by Donis Casey
“I understand. However, I do think it would be a shame for us to both be in town and entirely miss going to the event together. Maybe I could escort you and your mother to see the parade in the morning, and perhaps once around the carnival. I’m sure Grace would enjoy the whole spectacle immensely. Your cousin or your aunt might enjoy a brief respite, as well.”
“Well…”
McCoy forged ahead. “And if that doesn’t suit, I’ll be entering at least one of the motorcycle races on the fifteenth and maybe on the sixteenth as well. Surely you could break away long enough to cheer for me on at least one of those occasions.”
Martha tried to maintain her ill humor, but a chuckle escaped her. “You are persistent, Streeter. I’ll say that for you.”
“Then you’ll consider it?”
“Oh, all right, since you’re already here in town. I think the parade starts at eleven in the morning. If you’d like, come pick us up at nine. We can walk around a bit before the parade. But then you’ll have to bring us back here straight away afterwards.”
“Who is ‘us’ that are going to this parade?” Alafair interjected.
Martha slid her mother a look that was sly and innocent at once. “Why, you and Grace and me, of course, Mama. Maybe Aunt Ruth Ann, and Olivia, and little Ron, too. Anybody we can roust up.”
Alafair opened her mouth to protest, but Martha cut her off.
“Aunt Ruth Ann said you should take a break or two while you’re here, Ma, and then let her do the same. And remember, you’re here to do whatever Aunt Ruth Ann wants of you.”
Alafair would have refused outright, but McCoy gave her a pleading look, and she reconsidered. She expected he thought that Martha would not consent to spend any time with him otherwise. She also knew very well that he was right. “Well, Streeter, I guess we’ll be seeing you tomorrow morning, then.”
***
“Mama, come look at this cunning dress.” Martha held up a dark green cotton frock on a hanger and held it up to herself for Alafair to judge. It fell just below the middle of her shin and had a two-inch, pearl-gray belt under the bosom. The V-neck was set off by a shawl collar with a wide pearl lace trim.
Martha turned to look at herself in the mirror and caught sight of Alafair standing behind her with her arms folded over her chest and a critical look on her face. But the buxom saleslady who had been hovering about ever since they had entered the door of Klein’s Department Store was filled with enthusiasm. “Oh, Miss, look at those colors! How they compliment your complexion!”
Grace, who had been amusing herself by running between the clothes racks, popped her head out from between a couple of coats long enough to bleat, “I like it.”
“I’m sure you do, Grace.” Martha’s eyes narrowed as she scrutinized her reflection. “Oh, I don’t know. I like the green, but I’m wondering if it doesn’t make my complexion look even more olive than it is.”
“I don’t think so, Miss. However, we do have a complete line of whitening products for the well-bred lady.”
Alafair, who had pretty much kept her counsel on this outing up to now, finally offered her opinion. “There’s sure no use to spend money on such a thing as a whitener, sugar. Your skin is still young and full of just the right kind of color. And if you’d just start rinsing your face in buttermilk at night, like I’ve been telling you, you’ll never have to worry about getting too brown.”
Martha smiled but didn’t comment. Her mother had a home remedy for everything under the sun. Many of them were quite effective, whereas others…Alafair had bathed her face in buttermilk every evening for as long as Martha could remember. She eyed her mother’s sun-brown face and came to her own conclusion about the efficacy of dairy products as whitening agents, especially for someone with as much Indian ancestry as she had. She shot the saleslady a glance, returned the dress to the rack, and chose another.
“Mama, I want you to try on this frock. I think this would suit you to the ground.”
“Now, honey, I’m not buying something I can make up for myself and probably fit me twice as well. Just be a waste of money for me.”
“You don’t have to waste a dime. I’ll buy it for you.”
Alafair was taken aback by the offer. “Oh, gracious, no, darlin’. Store-bought clothes are well and good for a young working woman like you, who has to look stylish every day of the world, but I never go anywhere. Besides, you should be saving your money for your future.”
“You just let me worry about my future. I live at home and don’t pay a plug nickel for a bed and three square meals a day. I want to. It’ll make me feel good to get you a new dress.”
“I’m not letting you spend your hard-earned money on a present for me.”
“Ma, you’re a wonderful giver, but you need to work on your receiving. It’ll be good for my soul for me to buy a present for my mother out of the goodness of my heart.”
Alafair bit her lip. Clearly she hadn’t thought of it this way before.
Martha tried not to laugh. “Now, I’m getting fretted with you, here. Quit fighting with me and try on this dress I like so much, and a hat to match it, too. That ought to teach you to just give in graciously when somebody tries to give you something.”
“Oh, but it’s too nice! Where will I ever wear something as nice as this?”
“How about to Mary’s wedding?”
“I was planning on my good blue serge suit for that. I wore that to Phoebe’s wedding and Alice’s, too.”
“Are you planning to wear the same outfit to all your kids’ weddings? When Grace gets married in the 1930s you’re going to look mighty funny in your raggedy old 1900 suit.”
“Oh, mercy, girl, all right! You’re about to wear me out.”
“Well, praise be. At last.”
“Did I hear you mention a wedding? Are you about to be married, Miss? How wonderful.”
Martha blushed to the roots of her hair. “Certainly not. We’re talking about my sister’s wedding. My mother and I would like to find some new clothes for the occasion.”
“Oh, this is a lovely dress you’ve picked out.”
“I think so. Don’t you like it, Mama?”
Alafair bit her lip and fingered the material. It was nice, she had to admit. But five dollars for a dress!
Martha could read her mother’s expression like a book, and she knew exactly how to soften that recalcitrant expression. “Daddy’ll love it.”
Alafair crumbled. “All right, then. Is there somewhere I can try this on, Miss?”
The saleslady took Alafair’s arm and quickly steered her toward the dressing rooms at the back before she could change her mind.
Grace had about reached the end of her patience with this enterprise. She seized Martha’s skirt in her fist. “Let’s go, Martha!”
Martha started. “I declare, Grace, do you suppose there’s someone in this store who didn’t hear you? You’re like to wake the dead.” She sat the girl down in a chair and pulled a little picture book from her bag. “Here, punkin. Let’s read your book while Mama tries on some new dresses. You can tell us which ones you like best.”
Five minutes and five verses about the adventures of Kewpies later, Alafair emerged, smoothing the seat of the full skirt, and gave Martha an uncertain look. Grace gasped and clasped her hands before her rapturously. “Oh, Mama, it’s beautiful! You look like a real woman!”
Alafair grinned at the child’s reflection. “That’s mighty high praise, puddin’.”
Martha stood and plunked Grace down in the chair before she walked up to her mother and nodded.
“Oh, lovely,” the saleslady said, causing Alafair’s cheeks to pinken with self-consciousness. “Notice how much fuller skirts are this year, and the hemline is coming up, as well. It’s not only attractive, it’s wonderfully comfortable, too, don’t you agree, ma’am?”
“Better than those narrow styles where you could hardly take a normal step. Not that I ever owned any of those.” Alafair walked to the tal
l mirror on the wall and eyed the frock. “Now, what on earth would you call this color? It ain’t exactly purple but it isn’t red either. Looks pretty much like a plum to me.”
“Exactly right, Madam,” the saleslady exclaimed. “This color is called ‘plum,’ and it suits your coloring perfectly.”
“I like it,” Martha stated. “Now, admit it, Ma. It looks real good on you, too. You’ll be able to wear this to any dress-up occasion. You’ll just get a ton of use out of it.”
“It is mighty fine. Mercy, it’s almost too fancy. I feel like a queen or a duchess or something.”
“Everybody should own at least one dress that makes her feel like a duchess. That’s what I say.”
Alafair laughed. “Now you sound like Alice. In fact, why couldn’t I get Alice to make me a dress that looks like this? Why she could tailor me a pretty frock like this with her eyes closed, and it’d only…”
“Mother!” Martha cut her off. “You’re just determined to deprive me of the pleasure of buying a nice outfit for you.”
“Well, when you put it like that…”
Martha gave the saleswoman a harried glance, and she smiled back knowingly. She had been through this a hundred times. The entire state of Oklahoma was full of thrifty women for whom buying a new dress was anathema.
Alafair looked at herself in the mirror from every possible angle, as Martha and the shopgirl oohed and aahed. She did like the way she looked. If I had money to burn… she thought. Suddenly she became aware that the reflection of the chair behind her was missing something. “Where’s Grace?”
“She was right here half a second ago. Grace!”
Grace appeared from behind the racks when she was called, with eight brightly colored purses arrayed up and down her little arms, not at all abashed and in fact looking very pleased with herself. She pranced up to the mirror beside Alafair and spread her arms grandly, the better to admire each handbag.
“Grace!” Alafair exclaimed, intending to scold, but Grace looked so happy with her achievement that she laughed instead. “I think you have more than enough bags to be carting your things around in, there. Why don’t we put some of them back?”
Martha relieved Grace of one of the bags. “Look, Mama, this little sateen one would go just perfect with that dress.” She turned to the saleslady for backup. “Don’t you think?”
“Absolutely.”
“I refuse to let you bankrupt yourself…”
“Not this again! I’m about to tear my hair out, Ma. I promise that the more you protest, the more I’m going to buy for you.”
***
When they finally left Klein’s, they were in possession of two dress boxes, two hatboxes, and a child’s shoe box which had once contained a pair of patent leather Mary Janes. It now carried Grace’s old high-tops, since once the shiny shoes had been slipped onto her feet she had vociferously refused to allow anyone to remove them. The sky was still overcast and spritzing rain, and they stayed under the storefront canopies as they walked down the street. Alafair had to keep a tight hold on Grace’s hand to keep her from running into walls or walking into the traffic, since the child couldn’t take her eyes off her new shoes.
“I’m not ready to go back yet, Ma. What say we duck into the City Drugstore here and have us some ice cream to celebrate our fancy new clothes?”
“Gracious, Martha, haven’t you spent enough money today?”
“I worked hard for it, Ma. I reckon I can spend it however I want. And right now I want a strawberry sundae.”
“I want ice cream, Mama,” Grace piped up, without taking her eyes off her feet.
“Oh, all right. Far be it from me to stand between you and financial ruin. Besides, I could use a sit-down.”
***
They piled their packages on the floor at their feet and hoisted themselves onto the stools at the soda fountain with Grace between them. A light rain was still falling, but out the front window, they could see the workmen finishing the wooden dais on the courthouse lawn. The entire square was abustle with preparations for the celebration tomorrow, and they had stood in front of the drugstore for a few moments before they had come in, just to watch all the activity across the street. One entire side of the square had been blocked off to traffic already, and carnival rides and sideshow tents were being set up. Grace was beside herself with excitement when she saw that half a dozen Cheyenne tepees were going up on an expanse of lawn in front of the Federal Building.
Alafair managed to distract her with the promise of ice cream. The teenaged soda jerk made a show of creating their sundaes, and even Grace’s single scoop of vanilla was grandly topped with a cherry. The three of them were well into their treats when Alafair made a careful approach to a tender subject.
“Ain’t it a coincidence that Streeter McCoy should just happen to be in town this week?”
Martha nearly choked on her disdain. “You and I both know perfectly well that his being here is no coincidence.”
“Well, that’s flattering, then, isn’t it?”
“Not very. It’s not very flattering that he won’t listen to me and take no for an answer. Like I don’t know my own mind. Like he knows what’s best for me better than I do. Or that he only cares what he wants. Maybe that’s it.”
“Whoa, hang on there, shug,” Alafair cautioned, as she reached over to wipe ice cream off of Grace’s chin. “I think your hat’s about to blow off.”
Martha sputtered, outraged and amused at once. “Well, I just don’t understand him. He doesn’t look stupid.”
“Anything but, I think. And that’s probably the kink in these here works.”
Alafair was about to inform her of everything she had been doing wrong and what she should do instead, Martha thought. She made an effort not to roll her eyes. If she said nothing, would her mother drop it, she wondered?
Alafair speedily relieved her of that hope. “He’s smart enough that he can see not to take your words at face value. You’re telling him you don’t care for him, but your eyes are saying something else.”
“Oh, Ma, that’s the kind of talk fellows use to talk girls into doing something they don’t want to do. ‘Your lips say no, but your eyes say yes.’ Besides, what my lips say is all that matters.”
“That’s true enough. But Streeter senses that you’re so pulled in two about it that he has hope you’ll change your mind. And believe me, I’d never say this to anyone, especially to Streeter, but you can’t fool me, darlin’. You really do care for him. I see how you look at him, plain as day. Are you really going to let him go? You’ll be sad the rest of your life if you do.”
Tears started to Martha’s eyes and she looked away quickly. She didn’t know why Alafair’s blunt speech had taken her by surprise. That’s what Alafair did, after all. She regrouped quickly. “Maybe, Ma. But I’ve got to face the fact square that I have to make a choice. If I marry him, or anybody, my life will change out of all recognition. I like my life. I like working.”
“Can’t you work and be married, too, at least until the babies start to coming?”
“You know very well how it is. Besides, once Streeter started coming around the bank so much, Mr. Bushyhead told me straight out that if the two of us got together, he sure would be sorry to lose me.”
“Maybe he don’t know you’d like to stay on.”
“He knows. He just doesn’t approve of married women working for money. Men, they all stick together. You think he’ll change his mind?”
Alafair thought about this for a minute. Her approach had always been to deal with life as she found it, not as she wished it to be. She sighed. “Sometimes it seems like people change, honey, but most of the time it just takes them a while to show what they’re really like. Generally, people don’t change very much.”
“Don’t, can’t, or won’t. Doesn’t it take somebody to stand up and say, why are things like this? This isn’t good. Let’s try this.”
“More ice cream!” Grace demanded, and Alafair, w
ho would normally have never countenanced more ice cream, absently spooned some of her sundae into Grace’s dish. “It does take somebody to do just that,” she said to Martha. “But the first people who do generally get slapped down hard. They’re braver folks than I am. Besides, what do you propose to do? You can’t change the way God made the world. But what higher calling is there than to make a home and raise a family? What could make a woman prouder than that?”
“Nothing, for some women. But maybe other women are more suited for something else. You know as well as I do that it’s a bad thing to be married to someone whose heart isn’t in it. Even worse to be raised by her.”
Alafair thought about this for a minute. “Well, you don’t have to have babies, I reckon,” she said at length.
A long stunned silence, broken only by Grace’s slurping, followed this pronouncement.
“Well, knock me right off this stool!” Martha finally managed. “How do you propose I go about that?”
Alafair gave her daughter an ironic look.
Martha shook her head. “That wouldn’t be much of a marriage then, would it?”
“There’s more than one way to skin a cat.”
“Whatever do you mean, Mother?”
Alafair glanced around to make sure the soda jerk was well out of earshot. “Wasn’t it you who was just reading to me about Miss Emma Goldman’s lectures to women?”
Martha was speechless. She had not until this moment realized that her mother knew what the words “birth control” meant. And even if Alafair did know, the fact that she was apparently advocating the idea was so far removed from Martha’s understanding of her mother’s values that she could hardly credit her own ears.
“Ask your Grandma McBride about it,” Alafair added. “She learned a bunch at her Cherokee mama’s knee.” She turned back to her sundae. “We’d better get cracking. I want to help Ruth Ann with Lester before the morning gets too far gone. And you can crank your mouth shut, now. You’re twenty-four years old. It’d be pretty silly of me to still be talking to you like you’re ten.”
***
