Carlotta stood stock-still, her eyes filled with tears. “Celeste.”
“You know I love you.” Celeste kissed her sister on the cheek and swept out the door. “It’s just sometimes I can’t stand you.”
Twilight lingered. Within two days there would be equal sunshine and darkness. The air carried a chill, but the light promised that spring would arrive. Snowdrops had pushed through the snow, followed by crocuses with even a few unopened daffodils pushing ever upward. The annual miracle was about to begin, as was the St. Patrick’s Day dance. Another smaller miracle, perhaps, for everything was completed on time: decorations, refreshments, members of the school band ready to supply dance music.
To Dimps Jr.’s credit, she sold more tickets with her friends’ help than anyone sold before. Wearing a green dress designed to enhance her figure, she basked near the door to greet people, which infuriated Juts. But Juts, occupied by last-minute touches, worked behind the makeshift raised dais for the musicians. Louis, Ev, Dick, and Richard checked and double-checked the papier-mâché figures placed around and on the dais. The crowning moment just before the dancing started would be the crescent moon dropping down, then the cow jumping over it. Both were shrouded in sheets. Juts wanted to make sure the sheets would drop, they’d pick them up, and the centerpiece would slowly come down. She’d even arranged for musical accompaniment.
Paul worked for no pay after hours so that Mr. Anson would allow him to move the figures from Celeste’s garage. Louise assured him this was unnecessary but he said the kids had worked hard. Why not? He’d also helped Louis create a simple slide on the rafter—Louis would need to be up there, so the cow wouldn’t exactly jump but would glide over the moon.
Mrs. Stiles chaperoned, along with three other teachers dragooned into giving up part of their Friday night. Fannie Jump Creighton also chaperoned. Never one to miss a party regardless of age or occasion, she moved about, complimenting the kids. She had even dragged Celeste and Fairy Thatcher along. She told Celeste she had to attend if even for an hour to see all the work Juts and her friends had done. Then she had called Fairy and said the school always needed responsible adults and they needed to get Celeste out and about.
To this, Fairy replied, “Responsible adults?”
She did, however, attend, and was now seated in a chair along one wall with a few other adults, one of them the custodian, another the school nurse. Fights, not uncommon, could break out, and as a large number of students from North Runnymede High, all well-dressed, were there, better to prepare just in case.
Dimps Jr.’s date was Bill Whittier. Having the captain of the North Runnymede football team at her side added to her swagger, but it did not add to her popularity among the North Runnymede girls.
Celeste strolled with Fannie Jump. They ran into Louise and Paul.
“Good evening, Miss Chalfonte, Mrs. Creighton,” the younger people said.
“What are you doing here?” Fannie Jump inquired.
“Juts wanted us to see the decorations and Pearlie hauled everything here. It’s wonderful.”
“Indeed it is,” Fannie Jump remarked. “A sea of green. We’re all a little Irish tonight. Even Celeste.”
Celeste smiled. “Of course I am.”
The room hummed. Fannie Jump stepped into the hallway briefly, then returned.
“How about if we leave once the dancing begins? I’m not sure I can watch.” Fannie half smiled.
“We weren’t any better at that age,” Celeste remarked.
“Worse, I should think. That dreadful all-girls’ school.”
“It wasn’t that dreadful.”
“Celeste, every girl had a crush on you, except myself and Fairy. I say living with all women is a curse. If I lived in a harem, I’d kill the others.”
“They do, don’t they?” Celeste’s eyebrows raised. “Or maybe they kill one another’s sons. And every girl did not have a crush on me, nor did I return same.”
Arms across her chest, Fannie pursed her lips. “Do you expect me to believe you?”
“I do. Granted, at Smith I had a few moments.” She touched Fannie’s elbow. “You, of course, never did a thing.”
“Not with the girls. The boys visiting from Yale or Harvard, Dartmouth or Amherst, perhaps.”
“Oh, Fannie Jump, you looked at more ceilings than Michelangelo.”
Fannie had to laugh at herself. “Are we not here to make a joyful noise unto the Lord?”
“Quite.” Celeste grinned. “Shall we rescue Fairy? She’s looking mournful.”
“That’s her bored look, Celeste.”
“How can you tell the difference?”
“I can’t. I just made it up.”
The two joined their friend as Louis walked by with his date, senior Elizabeth Chalmers.
The ladies greeted them. Everybody knew everybody. No need for introductions. As he walked by, the three pair of eyes followed him.
“Well, Louie hit a home run,” Fannie enthused. “Which reminds me. Would either of you two come with me to Baltimore? Time to meet this season’s team.”
“Thank you, Fannie,” Fairy replied. “You know I’m not one for sports.”
Fannie came back, “Celeste already promised me. I thought you might like a change of scenery. Watching young male bodies peps me right up. You, too, if you’d give yourself a chance.”
Fairy demurred, then added, “I’ve been reading Marx.”
To this, her two friends said nothing. Before Fairy could explain her new interest in economics and class divisions, the inevitable drone of thank-yous began from the dais.
“I need a drink,” Fannie declared.
“Your flask is in your skirt pocket.” Celeste pointed out what she and Fairy knew.
“I can’t pull it out in front of all these children.”
“Perhaps there will be a diversion, dear, and you can fortify yourself,” Fairy innocently predicted.
This happy moment, for Fannie anyway, came after the last of the announcements, thank-yous, and exhortations of school spirit answered in kind by the North Runnymede students.
On the dais, which was maybe four feet off the ground, Juts began, “Hey diddle, diddle—”
The rest chimed in. With each mention of a character in the rhyme, Dick, Richard, or Ev behind their cutout figure, walked forward. Louis was up in the rafters.
“The little dog laughed to see such a sight. And the cow jumped over the moon.”
The sheets dropped, which worked smoothly. Juts breathlessly waited for Richard and Dick on the opposite side of the room to work the pulleys.
Down came the moon. Then down came the cow and slid over the crescent moon as the gathered screamed, laughed, and stomped the floor.
The cow, a bovine smile on her face and sweet brown eyes, sported an enormous flesh-colored udder with the teats painted riotous red. Also painted in red, on her sides, in tidy lettering, was Dimps Jr.
Aghast, Dimps Jr. charged outside, bumping into people as her date blocked for her.
Celeste’s hand—large, emerald-cut diamond gleaming—flew to her breast. “Oh, dear.”
Fannie Jump used the mayhem to knock back a big swallow from the flask. “What?”
“I feel somewhat responsible.”
“Celeste, how can you be responsible?” Fairy asked, shouting above the uproar.
“Dimps Jr. and Juts have been at one another’s throats for some time and I, more or less, told Juts not to worry about it. Dimps is like a cow. I definitely said cow.”
Thinking quickly, Mrs. Stiles hurried to the band and told them to play. She then made it over to Richard, thence to Dick.
On a signal from her, they pulled up the cow. Louis, still on the rafters, couldn’t hear a thing, but he was smart enough to secure the cow. The moon he left hanging and then he backed down the ladder being held by Elizabeth. Mrs. Stiles held the other side of the ladder.
“Louis?” the teacher asked as his feet touched the floor.
�
�Yes, ma’am.”
“Is who I think behind this Juts?”
Not one to rat, Louis said nothing, but he grimaced slightly. Elizabeth, impressed by this, pressed his hand.
“Oh, all right. I know it was Juts.”
“Am I in trouble, Mrs. Stiles?”
“Let’s not worry about that now.” She paused. She really shouldn’t have blurted it out, but she did. “A very well done cow. No one will ever forget this dance!”
They did not. Dimps Jr. found herself on the second floor of the school in the unlocked teacher’s lounge being consoled in a new and exciting fashion.
Louise laughed until the tears came to her eyes. Paul, surprised, agreed the revenge was funny and clever.
Juts, surrounded by everyone who thought Dimps Jr. a pill, was riding high—even though she knew come Monday she’d be in hot water. Celeste, Fannie Jump, and Fairy, in tow, approached her.
Juts looked up at all five feet ten inches of Celeste. “Ma’am.”
“Well?”
“She’ll never make fun of me again,” Juts defiantly said.
“Hell, Juts. Wish you’d been at school with us. We had a couple of dreary girls you could have taken care of,” Fannie enthused.
“Fannie.” Fairy’s tone reprimanded her.
“I should have not called Dimps a cow,” said Celeste. “I never thought you listened so closely.”
“Miss Chalfonte, she is a cow. Even worse, she hurts people’s feelings all the time. Don’t hand it out if you can’t take it.” Juts stood her ground. “And the cow was my idea.”
“What are you going to tell your mother?” Celeste asked.
“I don’t know.”
“You’d better think of something. If you don’t tell her, Louise will,” Celeste sensibly warned her.
The other two ladies nodded in agreement and then left. The dance, just beginning, promised a most exciting St. Patrick’s celebration.
Coats on, the trio walked out to Fannie’s 1917 Chevy V-8 Tourer. Fannie had been learning to drive simply to be competitive with Fairy. This ebullient lady, however, was in no condition to drive.
Celeste walked toward the driver’s door. She could do it if she had to, but Fairy scooted in front of her.
“You’ll be surprised.”
Celeste then placed Fannie, not terribly drunk but not anyone you’d like behind the wheel, in the backseat and joined Fairy in front.
Fairy pulled out the choke a bit, then pressed the clutch, then the accelerator, listening for that engine purr.
She drove Celeste home first.
Fannie boomed, “Alcohol is the answer. I can’t remember the question.”
Ignoring her, Celeste complimented the dainty Fairy. “You’re doing well.”
“I love it. I love driving.” She pulled in front of the house and said in parting, “I know young people are less restrained, but I do think Juts was unfair.”
Celeste, sticking her head back in the car for a moment, replied, “Fairy, if Americans were motivated by fair play, the Indians would still own Manhattan.”
Competing versions of Juts’s cow jumping over the moon created some confusion for Cora. On the one hand, Juts and her friends had humiliated Dimps Jr. On the other hand, her younger daughter, weary of being picked on, had fought back. Louise, never one to withhold a criticism of her Lutheran sister, actually gave an evenhanded report, which impressed Cora. Celeste’s report, interspersed with laughter, was also evenhanded.
Louise worked on Saturdays at the Bon Ton. Often Juts would walk Louise to the store, then go on to a friend’s house, but this Saturday she stuck close to her mother, volunteering for odd jobs around the house.
Making small dumplings from scratch, Cora felt flour fly in her face. She put her finger under her nose to keep from sneezing.
Celeste walked into the kitchen. “You look like a Japanese geisha, your skin is so white.”
Wiping her hands on a dish towel, Cora smiled. “Aren’t those the ladies of the evening?”
“Not exactly but close enough. We don’t have an equivalent. They must be well read, discreet, graceful, able to pour tea, perform dances, and recite poetry. Having never been entertained by one, I can only go by what Spotts told me.”
Her late brother had traveled widely, thanks to his army rank. Young, handsome, intelligent, Spotts was being groomed by a few senior officers to rise. All felt he was born to be a liaison officer.
“Think of him every day.” Cora returned to rolling the dough. “Think of my father, think of Aimes.” She named her late boyfriend. “So many of the people I knew are gone.”
“You didn’t name Hansford.” Celeste cited Cora’s husband.
“Don’t think of him. For one thing, I don’t know if he’s dead or alive. Some men aren’t worth a second thought.”
“Some women, too.” Celeste perched on a kitchen stool, picked up a pastry wheel and cut out thin rectangular sheets 24 x 8 inches. “There. No one can say I lack in the domestic arts.”
Cora shook her head. “Yes, madam.”
Celeste smiled. “Where is Juts?”
“Last I saw her, she was polishing the stair rail.” She checked the big striped bowl, into which she had put cooked beef, pork, veal, bacon, 4 eggs, ½ cup fresh chopped parsley, ¼ cup cream, ½ teaspoon salt, ¼ teaspoon white ground pepper, a pinch of ground nutmeg, and diced potatoes. “I guess Monday I’d better go down to South Runnymede before the principal.”
“Yes. Yes, you should. You can be sure that Big Dimps will march in brimming with righteous wrath to defend her chick.”
“Mmm.”
Juts, rag over her shoulder, walked into the kitchen. “What next, Momma?”
“Take a feather duster and lightly dust the painting of Miss Chalfonte on the landing. Lightly.”
“Okey-dokey.”
“Juts.” Celeste put down the dough cutter. “Ben Jonson thought every man had his element. Yours is hot water.”
“Yes, Miss Chalfonte.”
“And Juts, for what it’s worth, she had it coming.”
A big smile crossed Juts’s face as her mother ordered her, “The painting.”
Cora watched those young shoulders sweep back, the kitchen door was pushed open and Juts marched out vindicated. Vindicated or not, she dreaded Monday.
“Granted, the Rhodes girl baited Juts, but you know, Cora, both those Rhodes girls are pushed on by their mother. She made a bad marriage and she’s determined they won’t so she makes everyone miserable.”
“Even black magic can’t change a chicken.” Cora began filling the dough rectangles then crimping the ends together so the dumplings would hold.
The front door opened. “It’s just me!”
“Kitchen,” Celeste called out.
Fannie Jump appeared, none the worse for last night’s drinking. “The town is abuzz. Some people believe Juts hung a live cow over the moon. Others that Louis Negroponti worked mechanical marvels. And no one knows what became of Dimps Jr. except that she did go home. Don’t you just love gossip?”
Both Celeste and Cora laughed, then all heard the front door open and close again.
“Twink, it’s me.”
“I wish you wouldn’t call me that.” Celeste shrugged as Fairy entered the kitchen.
Eyes wide, the proper lady breathed, “You won’t believe what people are saying about the dance. I’ve even heard that Big Dimps will sue.”
“If Big Dimps sues, it will be lawyers without briefs.” Fannie roared with laughter.
Fairy couldn’t help but laugh. “She doesn’t have the money really.”
“No, but she has what she’s always had.” Fannie Jump pulled up a stool.
Fairy followed suit. “Cora, even with your recipe, I can’t get my cook to make dumplings like you do.”
Cora inclined her head, with a small smile. “It’s the cook’s hand. Helps if your last name is Hunsenmeir.”
Fairy smiled back. “True enough. Her last name is
Garthwaite.”
“But Cora, Hunsenmeir is your married name. You were a Buckingham,” Fairy added.
“I’ll always be a Buckingham, but Hansford’s mother taught me how to make her family dishes. What a cook she was, and as wide as she was tall.”
They laughed, remembering the big-hearted woman.
“Pity she couldn’t raise a better son,” Fannie remarked.
“Well, that can be said of many a woman, I suppose.” Celeste inhaled the delicious aroma as Cora dropped the dumplings into the broth in which she had cooked the meats.
“Fifteen minutes,” Cora, hands on hips, announced.
“You made this for us?” Fairy was surprised.
“Girls, after last night I knew you’d all be here by noon.” Cora laughed and they laughed with her. “Fifteen minutes!” she hollered. “Juts!”
“Yes,” came the reply from the majestic stairwell.
“Set the table for three.”
The door swung open, and a silent Juts marched to the pantry to collect the plates.
The three friends watched her walk, then rose to gather in the dining room, a few decanters on the eighteenth-century sideboard.
Fannie picked up her favorite. “I heard liquor is already crossing Lake Michigan into Chicago. Also heard boats on the Chesapeake are offloading booze to boats coming down the Susquehanna, the Potomac, you name it. We ladies ought to consider investing in a new business.”
In a tiny voice, Fairy, pouring an aged sherry, remarked, “Fannie, love, you’d drink up our profits.”
“Not if you put them under lock and key,” she swore.
Juts had set the table, so they moved from the sideboard to sit. Fannie asked, “How did your people know to buy this furniture when they did?”
“I don’t know. I never asked.” Celeste waited until all the food was on the table, the friends served, then she picked up her fork. “In the eighteenth century, this was modern. No one knew if it would last. Funny, isn’t it?”
“Have you heard from Ramelle lately?” Fannie bit into a dumpling.
“Not for a few days. Neither rain nor sleet nor snow slows down the mail; it must be something else.” Celeste sipped some broth, which couldn’t have been better.
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