Flowers in the Blood

by Gay Courter

  “Not even Immanuel Duek? Who, then?” I staggered forward. “Who?”

  Zilpah pushed me back into my chair. With her hand pressing my shoulder she kept me in my seat. “Do you remember Isaac Shooker?”

  “I don't think so.”

  “You know,” Grandmother Helene assisted, “the brass vendor at Barabazar.”

  “He's a cripple! He's—”

  “The best offer.” Zilpah's whisper grated.

  “A generous Jew,” Grandmother Helene offered.

  “Younger than you might think—he's in his twenties,” Grandmother Flora added.

  Zilpah seemed grateful for the support. “His mother was from a good family.”

  I gave both grandmothers horrified stares. “How could either of you . . . ?”

  Grandmother Helene threw up her hands. “Isaac Shooker makes the others look like princes.”

  “The others?” My head snapped back and hit the back rail of the chair. Stunned for a second, I rubbed my head and stared from person to person. Each avoided my eyes. “Who else, Nani?” I demanded, knowing she could not deceive me.

  Grandmother Flora modulated her disgust. “The Tosters' idiot son and two men who have children older than you.”

  I gave an incredulous laugh. A cripple, an idiot, and two decrepit widowers?

  Nani spoke to the hideous silence. “Don't worry, Dinah. We are not asking you to accept Mr. Shooker, or any of them. Better no marriage than a bad marriage.”

  Grandmother Helene forced herself to sound optimistic. “There will be other possibilities. When the parents of the boys have time to compare your dowry with the others, they will come around. Stupidity and superstition are the first response; reason will follow.”

  “Yes, yes,” my father added. “Too many women are permitted to interfere with these arrangements. I shall talk to some of the fathers privately. They shall see the sense in my generous offer. They shall—”

  I cut him off. “How long will this take?”

  “I thought you were in no rush to marry.” Zilpah's tone was a challenge I might have met if my status had been stronger. Instead I quailed.

  “In the meantime, what would you like to do?” Nani wondered.

  “I suppose I could teach. Already I tutor some afternoons. I'm certain I could get a position and—”

  “Hush,” Zilpah ordered. “You talk nonsense. Do you want to wear a signboard announcing: 'spinster'?”

  “What else could I do?” I asked weakly.

  “Hold your head high and continue to behave like a lady,” she replied. “We have not given up yet. Your father and your grandmother have agreed to a plan of mine. There might be some possibilities . . .” She trailed off.

  Under any other circumstance I would have begged her to tell me what she was thinking. At that moment, I did not want to know.

  There was a subdued celebration for my graduation. I knew my family felt that my academic honors—which had been handed out by the vicereine, the Marchioness of Landsdowne—not only did not make up for my unpopular status but also might contribute to my unsuitability, since I was better educated than many of the men who might have considered me.

  Two of my schoolmates married within a few weeks. They did not invite me to their weddings. As the summer heat descended like a claustrophobic cloak, I retreated into the world of books while my father and his wife prepared for their annual return to Darjeeling. Ever since our aborted trip because of illness, we children had not been asked to accompany them to the hills. This was their time to visit Zilpah's mother (“My third mother-in-law,” Papa groaned to me privately). For the past few summers I had resented this exclusive aspect to marriage, feeling as though they were escaping the heat at our expense. This year I was happy to be free from their disappointed expressions.

  A week after their departure, Dr. Hyam sent a message asking me to call on my grandmother. Propped in a cane chair to permit air to circulate, she cooled her feet in buckets. A punkah-wallah worked double time to keep the stagnant air moving.

  One look at her face, which was so swollen her eyes seemed mere slits in doughy flesh, and I nearly collapsed with fright. “What has happened?”

  She barely moved her bloated lips. Her voice was distorted and mushy. “I'm an old lady, that's all. I can no longer tolerate the heat.”

  “You should go to a hill station.”

  “The altitude would make matters worse.”

  “What about Gopalpur, at the seaside, where many of the Sassoons go?”

  “No, no, I will manage. Will you stay with me, Dinah?”

  “There is nothing I would rather do.”

  If it weren't for Nani's miseries, the next weeks would have been pleasant ones. When my grandmother did not need me—which was most of the time, since servants tended her needs—I assisted in the dispensary. Finding the doctor's records and bills disorganized, I fashioned envelopes to hold the charts for his more frequent patients and combined the remaining by alphabet and then by symptom. I made lists of the accounts he had to pay and the receipts due him. To those who had not paid, I sent a reminder letter attaching a detailed list of dates and fees.

  Dr. Hyam was amazed at how much money was collected in so short a time. “A pity you aren't a man, Dinah. You would do splendidly out in the world.”

  I had written my father that I was caring for my grandmother, and since he had not replied, I assumed he had no objections. Two weeks later, his gharry pulled up to the door of the Lower Chitpur Road clinic. When I saw him, I leapt to my feet. “Papa!”

  “How is your grandmother?” he asked kindly.

  “Better today. She slept well last night. At first we thought she was only suffering from the heat, but now Dr. Hyam thinks it might be her heart.” I rushed to defend myself: “That's why he wants me here with her. I sleep in her room at night. He doesn't trust a servant to know if she needs attention, so—”

  “Good, good . . .” He seemed distracted.

  “Have you come to see Nani?”

  “No. I mean, of course, later, when she can receive me. First, you and I must talk.”

  I led him into the office where I worked on the accounts and moved some papers off the extra chair.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Helping the doctor.” I tidied a pile of papers. “Nani says it keeps me out of trouble.” I gave a weak laugh. “Do you want tea?”

  “No, thank you. Must get home to the others soon. Zilpah's in Darjeeling . . . waiting for word from me.” He stopped his choppy phrases long enough to wipe the perspiration from his face and rub the bump on his nose. “Dinah, my child. I bring good news.” His eyes twinkled, and his mouth was creased in a smile. It felt as though a cool breeze Had swept through the room. “Zilpah has found a possible match for you.” '

  My mouth opened, but I did not speak. Nor did I hear him very well, because my pounding heart drowned out most of his words. “A fine man . . . son of a tea planter . . . Jewish family.”

  “Who is he?” I managed to blurt.

  “Silas Luddy. His father was one of the first to try tea in that terrain.

  A rough beginning, but quite a success in the end.” My father watched intently for my reaction.

  I wondered what Mr. Luddy's flaw might be. “You say he is from Darjeeling?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is he a friend of Zilpah's family?”

  “Only an acquaintance.”

  A piece was still missing. Darjeeling, Zilpah . . . “Is he a Bene Israel?”

  “No.”

  I exhaled with relief. “Does he know about me?”

  “What is there to know? You are a lovely young girl.”

  “With an impressive dowry.”

  He waved his hand as if to dismiss that point. “Luddy has more than enough of his own. He just wants his only son to be happy.”

  An only son . . . someone who did not require a large dowry. I should have been thrilled, yet continued to be wary.

  “W
hy does he want me?”

  “Silas Luddy is an unusual man. He lives apart from the rest of his family in a house he built near Tiger Hill—a place with one of the most magnificent vistas in India. I have been told you sometimes can see Mount Everest from his veranda. However, his property is outside of the town, away from the social arena, for Mr. Luddy prefers the company of a few select friends who share his intellectual interests. Another woman might not be content in so remote a spot.”

  “Where did he go to school?”

  “Between the ages of ten and twenty he was in England, but as he told me, 'A person's education ends only at the grave, or perhaps not even there.' “ My father gave a hollow laugh before rushing ahead with his explanation. “They say Luddy's library is the finest in the province. That is what made Zilpah think of you. She thought a house filled with books would interest you.”

  “What is his profession?”

  “He manages the accounts for his father's tea plantation—a substantial operation, I assure you.”

  I waited a few beats. “Does he know about Mother and . . . ?”

  “Although we have not discussed that matter, I am certain his father has checked out our family—the facts are not secret—and has decided

  , quite rightly, that there is no hindrance to a match. Only the petty gossips of Calcutta would have let something over which you had no control ruin your chances here. Zilpah's idea to look away from that Park Street coterie was brilliant. The Luddys are as fine a Jewish family as you will find in India. Of course, Darjeeling has no synagogue. They worship among themselves on the high holy days, and there is shohet, a ritual slaughterer, in residence. But with the train, frequent visits to Calcutta are possible. Look at me—I've just come down to give you the news and will return with your reply in a day or so.”

  “I have always wanted to visit Darjeeling,” I said, recalling my dreams of majestic mountains and fantastical snows.

  “A splendid place.” Papa beamed. “One of the loveliest on earth. I think you will be happy there.”

  “But I haven't decided,” I protested.

  “No, of course you haven't. Ask me anything you like.”

  My grandmother's servant had appeared beside me, and waited for my father to finish before bending and whispering that Nani had heard he had arrived and wished us to join her.

  As we entered the Hyams' parlor, Grandmother Flora made her way toward us with small, hesitant steps. From across the room, the sound of her gasping breaths startled Papa. “Flora, how long have you been like this?”

  She shrugged. “That’s of no importance. Thanks to your daughter, I manage,” she wheezed. “You haven't come to take her away from me, have you?”

  Her servant propped her legs up. “Not immediately, but I bring you good news: a first-rate match for Dinah.”

  Nani coughed so hard she turned blue. The servant ran forward and placed cold cloths on her face and neck. “Shall I call the doctor?” she asked.

  Nani shooed her away. “Don't be silly.” She took a few deep breaths without coughing more violently, then leaned back on her chaise. “I'm too weak for these shocks, Benu. Start again and tell me what fish you have hooked.”

  Papa went over what he had told me about Silas Luddy.

  “Luddy . . . I know some Luddys—the father must be Manasseh.”

  “Now he calls himself Maurice.”

  Nani closed her eyes. She was silent for so long, I became concerned she was having an attack. Without opening her eyes, she spoke in a slow, reminiscing manner, “A Chinese connection . . . they smuggled tea plants . . . very daring.” Her eyes sprang open and she smiled triumphantly. “Am I right?”

  “Very much so.”

  “Not bad for an old lady, eh?”

  My father bowed from the waist.

  She leaned forward. “There is something else . . . ah, yes, the wife. Something about the wife.”

  I was entranced by the changes flickering across my father's face: first a fleeting fear, followed by a relieved expression as he decided what strategy he would employ. “Her name was Hira. They say she was extremely beautiful. She was a Nepalese convert, not as dark as Zilpah by any means, perhaps more golden than you or I, but “—he rushed to reassure us—” the son is lighter than anyone in this room. His hair is black—handsome feature—and his eyes the same. His skin has an ivory cast. Trust me, his appearance will not disappoint Dinah.”

  Grandmother Flora seemed distracted. “She died in a fire. I recall that a child died as well . . .”

  My father's voice was somber. “Yes. She was sleeping in a sick daughter's room on a very cold night. Coals from an overbanked fire spilled out, and the room went up in flames. She left two other daughters and Silas. He was away at school at the time.”

  “Poor child . . .”

  “Maurice Luddy was devoted to his wife. He never remarried.”

  Grandmother Flora's chin bobbed. “Every match requires some commonality to bind it. Dinah and Silas both had the misfortune to lose mothers under tragic circumstances.” She wiped away the moisture that formed on her forehead. “Yes, I see it might be possible.”

  I sat numbly, not knowing what to say or even think.

  “Can't expect her to have an answer yet, can we?” She glanced at Papa meaningfully. “She must have time to absorb this. Still, she could do worse than a Luddy.”

  I found my voice. “When will I meet him?” came out hoarsely.

  “Soon.”

  “Will you be taking me back with you?”

  He dashed my hopes. “A girl does not go shopping for a man.”

  Unexpectedly I began to cry.

  My father threw up his hands. “We are not barbarians. You shall have your chance to talk with Mr. Luddy when he comes to visit us.

  Until then the arrangements are preliminary.”

  “Why couldn't I return to the hills with you, just for a holiday and—”

  “No.” He was exasperated. “Much too far for you to come for that purpose.”

  “You said it was a simple matter to travel between Calcutta and Darjeeling.”

  Nani interrupted. “Your father already told you it would be unseemly, Dinah.”

  He took an envelope from his breast pocket and handed it to me.

  “Silas Luddy has written you a letter to introduce himself. He said to give it to you if you were interested. You are interested, aren't you, Dinah?” He waited a beat.

  As though she were in the room, I could hear Zilpah's voice saying, “You cannot afford not to be, can you?”

  I sucked, in my lip and opened the creamy, thick envelope. The smooth stock was embossed by a crest with a thunderbolt at its center. The ink was not black, but a custom mixture that created a rich brown. He wrote in a round hand with elegant capitals and perfectly formed letters. Rapidly I skimmed it, my heart thumping as I read a word here, a phrase there. I felt a peculiar pang at the closing and the florid signature, then began again more slowly.

  15 August 1890

  My dear Miss Sassoon,

  How may I introduce myself to you? To point out my virtues would be an embarrassment, to state my failings would be foolhardy. Let me just say that I am a plain man with unpretentious tastes and requirements. My life in Darjeeling is quiet, with many hours of the day allotted for study and contemplation. Surrounded by the majesty of the snowy peaks and the daily transfigurations of lightness and darkness, lam a man of faith and constancy.

  Though I would welcome a companion on life's journey, marriage has eluded me. Until this blessed time I have been unable to find a woman who would contemplate sharing the simplicity of my home. Darjeeling is distant from Calcutta, and Tiger Hill is remote from even that pleasant village. I do not want to paint a picture that is too austere. In season, when Darjeeling is the summer capital of Bengal, a delightful crowd ascends to these rocky clefts, and I, as much as the next fellow, enjoy the colors and temptations society offers. After the departure of the visitors, I readily admi
t I relish the peacefulness and the return to the solace of my intellectual pursuits.

  If you could find it in your heart to leave the comfortable embrace of your loving family, I would like you to know that I would highly value your thoughtful attention to my proposal.

  Your father has told me of his generous settlement on your behalf. While I am not a rich man, I have every comfort that I require. Further, as my father's only son, I will inherit the main interest in Luddy plantations, the proceeds from which should keep many generations secure. I expect you to keep the income from your dowry for your own requirements. You may wish to alter parts of my home to suit yourself, or to travel, or to provide for your family or friends. I do not expect to interfere with you in this, since I feel that we should live together as equals in every sense. I would take no liberties or freedoms for myself that I would not expect you to take for yourself. In return, I ask you to make no pledge that I do not make. If my philosophies offend you because they go against the customs of this country or our religion, please forgive me, but my own interpretation of the Scriptures forbids me to accept happiness at the expense of another. As a wise woman, Miss Lucretia Mott, has written, “Then in the marriage union, the independence of the husband and wife will be equal, their dependence mutual, and their obligations reciprocal.”

  Your many fine qualities have been explained to me, but the ones that I especially admire include your academic achievements that make you outstanding among the young women in this country or any other, your high spirits to overcome the sadness that has been a part of your short life, and the devotion you have shown both the younger and older members of your family. The surface aspects that so often attract a man to a woman or a woman to a man are nothing but the perfume that leads the bee to nectar; the deeper wells, hidden from immediate view, are what stand the test of time.

  With the hope you will consider me worthy to become your companion through life's offerings of prosperity and adversity,