Rain

by Michael Mcdowel

  “It will be just family,” returned Elinor. “Since Michael isn’t here, we can’t very well ask anybody but family. There would be too many questions.”

  “You mean just have everybody for dinner one night, that’s all you mean?” Lilah asked, relieved.

  “Yes,” replied Elinor. “But just a bit more formal than usual. If you didn’t bring any, get Miriam to lend you some of her jewelry.”

  So Elinor Caskey planned a small family dinner party for the night before Lilah was to fly back to New York. Billy and Malcolm and Tommy Lee bought new black dinner jackets, and Grace and Lucille went to Pensacola and bought new gowns. The dining room table was to be set with Mary-Love’s wedding china, Elinor’s best cut-glass crystal, and a set of James’s silver that had been taken out of the house before it burned.

  No one knew why, but there was something melancholy about the preparations for this occasion. Perhaps it was the unwonted care that Elinor took with it, fussing over details in a fashion that wasn’t common with her. She sent Malcolm to New Orleans for a new tablecloth, and arranged for a florist to come up from Mobile to arrange the flowers on Friday morning. Zaddie and Luvadia and Melva were to serve, and each of these three black women got new gray uniforms just for that evening.

  “Elinor,” Billy asked curiously, seeing all this business afoot, “are you planning on something special?”

  “No,” Elinor replied after a few moments. “This is all just because we weren’t able to give Lilah a proper wedding…”

  Friday night came, and all that remained of the family gathered at Elinor’s. Malcolm arrived first and set up equipment needed to mix drinks, all such tasks long having fallen to his lot. Then Billy came downstairs to keep Malcolm company, and soon Lucille, Grace, and Tommy Lee arrived in their rarely driven Cadillac. Lucille, distressed by a new girdle, and Grace, a little unsure of her high heels, came up the front steps just as Elinor was coming down the stairs from the second floor. Miriam and Lilah came last, a strange pair making their way across the sandy yards in the refulgent Southern twilight; Miriam in purple velvet and diamonds and Lilah in green silk and emeralds.

  They mounted the front steps and went onto the porch. Miriam knocked softly on the screen door. Zaddie appeared in her new starched uniform and opened the door.

  “Evening, Miss Miriam. Evening, Miss Lilah.”

  “Evening, Zaddie,” returned Miriam. “Everybody here?”

  “Everybody here but you. And y’all sure are pretty tonight.”

  “Thank you,” said Lilah simply, and actually blushed for the compliment.

  Zaddie opened the doors of the front parlor, and Miriam marched directly in, saying, “Malcolm, have you fixed me a drink yet?”

  Lilah lingered a little behind Zaddie, and then, as if gathering her courage—or maybe realizing that courage should not be an issue when only in the midst of her own family—Lilah entered the room, and sat next to Tommy Lee on the couch.

  Zaddie and Luvadia then brought in two coolers with bottles of champagne. Malcolm opened the bottles and poured.

  At Elinor’s direction, Zaddie and Luvadia returned with Melva, and the three women stood in the doorway. They were given glasses of the champagne as well.

  “The first toast,” said Elinor, standing with her back to the front window, just in the place where Miriam remembered finding Mary-Love in her coffin, “is to Lilah, who is, at least for the time being, the last of the Caskeys. The next toasts will be to the Caskeys who have died. This party is as much in remembrance of them as it is in celebration of Lilah’s marriage. Lilah, I hope you don’t mind…”

  Lilah shook her head and smiled. “No, ma’am,” she said softly. “Not a bit.”

  The room was lighted softly, by candles and by sconces only. Was it that flattering illumination that made Lilah seem so suddenly altered, so softened?

  Elinor smiled and continued. “I want to toast Oscar,” said Elinor quite simply. “I don’t know if any of you—except for Billy and Zaddie—have realized how much I miss him, and how empty this house seems to be without him. Whenever I hear his radio upstairs, I have to stop myself from hoping that it is Oscar, sitting in his chair and turning the dial from one ball game to the other. I think to myself, ‘That’s Billy, that’s not Oscar.’ Mary-Love used to say that the reason I came to this town was in order to snare her son. She always said that I was lying in wait for him—and for nobody else—upstairs in the Osceola in the flood of 1919.” Elinor smiled. “Mary-Love was right. And this toast is for Oscar.”

  She raised her glass. They all raised their glasses, and drank off the champagne. Malcolm went quietly around, pouring more.

  “This next is for Sister,” Elinor went on, “whom we all loved, and whom Miriam loved most of all. Poor Sister! She was never allowed to do anything on her own, never allowed to have anything or feel anything that was hers alone. She loved or hated always in contrariness. She fought all of her life, and I don’t think any of us ever really knew how hard those battles were for her. Sister, more than anybody I think, got to the root of this family, because of all of us, she was the most desperate. She fought harder and she clung harder, and when she changed—in the end—she changed more than any of us could ever have imagined possible. She became Mary-Love all over again, the one she hated most, the one that she loved the most. She was unhappy all her life, desperately unhappy, and if she came back now, if she walked in those doors and had a chance to do it all over again, I know she’d say, ‘I want everything just the same.’ So here’s to Sister, whom I miss very, very much.”

  She raised her glass. They all raised their glasses, and again drank off the champagne.

  Elinor went on: “One more. Just one more. For James and Queenie and Mary-Love. All of you remember them as parents, and aunts and uncles, but I don’t. I remember them differently. For one thing, I was the only one who was able to fight with Mary-Love on an even basis. And I was the only one who ever won a fight with her. I’m not going to say I miss her. Miriam, I wouldn’t lie to you even about that. Her coffin stood right here, right where I’m standing. She died in the room directly above this one. I wasn’t one bit sorry at the time, and I’m not one bit sorry now. I know how unhappy she made Oscar, I know what she did to Sister. And, Miriam—you’re not going to appreciate my saying this—I know what she did to you.” Miriam sat stiffly, staring at Elinor, but not venturing to object. “I wonder sometimes if I made a mistake in giving you up to Mary-Love. Mary-Love and I fought and we fought hard—harder than most of you can imagine, even now—and Miriam, you got caught in the middle.”

  Elinor paused, as if she expected Miriam to speak.

  Miriam did so, but with obvious reluctance. “I’ve never really forgiven you, Mama, that’s true. I know we get along all right these days, but you’re so old— and I’m getting up there myself. I’ve got Mary-Love’s ring now, the one you stole off her when she was dead. And I managed to get Lilah away from you, and that made me feel better. But I don’t think I ever really forgave you, and I don’t think that I ever will.”

  “I know that,” said Elinor. “But the question is, if it could all be done over again right from the beginning, would you change anything?”

  “No,” replied Miriam, without hesitation. “Not a bit.”

  “Just like Sister,” murmured Grace. “Poor Sister.”

  “And poor James,” said Elinor, “and poor Queenie. Mary-Love walked all over James because James let her. Mary-Love couldn’t stand Queenie because Queenie was a Strickland, but she didn’t have Ge-nevieve’s class. I remember when Queenie came to town. Malcolm, you were a little boy—a mean little boy. And Lucille, you were a whiner. I never saw a child who cried more than you did. And all Queenie could think about was getting herself taken care of by James. But Queenie changed—and it was James’s doing—because James took her seriously, and I don’t think anybody had ever taken Queenie seriously before. Lucille, I hope you miss her.”

  “I do!” cried Luci
lle. “I sure do!”

  “I do, too,” said Malcolm.

  “And me, too,” said Tommy Lee.

  “And I miss Daddy,” sighed Grace.

  “Y’all,” cried Lucille, grasping Grace’s hand and wringing it tightly, “all this is making me so sad. Let’s don’t talk about it anymore. Let’s don’t talk about all the people who have died. I thought this was a party for Lilah, and Lilah’s getting married to what’s-his-name.”

  “Woskoboinikow,” said Lilah. “His name is Wos-koboinikow. And so is mine now. But you know what, Lucille?”

  “What?” said Lucille.

  “We all die,” said Lilah. “All of us. Every one of us in this room is going to die, sooner or later. Every one of us.”

  “But we don’t have to talk about it!” cried Lucille.

  “Y’all,” said Zaddie from the doorway. “It’s about time y’all sat down to the table. All my good food’s gone get cold if you don’t.”

  The Caskeys drank the last of the champagne in their glasses, put the glasses aside, and filed into the dining room.

  Lilah, as guest of honor, was seated at the foot of the table in Oscar’s old place, and Elinor had her accustomed place at the head.

  In lieu of a blessing, Elinor said, “Here we are, the Caskeys who remain. We are fewer than we used to be, and we are—I am happy to say—much richer than we used to be. We have, in fact, everything that I always hoped that we would have. Yet things never turn out quite the way you think they will. But that doesn’t matter, not in the least. Sister and Miriam are right. No matter what you’ve gone through, no matter what you’ve done and suffered, no matter what horrible mistakes you’ve made, no matter what you’ve given up that you should have held on to, no matter what you’ve held on to that you should have let go, no matter what has happened to make you unhappy, you cannot wish for it to have happened any other way.” She looked around the table. Zaddie came in with the first of the dishes, a platter of pheasant that Tommy Lee had shot and hung the month before. Elinor smiled and fingered the ropes of black pearls about her neck. “Thank you, Zaddie,” she said.

  “Zaddie’s gone to a great deal of trouble for us tonight.”

  “No trouble…” murmured Zaddie perfunctorily, but her denial was made with pride.

  “Look at us, Zaddie,” said Elinor.

  “Ma’am?”

  “Look at us, Zaddie, because it’s the last time you’ll ever see us all together like this. Lilah is right: we all die. And there is somebody standing out there in the graveyard tonight, leaning on Mary-Love’s tombstone, and he’s flipping a coin to see which one of us is next.”

  The dinner was substantial, and it seemed that there was no end to the dishes that Zaddie, Luvadia, and Melva brought out of the kitchen. Malcolm had not anticipated more than three bottles of wine being drunk, but as things turned out he had to open a fourth bottle, and then a fifth. Afterward, when the dishes had been cleared and two pots of coffee put out—one for Miriam, and one for everyone else— Malcolm and Billy lighted cigars. In the last stage of this evening, the conversation was mostly between Miriam and Lilah, and it turned again to the Gas-keys’ peculiar habit of stealing away one another’s children.

  Miriam didn’t go into that subject directly, but her tack was nevertheless controversial. She said bluntly, “I hope you’re gone be happy with that man, Lilah.”

  “I intend to be,” said Lilah, equally as bluntly.

  “The fact is,” said Miriam, and this was her point, “we were all hoping a little that you and Tommy Lee would get married.”

  Lilah and Tommy Lee exchanged glances.

  “Lilah wasn’t in love with me,” said Tommy Lee. “Too bad.”

  “That’s a matter of opinion,” remarked Grace, not entirely beneath her breath.

  “I suppose it would have been more convenient for everybody if I had married Tommy Lee,” said Lilah. “Convenient for everybody but me, I mean.”

  “You and Tommy Lee could have taken over around here when I am old and gray,” said Miriam.

  “We could have taken over when you were dead, Miriam,” retorted Lilah. “I don’t see you giving up too much of your power until then.”

  “Maybe not,” agreed Miriam. The other Caskeys sat back farther in their chairs, leaving room for the two bejeweled women. “Maybe not,” Miriam repeated, “but I’ve been good to Tommy Lee, haven’t I? I’ve given him things to do.”

  “You’ve been real good to me,” said Tommy Lee to Miriam. “She’s taught me a lot,” he said to the assemblage in general. “She’s given me a lot of responsibility.”

  “There was another reason I would have liked for Lilah to marry Tommy Lee,” Miriam went on, rushing in over the end of Tommy’s grateful speech.

  “What else?” asked Lucille curiously.

  “Malcolm and I have been lonely next door all by ourselves. I was hoping that Lilah and Tommy Lee would have a baby. That’s all.” Miriam poured another cup of coffee. “Zaddie,” she said to the black woman who was passing through the room just then, “would you bring me a bigger cup, please? I’m gone be pouring out of this pot all night long if you don’t.”

  “You’d want me to have a baby so you could steal it,” said Lilah. “Just like you stole me.”

  “Yes,” Miriam admitted calmly. “Except I would have gotten this one real young. I was really hoping for it, Lilah. Malcolm and I really have been pretty lonesome since you went off.”

  Billy said: “Now you know how Elinor and I felt when you took Lilah away from us.” It was not an accusatory remark, it was only an observation.

  Miriam didn’t reply to this, but to Lilah she said: “You think you and this boy might think about having a baby?”

  “He wants one,” said Lilah. “I don’t.”

  “Why not?” asked Lucille.

  “Because I see no point in going through months of discomfort and pain so that Miriam can get on a plane and come up to New York and take it away from me.”

  “I don’t think it’s that much pain,” said Miriam. “Besides, I’d sent Melva or somebody up there to take care of you, if that’s what you’re worried about. I don’t even care if it’s a boy or a girl, and neither does Malcolm. And you can pick out any name you want. You can call it Shadrach-Meshach-and-Abednego if you want to.”

  “No,” said Lilah bluntly. “I won’t do it.”

  “Miriam,” said Grace in indignant astonishment, “you are just like Mary-Love. You can’t pour a cup of coffee without its being a plot.”

  Zaddie had brought the larger cup, and Miriam filled it with coffee.

  “I’m not plotting,” she said. “I just thought it would be nice to have a baby. Malcolm and I got married too late. And everybody in this room has had the pleasure of raising a child except for Malcolm and me.”

  “Then go out and find one,” suggested Lilah sharply. “Visit an orphanage. Put an ad in the paper.”

  “I want a Caskey baby,” said Miriam. “It has to be a Caskey baby.”

  Lilah said nothing.

  Quite calmly, Miriam continued: “After all I’ve done for you, after all that I’ve given you, you wouldn’t say ‘thank you’ if you were tied to the stake and I was holding a lighted match.”

  “Thank you, Miriam,” Lilah said, “for everything you’ve done for me. But I still won’t give you a little baby.”

  CHAPTER 84

  The Nest

  “I’m sorry,” said Billy, when everyone had gone home and he and Elinor were ascending to their bedrooms, “that Miriam and Lilah had to have words like that.”

  “Miriam was just being Miriam,” said Elinor, shaking her head with a smile, “and Lilah was being Lilah. I don’t imagine there was any harm done. They walked home together, didn’t they? And next week Miriam will fly up to New York and meet that man Lilah married.”

  “What do you think?” said Billy, pausing on the staircase landing. He had with him the last half bottle of champagne and a glass.
<
br />   “About what?” asked Elinor, leaning for a moment against the frame of the great staircase window. They could hear Zaddie and Mejva down in the dining room, clattering silverware and crystal as they cleared the room.

  “About that baby business? Do you think that if Lilah had a baby, Miriam would try to steal it?”

  “Yes,” said Elinor. “I think she probably would.”

  “Do you think that’s right?” Billy poured himself a glass of the champagne. “Should I have brought up another glass?” he asked parenthetically.

  Elinor shook her head. “I don’t know if it’s right or not,” she said. “Besides, what right do I have to say anything about it? I’m the one who started the whole business by giving up Miriam. The question should be: was that right?”

  “Was it?”

  Elinor started up the short flight of stairs from landing to the second floor. “Why are you drinking that champagne?” she asked. “Didn’t you have enough wine with dinner?”

  “I hate to see it go to waste,” said Billy, “and thinking of Frances made me sad.” He followed Elinor up; she stood in the door of her sitting room.

  “Frances?” she repeated.

  “When you were toasting everyone who was dead,” Billy said, “why did you leave out Frances?”

  “Billy,” said Elinor, “drink your champagne and go to bed. It’s been a long evening.”

  Billy turned away and went into his own room. He crossed over to the window that looked out at Miriam’s house. He could see Miriam and Lilah putting away the jewels they had worn. He stood there sipping his champagne, until all the lights were extinguished in Miriam’s house and his bottle was empty. Then he took off his clothes and got into bed. Without thought or reflection of any sort, he fell asleep.

  He awoke sometime later; how much later he had no way of knowing. But it seemed late. His head ached, and he lay very still, pressing his fingers against his brow, hoping to suppress some of the throbbing. That did nothing. He went into the bathroom, swallowed two aspirin, and wiped his face with a damp cloth. That helped. He returned to his bedroom, and then, with the throbbing not so strong in his brain, he heard the voices. As usual, they came from Elinor’s room. The champagne had made him forget about them when he lay down upon the bed, and the champagne now made him abandon his studied timidity in the matter of Elinor’s visitors. Without any reflection on the consequences of his action, he went to the door to the hallway and opened it softly. The voices were louder now, but because Elinor’s sitting room door was closed, he still could not make out what was being said.