Before Celeste or Ramelle could say anything to one another, Diana burst into the room. "Miss Celeste, Spotty's here."
Bounding right behind Diana came Celeste's adored younger brother. "Twinklie, darling." He kissed Celeste on the cheek, then kissed Ramelle's hand.
"You look marvelous," Spotty enthused.
"And you, my dear brother, are a fashion plate." Celeste motioned for him to sit down. "Cora, Cora, come out of that cursed pantry. Spotty's here."
Cora hurried out the door, wiping her hands on her apron. "Mr. Spotts, welcome home." She yanked him out of his seat and hugged him until his bones rattled.
"Cora, how good to see you. I never worry about the infamous Celeste when you're with her."
"You sit right there. I am going to fix you spool bread." Cora started for the kitchen.
"Spoon bread?" Celeste asked.
"Yes, and don't worry—I'm nearly done with that damned silver. Why the hell can't you own a simpler pattern?"
"I don't care about that. I want to know why you don't fix spoon bread for me?"
"See you all the time." Cora laughed and opened the kitchen door.
"I can't imagine life without her, can you?" Spottiswood held his sister's hand.
"No, although some days it would be easier."
Ramelle leaned forward. "How was Paris?"
"Paris!" he said with a definitive lilt to his voice. "Paris is bereft of your presence. What the most beautiful city in the world needs is the most beautiful woman in the world."
"Don't stop now." Ramelle laughed.
"I can't tell you how good it is to see you all," he said softly.
"We're delighted to see you. I thought you'd be in tomorrow."
"I would have, but I cut my duty call to Carlotta short when she breathed down my neck that the thunder chariots would roll if I didn't resign my commission from the United States Army."
Celeste clapped her hands together. "How you and I could have shared Charlotte Spottiswood Chalfonte's womb with Carlotta is beyond comprehension."
"Have you never wondered if Major T. Pritchard Chalfonte fathered all five of us?"
Cora came into the room and poured more coffee, blithely adding to the chatter. "Major Tom was everybody's father, all right. You all look alike."
"Me look like La Sermonetta!" Celeste was indignant.
'You got the same forehead, chin and cheekbones. Her hair's brown and yours is black," Cora stated.
"Cora, what an awful thought," Spotty kidded her. "Course, that crown of thorns wore Carlotta out. She's looking older than God." Cora chuckled.
Ramelle's eyes opened wide in surprise, while Celeste glowed. Carlotta was a royal pain in the ass. Her lectures on penitential lusts delivered over the telephone had been mounting in the last month. Stirling, the oldest of all the Chalfontes, received a daily dose as well as Celeste, and always at the office, where she could irritate him the most. Curtis, the youngest Chalfonte, out in California, waded through letters discussing Saint Thomas Aquinas.
"Cora, perhaps you should present Carlotta with spoon bread in the shape of the cross," Spotts suggested.
"Louise could present it to her at morning mass," Ramelle added.
"If she didn't eat it first," Cora said, heading back toward the kitchen.
"Wheezie has been in our sister's clutches for almost a year now. She returns this September—happily, I might add." Celeste sighed.
"Might you persuade her to play for me before I return to Washington?"
"Of course—but you will stay a few days?"
"Yes, but I must get back within four days. The army needs me for a polo match," Spotts fiddled with his coffee cup.
"Polo?" Ramelle questioned.
"Being a Chalfonte carries with it certain obligations, my dear Miss Bowman. I declare, the army exploits my social position shamelessly. I doubt I will ever fire a shot in anger at anyone—except perhaps Brutus Rife."
"Everyone wants to do that," Cora, back in the room with more goodies, chimed in.
"All of Runnymede." Celeste buttered a muffin. "What made you think of Brutus?"
"He's in Washington quite frequently, you know."
"Actually, no, I didn't know that. I pay as little attention to that viper as possible."
"Celeste, you insult vipers by comparing them to Brutus." Spotts continued: "At least vipers refrain from buying congressmen like they were peanuts at the ball park."
"With the administration we have today, I don't find the commercialization of Congress terribly shocking."
"Brutus shocks even the debased," Spotts told his sister. "I can barely avoid the man, because he court the army like a feverish lover. Now he's peddling artillery improvements. I fully expect the shells to arrive as empty casings."
"He's a crook, yes, but he does seem genuine about munitions advancements." Ramelle startled the others.
"What makes you say that?" Celeste placed bet knife across her plate.
"I get around," she remarked lightly.
"Oh, you mean his hysteria about another war in Europe?" Spotts asked. "He's promoting catastrophe all over Washington while simultaneously appealing to military nationalism, which promotes it."
"Do you think there will be another war? Is there talk of such things in France?"
"Darling, my leave there was short and I scarcely approached the topic with our old friends, who were far more interested in raising glasses—but everyone is arming, heavily."
Celeste and Ramelle paused for a moment, then let the dark thought flee from their minds.
"I saw Grace Pettibone, Elder Gorgeous. She and Sigourny command all the bohemians."
"Sigourny Romaine, that damned gossip posing as a novelist. Betrayal is more important to a writer than grammar," Celeste sniffed.
Spottiswood stared for a long moment, then asked as though speaking from another room, "Did they ever prove that Cassius Rife killed Cora's father?"
Celeste blinked. "Whatever made you think of that?"
"I don't know. I honestly don't know."
"When was that?" Ramelle snapped to attention.
"Eighteen ninety-two," Spotts answered.
So many things in Runnymede were quietly taken for granted. Births, deaths, loves, hates grew up through the town like a vine around a tree. Distinguishing the vine from the trunk or the leaves from one another took concentration.
Spotts continued: "Hans Zepp, Cora's father, opposed many of Cassius Rife's business deals. He was killed in a carriage accident on a rainy night up by Dead Man's Curve, you know, about a mile from the munitions factory. To this day no one knows why Hans was up there. He had nothing to do with the factory."
Celeste picked up the story. "No one could prove that Cassius Rife had him killed, but most people in the town believed, and still do, that Hans was murdered. Brutus was twenty at the time. Many think Cassius hired his own son for the kill."
"God, what a chilling story! I've never heard Cora talk about it." Ramelle shuddered.
"You know Cora's philosophy: 'Talk of old troubles may bring on new.' " Celeste smiled weakly.
July 4, 1912
"They all turn out for the Fourth—young and old, rich and poor, black and white, drunk and sober," Spottiswood sang out, watching the ladies preen themselves before the hall mirror.
"A Fourth without a disaster—do you think it's possible?" Celeste adjusted her "Votes for Women" pin.
Spotts looked out the window. "The weather's beautiful, so it won't be hailstones."
"Who leads the parade this year—South or North?" Ramelle tried to center her hat.
"It's an even year. Increase Martin will charge out with Old Dixie, pumps gleaming." Exhilarated by the sunshine, Spotts couldn't sit another minute. "Darlings, I'll meet you at the gate."
"Fine." Celeste eyed her button suspiciously as it tipped in the direction of her right breast even though she'd pinned it on three times already.
"Maybe the vets will start in again. I never
will forget the year Captain Tibbet took off his wooden leg and swatted Keeper Baines."
"Darling, you missed 1901, when Runnymede enjoyed a saber clash. The Southern fire department broke it up, but not before Diller Beard spewed a fountain of blood from his left ass cheek." Celesta laughter rang out clear.
"Something has to go wrong. Shall we bet on it?"
"I wager that Caesura Frothingham takes ha Daughters of the Confederacy regiment too fast around the square and collides with Minta Mae Dexter, rear guard of the Sisters of Gettysburg." Celeste savored the vision of two busty matrons boiling over in front of God and everybody, while Fannie Jump Creighton, Caesura's second in command, would try to break up the fight.
"If only I could bet on Yashew Gregorivitch, tot he's off the floats this year." Ramelle thought out loud.
"Well, I guess after that scandal last year."
"We never will see the equal of it,"
"The Dorcas Aid Society still won't speak to hi mother. La Sermonetta prayed for his soul publicly lest the Lord strike him dead for portraying gentle Jesus on the cross."
"I didn't mind him hanging on that cross with paint on his hands and feet, but the screaming was hard to bear."
"I thought the float number on his back rather I nice touch."
"Celeste, you are wicked."
"For once you and La Sermonetta are in accord."
"Will she be in the parade this year?"
"My sister miss an opportunity to waddle in public with a Bible clasped to her bosom? She'll no doubt have a float constructed that allows her to walk a water."
"Then I will bet that she creates the spectacle."
"Ramelle, her drawing breath is a spectacle. Here— your hat isn't rakish enough. Let me tilt it for you. Yes, that's better. I doubt anyone will watch the parade. They'll be gazing at you."
"Base flatterer, are you ready?"
"Quite."
The two beauties sailed out the door into a shining July day. Spotts, flawless in his captain's uniform, raced between them and they linked their arms through his. As they promenaded down to the square they could see the bands, politicians, various societies and clubs backed up all the way to the Hanover road. The children on the floats nearly got the rash from excitement.
Cora posted herself at the edge of the square so she could get a good view of Louise and Julia approaching the square and then circling it. Louise had won the singular honor of being the Statue of Liberty for the annual float "Liberty Enlightening the World." Several years before, Delphine Bickerstaff was Liberty and now she was an actress on Broadway. Louise, all of eleven, knew this was her magic moment. Julia Ellen had to be content with being a tugboat in New York harbor.
Orrie Tadia skipped over to Cora. "Mrs. Hunsenmeir, do you see anything moving down there?"
"No, Orrie, not yet."
Cora caught sight of one enormous white hat with golden hair cascading underneath. Celeste, wasp-waisted in her apricot dress, disdained a hat and let her black hair shine in the hot sun. Spotts simply sparkled in the middle.
Ramelle dipped her parasol. Celeste waved to Cora and Spotts called out, "Happy Fourth."
A quick drum roll and bugle blast riveted the crowd. From a few blocks away huge horses' hoofs were heard and everyone got goose bumps immediately. Increase Martin turned the corner, driving a sparkling fire engine, Old Dixie; enormous black horses pulled in unison, their manes and tails braided with gray and gold. The giant engine glided smoothly behind all that power. A few paces behind Old Dixie rode Lawrence Villcher with four dappled grays, their manes and tails interwoven with blue and gold. The North Runnymede fire department boasted a white engine. Increase and the boys said it had no more power than a grasshopper urinating. Today the rivalries melted under the sun. The first band came into view, The new band uniforms were as loud as the music— rooster red, with gobs of gold braid hung all over their bodies. Behind the first band marched the Yankee war vets. Those that couldn't walk were in caned wheelchairs. Theodore Baumeister, highest-ranking officer alive, led the way. While many a paunch could no longer be contained by a blue coat, the fellow marched in good order. Following them, the Olive Branch Petition band, all women, banged on their tambourines. Tubas and trumpets flashed in the light The girls introduced a two-step this year, swinging their instruments in time. People cheered and clapped. This Fourth started out smoothly. Behind the Olive Branch rode the men in gray. Officers, ever mindful of the feminine eye even though they were too old to enjoy the results, wore their capes and had placed ostrich feathers in their cream-colored hats. The men on foot stepped briskly. As always, the women sighed. Never failed to burn Theodore Baumeister and hit men to see these damn rebels play the cavalier. He called out to his straggling line, "Let the ladies swoon, Remember, we won the goddamned war."
"Think it's going to be the war again?" Ramelle whispered to Celeste.
"How unimaginative. I hope not."
Theodore settled himself. One of Old Dixie's horses reared up as a firecracker exploded near her.
Orrie touched Cora's hand. "I don't see Louise and Juts anywhere. Maybe they didn't get off."
"Hold your horses. Floats come between the third and fourth bands."
"You know, Wheezie and Juts flew at each other today like wet hens. Maybe Louise threw Juts off the float," Orrie tattled.
"Hush. Those two can't do anything but fight."
The Irish band pulled into view. You could barely hear them for Caesura Frothingham belting out to her Daughters of the Confederacy, "Hup one, hup two, hup three, hup four." Each Daughter wore a large ribbon from right shoulder to left waist. Minta Mae, preceding Caesura as the tail end of the Sisters of Gettysburg, kept changing her pace in an effort to throw Leather Lungs off her beat. As the Irish band moved closer, the first float came into view, Rife's Munitions and Cannery. A huge cannon stuffed with canned peas was as far as Rife's imagination ventured this year. Now Cora and Orrie could just make out the back of Louise's head with all her silver prongs glistening. Julia Ellen and three other little girls bobbed up and down between thin wooden waves. Each child wore a big smokestack over her head, with two tiny peepholes. The smokestack ended at her waist and a chicken-wire deck, covered with cloth, made up the rest of the costume. Julia's tugboat had "Cora" painted on the prow. She was already bored with bobbing up and down the length of the float between two wooden waves that marked her channel. Louise stood in her glory, flaming torch aloft and tablet cradled with accuracy, just like the statue itself. The old mule pulling the patriotic sight plodded at a steady pace. Louise looked neither right nor left but straight ahead. Cora and Orrie applauded when they beheld this noble apparition. Even Celeste took notice from her vantage point. Idabelle McGrail walked directly in front of the float, playing "America the Beautiful" on her accordion. For the grand occasion her socks matched.
The heat and the applause went to Julia's head. Rolling back and forth, yelling, "Toot! Toot!" she decided right then and there to exact her revenge on Louise. As she made her pass in congested waters, she gave Louise the slightest nudge. Wheezie pretended not to notice. Making her turnabout, Juts picked up steam and this time bumped the base of Liberty hard.
Louise warned through the side of her mouth, "Cut it out."
"Toot! Toot!" Julia Ellen churned to the end of the float. On her return trip she gave the symbol of freedom quite a jolt.
"Piss on your teeth, Juts," Louise spat.
"Mommy, the Statue of Liberty said a dirty word," a child remarked to her mother.
By now more than the child noticed all was not well in New York harbor. Liberty began to rock with rhythmic regularity. Cora couldn't ignore it as much as she'd have liked to. She pushed her way along the crowd and out onto the road. Walking up to the float, she cupped her hands to her mouth. "What are you two doing?"
"Mother, it's Juts."
"Toot! Toot!" Julia whirled by for another slam.
The mule got skitterish with all the commotion and picked up sp
eed. Idabelle tried to clip along a little faster, but she was not built for speed. She did manage to play "America the Beautiful" faster than anyone had ever heard it before. Cora and Orrie ran to keep up with the float.
"Ramelle." Celeste touched her elbow. "Liberty Enlightening the World."
Julia Ellen lurched forward, both out of vengeance and from loss of equilibrium. Bam! This time she knocked a snarling Statue of Liberty flat on her ass.
"Goddamn son-of-a-bitch, I'll kill you, Julia Ellen Hunsenmeir!" Louise swung her tablet and—crack!— she smashed Juts' smokestack down around her ears. Now Juts couldn't see a thing. In all the commotion, the torch, beacon to huddled masses, flew into the crepe paper and the float caught fire.
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