Elizabeth's Daughter

by Thea Thomas

  She opened the door. Before her was arrayed her rug-making paraphernalia, several projects in mid-development.

  She remembered how Grandfather used to call to her from downstairs, “Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your golden yarn.” She smiled.

  All her love for the soft wool and the solid feel of the weft growing in the warp underhand, even the smell of the wood frames, and wool and jute and raw silk – the gorgeous, sensual sight of the hanks of pure colors, waiting to be knotted or woven or stitched – flooded over her when she opened the door with a nostalgia as strong as if she were remembering a person.

  In the middle of the room stood the biggest project she’d ever undertaken, a nine-by-twelve-foot latch-hooked rug with a Samarkand-styled pattern of her own design, two-thirds complete.

  She went over to it and and began working as if she’d only interrupted herself for a few moments instead of more than a year.

  Chapter IV

  Elizabeth managed to wake at nine-thirty the next morning, even after working on the rug fifteen hours, non-stop. Her shoulders and hands were sore and she had a nasty blister on her right forefinger, but it wouldn’t be long and the Samarkand would be finished. She had to admit she savored the aches and pains. Battle wounds! She couldn’t wait to put the rug on the floor at the foot of her bed where its reds and blues would complement the hardwood.

  She jumped in the shower to get ready for her day with Martha. Martha had first been her mother’s friend. They’d met in a ballroom dance class almost fifteen years previous and soon discovered they had much in common. They became dedicated to the search of more interesting dance partners then the class afforded. Although Elizabeth’s mother, Gloria, was ten years older than Martha, she didn’t look it, and the two of them, to hear Martha tell it, had the guys lined up.

  “And why not?” Elizabeth thought, “they’re two gorgeous women.”

  But the result of the flirtation with night clubs led Gloria off to some more exotic spot on earth. Or so she would have everyone believe. However, that was long ago. Since then Martha had befriended Elizabeth, and every now and then she escaped her frenetic schedule and came up with something for the two of them to do.

  Elizabeth stepped into her gold satin-finish cotton dress with fitted bodice and full skirt. Except, she noticed, it was not as fitted as it used to be, hanging loose and looking almost like one of her shapeless house dresses. She’d lost weight since Grandfather became ill, and she didn’t even know it.

  She brushed her hair hard, trying to relax the awkward curls from the last home permanent she’d given herself. Then she applied mascara and a bit of powder. She looked around for the lipstick, but couldn’t find it.

  “Strange...” She peered into the nearly empty medicine chest. “Where could it have gotten to?” As she looked around on the floor, a prickly sensation crawled up her forearms and down the back of her neck.

  She turned quickly, feeling watched. “What...?” she rubbed the prickles away from her neck, “you’re rattling around too much in this cavern of a house. And now you’re talking out loud to yourself.”

  She looked around the bathroom one more time for the lipstick when the front doorbell rang. She hurried to her room, grabbed a small clutch purse, a note pad and pencil, then ran down the winding front stairs. When she opened the door, there Martha stood in designer sunglasses, a mauve business suit complemented by a gorgeous white silk blouse and simple black patent heels. Elizabeth wanted to run back to her room and never come out again.

  “Ready?” Martha asked.

  “Sure.” Elizabeth screwed up her courage and locked the door behind her.

  Martha chatted non-stop while she drove to the museum. But Elizabeth hardly heard any of what she had to say, answering in monosyllables. She recounted to herself the odd events: today, the Mademoiselle in the trash, the vanished lipstick, last night, the strange woman’s reflection in the window....

  “What are you studying out?” Martha finally asked bluntly.

  “Pardon me?”

  “You’re like on some other planet.” Martha pulled down her sunglasses to give Elizabeth a pointed look.

  “Yikes, Martha, eyes on the road!” Elizabeth squealed as their car drifted into the other lane.

  Martha refocused on her driving. “What is on your mind? You haven’t heard a word I’ve said.”

  “Yes, I have a lot on my mind,” Elizabeth agreed. “With Grandfather... gone, I’ve been... I have a lot to think about.” Elizabeth was about to share with Martha the weird events, but Martha reached over and squeezed her hand.

  “I know kiddo, of course. Sorry, sometimes I forget that things are about other people... sometimes.” She laughed. “It seems it’d be easier if everything was always about me, but such is not the case.”

  Elizabeth giggled. Oh, she felt happy to be with Martha, she had a way of always making her shift her mood to something better. Plus the bright sunny day was so real and normal that the weird events faded away.

  Martha started struggling while driving with flinging her heels into the back seat and pulling on Reeboks at the stop lights. “I hope you don’t mind,” she said to Elizabeth. “I don’t imagine there’ll be anyone at this exhibit I want to impress.”

  “I don’t care what you wear on your feet, just as long as you stay in our lane.” In truth, Elizabeth loved the incongruity of the Reeboks with the designer suit.

  She sighed a sigh of relief as they pulled into the museum parking lot. “We made it!”

  “Of course we made it, you silly girl. I’ve never had an accident.”

  “What a miracle,” Elizabeth breathed as she got out of the car.

  “I heard that,” Martha called back to her, already halfway to the museum entrance.

  That was the one thing about Martha that disconcerted Elizabeth – always in such a rush, as if she simply had to get to the next thing. She hoped Martha wouldn’t ruin the exhibit by flying through it, dragging Elizabeth along behind like a trailing kite.

  But then, Elizabeth had the most amazing realization. She could come again! She could come alone, and she could spend all day. She could take notes and make sketches. She wouldn’t have to ask anyone’s permission to stay all day. And so, smiling, she hurried to catch up to Martha.

  In the museum Elizabeth trotted alongside Martha, nodding in agreement to her intermittent, “oh, pretty, look at that.”

  The exhibit, primarily nineteenth century American hooked and woven rugs, also had a few remarkable Persian, Turkish, and Indian carpets, displayed in showcases on frames allowing their backs to show as well as their fronts. If Elizabeth had her way, she would study each one to the extent of counting knots. And she would, she told herself, when she returned on her own.

  “Where’s your running commentary, Elizabeth?” Martha suddenly asked.

  “Running commentary? I don’t want to bore you....”

  “I’ll let you know if you’re boring me. You must know more than these terse little notes: ‘probable construction between 18-something and 18-something.’ “

  “Well, yes, I do,” Elizabeth agreed. “For instance, did you know that the Persians make a small copy of the carpet for the weavers to follow, while the Chinese draw a full-sized replica of the rug design on paper and put it beside the loom for the weavers to copy?

  “But the east Indians have a very interesting system called ta’lem. The ta’lem writer records the color of every knot, row by row and then a ta’lem reader reads this list to a roomful of weavers. Wouldn’t that be a remarkable thing to see? A room full of artisans, hands flying, creating one of these magnificent works of art to the mantra of a list of colors being recited. I can see the sun slanting in on piles of colored wool...” Elizabeth gestured to show the angle of the sunlight, “and the carpet frames and the people sitting side by side, but each in their own sort of transfixed, meditative space, listening to the incantation, obeying it, trusting that every tiny knot will produce a complete and beautiful imag
e.”

  Elizabeth caught Martha’s study of her. “I did it, didn’t I? I bored you.”

  “No, Elizabeth, you... you amaze me. I never knew you had so much... poetry. I really see your room of weavers. This display is like a spiritual experience for you, isn’t it?” Martha asked.

  “What an uncanny word choice. Whenever I go into an oriental carpet store, or even into my own rug-making room, I’ve always thought the carpets are like church stained glass windows, only opaque.”

  “So they are!”” Martha exclaimed.

  After that they took a more leisurely, attentive stroll through the exhibit. Elizabeth was amazed to see that Martha listened carefully to every bit of information she shared. Whenever she and Martha had been together before, Martha talked and Elizabeth listened.

  In fact, Elizabeth thought with life-changing insight, everyone has always talked and I have always listened. And now, I begin to talk, as well as listen.

  Afterwards they went to Chez Cafe for a late lunch.

  “Are you losing weight?” Martha asked Elizabeth when they were seated.

  “I think so. This dress used to fit better, anyway. I haven’t had much interest in food lately. I’m home alone, no one to cook for, so I don’t cook, no one to eat with, so I don’t often eat.”

  “I see,” Martha said. “I thought you were on a diet.”

  “No. Why would I go on a diet? I’m not fat.”

  “That’s what I was about to say. But there’s something else different about you too... what is it?”

  “Well, I, I bought some mascara a couple days ago.”

  “Ah, yes,” Martha said. “I guess that, and the weight you’ve lost, accounts for your huge, waif-like eyes.”

  “Waif-like?”

  “I mean that as a compliment. The wise-yet-innocent look.”

  “Wise-yet-innocent. But... plain.”

  “Are you nuts? You’re darling. I wish to goodness I looked half as pretty as you do with so little make-up.”

  “You’re just saying that.”

  “I am not. I’ve never said any such thing to any woman in my life!”

  The waitress brought their salads. When she left Martha went on, “my dear girl, get some confidence! I don’t know where it’s supposed to come from all of a sudden, after a lifetime of Miss House Mouse, but work on it.”

  Elizabeth nodded. “I know. I’m pathetic. I don’t have a clue!” Then she told Martha about driving around in her grandfather’s car, and the attention she thought she was getting, which had truly mystified her. “And all they were all interested in was that old car of Grandfather’s!”

  Martha laughed so hard she had to put her fork down and stop eating. “Oh, geez, Lizzie, what a picture, you cowering in the shadow of the giant beer-belly. And he was only after your fifty-six.”

  “Well, I’m relieved to learn that it’s a funny story. I thought it was rather sad.”

  “No, sweetie. Loosen up! Some things are simply so ridiculous.”

  Elizabeth scowled.

  “Isn’t it funny?” Martha insisted. “Come on now.... “

  “And you call that car a ‘fifty-six’ too! There’s a whole language out here in the... world... that I don’t know anything about. I’m an alien in my own culture.”

  Martha shook her head. “It just so happens that your car’s a classic, it also happens that you didn’t know it. But now you do. Now you can join the rest of civilization... out here.” Martha’s tone was droll. “You’re free now, honey, so take advantage of it and grow!”

  Elizabeth suddenly started to cry. Shocked, she grabbed the napkin out of her lap and dabbed at her eyes. “I’m sorry!” she whispered to Martha. “I have been realizing I’m free and I can do things. If you only knew the emotions I went through the other night when I bought a Mademoiselle and Dr. Pepper! I felt as wild as if I’d held up a convenience store. I felt guilty doing things Grandfather disapproved of, I felt happy to have things I’ve always wanted, I felt angry at not having been allowed to have that freedom before. And then I felt guilty again.

  “And now you say... you say exactly that.” Elizabeth pulled herself together, and sat up straight. “I want to sell the so-called ‘fifty-six.’ I want to get something ordinary and new.”

  Martha reached over and patted Elizabeth’s hand. “You can sell it or trade it, you can get something snazzy or plain, you can buy any magazine or beverage. Even wine. In fact, let’s have a glass right now. Let’s celebrate your coming of age.”

  “Yes, let’s,” Elizabeth agreed, smiling. “Almost a decade late.”

  “Or, perhaps it’s right on time.” Martha flagged the waitress, chatted with her about wines and ordered something while Elizabeth sat feeling very much like a ten-year-old out to lunch with someone who knew what she was doing.

  When the waitress went scurrying off, Martha turned back to Elizabeth. “Get out that pad and pencil of yours,” she ordered, retrieving her iphone, “here’s my car dealer’s number. Tell him I sent you and he’ll make you a deal.”

  “He will?”

  “Of course! He owes me. I gave him the best three months of his life. He’s dying to do me a favor.”

  “Oh!” Elizabeth said, embarrassed.

  “Now, Elizabeth,” Martha said, “don’t get all weird. Another thing you’ll have to learn to take in stride is that sex is a part of life too.”

  “Yes, yes, I know it is,” Elizabeth agreed, “I just don’t want any details.”

  “Well then, I’ll keep the details.” Martha smiled slyly, raising an eyebrow. “The point here is business. My friend Edward will help you unload the fifty-six, he’ll help you figure out what you’d like instead, and then he’d better give you a good deal, or I’ll want to know the reason why!”

  The waitress returned with a couple of glasses and a bottle of wine.

  “Drink your wine,” Martha ordered.

  Elizabeth drank her wine. A feeling of lightness rose right to the top of her head, and blossomed all through her, right to her toes, totally dispelling her brooding, dark, mood.

  For the first time in her life Elizabeth became inebriated, or at least she thought she must be, as everything Martha said after the first glass of wine seemed ridiculously funny. She giggled until she thought her teeth would fall out. But Martha was giggling too, so, Elizabeth decided, even if she were making a spectacle of herself, at least she wasn’t alone. She wasn’t too sure how many glasses she had, but she did notice that Martha had only poured herself one glass.That made her feel safe and then, some time later, Martha drove Elizabeth home.

  Chapter V

  Close to dawn, Elizabeth heard her grandfather’s voice. It came through her sleep, urgent and insistent. Elizabeth wanted very much to understand what he was trying to tell her – he said something about an amethyst. She became wide awake in the effort of trying to understand him. In that first instant between sleep and wakefulness, she could have sworn the shadow of her grandfather stood at the end of her bed, but at that same instant, a ray of sun peeked through the blinds and he disappeared.

  It was then that she realized the percussion section of a marching band stomped through her head. So! This was a hangover.

  She longed for a glass of orange juice. Dragging herself down the back stairs into the kitchen, she coaxed what little juice she could from two sad and wizened-looking oranges she found in the bottom of the refrigerator, well on their way to making a wine of their own.

  As she sat at the kitchen table, head in hand, she tried to shake the intense, strange dream that woke her. “I think I must move out of this house.” She looked at her clutch purse on the kitchen table where she’d flung it when she came in last night. What was she supposed to do? She picked up the purse, and under it she saw the note pad she’d carried around yesterday. Oh! The car dealer.

  Well, first she’d have to see what condition her finances were in. Still wobbly and deciding that wine was perhaps not the best beverage of choice for her,
she went into Grandfather’s study, where she called the bank and asked the teller the balance of her personal savings account. As she recalled, she had around a thousand dollars. She hoped that her savings in combination with Grandfather’s car would make a down payment on a new, small car.

  “Twenty-one thousand, thirty-three dollars and seventy-two cents,” the teller told Elizabeth a few moments later.

  Elizabeth forgot her headache. “Excuse me?” she said, “I asked for the balance of the savings account of Elizabeth Morris.”

  “Yes. That’s it... barring any activity yesterday or today.”

  “The last I knew, I had about a thousand dollars.”

  The teller giggled. “Well, you do, plus over twenty more to keep it company. Would you like to speak with the manager?”

  “Yes, I would.”

  “Hold, please.”

  A few moments later another woman came on the phone. “Good morning, Miss Morris. I’m sorry if there’s some confusion. I thought you were aware of the financial arrangements since your grandfather passed.”

  “No. I’m supposed to talk with his attorney, but I haven’t yet. I’ve been – I haven’t been in the mood.”

  “I understand. To clarify, your grandfather had twenty thousand dollars put in your passbook savings. Then you have your trust of one-hundred-seventy-five thousand per year in an easy-to-access money market account. And of course there are the long term accounts in your name now and a few other financial instruments. If you’d like to make an appointment to come in and talk, I’d be happy to discuss the details with you.”

  Elizabeth, stunned, stared at the black bakelite base of the old rotary dial telephone. “Yes, I’ll do that. Monday morning, about ten?”

  “That’ll be fine,” the manager said.

  “So I can buy a car?” Elizabeth asked.

  “I would say yes,” the bank manager answered. “You could buy any reasonably priced car you fancy.”

  “Well, thank you,” Elizabeth said.