Laelia

Home > Other > Laelia > Page 12
Laelia Page 12

by Ruth-Miriam Garnett

“You all will have to memorize your lines in the script. So take them home with you, but be careful to keep them neat.”

  Crossing back quickly to the center of the room, Gracelyn addressed the remaining seated children.

  “We need a stage manager and five people to help with costumes, lighting, and cue cards. You’ll be very busy.”

  As hands were raised, Gracelyn selected the team and began outlining their duties while Lucy handed them scripts. Gracelyn instructed the remaining twelve children that they would audition for parts in the cast, and to get their bodies limbered by bending and stretching. When the children’s faces looked blank, Gracelyn began leading the stretching. Her arms raised over her head, she tilted her torso from one side to the other, then slowly lowered her head and curled her back until she could grasp her ankles. A series of facial contortions followed as she had them pronounce vowel sounds to get their voices ready.

  By the end of rehearsal, the chorus looked disciplined and engrossed, and the stage managers had neatly recopied the list of props they would be responsible for. Lucy’s daughter Melba was cast as Harriet Tubman, and the other children as her followers, paddyrollers, and abolitionists. Lucy passed around a sign-up sheet for each child’s name and phone number as they filed out. When the auditorium was emptied, except for her and Gracelyn, she jumped up and down excitedly, clapping her hands.

  “Oh, Miss Gracelyn, you just something! You are wonderful to be doing this for our children. All you Cates women are so smart.” She embraced Gracelyn.

  “It helps me, too, Lucy,” Gracelyn said, moved and happy.

  The following morning at church, a general buzz was afloat regarding the children’s play. Entering the sanctuary before the service began, the Cates sisters were the target of warm smiles from members of the congregation already in their seats. Two women rose to accost Gracelyn with a hug. Lucy, on duty as an usher, beamed with pride as she seated the sisters ceremoniously in their accustomed pew.

  As the service proceeded, Reverend Wilson made the announcements, acknowledging the Tubman play without fanfare. He mentioned he had given Rebecca Cates the green light on the project some weeks back.

  “Sister Cates, it’s good to see that you followed through on our discussion.” Rebecca sat stonefaced and immobile, as though she had not heard anything he said. When Wilson finished speaking, she nudged Claudia, who rose gracefully.

  “Good morning, church family. Rebecca, Gracelyn, and I would like to thank you for your warm reception this morning.”

  The congregation responded with murmurs of “Good Morning.”

  Claudia went on. “We ask you to keep us in your prayers today, particularly. Our sister Gracelyn’s husband, Bernard, has taken a turn for the worse, and she has entrusted him to a hospice. We’re waiting for God’s hand to move. I hope that others of you who are in a similar situation with loved ones will make this known to us so we can remember you in our prayers.”

  Several of her listeners, enchanted by Claudia’s elegance and touched by her humility, called out “Amen” and “Keep the faith, Sister Cates.” Hearing this, Rebecca calculated that Wilson likely looked boorish to his parishioners, having missed the opportunity to both express empathy with Gracelyn and align himself with her success.

  The Cates sisters’ excitement carried over to the remainder of their day. Sitting together on the front porch with their needlework, they talked about how well things were going, and how swiftly. The few weeks remaining with Jake and Timothy seemed bearable and, even for no-nonsense Rebecca, bittersweet.

  “We have to keep reminding ourselves this is all for the best. I’m thinking Jake will get a lot more attention from the people at Sacred Lamb than I’m able to give him here at home. They have hobbies too. I’ve never known him to be good with his hands, but he can probably still take photographs. I’m praying he’ll find somebody’s company to enjoy. Anyway, we’ll be visiting all three of the men often enough. We can have our tears, but I know in my heart we’re doing the right thing.”

  “Rebecca, you’re right. I know you’re right.”

  Claudia furiously twisted a cable needle full of bright blue mohair yarn.

  “You of all people know my life with Timothy hasn’t been a picnic. I know there’s good in him somewhere, but that man is full of demons. At Briney Memorial, they can probably control him a lot better and maybe keep him calm. There’s nothing like peace of mind, especially for someone that far gone.”

  “And you, ladybug. How are you feeling today? Everyone sure appreciates your doing that play.”

  “I’m fine, Rebecca. I think about Bernard, but it seems like once we left the hospice, I felt more at peace than I have felt in years. Everything had become so twisted between us. For so long, I’ve been so hungry for him to love me. Maybe one day, like you said, I’ll find somebody who will.”

  “You will, and take all the time you need. You’ll know when you’re ready.”

  Hungry for him to love me.

  Gracelyn’s words reverberated in Rebecca’s mind. She recognized that her sister had just voiced her own longing. Immediately she thought of Leighton. His desire for her was clear, but she didn’t imagine that he wanted her in a union that transcended lust. And should he, there were so many things she had to consider before her own happiness. She would not betray her sisters’ interests by abandoning her opposition to Wilson. She would do everything in her power to ensure they remained the esteemed Cates women in the eyes of their small community. That meant neutralizing the libel Wilson was certain to inflict regarding their actions. And, she was convinced, even Leighton’s lust would be dampened by knowledge of how she had deceived him. Rebecca would lead with her head. The family’s good name was now and forever her priority. She would never betray the sense of duty to family that Reuben, her father, had instilled in her.

  During the Cates sisters’ Sunday dinner of lamb roast, turnip greens, sliced fresh tomatoes, and cornbread, the conversation was optimistic. They talked of future outings and experiences they could have once they were free.

  “Gracelyn,” Rebecca ventured, “I read something about a rare-books fair in Chicago in a few weeks, right on Michigan Avenue. We might have to take Timothy up to Briney Memorial a little earlier than we planned so you can go by there.”

  Gracelyn’s squeal confirmed for Rebecca that she had hit a target.

  “I read about that! I’ve been dying to get my hands on some first-edition Russian novels and a few other classics. But I didn’t want to make the trip alone. I want lots of company right through here.”

  “Well then, that’s what you’ll have, baby. Claudia, it’s all right with you if we make our Chicago trip a few weeks early?”

  “Lord knows, as far as I’m concerned, we can make that trip tomorrow.”

  Rebecca silently footnoted that Peoria First Baptist’s trustee meeting was scheduled for Wednesday following the Tubman play. If she attended, she would have an opportunity to bring up Julia Wilson’s surgery at that time. However, she wanted to confess to Leighton before doing anything that proved she had breached his confidence. And, if there was any other way to discredit Wilson, she would choose that way instead. The longing Gracelyn had voiced filled her thoughts again. If she lost whatever chance she had with Leighton, she was afraid the passion he engendered would be absent from her life forever.

  Rebecca realized she was fortunate. She had her beautiful home, her orchid business, her sisters, and enough wealth and influence to pursue a variety of interests. Still, Leighton’s face and physique created a restlessness in her that surfaced in her thoughts throughout the day. In her mind’s eye she saw clearly his tall figure standing in her hallway and heard his Southern-inflected voice saying her name.

  She decided to put off saying anything to the trustees for a while. However, the Cates women would take Timothy to Chicago the week following Gracelyn’s play.

  Jake continued to be restless during the week, wandering around the house calling for Rebe
cca. Though he interrupted her repeatedly throughout the day, she managed to steer him back to his room patiently each time. Rebecca’s focus did not shift from her other activities, but she resigned herself to the fact that his remaining time with her would not be smooth sailing. On top of this, Leighton continued to press his suit, seemingly well able to match Rebecca’s own patience. He had begun sending her expensive gifts, chiefly small art objects and beautiful note cards, several times a week. The first few times, she wrote polite but stilted thank-you notes, then decided it was too much trouble to keep up the acknowledgments. But the gifts and cards kept coming. When Leighton wrote to ask if he could visit, she promptly wrote back that it wasn’t possible, thinking of Jake’s confusion and the resulting chaos in the house. Though he continued to be the object of her fantasies, Rebecca couldn’t imagine how to blend any time with Leighton into her overextended schedule. His seeming passion forced her to keep in mind her own, assaulting her clarity. Rebecca knew she required complete focus to move forward with her strategy. Before her plans were consummated and she nailed Wilson, nothing must stand in her way.

  Rebecca spent most of a balmy Wednesday morning in her greenhouse, fretting and shaking her head over yet another drooping laelia. She had already changed potting media three times this month, shifted the plants to different tables in order to intensify their exposure to sunlight, then decrease it. She had tried altering the watering schedule and checking and rechecking drainage.

  “Maybe I should try talking to these ladies,” she muttered to herself in a half-laugh. “Lord, have mercy, my mind is going.”

  Rebecca continued to concentrate on the problem plants, poring over her checklist of symptoms and remedies. Hearing a loud honking from around the front of the house, she abruptly raised her head. Rebecca carefully secured her checklist beneath one of the flowerpots and rushed across the yard to the back door, through the small entry, and into the kitchen.

  “Gracelyn, Gracelyn, you in here?” she called out, thinking her sister would be getting lunch preparations started. Not hearing any response, she walked through to the front hallway. Wiping her hands on slightly dusty khakis, she pulled open the front door.

  “Good morning, ma’am. I’ll need you to sign for these here plants.”

  The deliveryman had lined up six crates marked FRAGILE along the porch railing.

  “Plants from where? I didn’t order anything.”

  “Ma’am, it says right here: Rebecca Cates Furness. Thirty laelia plants. Looks like they’re from all over: Brazil, Florida, Hawaii. Even some from . . . I’m sorry, I can’t read this too good.”

  Rebecca looked at the list the man held in front of her. She was impressed with what must be a grower’s promotional campaign.

  “Côte d’Ivoire. That would be Ivory Coast. In Africa. What company did you say these were from?”

  “Ma’am, there’s a card in that first box.”

  “I’d better check in case there’s some mistake.”

  Rebecca sidled past the man and plucked a small linen envelope wedged between plants in the box nearest the door. Opening it, she pulled out a stiff card written in large, orderly handwriting.

  Rebecca,

  I hope this small shipment helps your laelia problem. I did some research, and these plants are among the hardiest of the species. I am told they can be repotted in clay pots a week after delivery, and their breeding prospects are excellent.

  Best,

  Randall Leighton

  Rebecca’s mouth fell open. Stunned, she reached for the pen the deliveryman offered her.

  “Thank you,” she muttered as she signed the transmittal receipt. “I’ll need you to take these out to the greenhouse. Just set them on the floor.”

  “Certainly, ma’am.”

  It took the deliveryman three trips to cart all the crates around to the back. Before he finished, Rebecca started prying open each crate. She was so busy inspecting the flowers that she didn’t see him leave. In each crate, plastic pots were wrapped around the bottom with jute and tied to each other, keeping the lush plants secure. Rebecca immediately decided to isolate her new plants from her ailing ones, and dragged in a long table from the garage to hold Leighton’s gift. She spent the afternoon cataloguing each according to its place of origin, and began to code each group with strips of colored tape. She plucked her master diagram from where it hung on the wall and amended it to include the new arrivals.

  Rebecca’s hours of work partially distracted her, but with the plants placed in order and her records updated, her thoughts returned to Leighton. Previously, his gifts were tasteful and expensive, but this time he had gone for the jugular. The plants connected him with her interior life. Their color, their smell, their essence consumed her senses. Leighton’s painstaking gesture truly touched her. Her thoughts of him were now on a deeper level than her physical yearnings. He had, in one afternoon, erased what was absent from her life by making it visible. Because of this, for her, now the physical was entirely possible.

  Rebecca remained trancelike until evening. She functioned normally enough during dinner, asking Claudia, “What are your plans for the weekend?”

  “Saturday morning, I’m going to meet with some women at the Masonic Temple. We’re the welcoming committee for Hillary Clinton. I can hardly believe she’s really coming here to Peoria. Would you like to come to the meeting?”

  “No thanks, dear. I’ve got some things to take care of in the greenhouse. I have to make sure some new plants are situated.” Rebecca added matter-of-factly, “Do you remember Randall Leighton? He may be coming by to look at some orchids. I believe he’s got some kind of gardening project under way.”

  “That’s lovely, Rebecca.” Claudia resumed her Hillary mania. “I’m so thrilled she’s making a visit here. It’s a bit warm, but I just might wear my pashmina. I bought it as sort of a tribute to her. She’s always got one draped around her shoulders. You think that’s silly?” Without waiting for a response, she continued, “Gracelyn, would you like to join me?”

  “I can’t, Claudia. I have the play rehearsal that afternoon, and I’ll actually be running some errands before going over to the church.”

  “Oh, that’s right. I should have remembered. You’re working so hard on that. Anyway, soon as Lucy hits the door, I’m out of here!”

  Rebecca smiled lovingly at both her unsuspecting sisters. It was too soon to present them with anything outside their main agenda. The play, Claudia’s announcements, transporting the men to their new residences—her whole plan for them had to unfold seamlessly. Rebecca knew Claudia and Gracelyn’s temperaments and how to keep them focused. They couldn’t have extra things to think about, especially something as distracting as Rebecca’s link with Leighton. This knowledge would captivate them, and neither would be able to suppress her curiosity.

  Later, alone in her bedroom, Rebecca found the card Leighton had given her when she visited his clinic. She called the first number and got a recording. Without leaving a message, she called the second number.

  “Randall Leighton,” a voice said crisply.

  Rebecca paused momentarily. “Were you sleeping?” she asked, without identifying herself. “I’m calling to thank you for the laelias. It was totally unexpected.”

  “Rebecca. I’m glad you called. I’m used to waking up suddenly. I suppose most doctors are. Did you like the flowers?”

  “Yes, very much. I’d like you to see what I’ve done with them. Are you available at ten Saturday morning?”

  “Yes, Rebecca. I’m available then. But must it wait that long?”

  Rebecca smiled to herself before answering firmly, “I’m afraid it must.”

  “I’m anxious to see what was delivered. You already know how much I want to see you.”

  “Then it should be a pleasant visit,” Rebecca replied. “I’ll be in the greenhouse. Come straight around to the back. Don’t ring the front bell. Lucy will be upstairs, but I’ll let her know you’re coming, and she w
on’t need to answer the door. You can pull your car to the end of the driveway. I’ll be waiting.”

  Rebecca hung up the receiver, happy, and too excited to sleep. She spent the next half hour sitting naked on her bed, thoroughly brushing her hair, something she rarely did. When finished, she walked to her standing mirror and looked long at her face and body. She had always been aware of her Amazonian beauty, but even as a younger woman was not terribly vain. Tonight, her beauty counted to her, and she inspected herself carefully. Her neck was just faintly lined. Her ample breasts were smooth and rounded. Her torso was longish, with a well-defined waist above the curve of her stomach. Her thighs were large but firm. Her hands were hands that worked, but her nails were clipped and clean. Her feet were thick and deeply arched. Rebecca’s features taken together were not imposing. From Mattie she had inherited prominent cheekbones, a pert nose, and from Reuben a strong jawbone. Her earthy appearance would have been unremarkable, except that her cool gray eyes were startling, and her tan skin had a pinkish glow. The gray streaks throughout her hair contrasted with thick black eyebrows. Her physical appearance was as dual as her nature. She could appear kind and intelligent, or fierce. It was never possible to know what Rebecca was thinking.

  After smiling slightly at her image, Rebecca turned from the mirror and climbed into bed.

  IX

  LEIGHTON ENTERED THE greenhouse without knocking, while Rebecca stood over the new plants, misting them, her back to the visitor. Hearing the door, she turned to look at her suitor and smiled. Leighton smiled back at her, looking intently at her face and dress, a white muslin smock belted with a red velvet cord. She laid down her implements and motioned to him.

  “Come see the new family. So far, they all look happy. I can’t thank you enough—”

  “Seeing you is thanks.”

  Leighton walked the ten-foot distance between them and stood beside Rebecca, his eyes sweeping the repotted orchids. They were arranged by color, the blooms cascading from deep fuchsia to ivory-tinged white. He leaned over to smell the rows of plants, his pants leg brushing slightly against Rebecca.

 

‹ Prev