As we did, Daddy noticed Sparky and beckoned him over. “Did you do what I told you, son? Did you get all the pots and pans pots out of my kitchen?”

  “Out of our kitchen, Jack? What’d he go and have you do, Sparky?” Mama had walked up behind Daddy, unbeknownst to him. Sparky, looking as guilty as the time he’d been caught by the assistant principal fooling around with Penny Portnoy in the high school auditorium’s projector room, stammered around, trying to answer Mama while not getting Daddy into hot water.

  “Well, Mrs. Harris, I just borrowed them for a little whi—”

  “Rachel, honey,” Daddy interrupted, much to the relief of Sparky. “I just had the boy grab a few things to help make the shivaree what it’s supposed to be—loud! Can’t nothin’ much hurt those pots and pans, anyway—or the good cookin’ that comes out of ’em.” He smiled sweetly.

  “Oh, good Lord.” Mama rolled her eyes. “Give me patience with this man!” But obviously He had, for my folks had been married for twenty-six years. Beaming at her, Daddy grabbed her hand and pulled her out onto the dance floor. As was their usual style when they danced, Daddy held Mama close. I watched them for a moment, thankful for the love they still felt for each other. Suddenly, I caught the flash of blond hair as my son barreled into me, throwing his arms around my thighs with complete abandon. I immediately picked him up and kissed his overly-warm red cheeks, which reminded me of young pink apples. I laughed. “Oh, Lord, son, I’m feeding you too good! You’re gettin’ heavy.” I’d never struggled picking him up before, but whether I liked it or not, he was growing more each day. I watched his wonderfully expressive face as he excitedly told me about learning how to do-si-do with Aunt Harriet. He had my green eyes, but Geoffrey’s light hair and his strong facial structure. There was no doubt that my child would grow into a very handsome man, and while I knew that all mothers thought the same thing about their sons, I had no doubt that my assessment of Donnie was absolutely correct and totally unbiased.

  “When’re we goin’ to that shiva . . . ?” He still couldn’t quite get the word.

  “The shivaree,” I finished for him. “Soon, but remember, not a word to Uncle Prescott or Aunt Glory, okay?”

  Just then, the band finished playing its final song and Prescott began tapping a glass to get everyone’s attention. We followed people’s gazes upward to see both him and Glory standing on the landing of the stairway where they could clearly see everyone. Applause grew louder and louder until Prescott put his hand up to quiet everyone. “Folks,” he began, “it’s been one of the most . . . no”—he corrected himself—“it’s been the most wonderful day of my life. First, I have Glory to thank for that. As a matter of fact, I’ll thank her in advance for giving me the most wonderful years of my life to come.” Everyone clapped again. “Secondly, we have each one of you to thank for helping to make this a day that Glory and I will remember for the rest of our lives. Each of you means the world to us, and we both want you to know how happy we are to have you here today. Unfortunately, though, all good things must come to an end.” There was a collective boo in response. Laughing, he continued. “We’ll always remember this day, and we’ll always be grateful to you. Now, even though this good time has come to an end, I have no doubt that it’s only beginning for Glory and me tonight.” Everyone cheered loudly, and I laughed seeing the twinkle in my uncle’s eye. His double entendre was not lost on Glory, either, for she swatted his arm, and in response he pulled his new bride to him and planted a kiss on her that caused another cheer to shake the rafters. They were a handsome couple. Prescott’s blond hair had grown darker over the years and the silver that streaked it gave his baby face a more distinguished look. Glory was actually eight years younger, and at thirty-eight, she was still youthful looking but old enough that her face had interesting character to it. Her light reddish-brown hair was just shoulder length, and she had it in a soft-wave style that reminded me of Elizabeth Taylor’s in the movie Elephant Walk, which Geoffrey and I had seen just the week before.

  We followed them out of the hall, throwing rice and well wishes as they departed in Prescott’s truck. Thank God, Mama’s pots and pans weren’t tied to the bumper, but there were enough tin cans to have fed all of the Allied forces throughout the war, and Just Hitched! had been written on the back windshield. We watched them drive off, knowing that the two of them assumed they’d seen the last of us until they returned from their honeymoon in Atlanta, but in another hour, they’d learn that one should never assume anything.

  “All right, folks, y’all come on over here so we can get our plans straight.” Unsurprisingly, Daddy was the ringleader. “Now, does everyone know how this shivaree thing works?” A couple of people who hadn’t been in on it but wanted to be, said they didn’t. “Well, a shivaree is the loudest, most obnoxious ruckus that we can make. We’re going over to Prescott’s in about an hour or so—just long enough for them to get comfortable, you might say, and then we’re gonna raise Cain. A shivaree is our way of letting the new Mrs. Guinn know that we’re mighty pleased she’s part of our family now. It’s a time-honored tradition to do this, and Glory’s gonna be proud as all get-out that we think enough of her to give her a shivaree.” Mama muttered under her breath that she wouldn’t bet the farm on that.

  We finished cleaning and closing up the hall, then everyone piled into as few vehicles as we could, to keep the noise down. The truck-beds were packed full, as were some of the larger cars. There were about forty people in all. Sparky had a hand-painted banner flying off the back of his open-bed truck that read “Presenting Mr. and Mrs. Prescott Guinn.” The plan was
to park at a church that was about a block down from the house, then, as quietly as possible, walk down to Prescott’s, where the shivaree would be kicked off by the lighting of several Roman candle rockets, and the firing of guns. Mama’s pots and pans were handed out, and Mama—under the conviction that if you can’t beat ’em, join ’em—requested that she be handed her Dutch oven and a wooden spoon to bang it with.

  As soon as we neared the church, Daddy killed his truck’s lights and engine and coasted into the parking lot. Everyone else followed his lead. Then, grabbing our shivaree gear, Mama directed us to the back of Prescott’s house, where we gathered beneath a second-story window that she knew was his bedroom. Everyone waited for the first Roman candle to be set off, and as soon as it was, Daddy fired his shotgun into the air, and everyone else started shooting, banging, and shouting out, “Shivaree! Shivaree!” Almost immediately, a light illuminated the bedroom and a few seconds later the window was pushed up—hard! Framed within it was my very aggravated-looking uncle.

  “What in blue blazes are y’all doing? You ’bout gave us both a heart attack!”

  “I bet you wouldn’t a wanted to be found dead in that position!” shouted an enthusiastic reveler, followed by hearty laughter and a few amens.

  “It’s your and Glory’s shivaree, Prescott! We’re honoring your union,” shouted Daddy.

  “Well, didn’t you figure you’d done enough honoring at the wedding? And we’re just now getting to the ‘union’ part.” A roar of laughter went up. Those standing in front heard Glory’s mortified, “Prescott!” spoken somewhere in the room behind him. He glanced back toward her, then faced us again, trying hard not to laugh.

  “This is tradition,” Daddy continued. “Now, where’s that pretty bride of yours?”

  “Quivering in the corner,” Prescott answered. “Let me see if she’ll come to the window. Hold on.”