Flowers in the Blood

by Gay Courter

  “Why did Papa do it?” I cried in anguish. “Why did he mention Ruby when the man was supposed to be for me?”

  Zilpah shook her head. “I don't know what Benu was doing. He never mentioned it to me beforehand. I am afraid he made the decision on the spot. You know how concerned we all have been about Ruby lately. Her own grandmother was encouraging us to marry her off in the next few years, and of course, even if we found a match tomorrow, I would never permit her to leave this house until she was thirteen or fourteen.”

  “Why would Mr. Salem want her?”

  Our glances met again, but this time I looked away first. “Apparently Edwin's mother voiced concerns over your marriage to Silas. You must admit, Dinah, the story does not tell very well. She was finding it difficult to believe in your . . . your purity, and hinted that she thought it a pity you did not try to work out your difficulties awhile longer.

  Because your father thought Edwin looked like a most promising young man and because he did not wish to lose him entirely—and since the mother's interest in you seemed to be waning—I suspect he decided to add Ruby to the bargain.”

  “Did Papa inform Mrs. Salem about Ruby's faults?”

  “Certainly. Your father and I have seen enough of the pain that deception can inflict. Benu explained that Ruby has not progressed rapidly in school.”

  “That is putting her in the most favorable light.”

  “He did not prevaricate, Dinah. He went on to explain more about her weaknesses in arithmetic and reading.”

  “And what did Mrs. Salem reply?”

  “That did not change her mind. Even I must admit that Ruby did look like a luscious fruit ripe for plucking. Did you see her smiling and waving? From that distance she looked like a merry little addition to any household, as well as much older than she truly is. When Mrs. Salem saw Ruby, she said, 'I can teach her to be a proper wife and—' “

  “What else?” I demanded.

  “—and she said something about it being a man's job to train a wife to his tastes in other matters.”

  “Edwin doesn't want her!” My voice rose to a squeaky pitch. “That's what he said, isn't it?”

  “As I explained, Dinah, his mother tried to dissuade him, at least from committing himself today. Even so, the boy might have his way. He replied to his mother forcefully, as though nobody else had been standing beside them, and said: 'If I take the younger sister, I will hurt the elder sister's feelings.' “

  I could imagine Edwin's hand raking his hair back from his brow to the nape of his neck and his deep-set eyes narrowing as he stood up to his mother. I would have preferred his declaration for me to have included something about how much more intelligent and beautiful I was, but at least he was a man who could make an honorable choice. “What did she say to that?”

  “Nothing.”

  “And Papa?”

  “If you could have seen the sour expression on the mother's face, you would understand that at that moment Benu could not consider the boy's word alone. What your father said was that he would look forward to hearing from them both when they returned for dinner tomorrow.”

  “So, as I said before, nothing is decided.”

  “I believe the boy has made up his mind.”

  “His mother might influence him.”

  Zilpah was shaking her head. “No, not that man. He's a stubborn one. Actually, in many ways he seems to be very much like you.” She laughed without hostility.

  “Maybe Mrs. Salem will not want either of the Sassoon girls. What then?”

  “Now, Dinah, don't let your emotions transport you from reality. I agree with you, Mr. Salem is charming, and I can see from your response you liked him very much—at least at first sight. Remember, that is all it was. You have not exchanged a single word with the boy. As I recall, you were infuriated because you and Silas barely knew each other. Now it seems you are ready to rush into this stranger's arms.”

  I bowed my head. Zilpah was right, but for some crazed reason I did not care if we ever spoke. If they had ordered me to stand under the huppah and pledge my life to Edwin Salem that very evening, I would have rushed down the aisle without a second thought. Never in my life had I ever wanted anything more ardently.

  Zilpah patted my shoulder. “I can understand why you feel desperate to have him. Everyone wants you married off happily, and you have not had many opportunities. This one seems to meet your standards—your physical standards, anyway. Nevertheless, if the Salems change their minds about you so early in the discussions, it will be for the best.”

  “No, please, Zilpah, please don't let that happen!” I clutched at her sari so roughly the draping fell away from her body.

  “Dinah, I have never seen you like this! What has come over you?”

  I scanned the ceiling as though the filigree decorations would provide an answer. “Didn't you ever feel this way? When you met your first husband . . . or Benu?”

  Her face took on a soft glow. “Yes, Dinah, I know the sensation. Perhaps I felt it when I first saw Benu having dinner at our boarding-house. It can be frightening, overpowering, and wonderful if everything works out. Or, if it doesn't—and this is what frightens me for you, because so often in life our hearts' desires are thwarted—the pain can be dreadful.” Suddenly she was sobbing. I watched, amazed, for I had never seen her cry. The twists of her serene face, the puffiness around the mouth that pursed but did not smile, the utter disruption of her tranquil demeanor astonished me. “I don't know what came over me. Your father must have shocked me as much as he shocked you.” She refolded and tucked in her sari, and as she did so, she looked at me in bewilderment.

  “Please, Zilpah, just do what you can for me.”

  “I might have some influence over your father, but I doubt that Mrs. Salem would listen to me. In any case, I will speak with him tonight and with her tomorrow.”

  “I promise that Papa and you—and Edwin—will never regret this.”

  The next morning I heard that Ruby was moping in her room. Selima was running back and forth trying to encourage her to eat. Zilpah paid a brief call and left in disgust. I managed to dress and be downstairs for breakfast because I did not want my father to think I was behaving childishly.

  “I won't be joining you today,” Papa said in a rush. “I am already late for an appointment. I am looking forward to our dinner this evening.” He gave Zilpah a pat on the shoulders, indicating that she should not stand to see him out. “Now you ladies can spend the entire day making preparations without worrying about me.”

  After a second cup of tea, Zilpah cleared her throat. “I have decided we should not overwhelm the Salems tonight. It might be preferable if only Pinhas and Jonah ate with us and then Asher and Simon joined us later in the hall.”

  “What about the girls?”

  “Considering the events of yesterday, I think it would be more diplomatic to keep Ruby in the background.” As she studied my reaction, I tried not to show my satisfaction at my sister's exclusion. “Besides, Ruby is not on her best behavior. I will personally supervise what they both wear and allow them to come down for a brief hello for, say, a half-hour toward the end of the evening.”

  I grinned with relief. “Which do you think I should wear: the pearly silk or the pleated mauve?”

  “They are both lovely, but—” Just then an agitated Abdul came into the room carrying a silver tray and handed Zilpah a note. “What's this?” she cried, puzzled that the post had been delivered so early.

  “From the lady who was here yesterday, memsahib.”

  My heart plummeted. The Salems were canceling their plans to return tonight. They had rejected us both.

  “Who brought this?” Zilpah said with alarm as she read the words that I could not see.

  “The memsahib and her son.”

  “Are they waiting in their gharry now?” Zilpah added excitedly.

  “Yes, memsahib.”

  “Dinah, this is most extraordinary. Mr. Salem requests a meeting with
you this morning. I presume he means immediately, since he is sitting in front of the house this very instant.” She looked me over. My skirt was ordinary white linen with no decoration save a few piped gores and my chemise was a practical one with simple tucks down the front.

  I looked behind me and realized I had forgotten the jacket that had tight wrists with rosettes on the sleeves and on the closures. “My jacket is upstairs,” I said nervously, and patted my hair.

  “You look fine, my dear. It is wise for a man to see a woman as she might appear at breakfast instead of wrapped and packaged as a gift.” She clapped her hands. “Have Yali bring Miss Dinah's jacket from her room,” she said to the ayah, who was passing. “And, Abdul, we will require pastries and tea for four. Set the table for Miss Dinah and her guest on the terrace and for me and Mrs. Salem in the small parlor.”

  “Won't we be together?”

  “No. Yali will sit on the far end of the terrace and work on some mending or whatever, and I will take this opportunity to speak with Mrs. Salem alone.”

  I felt trapped in a crosscurrent of conflicting emotions. “What if he has come to give me the unhappy news himself?”

  “Dinah, he probably wants a chance to meet you. If they were rejecting you, his mother would convey her regrets to your parents. Or if he wanted to be a perfect gentleman, he would speak directly—”

  I cut her off. “What if you are wrong?”

  Yali came rushing in. She handed me my jacket and went to work pinning my hair more tidily. Annoyed by her fluttering, I pushed her aside and primped in front of the sideboard mirror.

  Zilpah started for the door. “We can't leave them in the carriage any longer. Yali, go sit on the terrace with Dinah. Dinah, you may take him for a walk in the gardens if you like, but do not come inside the house until we come out or send Abdul to fetch you.”

  Zilpah was alone when she brought Edwin to me. She must have asked Mrs. Salem to wait in the parlor. I stood on trembling legs.

  “Mr. Salem, I would like you to meet my stepdaughter, Dinah Sassoon. Dinah, this is Mr. Edwin Salem of Cochin. I believe you two would prefer to talk in private.” As she backed away swiftly, I focused on the silk fringe of her sari as she closed the glass door and left us to ourselves.

  “Miss Sassoon, you are so kind to have agreed to see me. My mother tried to deter me, but I could not wait until this evening. I had to see you again immediately. If this offends you, please understand that I meant the opposite, to honor you.”

  His voice! I had heard it from a distance yesterday, but here under the wooden eaves of the terrace it took on a resonance that vibrated my bones. In the beats before I could respond, I saw his hand reach up and brush back his hair, not as forcefully as the day before, but more gently, only moving the fringe that drooped near his exquisitely tangled eyebrows. My knees felt so weak I had to sit down. I prayed that my momentary silence, my gesture for him to be seated, and the few seconds I took to rearrange my skirt looked like the graceful movements of a self-assured woman in command instead of a girl clutched by a desire to throw herself into his arms.

  “Thank you for coming, Mr. Salem. In doing so you have saved me the terrors of an endless day.” I gulped at my forthright words, but did not regret them.

  “My thoughts exactly,” Edwin boomed. “Why do parents want to draw everything out?”

  “Because they have nothing else to do. It fills up the time they are yearning to waste.”

  “You do not like to waste time, do you?”

  “No, Mr. Salem, I abhor it . . . and most other frivolous endeavors,” I went on effortlessly.

  “Could you call me Edwin—perhaps not if Mother is around, but now that we are alone?”

  “Oh, yes, Edwin, I would like that. If you will call me Dinah.”

  “I hoped you would say that, Dinah. I do so love doing what I am told I must not do.” He winked conspiratorially and shifted until his back was entirely turned from Yali. I swiveled about as well so we were more side by side than face-to-face.

  “This whole procedure is primitive, don't you think?” he asked.

  “Well, one cannot expect to find a wife in a bazaar, so what other choice is there?”

  “I almost had that feeling yesterday.”

  “What is that?” I wondered, not following him for the first time since we had begun to converse.

  He glanced away. “When I was given the choice between two girls.”

  “I did not know about that until afterward.”

  “It came as a jolt to me too.”

  “My sister is much younger than I.”

  “I came across India to meet you. How could I have selected her?”

  “If you do not prefer me, then you should not be forced to accept me.

  “Nobody forces me to do anything against my will. They never have and they never shall!” he shouted. When he lowered his voice, he did so without apology. “My mother has had a hard life and has sacrificed much, especially for me. I cannot blame her for wanting me to be happy. She should give you a chance. Just because she has heard rumors and just because you have an unusual past does not mean you are not the right wife for me. You have traveled to places like Darjeeling. You have been to a good school. To me you are much more interesting than the young women I have met around Cochin.”

  “What rumors are you talking about?” I gave him what I hoped was a steady gaze.

  “About your first marriage and your mother's death.” There was no hesitation in his voice as he spoke. “My mother, like so many of her age, is superstitious. She knows you descend from the Cohen who founded the Jewish community here, and she reminded me of an old saying . . .”

  “Yes?” I asked, wondering what he meant.

  “ 'The tears of a Cohena—the daughter of a Cohen—bring bad luck,' she warned me.” He shrugged. “I pointed out to her that we had known those facts before we ever left the Malabar Coast and that we had made a promise.”

  “Only a promise to consider me,” I added, not thinking I could be hurting my chances. Any concern that this young man did not like me or that I might not feel the same way after we had met had been dissipated in the first seconds of our encounter.

  “Well, then, I will consider you if you will consider me.”

  “Consider me considering.” I laughed.

  “All right, then, consider me considering you giving me your consideration.”

  “My considerable consideration.”

  “You win that round!”

  A small breakfast had been placed on the table beside us, but neither of us showed any interest in the food. Nor did I offer to pour the tea. Suddenly I realized that my arm lay on the edge of the chair and his rested on the same place on his chair. If the gap had been an inch narrower, we would have touched.

  I leaned closer to him. He bent toward me. I spoke softly. “Is this a match with winners and losers?”

  “No, this is the one game in which there are only winners.”

  “Does the game have rules?”

  “Oh, yes, thousands.”

  “How do I learn them?”

  “We invent them as we go along.”

  “Fine. Rule number one: the game begins when one team member shows up by surprise and declares the play is on.”

  “Rule number two: the game may be played by only two. No more, no less.”

  For a long while we stared at each other, completely absorbed and not requiring speech to be comfortable together until “Well . . .” was spoken in unison and accompanied by mutual laughter. The next moment his hand folded across mine. I felt as if a bolt etched a jagged line in my heart. Only his pressure on my wrist kept me from surging toward him.

  “Dinah . . .” How euphonious my name sounded when he said it!

  “Edwin,” I attempted, entirely forgetting Edwin Drood or any other association except that of the moment, when his light brown eyes with flecks of gold bore into mine.

  There was nothing more to say and everything more t
o say. Staring at him as if I had just been granted the gift of sight, I knew that everything was going to be all right.

  “There they are,” Zilpah said loudly as a warning.

  We slipped our hands into our respective laps and struggled to our feet. Zilpah noticed that we had not eaten. “You weren't hungry?” she asked. Not waiting for a reply, she went on, “Did you sit here the whole time? I would have thought they would have wanted to go for a walk, wouldn't you, Mrs. Salem?”

  “Yes, especially since there is a breeze on this side of the house.”

  “November is one of Calcutta's better months.”

  “You were so right in suggesting it,” Mrs. Salem replied smoothly.

  “Well, then”—Zilpah looked at me for some sense of where she should go—”I certainly hope this pleasant morning visit does not preclude your return this evening. My husband is looking forward to having you join us.”

  “We would not miss it, Mrs. Sassoon.” Edwin spoke for his mother.

  Somewhat flustered, Mrs. Salem nodded. “Yes, eight in the evening is the, time I believe you mentioned.”

  “Why don't you come at seven?” I added to show that I was keeping up my part of that particular round. “Papa is usually home by then, and that would give us more time for you to meet my brothers.”

  “Very well,” Zilpah said as she brilliantly masked her shock. “Seven would be excellent.”

  That evening Edwin got on splendidly with Pinhas and Jonah. During dinner they discussed teachers they knew in common at St. Xavier's, and from time to time Jonah beamed at me to let me know he approved. When Asher and Simon were invited in, Edwin turned his attention to the younger boys, effortlessly changing the topic to cricket and tennis and whatever else interested them. The whole while I worried how he would react when he saw Ruby, and I was even more apprehensive to see how she would behave.

  Just before their bedtime, Selima ushered the two girls into the hall. Ruby wore a cream-colored frock with a rose sash. A large lace bib covered her chest. Her long raven curls fell around her shoulders. She had a matching bow in her hair. Seti wore an identical dress, but with yellow and green ribbons.