Ruffling Society

by Kay Moser

  Sarah hugged her mother. “Please don’t let Norbert’s anger upset you, Mama. I don’t care what he thinks.”

  “I better go, honey.” She hugged Sarah quickly. “They’re waiting, and there’s no point in making things any worse. Good day, Mrs. Hodges.”

  “I’ll see you at the farm on Saturday,” Sarah called after her mother. “I’ll be there to help you with the washing.”

  Her mother looked back over her shoulder, her eyes sending her love to Sarah, until Josef pushed her up into the wagon.

  Watching them go, Victoria shook her head, then said, “She’s proud of you, and the others are jealous and self-centered.”

  Sarah walked the few paces to a bench and slumped down. “What am I thinking?” she muttered. “I can’t possibly leave town now, not when all the people who have helped me, Christine and you and even my own mother, need my help.” She dropped her head into her hands. “Do you see how they treat her?”

  Victoria sat next to her. “Yes, I do, but let’s talk this through. I have been a little sick, but it’s just the heat, and your presence in Riverford won’t make it a bit cooler. Christine has been dealt a devastating blow, but there’s nothing you can do to bring Richard back, and little else will help her for the rest of the summer. She simply has to move through this period of grief, and she will. We will all help her, and she has her faith.”

  “But I could stay and help mother on the farm.”

  “Your mother would not stand for that. You would be throwing away all she has worked for all your life. She wants you to be free to soar. Don’t you see that your victories are her victories?”

  Sarah nodded.

  “You have planned to go to this summer school program in Colorado for months. It’s not a pleasure trip; it’s a chance to further your education. You must not let anything or anyone stop you. Those of us who love you, especially your mother, want you to go.”

  “I’m not so sure of that.”

  “If you’re talking about your father or your brothers—”

  “No, they’ve never supported my dream.” Sarah bit her lower lip to force back her tears. “They never will. I just have to accept that fact.”

  “Is it Lee you’re thinking about? Has he asked you to marry him?”

  “No, but I’m so afraid he is about to do just that.”

  Victoria took Sarah’s hand. “And you want to marry him, don’t you?”

  “Why do you say that?”

  Victoria smiled. “I watched you at the graduation party. I saw the look on your face when he held you in his arms to dance. You love him. It’s obvious.”

  Sarah drew a rasping breath and despondently stared at her lap.

  “And that creates serious problems for you, doesn’t it?”

  Sarah nodded. “You know what my dreams are; you’ve helped me accomplish them. But the fact of the matter is, I don’t have a job offer. Riverford High School has the perfect opening, but the school board hasn’t offered it to me. If they don’t, I’ll have to consider leaving town to find a job.”

  “But you want to teach enough to do that?”

  “Of course I do. I haven’t spent two years in college just for the fun of it, but I’m afraid this school board still sees me as a sharecropper’s daughter. If I were engaged—”

  “You really wouldn’t be offered a job.”

  “Exactly. Oh why won’t they hire a married woman to teach school?”

  Victoria’s blue eyes bristled as she pushed a damp, red curl off her forehead. “Because it’s universally assumed that a woman loses her intelligence the moment she falls in love.”

  “That’s absurd.”

  “I know that; you know that.” She waved a hand at the dispersing crowd. “Try telling them that! Tradition rules their thinking, if you can even call what they do ‘thinking.’ So you think Lee will ask you to marry him before you leave town?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “And what will you say?”

  “I’ll ask him to wait until the fall for an answer.”

  “And will he agree?”

  “No.” Sarah’s head popped up. “Oh, Victoria, I can’t bear to lose him, but I can’t bear to give up my dream of teaching either. I am a fool, just like my family and this town has said all along. I am a fool. Reaching for the impossible, fighting forces I can never defeat.”

  “I don’t believe that. I refuse to be bound by mindless tradition. I refuse to allow the judgment of uneducated people with limited world experience to define me. Can you honestly tell me that you now see yourself as ‘just a sharecropper’s daughter?’ Do you think your family—or anyone—has a right to limit your prospects?”

  Sarah shook her head. “No, I am the only human being who has a right to define me. That’s what I’ve fought for—to define myself. That’s what my mother has sacrificed for.” Sarah burst into tears. “Oh, Victoria! Did you see the way they dragged her to that wagon? How can they treat her like she’s mindless?”

  “Because they believe she is. Even after she’s defied them and made a way for you to escape them, they still see her as someone they can control, someone whose only purpose is to serve their desires.”

  “Why does she allow them to do that?”

  “It’s much more complicated for women like your mother. Most of them don’t see their own worth.” Victoria paused and looked across the graveyard. Sarah followed the direction of her gaze and saw Hayden standing in the midst of mourners, but with his eyes on Victoria. “Most of them never receive recognition of their worth from a man.”

  “The kind of recognition Hayden has given you.”

  “Yes,” Victoria answered. “The few who do are already so bound up in marriage, children, even grandchildren, that they can’t chart their own courses. You are not in that position, not yet, not unless you put yourself there.”

  A new sadness ballooned in Sarah. “So I must live without love in order to be myself?”

  “No. You must find a man who values who you are and will love you in spite of any obstacles your ambitions create. Personally, I think you have found that man.”

  “What if he asks me to marry him and won’t wait?”

  Victoria smiled. “A very good reason to leave town for two months.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “That old adage, ‘absence makes the heart grow fonder,’ is true, Sarah. And Lee loves you. I am sure of it.”

  Sarah nodded. “So am I.”

  They sat in silence until Sarah changed the subject. “Do you really think Christine will be all right? And what about you? You’ve been sick for at least a month. You try to hide it from me, but—”

  Victoria patted Sarah’s hand. “I’ll be fine. It’s just the heat. I never could abide a Texas summer. As for Christine, she still has her father, and the general has never failed her.”

  “He’s getting old, Victoria. He’s not as robust—”

  “He will be now.” Victoria smiled. “I’ve known men like General Gibbes all my life. A challenge doesn’t deplete them. It enlivens them.”

  “You’re right, of course.” Sarah bit her lip and looked away. “Maybe I’m just frightened, Victoria. It’s a long way to Colorado.”

  “Yes, it is, and in your situation, we’re talking about more than physical miles. We’re talking about a great leap forward into the unknown for you, your first adventure on your own. Still, you must take this leap, Sarah.”

  “I wish … I wish I were strong like you.”

  Victoria laughed. “Oh, Sarah, you are a courageous girl, a valiant soul. For three years I’ve watched you grab hold of a new life, leaving behind all your security, risking everything for your dream. This shakiness you feel … well, it’s just the inevitable anxiety before a new leap.”

  “Do you think so?”

  “I know so. Now, let’s hurry over to Christine’s house. She’s going to need all the moral support we can muster when this crowd descends on her.”

  “It see
ms like they would leave her alone today. After all, they were all there yesterday. I’m sure she wants nothing more than to retreat to a quiet room to rest.”

  “It will be dark before she’s allowed to do that. And you know Christine. She’ll stand ramrod straight, smile, and comfort everyone present if it’s the death of her.”

  Sarah nodded. “She’s amazing. I wish I could be like her.”

  “I wish I could!”

  “What are you saying? You’re the strongest woman I know.”

  “No. Christine is the strongest woman you know. Christine and your mother. Oh, I fuss and defy and infuriate Riverford, Texas. And if I don’t get my way, I bolt and take myself off to Europe for a while. Christine quietly loves people into being their better selves. She has a lifetime record of staying in the midst of difficult, even horrific, circumstances and raising the standards of everyone present without even ruffling their feathers.”

  “The two of you make a great team. I should know.”

  Victoria hugged her. “Let’s go help Christine.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Six-year-old Ceci Boyd could not sleep and for very good reason. It was the evening after her father’s burial. She tossed and turned in the hot, humid bedroom as memories of her father’s funeral haunted her. They closed him up in a big box. She shuddered, rolled herself into a ball, and rocked back and forth. She knew she was supposed to believe he was now happy because he was with Jesus. But I want him to be here! I don’t want him to be with Jesus. She felt guilty and scared for thinking that. All day long, she and Juli had tried to hide in their mother’s skirts, to climb into her lap, but grown people kept coming to the house. Finally Nancy had pulled them away and made them come upstairs.

  Ceci began to cry. I want Mommy! She looked over at her little sister and found that she had gone to sleep. Good. Now I can go. She slipped off the edge of the high bed and scurried to the door. Determined not to be caught, she stopped and listened. Nobody in the hall. She dashed to her mother’s room, slipped in the door, and stopped in her tracks. Nancy, Josie …

  Ceci stealthily slipped back into the shadows of the hall and listened.

  “Poor Miz Christine.” Through the crack of the door, Ceci saw Nancy shake her bowed head. “She don’t deserve nothing like this.”

  “She too young to be a widow,” Josie added, “and it ain’t like Mr. Boyd was so old. How come he just up and died like that?”

  “God’s ways, honey. That’s all I know. Ain’t no point in frettin’ ’bout it. We just gotta help Miz Christine now.”

  “Then we gotta get her to come up here and get in this here bed. She ain’t slept in days, and I don’t see no reason for her to be setting by herself in the dark in that music room.”

  “Hmmp.” Nancy snorted as she pounded a down pillow. “Ain’t you learned nothing ’bout Miz Christine? That piano be her best comfort now.”

  “But she ain’t playing it.”

  “Ain’t got the heart for it, I ’spect.”

  “I sure wish I could play for her. Why, I’d go in there and—”

  Ceci scooted down the hall, her white nightgown flowing behind her. She raced down the wide staircase so fast she had to catch herself twice on the bannister to keep from falling. When she reached the pocket door of the music room, she screeched to a halt, put her ear to the heavy panel, and listened. Not a sound. She slid it open just wide enough to slip her tiny body through. Giving her eyes no time to adjust to the dimness, she hurried forward, hunting until she saw her mother propped up on the sofa, her eyes closed. Ceci crept closer, listening for the even breathing of sleep, until she was able to see her mother’s face up close. She stopped in her tracks when she saw trails of tears snaking their way down her mother’s porcelain cheeks. Oh no! She’s crying. Tears stung her own eyes as her heart wrenched. I have to help her, but I don’t know what to do.

  “That piano be her best comfort now …” Josie’s words floated through Ceci’s mind. The piano!

  Ceci slipped across the room, and standing next to the massive grand piano, she contemplated the closed lid over the keyboard. She looked back at her mother, so grief-stricken that even in her sleep the tears continued. Ceci decided. She climbed up on the bench, and carefully pushing the cover off the keys, she placed her hands on them and began to press them down. The tune that came out of the piano sounded familiar to her, and she liked it, so she played it again.

  “That’s lovely, darling.” Her mother’s words floated to her across the dusky room. “What else can you play?”

  Ceci whipped her head around as her mother came and knelt down by the side of the piano bench.

  “What else can you play, darling?” her mother asked again.

  She shrugged her thin shoulders. “I don’t know.”

  Her mother raised her own hand and lightly fingered a few treble notes.

  “Play anything that’s in your heart, in your fingertips,” she encouraged.

  Ceci returned her tiny hands to the instrument, raised her eyes to the ceiling as she concentrated, and music came out of the piano as she pressed the keys. She thought it sounded pretty, but she hurriedly scanned her mother’s upturned face for a judgment. There she found a smile. She’s not crying. She’s happy now!

  Ceci played some more.

  When she finished, her mother slid onto the bench beside her and hugged her close. “Where did you learn to play such beautiful music, darling?”

  “I heard you play it. Are you happy now, Mommy?”

  “Oh yes! Yes. You have shown me the future, my darling, and it is wonderful.” She planted a kiss on Ceci’s head. “Will you play that melody for me again? It was written by a man named Chopin, you know.”

  Ceci grinned up at her mother. “He’s your favorite, isn’t he?”

  “Yes, my darling. He is.”

  “Then he’s my favorite too. Do you think I can play some more of his songs?”

  Her mother gently brushed her fingertips across Ceci’s cheek. “I think you can play anything, absolutely anything.”

  “Will you teach me?”

  “Yes.”

  “When?”

  “First thing tomorrow morning.”

  “Will I ever be able to play as well as you?”

  “Better. Much better. Now, would you please play the first song you played for me, and would you sing the words?”

  Ceci nodded and eagerly turned to the ivory keys. Her fingers moved, and her sweet, soprano voice rose in the room. “Jesus loves me, this I know. For the Bible tells me so …”

  When she had finished playing and singing the song, Ceci studied her mother’s face and discovered that tears had run down her cheeks and pooled in the folds around her gently upturned lips. “Are you sad, Mommy?”

  Her mother hugged her and murmured, “Not nearly as sad as I was before. Let’s go to bed now, darling. We have an exciting day coming tomorrow.”

  “Will you be happy tomorrow, Mommy, if I play the piano for you?”

  “I will be happy just because you are here, Ceci. Just because you exist. But it will be fun to play the piano together, won’t it?”

  Ceci nodded vigorously. “I like it. I’m going to teach Juli everything you teach me.”

  “Good. Now let’s go snuggle in bed with Juli and sleep a long time.” She stood and held her hand out to Ceci.

  Ceci scooted off the bench, and when her bare feet hit the floor, she took her mother’s hand and pulled her toward the tall doors.

  ***

  An undefined bully, a malevolent force that had risen from the steaming red clay piled around Richard Boyd’s grave, baited Lee Logan’s normally reasonable mind. For long, tedious hours, he had progressed through the civilities of a funeral day in Riverford—the grief of the burial, the call at the Boyd house, the murmured condolences, the gentle hugs and quiet reassurances. All day long, his hands had returned automatically to untypical, tight fists; his jaw, if left unguarded, clenched; his normally smooth brow furrowe
d; his lips pinched shut against the angry words on his tongue.

  Now he was alone, the town asleep. The bereaved Boyd family was blocks away, his beloved Sarah cocooned at Hodges House, while the Logan ladies lay down the hall, slumbering in their lavender-scented sheets. Now he could call the bully out and bloody his face. Now he could send him packing, howling in pain. This is man’s time, Lee told himself as the hall clock struck midnight. The time he could drop a gentleman’s social veneer and release the pressure of the volcano within him.

  He sprang from the damp sheets and allowed himself a curse at the heat. “How can anyone sleep?” But even as he muttered the words, he knew the external temperature was not the problem. He was angry … furious, and since God was the one who controlled life and death, he must be angry with God. Lee paced the room until the sound of the creaking floorboards beneath his feet caught his attention and made him aware that he might awaken his mother or sister. He snatched up his trousers, shirt, boots, and slipped downstairs and out onto the front porch.

  Dead still, the air hung thick with moisture. Still, but not silent or empty. The tree frogs scratched their unceasing rasps into the darkness, while the whirring mosquitoes quickly found Lee’s face.

  “Walk,” he muttered as he struggled into his clothes and, with fatigue-thickened fingers, battled his boots on.

  When he reached the front gate, his feet surprised him by turning away from town and toward Austin Avenue and the Boyd house. He corrected their direction. There’s no more you can do for them. Just pray they’re sleeping. Pray? Not likely. Too angry! Richard Boyd was the most vital man I’ve ever known, and this town needs him.

  The positive attributes of his mentor pulsed through Lee’s mind until he had built a mountain of virtue—a man’s definition of a successful life, a life that should not be prematurely terminated. Heroic service in the War, selfless care for the Gibbes ladies while the general was imprisoned, astute investment of their fortune in Texas, their deliverance to a new beginning, the creation of his own family with Christine, countless opportunities offered the citizens of Riverford through the bank. Lee could think of no fault, nothing left undone, no reason for God to smite Richard Boyd down. Was that indeed what God had done? Was that the way of God, or did He simply step back and let death have its way?