turning about. "Two bridesmaids of each color, getting paler and paler, and then Shelley in flesh. She's my maid of honor."
"Of course," sighed Aunt Primrose.
"The Hipless Wonder," said India. "Her sweater belts go lower than anybody in
Virginia's.
"
"Why, India."
"Then me in pure white," Dabney said. "Everything's from Memphis, but nothing's come."
"But if it does come, it will all be exquisite, honey," said Aunt Primrose a little dimly.
"Everything's from Memphis but me. I have Mama's veil and Mashula's train—I could hold a little flower from your yard, couldn't I?"
But both aunts looked a little gravely into her swaying glance.
"Who are the bridesmaids, Dabney, dear?" Aunt Jim Allen called out.
"Those fast girls I run with," said Dabney irresistibly. "The ones that dance all night barefooted..."
"Child!"
"She was just teasing," India said.
"Won't she take our present?" Aunt Primrose began to fan herself a little with the palmetto fan she had bound in black velvet so that when anyone wanted to pull it apart it couldn't be done.
"I hate to—I hate to take something you love!"
"Fiddlesticks!"
"We've never really
seen
Troy," Aunt Jim Allen said faintly. She did sound actually frightened of Troy. "Not close
to
—you know." She indicated the walls of the green-lit parlor with her little ringed finger.
"You'll
have
to see him at the wedding," India told her loudly. "He has red hair and cat eyes and a
mus
tache."
"I'm going to have him trim that off, when we are married," said Dabney gravely.
"It's not as if you were going out of the Delta, of course," Aunt Jim Allen said, looking bemused from her little deaf perch on the sofa. "Now it's time you chose something."
Dabney stopped, and her hand reached out and touched a round flower bowl on the table in front of her. It was there between the two china retrievers—was it the little bunny in one mouth that looked like Aunt Jim Allen, and the little partridge in the other that was Aunt Primrose? "I'd love a flower bowl," she said.
"You didn't take the prettiest," warned India.
Both aunts rose to see.
"No, no! No, indeed, you'll not take that trifling little thing! It's nothing but plain glass!"
"It came from Fairchild's Store!"
"Now you'll take something better than that, missy, something
we'd
want you to have," declared Aunt Primrose. She marched almost stiffly around the room, frowning at all precious possessions. Then she gave a low croon.
"The night light! She must have the little night light!" She stood still, pointing.
It was what they had all come to see when they were little—the bribe.
"Oh, I couldn't." Dabney drew back, holding the flower bowl in front of her.
"Put that down, child. She must have the night light, Jim Allen," said Aunt Primrose, raising her small voice a clear octave. "Dabney shall have it. It's company. That's what it is. That little light, it was company as early as I can remember—when Papa and Mama died."
"As early as
I
can remember," said Aunt Jim Allen, making her little joke about being the older sister.
"Dabney, Dabney, they're giving you the night light," whispered India, pulling at her sister's hand in a kind of anguish.
"I love it." Dabney ran up and kissed them both and gave them both a big hug to make up for waiting like that.
"And Aunt Mashula loved it—that waited for Uncle George, waited for him to come home from the Civil War till the lightning one early morning stamped her picture on the windowpane.
You've
seen it, India, it's
her
ghost you hear when you spend the night, breaking the window and crying up the bayou, and it's not an Indian maid, for what would she be doing, breaking our window to get out? The Indian maid would be crying nearer your place, where the mound is, if
she
cried."
"Jim Allen wants all the ghosts kept straight," said Aunt Primrose, flicking a bit of thread from her sister's dress.
"When did that Uncle George come back?" asked India.
"He never came back," said Aunt Primrose.
"Of course," sighed Aunt Primrose.
"The Hipless Wonder," said India. "Her sweater belts go lower than anybody in
Virginia's.
"
"Why, India."
"Then me in pure white," Dabney said. "Everything's from Memphis, but nothing's come."
"But if it does come, it will all be exquisite, honey," said Aunt Primrose a little dimly.
"Everything's from Memphis but me. I have Mama's veil and Mashula's train—I could hold a little flower from your yard, couldn't I?"
But both aunts looked a little gravely into her swaying glance.
"Who are the bridesmaids, Dabney, dear?" Aunt Jim Allen called out.
"Those fast girls I run with," said Dabney irresistibly. "The ones that dance all night barefooted..."
"Child!"
"She was just teasing," India said.
"Won't she take our present?" Aunt Primrose began to fan herself a little with the palmetto fan she had bound in black velvet so that when anyone wanted to pull it apart it couldn't be done.
"I hate to—I hate to take something you love!"
"Fiddlesticks!"
"We've never really
seen
Troy," Aunt Jim Allen said faintly. She did sound actually frightened of Troy. "Not close
to
—you know." She indicated the walls of the green-lit parlor with her little ringed finger.
"You'll
have
to see him at the wedding," India told her loudly. "He has red hair and cat eyes and a
mus
tache."
"I'm going to have him trim that off, when we are married," said Dabney gravely.
"It's not as if you were going out of the Delta, of course," Aunt Jim Allen said, looking bemused from her little deaf perch on the sofa. "Now it's time you chose something."
Dabney stopped, and her hand reached out and touched a round flower bowl on the table in front of her. It was there between the two china retrievers—was it the little bunny in one mouth that looked like Aunt Jim Allen, and the little partridge in the other that was Aunt Primrose? "I'd love a flower bowl," she said.
"You didn't take the prettiest," warned India.
Both aunts rose to see.
"No, no! No, indeed, you'll not take that trifling little thing! It's nothing but plain glass!"
"It came from Fairchild's Store!"
"Now you'll take something better than that, missy, something
we'd
want you to have," declared Aunt Primrose. She marched almost stiffly around the room, frowning at all precious possessions. Then she gave a low croon.
"The night light! She must have the little night light!" She stood still, pointing.
It was what they had all come to see when they were little—the bribe.
"Oh, I couldn't." Dabney drew back, holding the flower bowl in front of her.
"Put that down, child. She must have the night light, Jim Allen," said Aunt Primrose, raising her small voice a clear octave. "Dabney shall have it. It's company. That's what it is. That little light, it was company as early as I can remember—when Papa and Mama died."
"As early as
I
can remember," said Aunt Jim Allen, making her little joke about being the older sister.
"Dabney, Dabney, they're giving you the night light," whispered India, pulling at her sister's hand in a kind of anguish.
"I love it." Dabney ran up and kissed them both and gave them both a big hug to make up for waiting like that.
"And Aunt Mashula loved it—that waited for Uncle George, waited for him to come home from the Civil War till the lightning one early morning stamped her picture on the windowpane.
You've
seen it, India, it's
her
ghost you hear when you spend the night, breaking the window and crying up the bayou, and it's not an Indian maid, for what would she be doing, breaking our window to get out? The Indian maid would be crying nearer your place, where the mound is, if
she
cried."
"Jim Allen wants all the ghosts kept straight," said Aunt Primrose, flicking a bit of thread from her sister's dress.
"When did that Uncle George come back?" asked India.
"He never came back," said Aunt Primrose.
Similar Books
