“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.