Roxanna Slade Part 8

Standing by the church where I trusted we'd marry, Palmer also looked like a whole new person. I searched what I could see of his face for the source of the change. But apart from heavier brows and eyelids, a sign of maturing, I could find no novelty. Then it occurred to me that the change lay somehow in the sudden freedom he was plunging into at this keen moment. Maybe for the first time since Lark was born, with his special gifts of face and voice, Palmer had struck out on his own life--no trace of a brother to steal his light, no finer head and shoulders near him to blank his goodness. And he did look all but splendid as I watched him take me by the elbow now and guide me home, a path I knew like the hills and very dim valleys of my mind.

THREE.

Neither one of my parents objected at all, and even Leela seemed ready to celebrate what appeared to be her sister's good luck. I teased her and said she was only glad I'd be leaving the room we'd shared so long, giving her all the s.p.a.ce for her endless wardrobe. That made her eyes water, and she told me something I was pleased to hear for the first time ever. She claimed that

I was the person on Earth she admired most, and she said I was good right down to the core of my mind and soul.

As I mentioned I'd heard that claim before, but with utter sincerity I didn't hesitate to tell her that any such idea was as far off target as she'd ever got. I meant it too and time proved me right. More than ever I knew where the ruts and cracks ran through my being. And I understood what a big proportion of my deeds and words was meant to strengthen my own frail hands in grasping the world.

I've said that, according to Palmer at least, Miss Olivia and Major approved the marriage plan. Miss Olivia wrote me a single kind letter, saying she looked expectantly toward the day when I'd be back with her. And Ferny's rare postcards kept repeating how often Major asked for me--When is that girl coming?

Palmer and I had never discussed where we'd be living. But from the start I had high hopes that we'd be on our own right away. We'd have our own house or a few rented rooms with several miles of distance anyhow from each of our families. In his visits to me, Palmer still never brought up the question of where. And I didn't feel it was my place to barge in and start making rules. One thing I did though--resisted all of Palmer's invitations to go back up to the river and spend a few days at his homeplace again.

I told him I'd like to wait on that till we were truly married. He didn't object or ask for more reasons, and Miss Olivia never wrote another word about needing to see me before the wedding. It crossed my mind that she might already be subject to feeling like a mother-in-law. After all she'd never yet surrendered a son to another woman. Palmer would be the first live child she'd risk losing hold of, and every fact I knew about her was proof in advance of how she'd fight the loss.

In those days where I lived anyhow, the weddings of normal white people were nothing like the Roman circuses you see on every church corner today. It didn't seem all that huge an event--two people deciding to live together till one of them died way down the road or week after next. That was pretty much what you expected to get, that and the children that generally come in such circ.u.mstances. Surely no cause for bankrupting Father and driving Muddie

to nervous collapse just to do what humans have done for several million years. So as we got on down to August 1921, Muddie had to remind me that she and I ought to see the dressmaker soon and speak to our pastor about which day would be convenient for the service.

The seamstress was well known to be a little off, as people used to say. Nothing loud or raving but slow in the comprehension department and unnaturally kind, though a wizard with her fingers. Even after you'd picked your pattern and fabric, you had to keep dropping in to remind her of your expectations and the date beyond which you couldn't use the dress except as a shroud for your eventual grave. She'd done a fair amount of sewing for Leela's various dances and long house parties with friends elsewhere, but she'd scarcely tightened a b.u.t.ton for me. Yet I liked her immediately and took every chance to call at her house whenever I thought she might not mind a visit.

Her name was Betsy Magee, an old maid maybe sixty or so. Not only a spinster, she had no visible kin of any sort but lived alone in half of a four-room house no bigger than a rich child's outdoor dollhouse. Like ours and most of the houses around us till the 1940's, her house had no electric power. So all her fine work had to be done in daylight. If the sun was s.h.i.+ning-- summer or winter, boiling or freezing--Betsy would sit on her porch and bring the cloth right up to her eyes for hours on end. She was near blind as well. When I'd stop by she'd say "Let me tell you one long good story. Then you go your way and leave me working." And while she told it, she'd go on st.i.tching with the satin or muslin touching her nose.

Then she told me a story that I'd heard parts of but never entirely. It involved the death of a distant cousin of mine, Arthur Straughan. He'd left home young to pursue his musical talents in Baltimore. A lonely soul who never married or found a mate of any description, so far as was known, Arthur came home the summer he was thirty years old, sat up every night till nearly dawn playing "not very attractive" music on the piano and harp and was heard to have frequent shouting matches with his dope-fiend brother. So on the noon of July Fourth, he walked across a bare field to Betsy Magee's, took a piece of green

chalk out of his pocket, drew an outline of his body on the front porch floor, thrust a pistol into his mouth and blew off his head.

With the clean precision of a master musician, he fell straight backward into the plan of his body in green on the floor and landed inside the line at every point. No one ever knew how he managed it. Betsy had been rolling the edges of scarves at the time (summer scarves in silk) and when she heard the one shot fired, she took an eight-foot-long white scarf to the door and looked. When she saw it was Arthur--and saw his brother running toward her over the field--she threw that white silk over Arthur's ruined head to spare family feelings.

When Betsy got that far in the story, she looked up at me and said "You run on home now. Your dress'll be ready before you are."

I stood but paused one moment to ask her "Why did he do it?"

Betsy knew at once, her version at least. "G.o.d cut him off at the root, the dry root." Then she beamed a wide smile.

I said "But on your porch--how cruel." Betsy's smile barely faded as she said "Wait'll you taste how cruel G.o.d can get."

And when I was almost out her front door, she called again after me "Maybe he knew I was tough enough to take it."

I've never been sure whether he was Arthur Straughan or G.o.d. In any case I told Betsy she was very likely right. And all the way home, I said a plain prayer asking only that I never taste pain in any such quant.i.ty and that my roots stay green long enough to branch into some life better than mine or Palmer's even.

The final weeks at home went as smoothly as I could have hoped. Palmer's visits every second weekend were calm and welcome with his usual spa.r.s.e talk and long rides and strolls. Like my father--and long before the country went wild on the subject of exercise--Palmer had figured out for himself that whatever pressed his mind or body could best be eased by onward movement through the clean open air. And while it meant a good deal less to me, I was always ready to join him just to watch his face clear up like a gray sky late in the day as it purifies itself for sunset.

But far as we went and deep as we often were plunged into privacy, miles from others, Palmer and I never touched in earnest again in all the months of our engagement. I wouldn't have stopped him if he'd felt the need, but he never mentioned any such pressure. And I took the chance whenever I could, with Leela and two other girls and with our cook, to find out anything more I might need to know on the subject of what men's bodies required of their wives and how to respond.

It would scarcely be possible for young people now to imagine how hard it was in my day to get any clear and reliable advance word on s.e.x in general. And with all the conflicting stories I'd heard, I was left half wondering if Muddie would offer me any guidance. She was having a good spell of health and was loving her duties, but she sailed through every opportunity at maternal instruction till she realized I was having my final monthly as what she a.s.sumed was an untouched maiden, ten days before the wedding.

It was too wet and chilly a day for a walk, so she came to mine and Leela's room where we were resting after dinner with the shades pulled down. She set a straight chair in the midst of the floor halfway between our two single beds. Then she took her seat, looked to us both and said "This is mainly for Anna with marriage so close. But since I scarcely know how to say it, I'll do my best here once for all and give each one of you the little I've gathered on a matter n.o.body ever coached me on, not for so much as two quick seconds."

Of course Leela and I had vague ideas of what might be coming. But with this sudden arrival of the unexpected, it was more than Leela could easily bear. First she gave a high laugh, followed by a real moan. Then she flipped onto her stomach and sank her whole face deep into a pillow.

I faced the ceiling to spare Muddie's eyes meeting mine as she spoke.

She took a long pause and said "I'm fairly certain both of you have understood, from the Bible and maybe some magazine reading, that men and women must unite together before G.o.d's purpose for all can be fulfilled."

From her pillow Leela said "All?"

Despite her concern for clothes and hair, she'd often said she was giving much thought to an old maid's

life.

I had to laugh too.

Muddie had the grace to join me. Then Leela chimed in again.

So when we'd all composed ourselves, Muddie skated on through the rest of her speech at a breakneck clip. "You'll see all the signs that men are truly hounded by their need. There seems very little they can do about it. Your chosen husband will demonstrate on your wedding night, or soon thereafter if you're too exhausted and he's sympathetic, what's natural and expected. Don't be alarmed when he shows his parts in an urgent condition, generally reddish. They're as natural to him as your eyes are to you. And above all try not to be too scared when you feel a sharp pain. Don't yell or weep if you see a little blood. It's all G.o.d's will, give or take a few blunders if he's young too or has been drinking recently. And if you're a cheerful cooperative mate, it will only bind him to you tighter in bands strong as steel."

Leela sat up, propped on her left arm. "Muddie, what exactly is rape?"

Muddie said "Well to the best of my information, it's love gone utterly wrong. But don't give rape so much as a moment's thought, not in our world--it can't happen here--and don't scare Anna."

I told them both they couldn't scare me. It hadn't occurred to me that the legal transactions of s.e.x might prove delightful--interesting, yes, but hardly delightful--yet I was at least on the verge of seeing how funny this whole concern of all creatures was, though it would take me years more to confirm it.

Leela was far from satisfied and held out for further clarification. "How does any girl know when that border's crossed--I mean, if G.o.d includes pain and bleeding in his will?"

I half rose as well. "You'll know," I said.

Muddie said "Anna, hush. You're out of your depth."

To have told her I wasn't would have shocked her too hard. So I took the rebuke and lay back flat.

As Muddie left the room, she touched my arm. And when I looked up, she was streaming tears.

I said "Is it worse than you've told me?"

Muddie's head shook slowly and this time she whispered as if to spare Leela. "For me, never, no. Your father's an angel."

With the slender knowledge I possessed from my one night, I could see viewpoints from which that was laughable--angel visits in the dark, not remotely mentioned in scripture--but I kept my own counsel and thanked her sincerely. I couldn't recall a prior time when Muddie had tried that hard to be of practical help to her only daughters, and I know Leela got none when her time came.

The date we'd set was November 8th, a Sat.u.r.day. After giving Palmer the early date of October 9th, I'd come to my senses and realized what a rush that looked like--twenty-four hours more than a year since Larkin's last breath --so we postponed it a month. But I'd been ready since late October. Miss Olivia was due to arrive on the Friday to help me and Muddie. Ferny and Palmer would come on Sat.u.r.day morning with the major and old Coy. The very simple service was meant to be at five in the afternoon. We'd race back to my house, change our clothes, hug our families goodbye and climb on the six-thirty train for Was.h.i.+ngton, D.c. Palmer had not yet made thorough plans for where we'd live on our return.

I'd asked him if we couldn't rent the spare bedroom and tiny kitchen at Betsy Magee's till we got our breath and he could decide on his long-range hopes in a neutral place but not far from our kin in case we were needed. He'd come near enough to saying Yes, so I'd asked Betsy to hold the s.p.a.ce till I knew for sure. She'd said it was ours any day of the year, which was plainly not true since she needed the rent to live her life and usually had some old man in there whom she was nursing.

That uncertainty had me worried since more and more I'd come to feel very serious indeed about that fact that I couldn't easily stay for long as a married woman in my parents' house or even the Slades'. Meek as I'd mostly been in my past life, the whole idea of marriage in my mind felt like a new and desirable freedom--a clearer leaner life than I'd ever suspected

I wanted, though I craved it now.

Even today, far more young women than would want you to notice seem to think of marriage as a quick shortcut up the alley to freedom. Well shame on em, as older women would have said in my youth and with bottomless wisdom.

Miss Olivia arrived as planned on the Friday, well before noon on the shoofly train. My father had been introduced to her once long years ago and told everybody far in advance how handsome she'd be. Muddie had only laid eyes on the woman at Larkin's funeral, before Miss Olivia stepped down off the train and shaded her own eyes to find us in the brilliant light. From the puzzlement on her face, you'd have thought she'd traveled eight thousand miles, not a simple eight. But she seemed glad enough to meet the family. Then to our surprise down stepped old Coy in a long black dress. There had been no warning that Coy might come this early in the plans.

So at once everybody's brows furrowed deeply, trying to picture where she might sleep. With my elder brother coming and his poodle wife, we were full-up with white people not to mention other tints.

Mother winked to me and mouthed the words "She can sleep at Edna's." Edna was our cook at the time and lived fairly nearby.

But Miss Olivia headed us off. "Coy decided late yesterday that I couldn't travel on the train alone. She can sleep on any kind of cot beside me. She's clean as a river rock" --all of which was said with Coy standing there pretending she was deaf.

Any such arrangement was so unheard of in those days, north or south, that Father and Muddie went pale as sheets. Leela managed to catch her laugh before it started; and I said "Surely. Welcome, Coy."

Coy called me "Miss Roxanna" for the first time and handed me a little parcel tied up in what looked like a clean handkerchief. "For your teeth," she said and pointed to her own. Then she said "Tear it open. You ain't going to like it."

It was several twigs of sa.s.safras wood trimmed clean at one end--old-time country toothbrushes. I hadn't seen one since I was a girl and had made them myself. You chewed the

clean end into near pulp and scrubbed at your teeth. I told Coy that on the contrary I liked them very much and that I'd take her gifts to the nation's capital for their first long trip. That seemed to please her.

Coy nodded. "I'm looking forward to you." She was in new shoes, men's brand-new hightops, stiff tough leather big and black enough for gunboats.

I told Coy how much I admired her footwear, but I understood her to be a.s.suming that I'd be moving with Palmer to the country. It raised my dander and, right there surrounded by all my elders, I said "You'll be welcome wherever we are."

Miss Olivia smiled. "Coy's never been more than two miles from the river in her entire life."

Coy said "Don't need to. Nothing else worth seeing."

I was going to try to answer her, but by then Father had Miss Olivia's grip and Coy's cardboard satchel in hand so we headed home.

Though I walked along beside Miss Olivia the whole half mile and talked to her easily, in my head I couldn't make myself believe what I suddenly knew. Tomorrow this woman will start to matter as much in my life as anybody else walking here beside us. Palmer could say we have to live with her. Any children I bear will be part hers. Strong as she so plainly is, she could crush me soon just walking past me down a dark hall or reaching toward me to take my child. I've never known where I got such feelings that far in advance of close contact--maybe because the mother I'd known was soft as down feathers and helpless in the world--but the future would prove that I wasn't far wrong.

By the time we reached the front steps of my home, Miss Olivia had noticed something grim in my looks. She leaned and whispered as she took the first step--"Don't give it a minute's worry. You can do it."

To this day I've never been sure I understood her--what she meant by it and the promise I could do it. Had she read my silent mind that quickly? Or was it just something you were always safe to say to a bride? I've never known the answer, so I still can't say if I managed to do whatever she promised or whether I failed in one more expectation fixed on

me by people far stronger than I was then or ever became.

The rest of that last day was calmer than anybody had expected. The weather went on bright and warm. Miss Olivia and Coy joined Muddie and Edna in the kitchen preparing the food they'd serve friends tomorrow after the service while Palmer and I raced to catch our train. The soft-pitched weave of their four voices presiding over tasks they'd done forever but still tried hard to bring to perfection was steady as the sound of a rocking chair from my early childhood.

That complicated music plus the thought that every motion they made was meant to result in human pleasure of the simplest most disposable kind--from palate to belly--was likewise consoling to me in light of how eager I'd always been to leave as few tracks as possible behind me in human affairs. I say consoling but in honesty I already knew in the cold of my bones that these four women had reached a goal I'd never reach--a tame contentment or maybe surrender, valuable as platinum but closed to me for whatever reasons.

Shortly after we were back from the depot, Leela withdrew to our room for a cause that mildly surprised me. When I looked in on her after she vanished, she'd peeled to her slip and was lying in genuine sorrow under the afghan I'd made her.

I could tell in an instant when Leela was pretending, the same way she could pierce any lie I told from a thousand yards in the dark. She was plainly sincere now. So I sat beside her and asked how I could help.

She said "No way except stay here beside me, turn the clock back ten years and freeze it there."

I knew exactly what she meant and leaned to whisper that, more than a little, I wished I could walk out now and obey her--call the whole thing off and live on at home.

Leela thought I meant it more than I did. And through her tears she said "You can." So I had to tell her I could but I wouldn't. That's always the hardest thing to hear, but now it was true.

She had the grace to nod and try to grin. Then once I kissed her, I had to go back

to packing my bag for the fortieth time and checking my eyes again and again in Muddie's big mirror to see if I could find any trace of a reason to think this marriage was a wrong committed on Larkin or G.o.d or Palmer or anyone else live or dead. I honestly had to conclude from appearances that No, I wanted to stride right on into Palmer's hands.

Once my elder brother and his wife had come in safely on the evening train, I felt I not only could but should withdraw for the night and pray if not sleep. By then Leela had recovered herself and was fascinated by our brother's wife and what Leela thought were her stylish skills as a milliner--she made her own hats, and I'll have to grant they looked homemade.