Dovetail(12)
Alice laughed. “Don’t let Father hear you talk like that.” They both knew he wouldn’t approve of having a daughter who was an actress. He wasn’t even happy about Alice playing the piano at the theater, but the owner of the theater was a friend, and the family needed the money for doctors’ bills. Besides, he’d said, “I know I can trust Alice to conduct herself as a lady, no matter where she is.” He’d glanced at Pearl, his eyes narrowing. She got the definite impression he didn’t feel the same way about his second daughter.
Pearl wanted a big life to match her big dreams. She was impatient with wanting to see what else was out there. Someday she planned to visit all the big cities and take in all they had to offer. Paris. New York. Rome. While her time was wasting away here, excitement awaited elsewhere, and it was all going on without her. The thought made her want to cry. She was missing so much.
Alice did not share her discontent. She said she didn’t even have time to think of other places. Today she moved faster than usual, spinning like a top to get the house prepared for their guest. She had an old kerchief tied around her head to keep her hair back and one of their mother’s aprons wrapped around her middle, covering most of her front. When Pearl sat down, plopping herself into a kitchen chair with a cup of cold water straight from the pump, Alice paused to dump a pile of carrots, onions, and potatoes on the table in front of her. She took a cutting board their father had made in his shop and set it next to the vegetables.
“Why don’t you make yourself useful? Cut these up for the stew.” She rummaged in a drawer and handed Pearl a knife. “And you two,” she said, pointing to Mae and Maude, “go on down the road and invite Mrs. Donohue and Howie for dinner. Tell them we’ll eat at six.”
Pearl sighed loudly before reluctantly chopping. “Why do they have to come?”
Howie was an orphan whom Mrs. Donohue had taken in ten years earlier, when he was only eight. She told everyone he was a distant relation, but the truth of it was, there were no family ties between them. She was an old widow with no children. Howie was a strong young man who could read the newspaper out loud to her and handle the heavier of the household chores. Together, life was made easier for each of them. Mrs. Donohue often said, “This boy is such a blessing. An angel sent straight from God.” Her words of praise made Howie squirm even as he looked secretly pleased.
Alice wiped her hands on her apron. “Because they are our closest neighbors and good friends.” She added, “It is the very least we can do.”
Pearl knew she referred to the visit right after their mother had died. Mrs. Donohue, hearing the news, had Howie bring over a tied handkerchief wrapped around something the size of a large onion. When Father had unwrapped it, all seven of his girls gathered around him, he’d found it filled with silver dollars and a note saying she would be offended if they did not accept this small token. It had been the family’s saving grace.
Pearl had not been planning on spending the afternoon working in the hot kitchen, but Alice never let up. When she was done with the chopping, there was silver to polish and linen napkins to iron. “I don’t have time for this busywork,” she grumbled, running the iron back and forth over the linen. “I need to get ready.”
“Ready for what?” Alice leaned over the table, pressing a measuring cup onto rolled-out dough to make biscuits. There was a smudge of flour on her cheek.
“For John’s arrival,” Pearl said, with a toss of her head. Her hair was her crowning glory. Besides Daisy, she was the only one who had their mother’s blonde locks. If she worked on it, she could get her hair to fall into curls like Mary Pickford. The previous night, she’d slept with her damp hair rolled into rags, but in the heat of the day, her curls were drooping already. “I’m calling dibs on him, just so you know.” Not that she was worried. Her sister had Frank, not that Alice was even interested in him. Many times she’d sent him away, giving excuses that fooled no one. Still, Frank continued to come calling. Pearl thought he’d wear her down eventually.
Daisy climbed up on a chair next to Alice to watch her work. Alice said, “You and John have my blessing. Remember, though, he’s only staying the summer. Don’t let him break your heart.”
Pearl laughed at the thought. Boys flocked around her, and even the old men in town followed her with their eyes. If anyone was going to get a broken heart, it wouldn’t be her. John Lawrence better watch out. She would steal his heart. It was as good as done.
When the afternoon sun crested and all of them felt the familiar pang of hunger that came just prior to dinner, the clip-clop of her father’s horse-drawn wagon paused as it came to a stop right by the front porch. Pearl ran upstairs to fetch a hand mirror to check her appearance, pinching her cheeks to give them a bloom of color and dabbing her perspiring forehead with a cloth. Her hair had wilted, but it was just as well. Her father would have disapproved of her having her hair down, so she pinned it up, then waited until her father and John entered the house, watching through a window as Helen and Emma led the horse and wagon to the barn.
When she heard the men’s voices in the kitchen, she sauntered into the room, ready to make an entrance. Her father stood next to a young man with thick dark hair neatly parted to one side; he held his hat by the brim. His skin had the healthy cast of a man who worked outdoors. His hair was black and wavy, smoothed down on top, the sides closely shaved. John Lawrence was handsome, she decided, with the sharp good looks of an actor in a moving picture. It didn’t hurt that he wore a suit as if he were going to Sunday service. It might have been buttoned up this morning, but the train trip and the heat of the day had done its worst, and now his suit coat was open, revealing a vest underneath. At the sight of her, her father said, “John, this is my second daughter, Pearl.”