“You’re not supposed to do that, Viney,” Gaelan interjects. “Let me.”
“Well, I’d like to get a few things ready before …”
“Let Gaelan do it,” Larken says. “Why don’t you sit down for a while?”
“Actually,” Miss Axthelm says, “now that Larken is finally here, we should get back to solving our dilemma.”
“What dilemma?’
Viney speaks up. “I’ll tell you what: Gaelan honey, if you really don’t mind making the coffee, I’ll go ahead and get changed. That way the three of you can talk with Bud and Estella about … you know. Whatever you decide will be fine with me. I’ll just be upstairs,” and she bustles off in a way that makes Larken sad for her, as if she were being evicted.
“What’s going on?” Larken asks.
Gaelan busies himself with the coffee; Bonnie chomps down on her lip and darts her eyes in Miss Axthelm’s direction.
“Sit down, why don’t you, Larken?” Miss Axthelm says.
“That’s all right, Miss Axthelm. It feels good to stand after being in the car.”
Mr. Humphries begins. “We’ve been talking about where to have the Gymanfa ganu.”
“Yes?” Larken looks to Gaelan for clues. He is not forthcoming.
“I’ll get started on the cloths,” Bonnie says. She walks over to the coat closet and extracts a large cardboard box from an upper shelf.
“It’s usually held in the home of the deceased,” Mr. Humphries says.
“Right. That would be here.”
Gaelan blows his nose. Bonnie retrieves the ironing board and unfolds it. It makes a terrible screeching noise. The dog starts to bark.
“Sorry!” Bonnie yells.
“Goodness gracious!” Miss A. intones.
“Hush, Sergei!” Blind Tom commands. Sergei falls silent, and Blind Tom continues with sixths: My Bonnie lies over the ocean …
“Or Dad’s place, I suppose,” Larken continues, “although he didn’t really live there and we’d have to get a piano over there. Is that the dilemma?”
Bonnie gives the atomizer a few preliminary spritzes, aiming it at the part of the kitchen ceiling that is just above Miss A.’s head. Blind Tom moves on to major triads.
Miss Axthelm speaks. “Some people feel that it might be … well, objectionable to some people to have the Gymanfa here.”
“What?”
“It might be offensive,” Miss A. enunciates. She doesn’t appear to notice that there’s a fine mist falling on her lofty, lacquered hairdo, causing the slow, steady formation of a kind of sinkhole at its center.
“Why?”
Bonnie takes a folded piece of black cloth from the box, shaking it out with a vehemence that gives it the sound of a thunderclap and then positioning it on the ironing board. Bud shifts in his chair, his leather belt stretching in protestation.
“I don’t understand,” Larken continues, taking a seat. “Why would anybody object to the Gymanfa taking place here?”
Gaelan speaks up from the sink, where he is filling the coffee carafe with tap water. “Because Dad and Viney weren’t—technically—married.”
Good God, Larken wants to say. Instead, she assumes one of her professorial positions, leaning into her hand and furrowing her brow in a judicious manner. She’s starting to yearn for chocolate and wishes she’d thought to bring a private stash; Viney keeps no candy of any kind in the house.
In the next room, Blind Tom switches to minor chords. Bonnie is pressing the black cloth with such force that the ironing board is groaning and seems on the verge of collapse.
“Of course, nobody who knows Viney and your dad well would care,” Mr. Humphries says, “but some folks, you know, they might take offense and not come, and of course that would be just terrible. We want everyone to come. I mean, he was our mayor.”
The witch pipes up. “Besides, it’s not as though Alvina hasn’t had a Gymanfa here before. She’s had two.” Her callousness is astounding. “Has it ever occurred to anyone that she might actually be relieved to not have to have another Gymanfa here? Has anyone thought about that?”
Larken restrains herself from speaking by bringing her lower teeth over her upper lip. Mr. Humphries shifts uncomfortably again. Blind Tom suddenly plays a heavy, fortissimo C minor chord (at this, Miss A. jumps slightly, as if the skin of her buttocks has been fitted with live electrodes) and then sails into Beethoven’s Pathétique sonata.
“What’s the alternative?” Larken asks.
“Having it at the Williams girls’, of course,” Miss A. says.
Mr. Humphries adds, “It’s big over there, of course, and they’ve got that baby grand—”
“The nicest instrument in town!” Miss A. interjects, triumphantly.
Mr. Humphries gives Miss A. a look. He smiles as only a midwesterner can when they’re furious with someone but too polite to let them know. “They’ve got that nice big second parlor if we need the extra space,” he continues. “That would be the main advantage in my opinion.”
Viney reenters, wearing high heels, sheer stockings, and a low-cut, fitted black dress that Larken remembers her having since the 1960s when little black dresses were an essential part of every woman’s wardrobe. Hope had one, too. Larken hasn’t seen Viney in anything but jogging outfits for years. In spite of Viney’s obvious weariness and grief, she looks startlingly sexy.
“So, have we reached a verdict?” she asks.
“I need to use the bathroom,” Miss A. says suddenly. “Bud, help me.”
Mr. Humphries takes her elbow and starts leading her toward the living room.
“Oh no, not that one, take me to the one in here,” Miss A. indicates, and Mr. Humphries walks her to the nearby half-bath off the alcove near the washer and dryer. She toddles inside and turns on the fan. Soon after, everyone tries to ignore the obvious indications that Miss A. is experiencing some degree of intestinal mayhem.
“I’m so sorry about all this, Viney,” Mr. Humphries says. “I hate to say it, but there’s some truth to what Estella is saying.”
“Oh, I understand, Bud,” Viney says. “I really do, and I’m sure you’re right. We had an … unusual situation, the mayor and I, and I suppose that even after all this time some folks … well, it’s a small town and we all know how that can be, the good and the bad. I’m really fine with having it somewhere else.”
Larken knows Viney well enough to know that she doesn’t mean to sound long-suffering, but she’s such a terrible liar.
“They do have a lot of space at the Williams girls’ place, you know,” Mr. Humphries says for the third time.
“Oh, I know.”
“We could fit a lot of people in there. The whole town, practically, if need be.”
“That’s certainly a plus.”
“What do you think, Larken?” Mr. Humphries asks.
Larken knows that the decision has already been made, but some unwritten rulebook of small-town manners requires her to cast her vote. “If it’s all right with Viney, then I suppose it’s all right with me.”
“Good,” Viney says, patting Larken’s hand. “I’m glad.”
Blind Tom must be finished; he’s playing a medley of Gershwin tunes. Partly to put some space between themselves and Miss A., and partly because the music is so winning, the five of them drift toward the living room door and listen. Mr. Barstow has apparently gone outside; the shag carpet is flattened in two parallel lines, as if he exited on cross-country skis.
“I never should have got that spinet,” Viney muses, still holding on to Larken. “Welly never liked it. He always said the touch was stiff and the tone was stingy. I should have got an upright instead. They’re bigger, but the sound is so much fuller.”
“It’s a fine piano, Viney,” Galean adds. He’s started crying again, but no one but Larken has noticed. She takes his arm.
Blind Tom concludes with an excerpt from Rhapsody in Blue. Everyone applauds. Blind Tom gets up—he must be well over six feet tall—
and turns to face them, smiling shyly. His dark glasses look especially dark against his pale skin.
“Well!” Miss Axthelm says, emerging from the powder room victoriously, as if the applause were intended for her. “That’s settled then!” Not making any effort to clear her dirty dishes from the table, she gathers up her gloves and pocketbook. “I’m going home to give Sugar her insulin shot, but I’ll be back later. Nice to see all you children together in one place,” she says, and goes.
“Me and Vonda will be over soon,” Mr. Humphries says, making his way out through the kitchen as well. “I’ll let Hazel and Wauneeta know about the Gymanfa.” He gives Viney a quick hug and leaves.
“Blind Tom!” Viney calls, fetching her purse. “Thank you so much. It’s been years since that thing’s been tuned, as I’m sure you could tell. It was in terrible shape.”
“There’s not a thing wrong with this instrument, Mrs. Closs,” Blind Tom says, shutting his case and taking hold of Sergei’s leash. “It just needs to be played more, that’s all.”
Viney goes into the living room with her checkbook. “We’re not going to be having the Gymanfa here after all, I’m afraid,” Larken hears her say, quietly. “I’m so sorry. I hope you don’t feel as though your work here was wasted.”
“Nothing’s ever wasted,” Blind Tom replies. “It’s always a pleasure to meet a new keyboard.”
“Let me pay you for what you’ve done,” Viney says. “What do I owe you?”
“Not a thing, ma’am. The community council took care of it.”
“Oh, that Bud,” Viney says, her eyes tearing up. “He really is the sweetest man.”
“I’ll be off to the Williams place, then,” Blind Tom says. “Good-bye everyone!” he calls out in a loud, diffuse way, and then, angling his head precisely in Bonnie’s direction, says quietly, “Good-bye, Bonnie.”
“See you around, Tom,” Bonnie answers.
“All right, children,” Viney announces. “We haven’t got much time. Gaelan, sweetie, would you bring in Larken’s suitcase and put it in the downstairs bedroom? Bonnie, dear, why don’t you let me take over the ironing, and Larken honey,” she says, pulling a stepstool out from the broom closet and handing it over, “you and your sister can get started on the draping.”
“It still smells like Lemon Mr. Clean,” Larken says. She and Bonnie have been assigned to the second floor and are covering the windows and mirrors with black cloth. They know just what to do and how to do it; they’ve covered the windows and mirrors at the Closs house before. Gaelan is helping Viney downstairs.
“So you’re staying here?” Bonnie says. “You’re not going over to Dad’s?”
“No. I didn’t even think about it. Gaelan’s staying here, right?”
“Viney is so happy to have him here. You, too, of course, but you know how she is with him.”
“How about you?”
“I’m staying here tonight for sure. Maybe even all week.”
“That would be great, Bon.” Larken is surprised. She knows how hard it is for her sister to relinquish her privacy. “It will give us a lot of time to catch up.”
“Hand me up another one,” Bonnie says.
They’re almost through. They’ve saved Wally Junior’s bedroom for last; Gaelan will be sleeping here. “I can’t believe they’re being so jerky about the Gymanfa. I mean, in lots of states Dad and Viney would be considered ‘common law,’ wouldn’t they?”
“They’re probably common law here, but the people who are being jerks don’t give a damn about that.”
“How’s it going up there?” Viney hollers. “You two about done?”
“Yes!” they chorus.
“Okay then! Larken, you should get changed. Gaelan brought your suitcase inside, and the bathroom is all yours.”
Bonnie gets down from the stepstool. It’s so dark it feels like midnight. “I wish—” she begins, and then stops.
“What, Bon? What do you wish?”
“Come on, girls!” Viney shouts. “Let’s get a move on! People will be here in half an hour!”
“Coming!” Bonnie shouts back, and hurries down the stairs.
Larken listens. The sound of her sister’s footsteps is so profoundly familiar—like the seasons, or a color, or a singular piece of music that was playing at the most important moment in her life—that once again, without knowing why it should be happening, Larken finds herself staring at nothing and starting to cry.
On the afternoon following her mother’s memorial service, fourteen-year-old Larken stands flattened against a shadowy, faux-wood-paneled wall in the basement of the Bethel Welsh Methodist Church. She is thinking about clothes.
Her two best friends, Peggy McCandless and Stephanie Hansen, are standing with her, but already something has changed between them. There’s an awkwardness, a rift. Larken and Peg and Steph have spent so much time complaining about their relationships with their mothers. Larken has never exempted herself from this kind of complaining, even though her mother is wheelchair-bound and supposedly dying, but she realizes that she will no longer be able to be a part of all that. Venting and rebelling are lost to her now. It was hard enough rebelling against a cripple. You can’t possibly rebel against a mother who’s dead. Probably dead. Missing in action.
“Larken, I’m so sorry for you,” Peg and Steph keep repeating, in between nibbles of Welsh cakes and sips of pop, not suspecting that each time they offer up this well-meaning condolence, they become less and less her friends.
She does not want this. She will not cry. She will not fall apart, not in these clothes.
She’s wearing a jumper—navy blue, because young girls don’t wear black in those days. It’s an A-line jumper (the worst kind of outfit for a girl built like Larken, who’s already been informed by Seventeen magazine that she possesses a pear-shaped body type and should embrace high-waisted Granny-style fashions and forgo starch) and it’s dowdy, blocky, with the look of a failed 4-H project about it. Underneath the jumper she wears a stiff, skimpy polyester blouse. It might as well be a Catholic school uniform, and who knows, maybe it is; it would be just like those Catholics, especially those snooty Catholic girls, to donate a faded school jumper to that poor girl down in Emlyn Springs whose mother disappeared in that terrible tornado and who now has nothing, nothing, NOTHING! Larken imagines that she and her siblings have already become a closer-to-home substitute for all those poor starving children in Africa. Wear your new dress! mothers all over the state will insist, chastising any daughter who dares wear a favorite outfit to school twice in one week. Don’t you know there are girls in southeastern Nebraska who don’t have clothes to wear to their mother’s memorial service?
This jumper came to her among the bundles sent down by folks from Lincoln and organized by the Red Cross or some other emergency relief organization that sees to such things. Bad as it is, it was the least offensive thing she could find and the only thing that fit even remotely. Even her shoes are borrowed: they’re black Mary Janes—baby shoes!—scuffed and too narrow, so that she feels unsteady, ungrounded. All the clothes came from girls with slim hips and narrow feet and a less full sets of tits, because Larken’s tits have arrived, sooner than anyone else’s, as has her period.
The sides of the dress keep creeping up and she is in terror of the tops of her hose showing—she’s even wearing someone else’s garter belt—and the darts do not conform to her breasts.
Gaelan is somewhere; like Larken, he is wearing borrowed clothes. Bonnie isn’t here; she’s still in the hospital. Larken would give anything to be in her place.
She decides then and there that she’ll never wear this dress—or any of the others—ever again. After today, she’ll clothe herself in the flannel shirts and dungarees that have been given to Gaelan. Soon Peg and Steph will be so embarrassed and disgusted that they won’t want to hang out with her anymore.
Larken is a figure in a tragedy, but her mother is the star and she is only a supporting player. Her father has
the male lead, and he plays it well. Larken’s girlfriends think Daddy is handsome—usually they giggle when he flirts with them—but they do not giggle now, nor will they ever again refer to Larken’s father as handsome. He will henceforth be only Dr. Llewellyn Jones, the widower.
“Do you think he’ll every get married again?” Peg asks.
Larken hadn’t thought of this, and the possibility opens up a world of imagining, a welcome distraction from the things she doesn’t want to think about. If her father marries, she’ll have a stepmother, and there’s lots of potential drama there. Stepmothers are never ordinary. They paint their fingernails in gaudy colors and border on sluttiness. Maybe her stepmother will be a malevolent character from a fairy tale. Larken feels she deserves an evil stepmother and starts scanning the crowd for women who might make her life hell—just her life, though, not Gaelan’s or Bonnie’s, a stepmother who is secretly vile to her and her alone.
It doesn’t turn out that way, of course. A couple of years after Hope goes up, it’s clear to everyone in Emlyn Springs that the only person who holds a place of spousal-like affection in Dr. Llewellyn Jones’s life is his nurse, Alvina Closs.
Larken is so disappointed. Viney is the farthest possible thing from a wicked stepmother, as innocent as one of her hymnbook angels, and Larken loves her. She’ll have to seek out punishment elsewhere.
The clocks are ticking. After Larken emerges, wearing a very expensive, very flattering black linen suit, Viney sits her and Gaelan and Bonnie down in the low sectional sofa where they’ll have to remain as the visitors come and go. She holds Gaelan and Larken’s hands and addresses all of them soberly.
“Now. Before everything starts, I want you children to know something.” She looks each of them in the eye, one after the other. “He loved you. He knew you loved him, each in your own way. And I don’t want any of you to ever, ever for a moment feel bad about you’re not being here, or him dying the way he did. It doesn’t matter that you didn’t talk to him every day. It doesn’t matter that we weren’t always together for holidays and things like that. Don’t you ever think that he wouldn’t ride a motorcycle to the moon for each and every one of you.” Her eyes linger on Bonnie, who has lowered her head and is weeping quietly. “All right? Promise me you won’t feel bad now.”
Sing Them Home Page 14
