Chapter 24

In the morning Adele was urging her daughters through breakfast so they would be ready for church on time. Simon cried, “Wish I had my kid here, Ma. I’m naming it April for it was born this month.”

“I’ll stay at home today, Adele,” Mom said. “I want to ready up the fruit cellar. We’ll be canning before we know it. Applesauce and berries.”

The little girls clamored, “Pleathe. Let us stay too, and play with Thimon.”

“Well, I’m going,” Dennie said. “We’re hearing about that Goliath.”

“Girls,” said Adele, “I’m surprised you don’t want to hear that story too.”

“Wish April was here,” Simon was saying, “trailing after me.”

“Star’s coming for supper tonight,” said Mom.

“I forgot that.” Dan rubbed the blemish that colored the taut flesh of his cheek.

“Be nice to see Star again,” said Adele. “When was she here last?”

“Let’s see,” said Pop. “It was snowing, wasn’t it?”

“Did you meet her, Ellen?” asked Adele.

“No.” Ellen felt the hot flush creep over her face.

“Then it must have been before the thaw, Pop,” Sudduth said. “Because right after that Ellen came.”

“You’re wearing your hair a new way, Ellen,” Mom said. “It’s very nice. Soft like that around your face. You used to pin it so tight.”

Ellen hastily brushed the loose strands back. “Reckon I did.” She could sense Mom’s piercing eyes.

The men went out; Adele and the children drove to church. Ellen was working in the kitchen. She was preparing peach cobblers for dinner that night. Mason jars of peach halves glistened bright orange in the sun-shot window. While she was mixing the dough with her fingers, Mom came in, carrying a heavy book. “Have you ever seen a Polish Bible, Ellen?” Mom laid it on the table and turned to the record of family dates on the first page.

Ellen knew the woman had brought it in for a purpose. “I’ve heard that some keep their Bibles like that, Mom. Though our family ne’er did with ours.” She put her hand swiftly to her hair leaving a drift of flour.

Mom pointed to the list. “Pop’s mother brought it over from Poland. We can’t any of us read Polish, but it’s been in his family so we write everything in it.”

There were different hands, some with foreign characters, hard to decipher. The latest entry read, “Hannah Wasilewski. July 6, 1932.” Higher on the list Ellen could see in faded green ink, “Daniel Matthew Wasilewski. May 10, 1895.”

“See, there’s Sudduth’s wedding to Adele.” Mom was putting a broad finger on it. “That was clean before the depression. Now Star and Dan’ll be setting their date. It’ll say, Daniel Wasilewski took Star Webster in marriage. October first, maybe. This year.”

“That’s a fine book there.” Ellen said it coolly. I was born in 1909. That makes him fourteen years older. He’s forty-one. She felt languid because of her love. She was smiling at Mom, gray eyes narrow, hiding the secret anger.

“We know Dan’s making a good marriage, Ellen.” Mom’s cheeks were red.

“That Mr. Webster’s a rich man.”

“Look, Star suits Dan.” Mom spoke crisp. “My son loves her.”

“Reckon two cobblers’ll be enough for tonight, Mom? With company coming?”

“Better make three.” The older woman was going to put the Bible back on its shelf; her heavy body moved stolid, with decision. Ellen watched her go.

When she and Dan had come back last night from Penny’s, Dan had changed his clothes and gone directly to the barn. After supper he hurried out again with Sudduth to set up a pen for the new sheep. The two men returned at dusk, stood in the kitchen awhile talking before they went to bed. Dan paid no heed to Ellen. The yellow cat purred and mewled now about her feet while she rolled the dough deftly, fitted it into the pie tins. She thought how she disliked Mom. The woman’s hostility was palpable. She was calling out as her steps were heard descending, “I’ll be in the fruit cellar, Ellen. When you finish, come and help. We’ve got to get this straightening done if it is Sunday.”

“I will.” In a swift flood Ellen was homesick for the old kitchen in the yellow house. For Frankie and Maria nearby, the boiler steaming on the range, Jack waiting in the bushes by the porch. The goats in fresh straw in the woodshed. And her in the garden rows, singing “Down in the Valley.” Here the customs were foreign, even their manners and speech differed from what she had known. The old people had been born in a land across the water, brought their alien habits with them. They bathed in a separate room where a white tub stood on ornate legs. Everyone had his own towel, and when he bathed he would hang it on the line in the sun, even Hannah. Ellen would see Dan pinning his in the evenings, casually, pausing to light a cigarette before returning to the house. It would seem to her as if he performed a woman’s task, as if it were too clean. When she first came to this household and rolled pie crusts, Mom had showed her how the edges of the dough must be crimped by twisting the thumbs in a particular way. And when they went to kill a chicken, they laid a broomstick across its neck and yanked the legs sharply so the head was pulled off. She poured the fragrant peach halves into the pans. At first I couldn’t get over their merry ways. But there’s Adele who tried to keep from having her baby. Sudduth’s jealous of his brother. And Mom’s bent on managing them all. Dan will bring Star Webster here just like she says. They’ll write it in that Bible. Wish I could be away tonight. I don’t want to see that girl. Ellen was crimping the edges of the pies skillfully and sliding them into the oven. The yellow cat bounded after, and she caught it in her arms as she went down the cellar steps.

The lilacs on the north side of the house, outside the dining room windows, were opening their buds in the afternoon. The perfume was drifting through the house. Ellen fried the chickens while Mom helped Adele dress the girls and straighten the rooms. Ellen was setting the table, spreading first the linen cloth, cream-colored with age. She took out crystal that stood in the sideboard and heavy-plated silver, placed it as Mom had directed, the knife and spoon on the right side with blade turned to the plate, the fork on the left. Simon came in. “Who’s Star Webster?”

“She’s a friend of theirs, Simon.”

“Dennie says she’s Dan’s sweetheart.”

Ellen was laying small butter knives in front of the plates. “Well.”

“That’s fancy there, Ma. The way you’re doing.” Simon was grown so his head came above Ellen’s shoulder. He was over ten now.

She put goblets at the knife tips and turned to him. “You eat proper. No swooshing your food with a biscuit. Mind, now. And the fork goes in the right hand.”

“I’ll most likely fall o’er backwards in my chair.”

“Watch Dennie and do like he does. You’re twice his size and half as mannerly. And be quiet too.”

“I don’t care for all this.”

“Put on that new shirt I made.” She went to the kitchen. “Now go on. The queen’ll be here before we know it.”

The clock read seven when they drove up. Ellen paused to look out the window. Dan had changed into his brown suit, wore a bright striped tie. He was taking Star’s hand as she stepped down from the truck cab. Star Webster was just nineteen. Her small form was sheathed in a white dress, she wore white shoes and gloves and a wide-brimmed white hat. Her hair fluffed out, her arms were untanned. Adele said Star put stockings on her arms when she went to pick berries to keep the sun from them, and a sunbonnet to protect her face and neck. She was laughing up at Dan. He had said she was exciting. She was afraid of the dark. He liked that. Maybe she leans on him, helpless. A man doesn’t like a woman strong.

The potatoes steamed as they boiled over, and Ellen turned hastily to them. Mom and Adele came in, fastening on starched print aprons. Mom wore her new black rayon dress, a cameo gold brooch at the neckline. Adele’s dark green suit made her round face sallow. The little girls followed. “Thay, Ellen. Look at us.” They twirled pink and blue dresses before her.

“You sure sew pretty, Adele,” Ellen said.

“A little starch will do wonders with that cheap voile.” Adele was modest. “Now you girls go say hello to Star.” They ran, whispering and nudging.

The women beat potatoes with a wood masher, lifted browned chicken onto the huge white platter, and broke ice cubes into a water pitcher. The family was coming in from the living room, Star holding to Dan’s arm. Sudduth was complaining, “Sunday’s a workday like every other around here, Star. When my house is built, I’m going to church with Adele and the girls. That’ll give me a day off.”

Pop shuffled after them, pulling his beard. “Hee. That’s one way to do it.”

“This is our girl, Ellen,” Mom said to the guest, “and that’s Simon.”

“Hello there,” said Star. “Oh Mom, what a lovely table. You always set it so pretty.”

“You sit over here, Dan,” Mom said.

“I’ll sit where I usually do.” He was smiling stiffly.

“Well, Star, you take the chair by him.”

Dennie said grace. “God is great, God is good, bless us for our daily food.”

Grace shouted, “Zaccheus he. Did climb a tree. Our Lord to thee.”

“That’s enough,” threatened Sudduth.

They were pressing extra morsels on the girl in white. “Have some watermelon pickles,” Mom said. “Land o’ Goshen, it was two years ago we put them up.”

“I got thick on them,” Hannah lisped, “on my new thpring coat.”

“Hannah,” Pop shouted.

“You’re always saying speak up,” Dan reminded him, “so you ought to let her alone.”

“That’s right.” Pop clattered his knife. “Speak up.”

“And it won’t come out of the coat, neither,” Grace said shyly.

“Girls,” Mom cried.

“Jesus, my back hurts.” Sudduth fidgeted in his chair.

Dan and Star were sitting near Mom at one end of the table. Star would turn her face sidewise, appealing, “Don’t you agree, Dannie?”

Sudduth was saying, “I’m trying to buy a piece of our neighbor’s land, Star. Near where my house’ll be. If I get it, this farm’ll total a hundred and ten acres.”

“That’s a lot,” Star’s fork was poised, “don’t you think, Dannie?”

“It’s Sudduth’s twenty acres,” Dan said, without looking at her.

“Oh.” Her mouth was round and pink. She set the fork down, the food untouched, put her napkin to her lips. “Did you fry the chicken, miss?” she asked Ellen. “It’s delicious. Isn’t it, Dannie?” The lilac scent was floating through the open window behind her.

“Yes, I did.” Ellen was blushing, resentment like a knot in her chest.

“Her name’s Ellen, Star,” Dan said, “you just met her.”

“You think I’ll ever make chicken like this, Dannie?” The girl’s laughter was the bright tinkle of a bell. “Will you teach me, Ellen?”

Mom said, “Oh, you’ll catch on easy enough.”

“Why should she teach you?” Dan’s voice was deliberate, matter-of-fact.

“Oh, I never cooked a chicken.”

“Well, why her? Your mama can teach you.” He laughed, abrupt.

“Dannie. Don’t fuss.” The white dress was cut in a square neckline. Her eyes bloomed innocent.

“No, I want to know. Why?” His underlip was jutting out, his smile had set. The mark on his cheek was dark, and his palms were on the table where he leaned.

“Dan. Star’s our company. Land.” Mom reproved him, fingering the brooch at her breast.

“Now there,” Pop cried, and the children, sensing the tenseness of their elders, looked from one to another.

“Well? Can’t you answer?”

Star’s little mouth quivered. “I’ll ask Mama to.”

“Dan, will you behave? He doesn’t mean it, Star.” Mom shook her head. “Ellen, run get the dessert. You want to help them clear, Star?”

“Oh, I do.” The girl took up her plate and Dan’s.

Adele shoved her chair back so it squeaked, and Ellen noted that she pinched Sudduth’s shoulder as she passed him. This is one of those times Adele’s glad she’s got Sudduth. Ellen was moving rapidly, clearing dishes and brushing the crumbs. She cut the pies and brought them in silver holders to set before Mom. She went into the kitchen, and while cobbler wedges were passed down on small china dishes, Ellen was filling the flowered white cups with coffee and carrying them around.

“I love this pattern.” Mom appraised her cup. “It’s Wreaths of Roses. And the set’s complete like the day I got it. I’ve held on to it. Even through the bad years. And not a one’s been broken.”

Ellen set Dan’s coffee by him. He looked up, his eyes flinty, his thin mouth cruel. He doesn’t even see me. He muttered, “Now serve proper from the right, Ellen. And take care with Mom’s china.”

“We bought them in nineteen ten,” Mom went on, ignoring him, “I remember just as clear.”

“Can we have more pie?” Dennie asked.

“They’re awful pretty, you know?” Star admired her cup.

“More, more,” the children were shouting. “Pleathe.”

“You weren’t even born yet, Star,” Mom said.

“All you can hold,” Pop decided. “Fill those kids up.”

They were pushing back their chairs. Sudduth lit a cigar and Pop took one, too. Simon groaned, holding his stomach, “Oh, this is heaven.”

“Simon, you mind what I said,” Ellen warned. She was piling the cups and saucers, carrying them out.

“Why don’t you roll one, Uncle Dan?” Dennie inquired gravely.

“No thanks,” Dan told him.

“Go on into the living room, all of you,” Mom said. “We girls will be done in a jiffy. Go on, Star.”

“It was just lovely, Mom.” Star hugged her about the waist. “And that peach pie was delicious.”

“I don’t know what gets into him,” Mom whispered, “but don’t pay him any mind. He was just hungry.”

“Dannie’s a grouch.” Star ran out lightly.

When they had nearly finished in the kitchen, as Ellen was saying, “Do go along, Mom. Adele and me’ll redd up the rest,” they heard the truck roar, saw it spinning down the driveway in the light of dusk.

“There,” Mom said. “I’m mortified. I thought we were going to sit and talk. Dan was going to play for us, and Star could sing.”

“Well,” said Adele, “I was shocked. Treating a guest like that.” Mom stepped into the other room to replace the shining goblets, and Adele said softly, “That was a fine example to set for young children.”

“He was really raising sand,” Ellen admitted.

“Dan can’t bear it that she’s so useless, Ellen. You know Websters have a maid. Lord knows when she gets up of a morning.”

“I know. You already told me.”

“I’ll be glad,” Adele said brightly to Mom as she entered, “to have our house finished. And I’ll have this baby in October.”

The family trooped out to stand looking at the blooming lilacs. The children scuffled with each other without purpose. After a while as dark drifted, they all went in. Mom pressed her hands on the piano keys, discordant. She prodded Dennie, “Can’t you play a piece, Dennie? You know some.”

“I’m tired.” The boy’s eyes were heavy.

“I could put a record on the victrola, Mom,” Adele suggested.

“No.” Mom was walking to the windows, looking into the shadowed yard.

“What’s everyone waiting for?” Simon inquired sleepily.

Mom sighed. “Let’s go to bed.”

Ellen followed the others upstairs, avoiding any intrusion on her thoughts. She undressed, turned off the light. Sounds died in the house, all was still. She was sitting on the wide window sill. The lilac odor wafted up, her feet were cold. She felt the constriction in her throat, wondered if she would cry soon. She imagined Star lying dead somewhere. Mutilated. What a small baby she is. But Star’s white beauty came back, the immaculate dress and gloves, the big hat she swung in her hand, dainty, laughing, tipping her head up at Dan. She’ll make him forget me. The night hours, weighted, were passing. The silence was marred occasionally by a creaking rafter or a settling floor beam. In a distant meadow the whistle of a whippoorwill was echoing. It was nearly three when he returned. The boards of the rack on the truck rattled and slammed. The gravel crunched. The kitchen door clattered. His tread sounded on the stairs, it stopped outside her doorway. She held her breath until the steps went on down the hall.

She was awake before dawn, in the cellar sorting clothes into ragged heaps. The wash boiler steamed on the range. She dropped clothes into the chugging electric machine, and let them beat while she hung those she had run through the automatic wringer. She took up the basket, piled high with white sheets. A narrow stone stairway led outside through sloping double doors. They were open and pallid sun rays crawled into hidden dark corners. She was going up into the sunlight. The grass was wet, an early bluebird darted to a fence wire and clung there, “Purity!” It vanished into the high leaves of the oak. At breakfast her dress was darkened in front from suds and water that had splashed; grass stems were caught between her toes. Her hair was brushed and coiled high. She moved lissome about the kitchen, looking at Dan’s black head bent surly over his food.

“Ellen’s going barefoot,” Grace was crying. “Can I?”

“I only did it,” Ellen explained, “to save my shoes from the wet. You’d catch cold.”

“Ellen’s right,” Adele agreed.

“When I’m growed, I’ll do it,” Hannah said.

“I’ll warm the tractor up, Sudduth.” Dan spoke brusque, grease streaked on his browned arms and neck. “We’ll grind cobs as soon as you’re ready.” He was rushing out. Ellen saw him from the window. He had stopped under the oak to light his cigarette, glancing at the clothes strung on the line. She wondered if he saw the freshness of the grass or heard the bird.

A week had gone. Ellen was grubbing on her knees in the flower beds along the side of the house. During the days the strain between Dan and Mom had been clear to the others. Dan refused to play the piano, Mom sat mending, her mouth unhappy. Only Sudduth was more talkative in the evenings; he would engage Pop and Adele in long good-natured arguments. Ellen was digging into the dirt now, vigorous. Mom’s voice came shrill from one of the windows above. Ellen held her trowel motionless. “But she expects you to. Star loves you.” Dan’s voice muttered and Mom was shouting again, “Who do you want then? That hill-woman? What’s the matter with you, Dan?”

“Shut up, Mom. Will you?”

“You’ve got a chance here of a marriage that’s the best in the county. Land. You ought to get on your knees and thank God a family like Websters took up with poor Polacks like us.”

“Dammit, you forget we’ve got some of the best black soil there is. That’s better than money in a bank. A family like Websters. You sound like some cockeyed book. Now look, I told Star we’re finished. She’s got it through her head. That’s the last I’m going to hear about it in this house. It’s none of your business.”

“Oh, it’s not?”

“No, dammit.”

“It’s that hill-woman.”

“Will you stop calling her that hill-woman like she’s a tramp and not decent?”

The sawed-off hoe was poised in Ellen’s hand. A door slammed. Later when Mom came to see how her work was coming on, there was no sign of the quarrel in her voice. “You think it’s too shady here for asters, Ellen?” The skin was tight around Mom’s eyes and her lips curved downwards.

“Marigolds might do better,” Ellen suggested. And when she met Dan, as she was coming from the hen house with a basket of eggs, she sought his eyes. He frowned, feeling her gaze. “Hell, I’ve got the milking.” He strode away. She was walking back to the house, thoughtful.

The lilacs that night, on the wane after their peak, were spilling forth a dulcet fragrance. In a few days they would be gone, withered. Ellen was seated in the long window of her room, studying the sky. There was a quarter moon, it was near midnight. She was restless and sighed on the shadows. All at once a red point came and went in the dark under one of the oaks in the yard. She raised her head quickly, seeing it. Her mind explored it. The figure had been there all the time, outlined vaguely against the trunk. As she watched it, her blood began to beat dully into the lilac scent. Then she was slipping into a dress swiftly and closing her room door. She went down the stairs one at a time, and lingered. At the kitchen door she turned around, hesitant, trembling. But then she was going out, languorous, into the night.

He still leaned unmoving, against the oak. His features were dissolved into the dark moonlight. She smelled the burning tobacco, saw the scarlet coal. “Hi, Ellen.”

She whispered, “What is it, Dan?” Pausing, she had blended to the night, a part of the grass, pliant.

He shifted sharply and threw aside the stub, moved away from the tree hole. She went unerring into his lean arms. In a little while he was putting his hands in her hair that was nearly without color, bluish in the light of the small piece of moon. “Always I’ve been waiting for you, Ellen.”

She looked at the crag of his nose, the etched bold face. “There. You’re like a hawk. I love you.”

“Half made, half a man. Waiting for you. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“No, you don’t. You’re a woman. You don’t understand at all.”

“Well.”

“You’re what I need. You make me complete. I want to do all things for you.” He was poised above her.

“I know.”