Flowers in the Blood

by Gay Courter

  Your friend,

  Dinah

  At the end of the week Zilpah felt secure enough about our intentions to have the Salems join the family at the synagogue. From where I sat on the balcony, I could not see Edwin clearly until Aunt Rebecca leaned back. Even then all I could glimpse was his back gently swaying and sometimes his hand reaching back to smooth his hair. For the first time I resented not being able to worship with the men. For the first time I understood the reason for the separation, for who could keep one's mind on religious matters if one's beloved were by one's side?

  Outside, Edwin joined his mother. There were a few pleasantries before they drove off.

  “Aren't they coming home with us?” I asked Zilpah.

  She steered me toward our carriage. “They have other plans for the afternoon.”

  “I have hardly spoken to Edwin today.”

  “The Sabbath is a day for rest and contemplation” was all Zilpah would say.

  Sunday the Salems came for tiffin with the whole family. My brothers and sisters each had to have their time with Edwin, so I was consigned to sit with his mother and Zilpah. We hardly had a second alone together. By the end of the day I suffered a pounding headache that only his kisses could have relieved.

  On Monday the plan was for Edwin and me to spend the morning with Grandmother Helene and then to arrive toward the finale of Zilpah's tea party to introduce his mother to the Sassoon women.

  Throughout our private tiffin—Grandmother Helene had insisted she preferred taking hers in her room—Edwin had pouted. “Must we leave so early? I don't like being cheated out of two whole hours alone with you.”

  “Edwin, after our wedding, you will be clamoring for two hours away from me.”

  “Never!”

  “Most men enjoy leaving the house. Many enjoy returning as well, but husbands and wives were never meant to be together day and night.”

  “That is nonsense. After the past two miserable days, I do not want to be apart from you ever again.”

  “What will we do each day? Spend it in bed?” I clapped my hand over my mouth. “I didn't mean that, I meant sleeping.”

  “I know exactly what you meant.” He winked. “But, no, I want you to be at my side all the time. If you could assist your father, you could certainly assist me.”

  “With what?” I knew Edwin had something to do with the exportation of spices and his uncle had some connection to the Sassoons, but the financial side of this alliance had been obscured by the sheer force of our mutual attraction. The issue of the importance of my dowry had loomed large in relation to Silas. With Edwin it had seemed inconsequential—until that moment. Was Edwin expecting to live on the income from my capital? If we invested it properly, I supposed we could manage in Cochin. Even so, we could never approach the lavishness of Theatre Road or even maintain a modest establishment like Grandmother Helene's without a significant contribution on his part.

  He did not respond, but stared off with a moody expression I found both infuriating and intoxicating. I kissed his cheek to bring him back. “I could help you with what?” I reminded him.

  “With everything, with anything, what does it matter so long as we are together?” He gave me one long fervent kiss. “There is a much more serious issue that cannot wait.”

  As I studied his face, I could see the intense glimmer in his eye. Something was troubling him deeply. “What is it, Edwin?”

  “I cannot tolerate this situation.” His voice had a nasty edge.

  “What is the matter?” My voice cracked.

  He glanced around with the wild expression of a caged animal. “We must arrange for the wedding immediately.”

  “We only met each other one week ago yesterday.”

  He looked at his watch. “One hundred and ninety-four hours ago to be precise.”

  “Is that all it has been?”

  “Yes. And I feel as though I have wasted every minute of my life until now, and I refuse to discard much more, following the insane rules of proper behavior.” He had let go of me entirely and was striding about the room like a troubled toddler looking for walls to kick, toys to smash.

  “What can we do about it?”

  “We can marry, that's what we can do about it.”

  “I am certain our parents will make the arrangements.”

  “But when?” he shouted. “When?”

  “Edwin!” I admonished him, with a gesture that someone might overhear us. “We can't wed with one day's notice.”

  His face darkened, and for a second I worried that he was directing his anger at me, but then he rushed to my side and held me around the waist. “Why shouldn't it be tomorrow? When you told me about your last wedding, you said you never wanted to go through that rigmarole again.”

  Placing my hands behind his slender neck, I looked into his flashing eyes, awestruck that this perfect man was so anxious to be joined to me. “No, I surely don't want any more big tamashas, torrential downpours, or dead doves . . .”

  Edwin, who noticed every nuance, had heard a drop in my voice. “There is something else, isn't there?”

  “I am not free to marry you until the twentieth of November.”

  “Why? The date of the month? You already know that does not matter to me.”

  “No. There is another reason. When I left Silas, Hakham Sholomo, the man who prepared the get, did not entirely trust our story. In case I might have conceived a child, he said the divorce would not be final for eleven months.”

  “That is ridiculous! What baby ever took eleven months?”

  “I suppose he added in a safety margin,” I said lightly.

  Edwin was not amused. “Did he mean eleven months on the Jewish calendar or the European?”

  “Would it make a difference?”

  “If they go by the Jewish calendar, it might be sooner.”

  “Will our parents agree to rush into this?” I asked with a new wariness. Why was Edwin so anxious to seal the bargain? I wanted him with all my heart, but a few weeks did not matter.

  “Why shouldn't they?” he said, shrugging his shoulders.

  “Moving too quickly can hurt reputations, or so they tell me.”

  He threw back his head and laughed. “People hurry to get married when they have concerns about a baby. Nobody would think that was our problem when we have known each other little more than a week.” He stroked my brow, then pressed my eyelids with kisses so exquisite I melted in his arms.

  “Don't you want to marry quickly?” he asked with a warble in his voice that touched me deeply. He clasped the sleeves of my dress and crushed me to him.

  “Edwin,” I chided without pushing him away, “don't muss me. We'll have to greet my aunts soon.”

  “I shall place our case before them. I shall ask them to help me wed you tomorrow.”

  “Oh, please, not my aunts. Speak directly to Papa, but not to my aunts.” I was so overcome with the idea of him confronting Aunt Bellore that I began to weep.

  “Don't . . . I was joking . . . don't . . .” Caressing away my tears, Edwin became so engrossed he missed the opening of the door and Grandmother Helene's quiet entrance.

  Tension greeted our arrival at Theatre Road. Zilpah's face was set into her tightest mask. Mrs. Salem stood to greet Grandmother Helene and to thank her for once again chaperoning us. “You have been so kind to the children,” she said stiffly.

  “It has been my pleasure. If I am any judge, you have made a fine match. In fact, they are most anxious to do their duty,” she added with a hint of gaiety.

  As Mrs. Salem's expression soured, I felt that Grandmother Helene might have gone too far, but before I could ascertain the damage, Zilpah steered me away. “Let your aunts meet Edwin on their own for a few minutes.”

  “But—” Zilpah's grip tightened and I found myself in the servants' corridor, the place where I once had eavesdropped on conversations in the hall.

  “Dinah, there is a small difficulty—”

  “What
do you mean?” I asked evenly, though my legs began to wobble.

  “Mrs. Salem has been speaking with your Aunt Bellore, and—”

  “No! Aunt Bellore would not try to ruin this for me!”

  Zilpah was shaking her head, but I could not tell if it was in agreement or to mollify me. My eyes blurred. “All she did was listen to Edwin's mother's concerns about your marriage to Silas, about whether or not . . . well, you know what I mean.”

  I leaned against the wall and waited for Zilpah to tell me the worst.

  “Earlier today I reminded Bellore there was no way any of us would ever know what went on between you and Silas, but you could not have remained with a man who could never love any woman. Then I asked her to assist us in arranging this marriage for you because you were becoming very attached to Mr. Salem.”

  “You should never have told her that. Now she will do something to make certain I cannot have him.”

  “That's unfair. She said she wanted to help us out in any way she could.”

  “And you believed her?”

  “Now, Dinah, Bellore is not going to hurt you.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because she agreed with me. She said the way to put these rumors to rest once and for all—and at the same time to satisfy Mrs. Salem— would be to have you examined.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Zilpah looked away and whispered, “To have someone check to see if you are intact.”

  “Can they tell by looking?”

  “Perhaps, or by feeling.”

  “Who would do this?”

  “A doctor, I suppose.”

  “What if Mrs. Salem did not want to take the doctor's word? What if she thought the rich Sassoons bribed the doctor to lie for me?”

  “I understand why you would not want to submit to this. Nobody will force you.”

  I was silent for several moments as my thoughts clarified. “Edwin and I would like to have a quiet ceremony here at the house.”

  “That could be arranged, if Mrs. Salem agrees to the match. I can see why you would not want to go back to the same synagogue where—”

  “No, that is not what I meant. We want to get married right away.”

  “But, Dinah—”

  I cut her off again. “I will not permit a doctor to check me. If I am to satisfy Mrs. Salem, she must do it herself. She may look to her heart's content, if I may marry her son before the next Sabbath begins.”

  “This week?” Zilpah asked, shocked. “How could we make the preparations that rapidly?”

  “We do not want any fuss. We only want a mekkadesh, a ring, and a huppah.”

  She peered at me as though she were trying to diagnose my illness. “I do not know what Benu will say about this.”

  “Men like to get things over with as quickly as possible. Edwin wants the same. In fact, he's the one who cannot wait. You'll have to convince his mother, that's all.”

  “Dinah, aren't you afraid of the examination?”

  “No. Not if it will settle the question.”

  “Aren't you concerned about what Edwin's mother might find?”

  “You never believed me, did you?”

  “Your descriptions about what happened were so . . . well, vague. When Silas tried . . . was there any bleeding?”

  “No, Zilpah.”

  “No pain?”

  “No, just a pressure on the outside.”

  “How do you know he never was inside, even for a few seconds?”

  I shook my head. “I believe that nothing happened. And besides, no matter what Mrs. Salem finds, it will not make a whit of difference to her son.”

  “How can you know that? And even if you are right, what if she forbids the marriage? What then? Isn't it better for me to say that I refuse to put you through the embarrassment?”

  “No. I shall take my chances, Zilpah. Besides, Edwin would defy his mother on this. I know he would.”

  “Your father would not give his permission if she withdrew hers.”

  “Then I would defy my father.”

  “Dinah!” She shook me so hard, pins fell from my hair. “You have lost your mind over this boy.”

  As from a faraway place, I could hear Grandmother Flora's voice telling me about Luna begging her to marry Benu. Now I knew how my mother had felt. Despite everything I had done to be different from her, I was walking in her shoes once again. I straightened my back and pulled away from Zilpah. “Tell Mrs. Salem I will do as she says whenever she wants, if Edwin and I may marry this week. Now I will go out and thank Aunt Bellore for her kind assistance and invite her to my wedding.”

  27

  Late in the afternoon on Tuesday, the day after the tea party, I waited for Esther Salem. Yali had bathed and perfumed me like a maharani.

  “Nobody is to tell Edwin about this,” I had warned Zilpah.

  “Surely his mother will mention it.”

  “You must instruct her she must not.”

  “This concerns him as much as his mother.”

  “No, he could not care less. Any man who feels for a woman as he does about me would refuse to permit anyone to shame her. If he learns what we are doing, he will forbid it.”

  “Then why not let him put an end to this? Your father and I are reluctant, and—”

  “I am the one who will have, to live with Mrs. Salem. If I do not satisfy her, the question will trail me like a foul wind.”

  Zilpah had seemed baffled by my argument, but she acceded and arranged to have Edwin occupied with a visit to the Sassoon offices while Mrs. Salem visited Theatre Road.

  As I waited, I lay back on my bed and tried to concentrate on a book Silas had recommended, Zola's Nana. I don't know whether it was the significance of the moment or the book itself, but I found the story distasteful and never finished it.

  There was a knock on the door.

  Zilpah came into my room first. “Are you ready?”

  I placed my book on the bedside table.

  “Do you want me to stay?”

  When I shook my head, Zilpah waved Yali in. I signaled for the ayah to go.

  “But, Dinah-baba—”

  I pointed firmly for her to leave.

  Mrs. Salem came into the room and stood by the door. For a long moment Zilpah hovered behind her; then, after one lingering glance, she closed the door softly. The click of the latch resounded in the room.

  This was not an act of submission. The contrary was true. My insistence to have the question settled was one of the most aggressive acts of my life. Edwin and I both wanted to marry at once—not that a week or two would have mattered—but it was our way of wresting control over our fate from the adults who until that moment had juggled our lives like crafty carnival performers.

  Anger is the leash that keeps other emotions, like fear and shame, in check. Anger braced my spine. Anger hardened my expression into a stolid grimace. And anger bred a freshly wrought sense about how to conduct this rite that transcended any experiential knowledge that I might have had.

  Tentatively Mrs. Salem approached the foot of my bed. I stretched my legs out under my dressing gown and folded my arms across my chest. Let her decide what to do next, I thought, and said nothing.

  For a long time she fixed her eyes above me. The more she fidgeted, the more superior I felt. Then, as if she had found a reserve well of resolve, she gazed at me shrewdly. “Let us get this over with, shall we?”

  I drew my legs up to my chest.

  “Yes, that's better. Why don't you hold your knees and spread your legs?” Her hand was on my thigh, gently insisting I follow its lead. “Take off your undergarments.”

  I already had, so I said nothing.

  “Well?” The question came as a whine.

  “I did that before you arrived.”

  She waited a beat and lowered her head. “There's not much light. Turn toward the windows,” she ordered.

  With an awkward twist of my buttocks I shifted to my right. Edwin's m
other stood up and walked around to that side of the bed. A hot ray of sun beamed across my mound. I pretended I was a stone temple goddess carved on a frieze: unfeeling, impenetrable.

  “My aunt was a midwife,” she said to put me at ease while she stared between my parted thighs. “Nothing can be seen on the outside, as you must know.” Her voice was that of a strident teacher. Anger checked my instinctive reflex to kick her away. Anger helped me to keep my eyes open and my mouth closed while she reached out with her left hand and peeled me like an unripe mango.

  How thankful I was that Edwin did not know what was happening! Tears stung my eyes. Mustn't think of him, not now. Her other hand pressed in a way that made my stomach churn. Oh, Edwin, it will be worth it if we have our way. The price is small compared with what will happen in a few days. Then you will be the only one to do this to me for as long as I live. Another queer, slippery poke and then a firm hand pressed my knees together. I glanced up. She tucked one hand behind her back. With the other she smoothed her dress. Her face had blanched, and with the sun illuminating her from the back, she looked like the bright center of a flame.

  I fumbled with my gown, trying to tie it while prone, then inched to the bedside and dangled my legs.

  She backed away from me. “I don't know . . .”

  Every restraint broke loose. I leapt up and toward her, shouting, “You are lying!”

  She held out an arm stiffly to keep me from grabbing her. “No, that is not what I meant.”

  I fell back on my bed with a, thud. She took one step in my direction and stood there, one foot in front of the other so she could retreat with an economy of movement.

  I gasped. Something was wrong with my throat.

  “I don't know what should be there or should not be there.” She turned away from me. “It is more complicated than I had imagined,” she whispered. “The other women I had seen were having babies . . . I should have asked someone else, someone with more experience, like a mashti.”

  “Nobody else.” My voice broke into fragments. “Please.”

  Her bosom heaved. “That won't be necessary. I should not have insisted. If your own aunt had not suggested this would be the only way . . .” She looked straight ahead. “From your willingness to submit, I should have known you were telling the truth, but I am a mother and . . .” She faced me slightly. “When you become a mother, you may do things to protect your children that you find distasteful.”