I had seen my father do, then waited while my mother followed suit.
“My brothers played cards with each other, but not with my father. My parents didn’t play games with their children.” Her perfect red nails clicked on the table as she placed each card down exactly as I did.
“Now you turn this one over. I win!” I shrieked as I struggled to gather up my winnings. In my triumph, I carelessly picked up my lineof questioning again. “At least not when they was in the Attic, right?” As soon as I said it, I could have kicked myself. I had just broken Ethel’s unspoken law. I braced myself for the reaction.
“What? Attic what are you...? Is it over?” she asked as she went to gather up all the cards. Her gold bracelets jingled while her long elegant nails clicked on the cards; her movement was at once both graceful and tense.
“No, we still have lots of cards.” Relieved, I let out a long slow breath. “See,” I pointed to our stacks. “Did you have any friends in the neighborhood you could play with?”
“We didn’t live in a neighborhood. We lived on a farm. Daddy had a good friend who lived on the next farm over. He had a daughter ten years older than me. She wasn’t much of a playmate.”
“Ethel lived there, didn’t she? You coulda played with her.”
“Ethel’s mother, Bertha, had worked for my parents for some years in the kitchen. I didn’t know Bertha like you know Ethel now. It was different then. All I remember of her was that she had a kind voice…” My mother’s voice trailed off as she played with the edges of the cards I dealt her, looking thoughtful. Finally, she continued, “I don’t remember meeting Ethel until just before I married your father. When she was a child, she worked at a boarding house. Later on she worked for another family, and then she came to work for your father and me.”
“I thought…” I started and then remembered that it was Ethel who told me “…uhh that you um played—that you and Ethel were friends like Lil’ Early and me.”
“I never played with Ethel. Where would you have heard such a thing?”
“I guess I just thought it up,” I lied knowing that Ethel told me that she had known my mother since she was a young girl.
After a double war that she won, my mother scooped up all of the cards and dealt out a game of solitaire. “Why don’t you go outside and play with your brother and sister?”
“It’s raining.”
“Well then don’t go outside.”
I left the room as the cards clicked on the table.
Before everything changed, my mother spent most of the day at luncheons or meetings or horseback riding with friends. Whatever she did took her away for most of the late morning and afternoon, and just before our dinnertime she would rush into the house, race upstairs and change into a pretty dress. She must have taken a bath first, but I don’t know how she had time. She always smelled sweet and flowery. Her gold bracelets jangled on her arm, and her lipstick was freshly applied like she was going to a party. It must have taken some serious time, but it seemed like magic. Her soft blonde hair would be done up in a chignon; pearls encircled her long graceful neck. One minute she was in a suit or riding clothes and then, as if her fairy godmother had waved a wand, she was all dressed up. She would greet my father in a cloud of sweet perfume with a drink and a kiss as he came in the door.
Usually, he entered with one, if not all three of us in tow. We would wrap ourselves around his legs and stand on his feet. He’d heave us all in the door while wondering out loud why it was so hard to walk. A favorite thing for us to do was to wait for him at the bottom of the driveway. As soon as his big, black Cadillac pulled into the drive, he’d throw open the door. We’d clamber onto the doorjamb, oftentimes before the car came to a full stop. He would hold us tightly while he slowly drove up to the house with the door wide open. The tiny
“My brothers played cards with each other, but not with my father. My parents didn’t play games with their children.” Her perfect red nails clicked on the table as she placed each card down exactly as I did.
“Now you turn this one over. I win!” I shrieked as I struggled to gather up my winnings. In my triumph, I carelessly picked up my lineof questioning again. “At least not when they was in the Attic, right?” As soon as I said it, I could have kicked myself. I had just broken Ethel’s unspoken law. I braced myself for the reaction.
“What? Attic what are you...? Is it over?” she asked as she went to gather up all the cards. Her gold bracelets jingled while her long elegant nails clicked on the cards; her movement was at once both graceful and tense.
“No, we still have lots of cards.” Relieved, I let out a long slow breath. “See,” I pointed to our stacks. “Did you have any friends in the neighborhood you could play with?”
“We didn’t live in a neighborhood. We lived on a farm. Daddy had a good friend who lived on the next farm over. He had a daughter ten years older than me. She wasn’t much of a playmate.”
“Ethel lived there, didn’t she? You coulda played with her.”
“Ethel’s mother, Bertha, had worked for my parents for some years in the kitchen. I didn’t know Bertha like you know Ethel now. It was different then. All I remember of her was that she had a kind voice…” My mother’s voice trailed off as she played with the edges of the cards I dealt her, looking thoughtful. Finally, she continued, “I don’t remember meeting Ethel until just before I married your father. When she was a child, she worked at a boarding house. Later on she worked for another family, and then she came to work for your father and me.”
“I thought…” I started and then remembered that it was Ethel who told me “…uhh that you um played—that you and Ethel were friends like Lil’ Early and me.”
“I never played with Ethel. Where would you have heard such a thing?”
“I guess I just thought it up,” I lied knowing that Ethel told me that she had known my mother since she was a young girl.
After a double war that she won, my mother scooped up all of the cards and dealt out a game of solitaire. “Why don’t you go outside and play with your brother and sister?”
“It’s raining.”
“Well then don’t go outside.”
I left the room as the cards clicked on the table.
Before everything changed, my mother spent most of the day at luncheons or meetings or horseback riding with friends. Whatever she did took her away for most of the late morning and afternoon, and just before our dinnertime she would rush into the house, race upstairs and change into a pretty dress. She must have taken a bath first, but I don’t know how she had time. She always smelled sweet and flowery. Her gold bracelets jangled on her arm, and her lipstick was freshly applied like she was going to a party. It must have taken some serious time, but it seemed like magic. Her soft blonde hair would be done up in a chignon; pearls encircled her long graceful neck. One minute she was in a suit or riding clothes and then, as if her fairy godmother had waved a wand, she was all dressed up. She would greet my father in a cloud of sweet perfume with a drink and a kiss as he came in the door.
Usually, he entered with one, if not all three of us in tow. We would wrap ourselves around his legs and stand on his feet. He’d heave us all in the door while wondering out loud why it was so hard to walk. A favorite thing for us to do was to wait for him at the bottom of the driveway. As soon as his big, black Cadillac pulled into the drive, he’d throw open the door. We’d clamber onto the doorjamb, oftentimes before the car came to a full stop. He would hold us tightly while he slowly drove up to the house with the door wide open. The tiny
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