“You can. And I might add that Yashew’s truck is now filled with molasses barrels.”
Herbert burst out laughing. “Oh, that’s good!”
Driving back to Runnymede, Ben driving, for he wanted to, the two of them said little, watched the pastures and woods go by, the dogwoods fully opened, a few grandiflora magnolias displaying filling tan buds. Yellow buttercups covered fields, others showed the lavender glow of veronica.
Back at the house, Celeste opened a package filled with photographs of Ramelle, Spotts, and Curtis.
“Ben, here’s my niece.” She showed him and Glue, too, who was nosy.
“Such a tiny little thing.”
“It’s hard to believe we all start life so helpless, isn’t it?”
“It is.” He leaned over her shoulder. “Ramelle is such a beautiful woman. And the baby has a full head of dark hair like her mother.”
“Well, the hair will probably fall out.” Celeste called Cora in to look at the photographs, then asked her about infant hair.
In the background, Louise could be heard playing the piano. Juts was arguing with someone about something. The late-afternoon sun shone through the windows. Celeste and Ben had been gone longer than they anticipated.
“Celeste, if the baby’s hair falls out, it will grow back.”
“But doesn’t it grow back curly if it was straight, or blond if it was dark?”
“I don’t rightly know. Are you worried about having a bald niece?” Cora laughed.
“No.” Celeste looked at Ben’s dark hair. “Do the men go bald in your family?”
“They do not.”
“Good.”
“Supper in an hour?” Cora inquired.
“That will be fine. It’s entirely possible that Fannie will show up, dying to know what happened at Immaculata. I’ll tell Wheezie first, she’s an alumna.” Celeste smiled.
Juts tromped into the kitchen. “She is such a snob.”
“That’s enough.”
“I can play the piano. I sat down next to Wheezie and she told me to move. She said I’m not good enough.”
“Did you do your lessons?” Celeste asked. “The ones Ev brought today?”
“I did.”
The playing stopped. Louise entered the kitchen.
Juts pouted. “You’re hateful not to let me play.”
“Chopin is too much for you,” Louise defended herself.
“Oh, pooh, I can play ‘Nocturnal Emissions’ as good as you can!”
Celeste and Ben laughed. As Celeste recovered she said, “Juts, I certainly hope not.”
Leaning over the cosmetics counter, Minta Mae examined a tortoiseshell compact of pressed powder, a youthful shade of peach. Delilah lined up three other shades for the president of the Sisters of Gettysburg. While Minta Mae had expanded a bit over the years, she maintained a lovely complexion, of which she was justifiably proud.
Crowded with shoppers on this perfect May Saturday, the Bon Ton left no time for its clerks to dawdle, which was how Louise liked it. The busier she was, the happier she was, and she’d just sold Caesura Frothingham, the president of the Daughters of the Confederacy, a gorgeous sheer dress, with diaphanous layers of gray.
Caesura waited for the pneumatic tube to bring back her change. “I’m so glad you called me.”
“When you move, the layers will sway with you, and I remembered your stunning gray-and-gold sash, which will really set this off,” Louise said.
“I’m just glad you thought of me before Georgina saw it.” She named her second-in-command, a dedicated woman who wanted Caesura’s job.
“Mrs. Frothingham, you are the leader, and furthermore, you have kept your hourglass figure. Every woman in this town would love to know how you do it.”
Trying to hide her pride, Caesura lifted her chin slightly. “I walk two miles a day, weather permitting, and I watch what I eat.” She smiled at Louise. “Really, it’s common sense.”
“And discipline.” The cylinder clanked in the tube. Wheezie opened it, returning Caesura’s change. “Our Magna Carta Day isn’t far off. Mrs. Frothingham, if you have any ladies who might need”—she paused conspiratorially—“a bit of help, send them to me. It’s so important that the Daughters of the Confederacy outshine you know who.” She cut her eyes to the cosmetics department.
“My God, I wonder she doesn’t stuff her girls into old Union uniforms.” Caesura couldn’t resist the jibe, and Louise couldn’t help but laugh.
Competitive and silly as the organizations might be, they did maintain the graves of the deceased combatants, they did their best to study history and preserve what they could. The Sisters of Gettysburg maintained three graves said to hold three former slaves who fought for the Union. The Sisters weren’t small-minded unless it was about the Daughters of the Confederacy. Both groups worked with the Daughters of the American Revolution and the Colonial Dames, often together. Louise didn’t much think about it, but there were few civic outlets for ladies of means. Many of them were well educated, bright, harboring ambition to do something more permanent than throw the best dinner party in Runnymede. Louise had no choice but to work. She liked it. She saw so many people. She’d returned from Philadelphia, the bustling city a revelation concerning marketing and fashion.
Tapping the counter lightly, Caesura leaned toward the young woman. “Wilfred told me that Celeste paid Yashew’s bail.”
“She did, Mrs. Frothingham. You know how generous she is.”
Of course, Caesura knew, as Celeste sent the Daughters large yearly checks. After all, her father had survived the war.
“Mmm.” She looked over at the cosmetics counter again. “It’s peculiar, Wheezie. Highly peculiar.”
Knowing she couldn’t truly reply, Louise raised her eyebrows while both women peered at the cosmetics counter. Minta Mae was dabbing at her cheeks before a handheld mirror, when Lottie, face flushed, hurried in.
She had the sense to wait until her mother completed the sale, then leaned over and cupped her hand over her mother’s ear. Delilah’s face turned pale. She gripped the edge of the counter. Lottie placed her hand over her mother’s. A customer walked up. Delilah smiled and went to work. Face grim, Lottie left the store.
Louise and Caesura looked at one another, then Caesura left, her purchase protected by a heavy bag.
Minta Mae trooped over. “Louise, I need something light for Magna Carta Day. The Farmer’s Almanac predicts the temperature will climb to the mid-eighties.”
Anticipating this, Louise, seeing some of the summer dresses at Wanamaker’s when in Philadelphia, had ordered a few for the Bon Ton, with Mildred’s blessing, of course. All the ladies wanted to be at their best for Runnymede’s special day, but the ladies of the two historical organizations really cared, plus they could and did spend. Minta Mae, while not as easy to fit as Caesura, did have a lovely peaches-and-cream complexion.
“Mrs. Dexter, when I was in Philadelphia I saw a dark blue crepe dress, quite a simple line, but I ordered it for you to examine. You can dress it up or dress it down, although your spectacular hat—you always wear the best hat—will set your ensemble in everyone’s mind.”
“Oh, I must see it.”
Louise returned with the dress that would somewhat conceal Minta Mae’s extra twenty pounds, which were proportionate, thankfully. Louise draped the dress over her arm while holding out the hem with her other hand.
Minta Mae felt the fabric. “Crepe will breathe a bit.”
“It will. I suspect you won’t truly be coolish until you sit from the marching.”
“Well, there is that. Might I try this on?”
As Minta Mae disappeared into the fitting room, Louise gave her sister clerk in Coats the high sign.
Minta Mae reappeared and Georgina from the coat department slipped over for one second, as though bringing something to Louise.
“Minta Mae, how slimming that dress is, and it accentuates all the right curves,” Georgina complimented the older l
ady.
Minta Mae examined herself in the large three-way mirror. “I’m so glad you noticed.”
As Georgina returned to her department, Louise walked around Minta Mae, critically examining the look. “If you’ll consider raising the hemline two inches or even one inch, your stride will be easier. You do have to cover distance and you look just wonderful.”
“I quite like the cut, Louise. Two inches, I don’t know. That’s rather daring.”
“Yes, it is, Mrs. Dexter, but not quite as daring as your father’s charge up Willis Hill.” Louise named the action at Fredericksburg in which nine thousand Union soldiers perished, proving the futility of a frontal assault given weapons improvement. Minta Mae’s father had distinguished himself; wounded three times, he did not abandon the assault nor his men.
“Why, Louise, I had no idea you were a student of history.”
“I’m not, but everyone knows your father was a hero.” She paused. “Might I make another suggestion?”
“Of course, dear?”
“Tip up the brim of your hat a bit more. You’ve just got to show that gorgeous complexion.”
Not only did Louise sell her the dress but also another tea dress, and Minta Mae walked out of the Bon Ton with a bearing not dissimilar to her late father’s.
At the end of the day, with sales tallied, everything back in its place, the clerks finished up as Sidney Yost moved from counter to counter. Above, Asa Grumbacher and Mildred looked down on another very successful day.
Delilah scooped out cosmetics wrappings from under the counter shelf, placed them in a large wastebasket, checked her counter, which was teeming with many small items. She locked the displays, locked the storage units behind the counter, gave the key to Sidney Yost, brushed the front of her dress, and left as Louise walked to the front door along with other girls.
In her hurry to go, Delilah bumped into Louise. “Get out of my way, Louise.”
The younger woman stepped aside, said nothing.
“What’s wrong with her?” Georgina complained.
“Oh, I bet she just heard that Yashew’s truck had barrels of molasses, not booze,” said Paxton Shortride, laughing.
Paxton’s mother, the telephone operator for the Maryland telephone company, knew far too much but she couldn’t say she heard it from her mother. Everyone knew, of course.
“We heard poor Yashew was in jail for a night,” Amy Rendell chimed in.
News traveled fast in Runnymede. Sooner or later, most secrets leaked out, unless they were in the best interest of many to keep locked up tight.
“Lottie calling Chief Cadwalder was a cheap shot.” Paxton sniffed.
“I heard that too.” Louise wanted to be part of the discussion but not too big a part.
“Oh, we all did, Louise.” Amy pushed open the door. “And we all heard about the uproar at the drugstore. I’d have given anything to be there.”
“Me, too.” Paxton laughed. “You were there, Louise, how come you never said anything?”
Louise demurred. “Oh, I couldn’t repeat those words. Awful things.”
“Yeah, but true.” Paxton held the door open after Amy moved out.
On the sidewalk, Amy shrugged. “Big Dimps has troubles.”
Barrels of molasses were the least of Big Dimps’s troubles.
—
That same day in Baltimore, Celeste and Fannie cheered at the Orioles victory. Once back at the Belvedere, Celeste sat with Fannie in the lobby while her friend enjoyed a restorative cocktail. Celeste drank sweet tea.
“Fannie, I have a compromise concerning buying a house.”
“Hmm.” Fannie swallowed. “What?”
“Rather than commit such a large amount of our resources, let’s rent a place. We’ll see how much we use it, the men use it. If we all spend a great deal of time here, we’ll buy and we’ll know the city better. If not, what have we lost? Not much, and it will somewhat temper our desire to decorate overmuch.”
Knocking back her drink, Fannie caught a waiter’s eye, handed him the glass, ordered another. “That’s a good idea.” Leaning forward, she remained silent as the waiter brought her another drink, then inquired, “Second thoughts about Ben?”
“No, Fannie, quite the reverse. But I don’t think he will live in whatever we rent. He has his small, spare apartment. It’s close to the stadium. And Carlotta wants me to buy a building, something commercial possibly near the railroad tracks downtown.”
“In Runnymede? Whatever’s gotten into her?”
“Ben.” Celeste slyly smiled.
Fannie laughed uproariously. “That’s good, Celeste. That’s good, but what has happened? Really?”
“She’s fallen in love with him and his drawings for stained-glass windows for Immaculata’s chapel.”
Fannie’s eyes popped, she held her glass midair. “Good God.”
“Precisely.”
A silence followed this. “Will he work and live in the commercial building? When he can, naturally?”
“I think he will. He desperately wants to create these windows, and Fannie, his designs are so beautiful. This way it’s not like he’s eating out of my hand. He’s proud. He doesn’t want to live off a woman. This way he has a job.”
“I see. You aren’t going to buy the building all by yourself, are you? If Carlotta is so hot for this, she can come up with some of the money.”
“Well, she can, but I’ll do it. For one thing, I don’t want to be in a partnership with my sister.” Fannie nodded on that. “For another thing, she and Herbert will have considerable expense for the chapel and new windows. The insurance will pay, probably, for some fire damages, especially since the fire department declared this could be the result of a lightning strike and not arson. Well, the word arson isn’t even spoken.”
“Mmm.” Fannie, wise, knew better to forget that might even be a possibility.
An investigation would slow the insurance payment. A potential trial would hurt future business and Fannie, thanks to Fairy’s judicious hints and her own prudence, figured out that the profit from contraband had to be deliciously high. If Herbert had taken on an unusual business partner from a hated family, who was the wiser?
“You see?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I have to find something with wonderful light, something where the glass can be shipped in, easily unloaded along with the lead and whatever else is needed. And I have to fix it so he can live there without feeling kept or coddled. Well, he isn’t being kept. He will be working.”
“True. And he will be out of sight when Ramelle is back.”
“I don’t care about that but I don’t think it the best idea to have them both under the same roof. When Curtis is home it might not be so bad, but still.”
Fannie peered at the inviting amber of her Old-Fashioned drink. “Who’d have thunk it?”
Laughing, Celeste lifted one hand, palm outward, flared her fingers outward, smiled. “Never. I never would have thunk it as you say but Fannie, I am so glad, so very glad my life has taken this turn. I’m going to write Ramelle. It’s best to prepare her, even though she won’t be here for months. I decided against waiting until she’s here. I’d hate to have her hear it as gossip. You know how difficult it is to keep things quiet. I don’t think this will be all that upsetting for her. New. Yes, she will have to make her adjustments, but she’s already adjusting to being a mother. And I will stay at the glazier place, that’s how I think of it, at least once or twice a week when it’s not baseball season.”
“You will introduce them?”
“Of course. I expect she’ll fall in love with him. If Carlotta falls in love, who can resist the man?” Celeste laughed lightly.
“That’s a fact. Are you now glad, though, that Ramelle made the first move, falling in love with Curtis, having his baby?”
Celeste thought about this. “If she hadn’t fallen in love with Curtis, I think we would have gone on as we always had. I can’t say I was dissatisfi
ed. Then again, she might have been a little dissatisfied, you know, feeling time was running out on motherhood.”
“Yes.” Fannie then, voice lower, repeated, “Yes.”
“Fannie, it occurs to me that I know nothing about love. I’ve felt it but I don’t know as I understand it.” She put both hands on the cool tall glass. “But I know that you and Fairy love me. I know that through my friends God has loved me. I don’t know how to thank you.”
“It’s your friends who get you through life. You and I and Fairy, I can’t imagine life without you. It’s funny, isn’t it, how hard it is to tell someone you truly love them?”
“It is, and I truly love you.”
Fannie beamed, leaned forward. “And I truly love you.”
—
That night, with Ben asleep in bed after playing a long, hard game in hot sun and then making love with her, Celeste rose to sit at the well-stocked Belvedere desk.
Pulling out a sheet of paper, high rag content, expensive, a drawing of the Belvedere at the top, she began:
Dear Ramelle,
It’s almost midnight on May 8th, a glorious day for all English-speaking people as Charles II takes the throne, 1660 ushering in many wonderful things, not the least Restoration drama. But as we learn of what is happening in Russia, it does bring back the original insanity, namely Puritanism and Cromwell, of those who believe they can remake the human race, always in their image.
I can’t imagine life without School for Scandal, The Way of the World, She Stoops to Conquer. Then again, I can’t imagine life without you.
Every day I know you fall ever more in love with Spotts and I assume Curtis, as well. How happy I will be to see all three of you once the baby can make the train journey here and I do understand you not wishing to expose her to a deep Maryland winter. And this year’s winter took so long to release its grasp.
Now, however, it is May, the merry month of May. The redbuds have come and gone, dogwoods just at the end. But the iris are opening. Stately locust trees are blooming, the fragrance intense as it was for the wisteria which just yesterday finally all turned to green leaf.
I write to tell you so that you have time to sort things out, put all in place, that there is a person whom I have come to love, quite unexpectedly. Artistic, athletic, he is a minor league shortstop for our Orioles and a veteran of the war, army. I can no more imagine life without him than I can without you, although it would seem we are all in separate spheres. He is twenty-eight and, as you might suspect, handsome. Beautiful, actually.
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