Maria smoothed her fingers over a black crepe de Chine dress. Frankie ran to try on one of pink wool, to fling herself upon Garland while her father smoked in his chair, tracing her movements with a jealous eye. “E’er see the glass bowl-garden Frankie made me last summer, Gar?” he asked. “Hit’s setting in the bedroom window.”
* * * * *
Ellen was drying the breakfast dishes when Garland came into the room. He had on a bright striped jacket and brown corded jodhpurs. His gray hair was neat, his square jaw shaven. “Don’t you ever get tired of all this work, puss? You never get a change, hidden out on the farm here by yourself.”
“It’s my home, Uncle. And I love the earth and its doings. Sometimes in the summer it comes on such an hour like when the Lord God walked in the garden of Eden. Sometimes a wind passes o’er the earth that’s fair and all its bounty is spread before.” The wetness stood in her eyes as she was blurting it.
“I know, but you’ve got your future to think about. You should meet people. Get around. Your father dotes on Frankie too much, never gives a thought to you. It’s not right, you know.”
“It’s his way.”
“You got a boy friend?”
“No.” Water filled her eyes again.
Garland tapped the table. “It’s your father. Keeps you kids cloistered like a pair of nuns.”
Ellen was stacking the dried silver in the milkglass jar. She turned to him, desperation fringing her tones. “I would as lief go from the farm awhile, to see the world outside.”
“Course you would, sweet.” He was hearty. “That’s only normal. Now what chore comes next?”
“Tending my goats.” She was taking her coat from its hook. “Want to come?”
With the dog trailing after, they took the path over which Ellen had sped light in the summer past. She fed her does and was standing at the gate while they ate, her eyes absorbed. Garland smoked his cigarette, observing her a while. “How would you like to visit me in Chicago, sweet? Work’ll be light here till spring. They can get along without you.”
She breathed soft, “Pa’d not have it.”
“He doesn’t need you. Got your sister to keep him company.”
“He does so need me.”
“Well then, he can let you have a vacation.” He smiled. “Does he ever strap you now you’re a grown girl?”
“No, but I call to mind when I was a child and once Ma said I picked at a rhubarb pie from the pantry shelf. I ne’er knew of it being there. Pa cut a hickory, length of his arm, and beat me. Made me kneel. Said I lied. I won’t squall and that gets his back up.” She rubbed with her finger the area between the black stub horns of Rhodie, veiling her eyes. “Reckon I’d love to visit at your house.”
“Well, it’s high time. I’ll throw a party when you come. I’ll talk to Anton this afternoon. Tell him it’s only logical for you to be first since you’re the oldest. He’ll let you. You’ll see.” He was putting his arm around Ellen. She leaned against him with a sigh. “You’re a sweet girl, hon.” He kissed her, lingering on the young mouth.
Ellen decided not to say more to him now. I’ll wait till I’m at his house to tell him he must help me.
Anton wasn’t averse to Ellen’s journey. Garland had emphasized how he was making ready for Frankie’s arrival the next year, and he spoke of the money he planned to spend on her.
Maria said suddenly, “Who’ll do the trading if Ellie goes off?”
“Enough jawing on this,” cried Anton. “I’ll send Sam, ooman. Ellie’ll not be gone two-three weeks.”
Garland laughed, “Her turn comes first. You don’t mind, do you, Frankie?”
“Oh no, I want her to go. Maybe I could do the trading, Pa? Just while Ellie’s gone?”
“No, Poppet. Say, is she riding back with you in the auto?” Anton inquired.
“I guess not. No, I’ll be going by way of St. Louis. I’ve got some business to look after. Then I’ll drive on up and get the house in order. I’ve never gotten ready for one of these young ladies before.”
“She’s taking a train then?” Anton was persistent.
“This is my treat. I’m giving Ellen the ticket money. It’s an extra Christmas present.”
“Well. If you want,” Anton said, relieved.
Ellen stood by them pale, her eyes fastened to her uncle. He nodded, “Come the middle of January, puss. Leave here on the fifteenth. I know the train. There’s only one out of New Hope that goes to Chicago.”
“Yes, Uncle.”
“It’s foolishness.” Anton walked out.
Before Garland left, he came on Ellen alone, slipping her an envelope of money. “No need to mention this to your father. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Just tell him I gave you enough for your ticket.”
“All right, Uncle.” She held the extra money tightly in her apron pocket.
On the morning after New Year’s Day, Garland was jaunty in his yellow driving cap and raccoon coat. The girls were helping him carry his bags out to the Ford. Then he unfolded the hood, examined the interior. “That’ll do.” He fastened the hood down, removed the figured radiator cap and dipped a finger. “Water.”
Frankie brought a pail from the pump. “Can I do it?”
“No, this is fine.” He poured until it flowed over, replaced the cap, and opened the car door. “Here goes one more year.”
“Wish you’d stay on a while,” said Frankie.
“There,” Maria said, “I love that dress. I ne’er had a silk one before.”
“That’s crepe de Chine, Maria,” Garland laughed, “it’s the style.”
“It’s not silk, ooman,” Anton said, “that stuff’s too dear.”
“Yes, is it,” Garland said. “It’s one kind of silk. Well, here I go.” His gloved hand was waving from the window. The exhaust rose in a fog, dogging the car in the chill air.
The days sped. It was time for Ellen to leave. She had bought a length of dark heavy cloth with some of the money Garland had given her. She made it into a dress, cutting so it hung in loose folds on her hips. “I can feel where it lays hard in me. Soon the cleverest stitching won’t hide it.”
She had given Frankie the primrose bulb from Brinkers’ kitchen. “Hope it fares well. Keep in mind to feed it cold tea. And do tend my goats, Frankie.”
“You’re only going for a week or so, Ellie.”
“Uncle said I might stay a little longer.”
Ellen was bringing salt to her two does. They licked her hands, leaning affectionate against her. She knew the places they liked best to be rubbed, along the withers and between the horns, on the silken spots behind their small pricked ears, on their throats below the beards. “Frankie’s promised to care for you.”
Maria said, “Bye now. When you reckon Mester Gaddy’ll be back from taking you to Millville? I’m out of coffee.”
Frankie was kissing Ellen fondly. “It’ll be right lonely with you off there. I’ll miss your singing, too.” Frankie’s qualms for her own leavetaking a year hence were exposed when she viewed Ellen’s breakaway. “There. I’m that eager to go to Uncle’s myself.” But she whispered, plaintive, “Wish I was little again. What if it’s not fun like you think it’ll be, Ellie?”
“I ain’t afraid,” Ellen spoke stoutly as she stepped down to where the team waited; her tan coat was covering her new dress, she wore the blue satin hat. Jack was flattening his ears and going to sit amid the weeds on the bank to await her return.
Anton drove the buckwagon, Ellen on the railed seat beside him. At Love’s she would wait to catch a ride on the milk truck to New Hope. “You be a credit to me, girl. I don’t favor your idling about in that Zion. And you’ll not lust after young men, mind.” He was nodding. “So I told my brother.” He reined in the team outside the store. Ellen went in for Maria’s coffee. She handed it up to him. “I’ll see you in two weeks’ time. You can write and I’ll make a way to get you home.”
“Yes, Pa. Goodbye.” Ellen watched the buckboard until she could barely make out her father’s round hat.
In Love’s store, she was peering through the wide window. Stacey Love rocked, vigorous, by the stove. “Hit’s a far piece where you’re going.” Grady was chopping wood and the report of his ax was heard. “I always thought a heap of Mester Gaddy’s brother.” She placed a pinch of snuff between her lower lip and teeth. “Though I ne’er had no truck with another Yankee.”
Ellen kept silence, sickened with excitement and fear.
“You’re sure looking seedy, Ellen. I was telling Grady you seemed kind of pinched this winter.” Stacey swayed back and forth.
There was a noise at the door and Lily Garrett was pushing in, her curls springing about her soft face. “Well, hey you-all.”
“Wish I had a rich uncle,” Stacey went on quietly.
“Why, Ellie Gaddy,” the fat girl cried, “where you going all smartened up? And you got a new hat. Look at that rose.”
Ellen kept her back to them. She continued looking up the road, the pulse in her throat throbbing.
“Ellen’s leaving us poor folks, Lily. Going to the big city.”
“Oh, Mrs. Love,” whispered Ellen.
“My goodness,” cried Lily, “you ne’er told me.”
“Wish I could go visiting,” Stacey said, “lie around in bed of a morning.”
“You-all heard,” Lily called to Ellen, “Buck Lemmon and Sophie Goode wedded? Kept it a secret. It was at the husking bee they met up. How come you didn’t go to the bee, Ellie? Mandy declared you were going.”
Ellen looked around. “My pa wouldn’t suffer neither me or Frankie to go, Lily. That’s all.”