The Silver Shoes

by Jill G. Hall

  She sipped her juice and put down the glass. “How could you leave me alone with Mr. Parker?”

  Her father looked up from his plate. “Don’t you like him?”

  “Do you?”

  Her father smiled. “He’s a fine young man.”

  “He’s not young at all.”

  “He’s only thirty-five.”

  She tried to keep her voice calm. “Only? He’s twice my age.”

  “You two have a lot in common.”

  “We do? What?”

  “Music.” Her father nodded.

  “But he can’t even carry a tune.” Her hands pleaded with him.

  Her father frowned and spread marmalade on his toast. “He tries.”

  “He’s not very smart.”

  “Nonsense, he has promise.” Her father used his knife for emphasis.

  “Yes, promise to bore me to death.”

  “Clair!”

  “What do you mean by promise?”

  “He’s very wealthy.”

  “What’s that got to do with it? You’ve always said we have plenty.”

  Her father paused and studied her. “He could take care of you if anything ever happened to me.”

  Her hand went to her chest, and tears filled her eyes. “Nothing will happen to you.” She had a strong desire to put her arms around him.

  He shrugged. “Life is full of the unexpected.”

  She knew this was true. She paused. “But I’m too young to marry.”

  “Balderdash! Plenty of girls your age have wed.”

  “Maybe I would rather be a spinster like Aunt June.”

  He blinked and looked down at his plate. “June is different.”

  “In what way?”

  “Never mind.” He shook his head.

  “But I’m not ready.”

  He raised his voice. “You will be ready when I say you will. He has requested to escort you out tomorrow evening, and you’ll go.”

  She tried to reply, but the words wouldn’t come. How could her father force her to step out with such a nincompoop, let alone marry him? It cut her to the core.

  “Give him a chance.” His eyes softened. “For me.”

  She clenched her hands together in her lap and bowed her head as if in prayer, but inside she roiled. “Yes, Father.”

  When she was young, he’d take her to the park and say, “Stay close.” Even though she longed to run to the top of the rocks or along the grassy slopes to the other end of the verdant open spaces, she always obeyed. Flying kites, he’d let her hold the ball of string and tug on it. She’d wish it could go all the way to the moon or maybe up to heaven to see her mama.

  Now he wiped his mouth with a napkin, walked over, and kissed her on her head. “There’s a good Raffie. I’ll be home early today.”

  Clair was glad she was meeting Aunt June for tea that afternoon. They hadn’t seen each other since the ball and had a lot to talk about. Hopefully Aunt June would be able to give Clair some guidance. She took her time getting ready in a pale-pink frock with a hat to match and walked over to The Plaza.

  The opulent tearoom surrounded her in marigold-and-French-blue damask. A stained-glass ceiling swirled above. Clair spotted her aunt at a corner table next to a giant bouquet of roses, freesia, and baby’s breath. Waving off the maître d’, Clair crossed the room in a gaited rhythm with the pianist playing a Strauss waltz. A waiter carrying a tray laden with sweet-smelling confections passed by her, and she resisted the urge to reach out for a meringue and pop it in her mouth.

  Aunt June stood. Her bi-corner hat with the bow on the side folded up in front to reveal her lovely face. “It’s been ages.” She gave Clair a hug and they both sat.

  Though considered an old maid at almost forty, Aunt June still had a charm about her. Not glamorous, but attractive, with a healthy figure. A thousand suitors had probably proposed to her in her day. She stayed active in civic events, and seemed contented with that and her teaching, but Clair always wondered why she’d never married.

  A waiter delivered a teapot to their table and left. Clair listened to the pianist’s étude for a few moments. “I need your help . . .”

  “What is it, darling?”

  “Father has decided I should marry Farley.”

  Aunt June opened her brown doe eyes wide. “That big talker from the ball?”

  “Yes.” Clair nodded.

  “That’s preposterous!” her aunt blurted out, then clasped a hand over her mouth.

  A large woman sitting behind Aunt June in a pheasant-feather hat turned and stared, then leaned and whispered to the others at her table. The hat had a bird’s nest with robins’ eggs in it. Winnie would love it, but Clair wondered what the Audubon Society would think of all that plumage. They had recently helped pass laws for bird protection.

  The waiter returned, lifted the teapot lid, peeked inside, poured a cup for each of them, and stepped away. Clair absentmindedly dropped three sugar cubes into her cup instead of her usual one and stirred, the spoon rattling against the dainty white porcelain.

  “I don’t want to marry anyone now, let alone Farley. Remember Father had agreed I could go to Juilliard in the fall? But now he has said no, that I should wait until after I get married. What if my husband won’t let me? Will you please talk to Father?”

  “He probably won’t listen to me.”

  “But you’ve always told me how important your Barnard degree was.”

  “Yes, without it I couldn’t teach. Which was my calling.”

  “I just have to go to college, too, and be the best musician I can be. Please try to help me convince him.”

  “You know him. Once he’s made up his mind, it’s hard to change it. I’ll try, though.”

  Clair fingered the edges of her cup and found the nerve to ask, “Why don’t you get along with Father?”

  Aunt June hesitated. “Long ago we seemed to agree on everything. But now we don’t agree on much. Take, for instance, the Volstead Act. I’m working hard to repeal it. It’s made the whole country more dangerous.”

  “But Father says alcohol is the devil’s drink.”

  “Pshaw!” Aunt June blew air out. “I’ve had a few nips in my time, dear, and the devil hasn’t gotten me and I’m still going to heaven.”

  Shocked, Clair paused, then whispered. “I confess, I’ve had a few, too.”

  Aunt June smiled. “And?”

  “After a while I felt as if all my troubles had gone away.”

  “And did you dance, too?”

  Clair nodded and took a sip of tea.

  Aunt June laughed, “Good for you! Did you enjoy it?”

  The relief of sharing this secret made Clair’s whole body relax. “I guess so.”

  Aunt June tilted her head. “Not sure?”

  “It was wonderful!” Clair raised her hands and shook them in a Charleston rhythm. She caught herself when the ladies at the next table turned to stare.

  “Be careful though. It sounds as if you’ve been to a speakeasy, and they can be dangerous places.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ve decided never to go back.”

  “That’s probably for the best.” Aunt June frowned. “Now to the problem at hand, Farley. Why does your father want you to marry him?”

  “Father says he’ll provide for me.” Clair pulled an embroidered handkerchief from her purse and dabbed at tears.

  Aunt June squinted. “How does he make his money?”

  “He only says ‘industry.’ I’m not sure what kind.”

  “I only met him that one night, but he sure does blow his own horn. We must find a way for you to go to college before marrying.”

  “Father seems so down lately. I hate to disappoint him.”

  Aunt June sat back. “It’s the market, dear. Soothsayers are predicting a dive.”

  Clair looked around at the exquisitely dressed diners eating luscious food in the lavish setting. It seemed as if money grew on trees and would never go away.

  �
��He must be worried.” Clair frowned.

  “Even so, you need to be brave and convince him you aren’t ready to marry.”

  The waiter delivered the sandwiches, scones, and sweets—all artistically arranged on a tiered tray. Aunt June helped herself to a cucumber sandwich. Clair started to reach for a cookie but then stopped herself. She had to follow the correct protocol. One must eat from the top to the bottom: sandwiches, scones, then sweets.

  Clair nibbled on a quail-egg sandwich. “I agree.”

  Aunt June smiled at her. “When you’re ready, you should marry for love.”

  “How can you say that if you’ve never loved a man?”

  Her aunt looked into her teacup as if reading the leaves. “I did once, long ago.”

  Clair saw her aunt with fresh eyes. “I never knew that.”

  “The course of true love never did run smooth.” Aunt June sighed.

  “What happened?” Clair hated to pry, but she couldn’t help it.

  “I believed he loved me, too.” Her aunt paused. “But . . . something happened, and I realized he never had.”

  “That’s so sad.”

  “Yes. Very.” Aunt June nodded and looked down to spread lemon curd on a scone. “But it was a long time ago.”

  Clair leaned toward her. “Tell me more.”

  “My beau became . . .” Aunt June paused. “Let me say, distracted.”

  “How?”

  “I had been busy with the suffragist movement. I helped get women the right to vote, but lost my beloved in the process.”

  “But if you lost him, was he really your true love?”

  “Probably not.” Her aunt shook her head with downcast eyes. “But I do regret never being wed or having children of my own.”

  “You’ve always seemed happy.” Clair reached for her aunt’s hand.

  “Thank you. You are so kind.” Her aunt gazed at Clair. “I’ve been blessed to have you in my life.”

  “And I’ve been blessed to have you, too.” Clair nodded. “I need more of a purpose in life than kowtowing to a man. You did it, and so can I.”

  She folded her hands demurely in her lap, then grabbed a meringue with her fingers instead of using the tongs and gobbled it down.

  17

  Anne had rendezvoused with Sergio at the Detroit airport and rented a car. After three hours heading north on US-23, she came to her favorite part of the drive. Beach cabins dotted the roadsides, and glimpses of Lake Huron showed between breaks in the pines and sycamores. She glanced over to see if Sergio had noticed the change in scenery, but he had drifted off to sleep.

  She let him snooze a while longer, then touched his shoulder gently. “We’ll be there in less than an hour.”

  He yawned, opened his eyes, and smiled. “I can’t wait to meet your family.”

  She hoped he’d like them and they wouldn’t be too hard on him. “I’m so happy you’re here with me. Look to your right—that’s Lake Huron. Keep your eyes peeled for a great blue heron.” She wished he’d begin to appreciate the natural setting.

  Sergio turned his head. “What do they look like?”

  “They’re very tall with gray feathers and a question-mark neck.”

  “I’ll spot one for us.” He rolled up his hands and put them over his eyes like binoculars. “If you love it so much here, why did you move away?”

  “It’s not reality. I need big-city energy to do my work.”

  “I’d think it would be the opposite.”

  “I know. Strange, huh?” She shrugged.

  “Maybe you should journal about that.”

  “I think I will.” She liked that Sergio appreciated her journaling. Karl, her last boyfriend, had teased her about it.

  The sun began to slowly shift toward the west. “We’re almost there. Please don’t mention anything about moving in together.”

  Sergio gaped at her. “You haven’t told them?”

  “I’d rather wait until our plans are firm.” Anne eyed him for a reaction.

  He nodded and pulled down the visor, tying his hair back into a neat ponytail.

  In their last phone conversation, she’d told him she quit her job and reminded him that she had a new lease to sign. But he hadn’t bitten.

  It was eight o’clock and beginning to grow dark when she turned onto Maple Lane, cruised two blocks, and parked in front of the two-story Craftsman. Hydrangeas bloomed in the garden, and the maple tree in front of Anne’s gable window upstairs had sprouted bright-green leaves. Her mother’s sign—“Avon’s Skin So Soft Sold Here”—had been stuck in the freshly mowed lawn.

  Her mom came out onto the porch and greeted them dressed in her baby-blue “power” pantsuit, with full-on makeup and freshly blow-dried hair. Anne liked that she was trying her best to impress and gave her a big hug. Every time Anne came home, she realized how much she loved and missed her mom.

  Her hands on Sergio’s shoulders, her mom looked up into his eyes. “I’m delighted to finally meet you.”

  “Me, too, Mrs. McFarland.” He kissed both her cheeks.

  She hesitated, then kissed him on both cheeks, too.

  He handed her the bouquet they had picked up at a party store on the highway.

  “You are so sweet!” She took the flowers and kissed him again.

  So far, so good.

  “Come on in,” she said as they followed her through the screen door and into the kitchen. “Wash up, I’ve got a snack ready. Anne, get yourselves some pop in the fridge.”

  Anne handed Sergio a cherry cola and took a Diet Coke for herself. They sat while her mother put the flowers in a vase.

  He mouthed to Anne, Any wine?

  She shook her head no. Sorry.

  He opened the cherry-cola can, took a sip, and grimaced. She traded him for her diet cola and he smiled at her.

  Her mother pulled a giant platter out of the fridge, took off the Saran Wrap, and set it in the center of the table, then handed out paper plates and sat down. Anne observed his reaction to the baloney and Velveeta cheese sandwiches.

  He chewed slowly, swallowed, and drank some pop as her mother pelted him with a gazillion questions. “Where are you from? Tell me about your family. Is Anne your first serious girlfriend? Tomorrow morning Anne can take you on the nickel tour. Afterward we’re meeting the family at her favorite fine-dining establishment.”

  Anne laughed. “Tait’s Bill of Fare is the only fine dining in town.” Not wanting her mother to feel bad about forgetting Anne didn’t eat meat, she took the baloney out of her bread and hid it under the potato chips on her plate.

  Sergio stretched his shoulders and rolled his head. “Let’s take a yoga class, too.”

  “I’m surprised you didn’t bring your mat with you on the plane,” Anne teased.

  Her mother stretched her arms overhead. “I’ve been thinking of trying it, too. There’s a new studio in the old yogurt place.”

  Anne smiled in relief. There hadn’t been a yoga studio in town before. “We’ll check it out tomorrow.”

  Sergio nodded. “Sounds good.”

  “I could stay up and visit all night, but you must be tired.” Anne’s mother led them into the living room and handed Sergio an armload of linens with a small wrapped present on top. “Here you go, and this is an Avon gentleman’s guest gift for you, too. It’s a bestseller.”

  “Thanks!” He gave Anne a look that asked, We don’t get to sleep together?

  She just smiled at him.

  “Nighty night. Sleep tight. Don’t let the bedbugs bite.” Her mother gave each of them a hug and kiss, and gazed at them. “I’m so glad you’re here. Feel free to watch the idiot box, but please keep the volume down.” She turned and climbed the stairs.

  “The what?” Sergio whispered as they sat on the plaid couch.

  “Idiot box. TV,” Anne said. “Open it.” She pointed to his gift.

  He removed the wrapping and read the label: “Musk Marine for Men. Bonus Size Roll-On Antiperspirant Deodorant. Th
is should last me for the rest of my life.” He pulled off the cap and sniffed. “Have you complained about my BO to your mother?”

  “A little.” Anne leaned over and smelled his neck, then kissed it.

  He put his arm around her. “Your mom is sweet.”

  “Yes, she is.”

  “Inquisitive.”

  “That, too. Wait until you meet the whole fam-damily.”

  He pointed to the pair of ducks mounted on the wall. “Quite the decor.”

  “Uncle Robert was a taxidermist.” Anne tried to see the living room how Sergio must, as outdated Midwestern.

  “Look how they’re staring at us.”

  Anne tossed a pillowcase over them. “You’ll sleep better this way.”

  Sergio laughed. “Thank you. Let’s check the yoga schedule.” He typed into his cell, then frowned. “I don’t seem to have cell service.”

  “It doesn’t always work here.”

  “What’s the Wi-Fi password?”

  “What Wi-Fi?” Anne smiled and shrugged.

  His eyes grew wide.

  “Let’s get your bed made.” They pulled out the hide-a-bed, making it up with sheets and a pink blanket.

  “It can be quite comfortable and cozy.”

  “Can’t you sleep here with me and get up early and run upstairs?

  She eyed the staircase. “Better not. I think Mom’s still awake.”

  He ran his hands over the bumpy surface with a grimace. She pulled him close and whispered, “See you later, alligator,” then clambered up the stairs to her bedroom.

  18

  The next morning after a pancake breakfast, Anne pulled her mom’s Ford Fairlane out of the garage.

  “Why aren’t we using the rental car?” Sergio asked.

  “I learned to drive in this baby and made a lot of memories in it.”

  “Did it in the back seat, huh?” he teased.

  She laughed. “Noooo!”

  He yawned and put his hand on her leg. “I slept pretty well considering the foldout and the fact you didn’t sneak down to visit me as promised.”

  The last time Anne peeked out of her room, her mom’s light had still been on. “Hopefully tonight.” Anne wiggled her eyebrows at him.