never even heard of the Chastain sisters, who weren’t sisters at all. It was a scandalous Boston marriage, and they were run out of town on a rail when they were found out.”
“A Boston marriage? I don’t know what that is, but I think you’ve got this all wrong.”
She pushes me out into the hallway and closes the door behind her so the boys can’t hear what she has to say. “Two women. Living together. Not sisters.” I cock my head to the side. Why do I feel like she’s getting ready to wash my mouth out with soap? “Lovers,” she hisses.
“Oh.” I nod blankly. “
Oh.
No, not at all like that. I mean I’m not that kind of girl. I even have a date tonight. With Frank Darling.”
“I know you’re not,” she says, her voice a little softer. “But people will talk. As much as I am not that kind of girl either, I’m stuck here until someone is crazy enough to marry me. And my boys.”
I see her tears, the desperation I had expected to see from a woman in her position, but haven’t until now.
“Claire, you’re beautiful—”
She shakes her head and looks down at her hands. Her nails are bitten down to the quick. “Mr. Stanley has a pension.”
I shake my head. “No.” He’s old and smelly and passes gas when he walks.
“He’s made a proposal, of sorts.”
Her chin is resting on her chest. I can feel the hope seeping out of her. She’s actually considering this. Oh, God. “Claire. You can’t. You mustn’t. You’re young and beautiful, and he—well, he’s not.”
“You don’t know what it’s like, Vada.” She looks up at me with that kind smile that would melt the hearts of a thousand young men if it were her, just her. “I don’t regret marrying at fifteen, having my boys. But Bobby’s never coming back; I have to make a life for them.” Resignation is etched into fine lines that she’s too young and too beautiful to have. Nothing about this is right.
The doorbell rings. I hear Miss Mamie limping toward it, cursing under her breath but still loud enough for the whole house to hear.
“Your date?” Her smile is as genuine as she is. On the other side of the door, the older boys start to fuss. She raps softly on the door, and they are instantly silenced. “I hope you have a swell time. You look beautiful.” She gives me a quick hug and pulls away, her face so achingly sad.
“We’ll talk about this later, Claire.”
“What do you want?” Miss Mamie snaps at who I am sure is Frank. I can hear his soft laugh. He says something to her, but all I can make out is my name.
“You better go, Vada.” I nod, and just before she closes the door, she reaches for me. I can feel her longing and remember her face when I said I had a date, how for a sliver of a second she looked like a blushing schoolgirl full of hope and love. She lets go, and the resignation settles back onto her face. “Frank’s a swell guy. Have a good time.”
Does she know Frank? Does she want him? I suspect they are close to the same age, and yet he’d called her Widow Greeley, like she was ancient and that was actually her name.
“
Vada
,” Miss Mamie barks up the stairs.
“Coming,” I say. “Later, Claire. I promise.” But the door has already closed.
I hurry, almost tripping over Miss Mamie, who stands like a sentry at the bottom of the stairs so that I have to wait for her to move. Frank looks at me, and I want to melt. I can tell he’s trying too hard to keep a straight face in front of Miss Mamie. She finally steps aside, and he opens the front door for me.
As they walk toward the car, Frank’s hand brushes up against Vada’s, and he wants to reach for it, but he can feel the battle-ax watching them. Just the same, he looks toward the house as he closes the door of the Plymouth. Miss Mamie doesn’t make any pretense of hiding. She holds back the lace curtains in the parlor, staring him down. He gives her a nod, not a friendly one, mind you, and believes her and Joe Pike would make
“A Boston marriage? I don’t know what that is, but I think you’ve got this all wrong.”
She pushes me out into the hallway and closes the door behind her so the boys can’t hear what she has to say. “Two women. Living together. Not sisters.” I cock my head to the side. Why do I feel like she’s getting ready to wash my mouth out with soap? “Lovers,” she hisses.
“Oh.” I nod blankly. “
Oh.
No, not at all like that. I mean I’m not that kind of girl. I even have a date tonight. With Frank Darling.”
“I know you’re not,” she says, her voice a little softer. “But people will talk. As much as I am not that kind of girl either, I’m stuck here until someone is crazy enough to marry me. And my boys.”
I see her tears, the desperation I had expected to see from a woman in her position, but haven’t until now.
“Claire, you’re beautiful—”
She shakes her head and looks down at her hands. Her nails are bitten down to the quick. “Mr. Stanley has a pension.”
I shake my head. “No.” He’s old and smelly and passes gas when he walks.
“He’s made a proposal, of sorts.”
Her chin is resting on her chest. I can feel the hope seeping out of her. She’s actually considering this. Oh, God. “Claire. You can’t. You mustn’t. You’re young and beautiful, and he—well, he’s not.”
“You don’t know what it’s like, Vada.” She looks up at me with that kind smile that would melt the hearts of a thousand young men if it were her, just her. “I don’t regret marrying at fifteen, having my boys. But Bobby’s never coming back; I have to make a life for them.” Resignation is etched into fine lines that she’s too young and too beautiful to have. Nothing about this is right.
The doorbell rings. I hear Miss Mamie limping toward it, cursing under her breath but still loud enough for the whole house to hear.
“Your date?” Her smile is as genuine as she is. On the other side of the door, the older boys start to fuss. She raps softly on the door, and they are instantly silenced. “I hope you have a swell time. You look beautiful.” She gives me a quick hug and pulls away, her face so achingly sad.
“We’ll talk about this later, Claire.”
“What do you want?” Miss Mamie snaps at who I am sure is Frank. I can hear his soft laugh. He says something to her, but all I can make out is my name.
“You better go, Vada.” I nod, and just before she closes the door, she reaches for me. I can feel her longing and remember her face when I said I had a date, how for a sliver of a second she looked like a blushing schoolgirl full of hope and love. She lets go, and the resignation settles back onto her face. “Frank’s a swell guy. Have a good time.”
Does she know Frank? Does she want him? I suspect they are close to the same age, and yet he’d called her Widow Greeley, like she was ancient and that was actually her name.
“
Vada
,” Miss Mamie barks up the stairs.
“Coming,” I say. “Later, Claire. I promise.” But the door has already closed.
I hurry, almost tripping over Miss Mamie, who stands like a sentry at the bottom of the stairs so that I have to wait for her to move. Frank looks at me, and I want to melt. I can tell he’s trying too hard to keep a straight face in front of Miss Mamie. She finally steps aside, and he opens the front door for me.
As they walk toward the car, Frank’s hand brushes up against Vada’s, and he wants to reach for it, but he can feel the battle-ax watching them. Just the same, he looks toward the house as he closes the door of the Plymouth. Miss Mamie doesn’t make any pretense of hiding. She holds back the lace curtains in the parlor, staring him down. He gives her a nod, not a friendly one, mind you, and believes her and Joe Pike would make
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