“I need another drink.” Fannie Jump headed for the library.
Celeste looked to Cora then Louise then Juts. “I believe Fannie has the right idea.”
Felicity and General Pershing rested by the fireplace, a fire blazing, for the evening temperature had dropped to 42˚F. Cora and Juts sat before the warmth, mending socks and two torn pillowcases, the handiwork of the mischievous cat.
“Momma.”
“Mmm.”
“Everyone’s talking about Wheezie smacking Lottie.”
“I expect so.” Cora squinted. Her eyes weren’t quite what they used to be.
“Some people wish she’d hit her harder. Others are taking Lottie’s side and believing what she says about Wheezie. Makes me bullshit mad.”
“Juts, don’t swear.”
“You do.”
Cora looked up. “Rarely, but I have not always been the best example. Forget Lottie and Dimps Jr., too.”
“Momma, I can’t let them say the things they say, and more—Lottie says Pearlie’s too cheap to buy Wheezie a real ring. He’s getting the milk for free. That’s exactly what she’s saying. ‘Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?’ ”
“Juts, people can say whatever they want to say. Anyone with a grain of sense will know that Pearlie is a young man starting out in life and he doesn’t have the money. As far as your sister is concerned, that cigar band is made of solid gold.”
“She’s taped it together twice.” Juts darned the sock, put the needle through the sock, pausing. “Momma, how come people are saying what they’re saying? Wheezie wouldn’t do anything out of the way.”
“No, she wouldn’t, but loose talk tells you more about who’s saying it than what they’re saying.”
“Like they’re doing it.”
“Mmm,” was all Cora offered, but she nodded her head. “Truth is, those are powerful feelings.”
“Well, I don’t have them and I never will. I’m not making a fool out of myself over some man, letting them kiss me and crawl all over me. Ugh.”
“Mm-hmm.” Cora smiled.
Juts grimaced. “Mother! It’s awful.”
“How do you think you got here?”
“Yeah, but you only did it twice.”
Cora put down the pillowcase, laughed so hard she shook. “Oh, honey, don’t fret over this. In good time, you’ll understand.”
“I understand now, Momma. People have no sense.”
“You’ve got a point there.”
Darning again, Juts listened to the logs crackle and pop. “Bet some flowers die tonight.”
“Only if there’s a frost.”
“Feels like it. Bet by the middle of the night it will be freezing!”
“I hope not. My tulips won’t like it.” Without looking up, she said, “Forget the Rhodes girls.” Juts didn’t respond. Cora continued to sew, then remarked, “I hope Ramelle’s baby comes soon.”
With conviction, Juts announced, “I am not going to be a mother. One more reason not to let boys crawl all over you.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I mean it, Momma. I’m not walking about like a hippopotamus.”
“When have you seen a hippopotamus?”
“In picture books.” She blew out her cheeks to look fat, making her mother laugh.
The wall clock chimed nine times.
“Your sister should be getting out of the movies about now. She’s determined to use all the tickets Pearlie gave her. She took Orrie tonight.”
“She should take me.”
“Well, you know she did. Most Saturdays she and Pearlie go. He works late a lot. He’s trying to put money away.”
“I put away what Mrs. Chalfonte gives me for chores.”
As money burnt a hole in Juts’s pocket, whatever she put away would be spent soon enough.
“You can shine the mirrors in Mrs. Chalfonte’s bedroom, in Spotts’s bedroom, and downstairs. That will earn you some more money.”
“Good.”
They worked in silence, General Pershing’s deep breathing and the fire being the only sounds.
Finishing her sewing, Cora folded the pillowcases as Juts finished the socks. Cora took the pillowcases to the chest of drawers in her small bedroom.
Returning, she stirred the fire as she spoke. “Juts, you and Ev are doing your lessons?”
“Yes. I still haven’t made up my mind though.”
“Be that as it may, you have made up your mind to get even with Lottie.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
Pink dogwoods next to white dogwoods bloomed along Emmitsburg Pike. Azaleas were open, although not quite to their fullest. The daffodils had come and gone. Now late-blooming tulips dotted flower beds with red, white, yellow, pink. The early blooming tulips were already done.
Swallows darted in and out of the barn, a warning chirp as they swooped low. Henry put up Roland. Celeste gave the handsome horse a lump of sugar before returning to the house.
Cora, newspaper spread over the kitchen table, placed loving cups on it to polish.
“Silver tarnishes quickly, doesn’t it?” Celeste noted as she entered the kitchen.
“I try to keep up with it. Juts promises to do the silverware, but I like to shine up the trophies.”
A loud knock on the door caused Cora to rise.
“I’ll get it.” Celeste left.
“Mrs. Chalfonte.” Outside, the Western Union young man lifted his cap.
“Ah, Johnny, what have you here?” She opened the door and took the envelope from him. “Wait a minute.”
Returning, she gave him a good tip, fifty cents, then walked into the library and tore open the small yellow envelope and read the message inside.
May 2, 1920
3:45 P.M.
Spottiswood Bowman Chalfonte born 6 ½ pounds. Female
Mother, child fine.
Love, Curtis
“Cora!”
Celeste hurried into the kitchen and she read the telegram to Cora.
“Thank the good Lord for everyone’s health.” Cora smiled.
“Yes.” Celeste sat down opposite Cora. “I suppose I should go down to the Western Union office and send a telegram in return.” She put the envelope and opened message on the table. “How did you feel after giving birth?”
“Tired.” She was still smiling, though. “It will be good to have the baby here. No doubt she’ll be beautiful.”
“I’m sure she will. She won’t be here for months, but…” Celeste paused. “Where am I going to put her?”
“If Ramelle and Curtis come with a nurse, third floor.”
“I’m sure they’ll come with a nurse.” Celeste picked up the message again. “I’ll do my best.”
“Of course you will,” Cora reassuringly said.
“Cora, I know nothing about babies.”
“I do.” Cora smiled. “Everything will be fine.”
“Yes. I’ll buy her a pony.”
Cora reached over to touch Celeste’s hand. “Wait a few years.”
“You’re right.” Celeste laughed. “It’s the only thing I know to do. Well, let me go down to Western Union.”
The office was on the northern side of Runnymede. Once there, Celeste sent congratulations, then, she didn’t know why, sent a telegram to Ben announcing the birth. She also sent one to Carlotta and Stirling. She wasn’t really sure why she did that either.
Then she walked through the square, exceptionally beautiful on this May day. Stopping at the Confederate statue, she heard a car horn’s beep.
Fairy slowed down. She was driving a lot these days.
Waving, Celeste trotted across the square. Fairy had pulled to the side of the road.
“Ramelle had a girl,” Celeste announced.
“Get in.” Fairy motioned to the door. “We’ll take a celebratory ride.”
“Just think, Fairy, you can always be a lady chauffeur if life changes dramatical
ly.”
Fairy laughed. “It would have to be quite dramatic. Well, congratulations to all concerned. You must be relieved and excited.”
“I guess. Fairy, what I feel is trapped.”
Heading west, Fairy soothingly said, “It’s a big day, although none of it was your decision. But trapped? No. You’ll be a wonderful aunt and you won’t have to be a wonderful aunt every single day.”
“Everything has changed.”
“It has,” Fairy honestly replied. “But you will change with it and in time, you’ll love watching—”
“Spotts.”
“Ah, of course. How good of Ramelle. Well, you’ll love watching Spotts grow.”
“She’s growing up in a different world than we did.”
“I guess every generation does. One glorious thing is she will never know war, 1918 took care of that. Although with my reading I’m starting to wonder if we won’t experience violence in different ways.”
“I expect we will always have violence, but this morning I walked into the library, turned on the radio for a moment, then turned it off. I don’t want to hear about Mary Pickford. If I have to hear about something or someone I don’t know, it should be important, not entertainment. I think, Fairy, that Spotts’s world will be vastly different than our own. Superficial, or perhaps I might say more superficial.”
“Oh, I don’t know. You’re a little lost right now, Celeste. Don’t make judgments,” Fairy said, as only an old and true friend can say.
Watching the emerald-green fields slide by, Celeste sighed. “You’re right. I don’t know why I’m confused. It’s not my baby. I’m not the one who has my whole life turned upside down.”
“Strange, isn’t it? I would have done anything to be a mother. You never wanted to be one but Ramelle did. I suspect it’s something one is born with and most of us are meant to be mothers and fathers but some of us aren’t.”
“Well, one can’t say that publicly.”
“No, of course not, but you can say it to your dearest friends.” Fairy glanced at Celeste for a moment, then returned her eyes to the road. “You should put an announcement in both papers.”
“Yes.”
“And Cora should put in an announcement about Louise’s engagement to stop the silly gossip.”
“I’ll do it. I should have suggested that when he asked Louise, but he couldn’t give her a ring. If the poor fellow had to wait until he could afford even a diamond chip, that would be a year. The proposal was spontaneous.” Celeste smiled. “And all the better for it. What she has is the cigar band off one of Spotts’s cigars.”
“You put both announcements in the papers. As for a ring, maybe you, Fannie, and I can come up with something.”
“A ring?” Celeste was surprised.
“The three of us can go through our jewelry. There’s got to be something we can lend or even give Paul.”
“That’s a good idea. He has to agree to it. I am learning about getting men on board, so to speak. It’s not anything I’ve ever mastered,” Celeste confessed.
“Oh, don’t worry. I can help you there.” Fairy laughed lightly. “If there’s one thing marriage teaches you, it’s how to manage men. Both Fannie and I have gotten quite good at it. The key is to make them think whatever it is, is their idea.”
Celeste inhaled. “Seems like a lot of work.”
“It can be. You grew up with three brothers. Consider that a head start. With men who aren’t your brothers, though, you can’t haul off and hit them, something at which you excelled.”
Celeste, spirits climbing, nodded. “Guess I did.”
“But you encountered the male need to be in charge, to dominate, and to compete with other men.”
“I don’t know. I never thought of it that way.”
“Essentially you listen to every word out of their mouth as though it is of supreme importance and they are terribly smart and you tell them they are. You also point out every mistake every man around them makes. And if you’re married, you tell them how physically competent they are. Simple.”
“Good God, Fairy, have you been doing this for the last twenty years?”
“Twenty-one. I married at twenty-two, remember?”
“I’m deeply impressed, but it’s so much work.”
“Oh, now, dealing with Ramelle was work, too. You just say different things and you spend more money. Archie spends money on me. You had to spend money on Ramelle. You did. Let’s drive to Fannie’s. You can tell her your good news.”
As Fairy turned toward Runnymede, it occurred to Celeste that Fairy was also managing her, just as she managed her husband. It also occurred to her that her friends knew her intimately and had been managing her since college. All this time she’d thought she was in charge. She burst out laughing.
Fairy laughed, too. “See, you’re your old self again.”
“What would I do without you?”
“Suffer.” Fairy laughed louder, joined by Celeste.
Three important ladies sat before Archibald Cadwalder, brother to Flavius and chief of the South Runnymede Police Department.
“Yashew was set up,” Carlotta Van Dusen forcefully said. “You know it, Archibald.”
“Now, now, Carlotta, I may suspect but I don’t know.” His tone was even.
“We’ve come to post bail.” Celeste figured releasing the young man was more important at this moment than the circumstances of his arrest.
“Of course.” Archibald called loudly, “Mark. Bail.”
A young officer came in, touched his forehead briefly to the ladies, opened the big book he was carrying.
“How much, Mark?” Fairy inquired.
“Two hundred dollars.”
“What? That’s outrageous. He’s not a criminal. He’s not dangerous.” Carlotta fumed.
Archibald had to clarify the law as he saw it. “He is accused of carrying contraband. And if convicted, he is a criminal. But you are right, he’s not dangerous.”
“Archie, you know all this is drivel.” Carlotta’s face reddened. “You can’t possibly believe it.”
“Mrs. Van Dusen, Miss Chalfonte, Mrs. Thatcher, I do not have to believe in the law, but I have to enforce it.”
The three sat silent for a moment, then Celeste filled out a blank check she had brought, handing it to Mark.
“Thank you, Miss Chalfonte.” Like most men, he simply wanted to look at her.
“Chief, I know you, too, are doing your duty and we aren’t insensible to that.” Celeste found the right approach at last. “And given the wild unpopularity of the Volstead Act, to say nothing of the impossibility of enforcing it, you are at a disadvantage and must face the emotions this act will stir in Runnymede.”
“She’s right.” Carlotta had calmed down. “You’re a good police chief, Archibald, and we all sleep safer in our beds because of you. I’m afraid I’ve let my emotions get the better of me because Yashew has been such a good worker for us, as is his sister, a scholarship girl. We all are close and, of course, quite concerned about Mrs. Gregorivitch. The family can’t afford to lose what Yashew brings in.”
“Yes, I know that.” He cleared his throat. “Perhaps you all can tell me what’s at stake here? All I responded to was a phone call, a woman’s voice I thought I somewhat recognized, telling me that Yashew was carrying a truckload of scotch and if we wanted to catch him we should post men at the square. I did and sure enough, a truckload of barrels.”
“You’ve impounded the truck?” Celeste sounded innocent.
“Of course.”
She continued. “You’ve been good to listen to us. We all know how busy you are.” She paused. “This may have its genesis in a ferocious argument at your brother’s drugstore a few days ago. Flavius can give you the details. From any of us, it would be hearsay and a great deal of vulgarity appears to have been spoken.”
His eyebrows rose. “I will ask him. He must not have thought it would lead to trouble or he would have informed me.”
“Flavius works as hard as you do,” Fairy complimented both brothers. “And we are sorry to trouble you. This comes down to petty revenge. At any rate, let us take Yashew to his mother since you have his truck. May we do so?”
Fairy, sweetness herself, provoked a smile from the chief. “Of course, Mrs. Thatcher. Mark, bring the prisoner out, will you?”
Celeste inquired after the police chief’s garden—he was a good gardener—then slipped in, “We aren’t mentioning any of this to Tangerman. First off, it’s not his jurisdiction. Secondly, he will butt in.”
Indeed, Lionel Tangerman Sr., the aging police chief of North Runnymede, would butt in.
“I appreciate that,” said Archibald. “You know, they will need to elect a new police chief soon, as Lionel is losing his memory.”
“Yes, he is,” Fairy agreed. “But how can this be done without hurting his feelings? You know all the ins and outs of law enforcement protocol. There must be a way.”
Flattered, he made a steeple out of his fingers. “You know we have all been thinking about this. Now I don’t mean to imply that the men on the north force are talking behind the chief’s back but his condition is now so obvious. In a sense, we have to find a way to kick him upstairs.”
“Excellent idea,” Carlotta chimed in.
“Maybe we can think of something in time for Magna Carta Day,” Fairy said almost idly.
Mark arrived with Yashew, who was incredibly grateful to see his liberators.
“Come on. We’ll take you home,” Carlotta said.
“I’m driving,” Fairy bragged.
Packed in the car, Carlotta pressed Yashew. “We know it was a woman who called and ratted on you. Who knew apart from myself, your sister?”
“Lottie Rhodes.”
“I knew it!” Fairy triumphantly blared.
Celeste rested her head on her hand. “That is petty revenge.”
“I called her—well, I called her something,” Yashew almost whispered.
“Wheezie and Juts gave a full report.” Celeste half smiled. “You merely told the truth.”
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