Varina(23)

—No, V said. If we’re going to be friends, tell one right now.

Florida thought two beats and then said, This one’s not about you, but it’s the biggest secret here and nobody but Old Joe knows the whole truth of it, and maybe he doesn’t either, really. It’s that not a one of us has a birth certificate. No record of parentage, married or not. Like orphans. Nothing on paper to mark Old Joe’s trail. Not a single footprint. And I’m guessing you probably did hear plenty in Natchez about our complications.

Florida told how they had left town under a cackle of rumor and slur. Oldest daughter a thin crescent of new moon older than the teen wife. Three daughters not from the same mother and no corresponding certificates of marriage or death or, heaven forbid, divorce.

—Doesn’t clarify anything that all of us look alike. Far as I’m concerned, people in Natchez can call us all bastards and leave it at that. Maybe we entered the world in the Delta or some Louisiana swamp where they do things different. Old Joe tells Eliza she is his first wife, but who knows? None of us have even vague memories of mothers. And about all Joe wants out of any of us, including Eliza, is to leave him alone. He’s never cared if we knew whether the earth was flat or not as long as we could at minimum read and write. But he doesn’t stop us when we educate ourselves out of his books. Which are about four-fifths boring law books, so I hope one of your trunks is full of literature. How’s that for a start?

V said, Must have been quite the steamboat trip up from Natchez that first time.

Florida laughed and said, So you’re really saying no wonder Old Joe looks like he’s seventy when he’s really fifty-five.

—Really?

—What he claims.

V said, But he must be your father, yes?

Florida said, The rule here is, no assumptions. We don’t spend time wondering if Old Joe is our natural daddy and how many mothers are involved. And we sure don’t ask. You saw how he gets. But yes, he’s my father. Whoever my mother was, she made him believe I was his. I don’t know facts, and probably there aren’t any to know. Whatever crazy thing people want to believe, that’s what they call it, a fact. I do know that however hard you try, you can’t see inside the tangle of somebody else’s love—or whatever uglier word applies—not deep enough to make sense of it. Whoever my mother was, she either died right after I was born or else ran off. Old Joe didn’t run, and that counts. And if I’m not his daughter by blood, maybe it counts even more.

Florida paused and said, Now, you tell one.

V said, Well, I’ve been in love with my tutor for years. And at your dock today, he kissed me on the lips.

—Ha, Florida said. If we had a tutor, all four of us would be climbing over each other’s backs to kiss him. I mean a real secret.

—All right, V said. But I’ll warn you nothing is as boring as other people’s dreams and finances. I think I’m here because of my father’s money troubles and his old friendship with Joseph. Everybody’s mad at my father in Natchez.

—Now there you go, Florida said. That’s a start.

So V told Florida what she knew. About how her father thought he was much better with money than he really was, how he invested like a gambler, always sure his luck was about to turn. Except it never did. How they went from a rich round of parties at the grand houses of Natchez to being stricken from everybody’s invitation list due to WB’s owing money to half the wealthy men in Natchez after talking them into various failing schemes and partnerships and outright loans. How they would have gone under except for distant family buying their best paintings and a pair of really fine carriage horses and other valuable objects those aunts and uncles had their eyes on for some time. Except afterward, those relatives started acting like they owned her family because they finally got what they wanted at a bargain price.

—Gone under, Florida said. That’s a drowning metaphor, and death by water is said to be a bad way to go.

—The only wisdom my father has ever passed along to me was, Borrow all you can when interest rates are low and use other people’s money to invest, V said.

She went on talking, telling Florida that the main part of WB’s mess that struck home at fifteen and sixteen was that invitations to the better dances and parties dwindled to nothing, all those social occasions where advantageous matches between young people were negotiated. Very quickly—without anyone having to say a word—she understood that she had become not the least bit advantageous. She had nothing but herself as dowry. And that fundamental offering was not really in demand. Too tall, too dark, too slim, too educated, too opinionated. Also prone to moods. And yet, until now, her family had traveled only within the highest levels of Natchez society, so no handsome, honest planter with a thousand acres but no pretensions—poorly educated but smart and teachable—would have dared approach her, even if willing to overlook all her liabilities.

—Information to think on, Florida said. Old Joe’s always figuring his next move. Twiddling his fingers over a fan of cards, which one to pull from his hand and throw down. Maybe a knave of hearts.


THE FOURTH MORNING OF THE VISIT, V and Florida sat in rockers on the lower front gallery talking favorite novels. The younger girls sat under a tree in the yard playing a game of cards that sometimes involved throwing them all in the air.

Florida said, I have to be so careful with novels. Important to pace myself with them. I love words more than anything or anybody, but my mind is a feather in the wind. So I mostly read poems. A novel drains me entirely. More than one a month and I start getting dark under the eyes. After Nick of the Woods, I didn’t sleep for a week.