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“An Irish dynamo,” the clue read. What could it be, Ceci wondered? The uncertain pencil point rested on the folded paper. What on earth? Mattie would know. I’ll ask here when she gets home. No, she’ll be snippy about it and make some cutting remark about how easy the answer is to see. Why, any school child, she’ll start. Ha! I’ll not ask her.
The wind rattled and moaned through the eaves and shutters as corrugated thunder rolled across the late afternoon sky. Ceci perched on a cream sofa in the middle of the parlor, a room richly decorated long before she’d been conceived. Her tiny feet rested on an antique rug worn by years of use and neglect, and in the hallway a grandfather clock, predictable and accurate, took audible note of the passing hour. Two tattered Queen Anne chairs guarded a fireplace flanked by a mahogany wall of rare books that belonged to her late father. And a ruck of curiosities from long forgotten trips lay here and there beneath a week’s layer of dust. But Ceci didn’t care. Wasn’t her week to dust, it was Mattie’s.
I’ll bet she’s flirting with the meat market man at this very minute. Sure she is. No decent woman’d ever allow herself such latitude…carrying on with a married man. Ha! Mattie was never one to consider refined convention. Winks and grins at them all. No wonder she’s never – a sharp tapping on the window facing the garden abruptly interrupted her train of thought. Naked limbs flailed away like semaphores beckoning ghosts across the pewter sky. Raw day. Glad it’s not my turn to be out in this mess. A reflection from the fire danced across her eyes, her attention wed to the puzzle in her lap. Bandit, a silver tiger tabby cuddled in a ball beside her, took little notice of her musings or the festering storm.
Cocooning herself in a loose-knit shawl, Ceci returned to the puzzle. Four letters…location of the Taj Mahal. Hmm. Wonder if that’s in the dictionary. Probably the encyclopedia. I’ll come back to it. Mattie would know, damn her. Maybe Sophie and Bonnie will close shop early and come home first. They might know. No, they won’t close until five, it’s Friday. That Mr. Thompson stops by on Fridays to browse the magazines, and he always speaks to both of them. Wonder why he’s not asked one of them out? Unattached, I think. Can’t be in there just for a magazine every Friday. Well, there’s Bonnie’s tongue…could run off a herd of elephants. Lucky we sell any books at all when she’s on duty. Humph! But she might know the answer. Hmm. We have a volume of world facts for sale in the store. I know. I placed it in the window not three days ago. Wonder if I should call. She peered long and hard at the telephone, smug in its lifeless existence on the corner table by the hall. Damn. Double damn.
A brass key rattled in the latch and a gust pushed Mattie through the door with two bulging sacks crushed against her generous breasts. Kicking the door shut with a bang, she gazed down the hall toward her sister, graying, dignified and pretending to ignore her entrance.
“Well, did he call, Ceci?”
“Did who call?” Ceci said, still feigning an interest in the puzzle in her lap.
Mattie, sloe-eyed, glared at her sister. Who the hell does she think I mean? “The man you were all a-chatter about at breakfast, dear. Who else would I mean?” Is she suddenly suffering from dementia?
Ceci cut her eyes up toward the dripping shadow in the doorway. Mattie braced and waited. For a moment only the crackling fire broke the silence between the two women. The cat raised his head and blinked.
“I’ve been quite busy with housework most of the day. The phone could have rung, don’t know, but if it did, I didn’t hear it. I just don’t know.” Ceci’s pallid face was the image of a child caught in a lie.
“The bananas were half price,” Mattie’s voice echoed down the long hall where she shuffled toward the kitchen. “Lamb chops were a bargain, too. Got some for dinner tonight.” The cat silently jumped from the sofa and in a gentle canter followed her through the long shadows of the diminishing day.
Ceci had heard all of what her sister had said, but continued to pretend to focus on the crossword. Hoping to blot out unwanted distractions, she began to hum a tune, her eyes roaming across other clues in the paper.
“How ’bout some tea?”
Ceci ignored the request and continued to hum.
“Ceci!” boomed an alto voice from the parlor door.
Ceci jumped like a startled rabbit.
“Oh…didn’t mean to slip up on you, dear. Will you have some hot tea with me?” Serves you right for ignoring me, you twit.
“Why, that sounds delightful, Mattie.” Just can’t stand to leave me alone, can you?
The women sat by the fire, each poised as if waiting for the next ember to pop. The cat settled in between them, its eyelids at half-mast. Like a vaudeville act, the rain tap-danced across the roof, the wind whipping about to the syncopated rhythm of the storm. The sisters continued to eye each other in an unspoken peek-a-boo game. Heads rose and fell, then turned toward the inert tea set, delicate and unmoved. Scones and crumpets on a Wedgwood plate lay untouched as the clock in the hall took measure of the expiring day.
Ceci observed, “Chill rain starting.”
“Goodness yes, just made it home in the nick of time.”
“I was thinking of Sophie and Bonnie.”
“Oh, yes. Looks as if they’ll be caught in it for sure…Glad I missed the worst of it,” Mattie said with a nod. Miss Holier-Than-Thou, always reminding me of her preference for the other two.
“Yes, you were prompt, my dear, I must say. Skip the meat market today, Mattie?”
“Why, heavens no, Ceci. Didn’t you hear me from the kitchen? Got lamb chops on sale today.” She heard me alright.
“Sorry…so, how is Mr. Marcelli today?”
“The meat market man? Fine, I guess. Didn’t ask. Too busy watching the scales. Got to watch with care, you know.” Here she goes, prying again
“I suppose you’re right.” Bet a nickel she flirted with him.
Like souls pondering a checkerboard on a Southern courthouse square, the two appeared engrossed by the flickering reflections on the tea set below.
“Sophie and Bonnie should be here soon. Perhaps I should heat some more tea.”
“That would be nice. I’ll help you put the groceries in the pantry.”
“Why, thank you, Ceci.” Neither moved.
“Mr. Marcelli’s niece just had a baby.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. Said there’ll be a grand party following the baptism…more than a hundred people invited. We’re included.”
“How lovely…that should prove to be quite an undertaking for his wife…preparing for all those people, I mean.” Especially the way you’ll stuff your cheeks.
“Oh, he is a widower. Lost his wife about six months ago.” But you already knew that. Ha!
“Oh, dear. How sad.” Cecile’s eyes rose charily, then dropped. Uh huh, and I see you’ve been busy.
“Yes. He said she’d have loved the new baby. She adored children, even though they were never able to have any of their own.”
“How interesting. He must be quite lonely now…wouldn’t you think, dear?”
Mattie’s face flushed. “Well, I…I wouldn’t know about that. Never considered it. Hadn’t thought about it in that light.” Her head shook in small arcs as both struggled for something to say. Mattie flipped her Betty Boop curls and peered out the window. The rain had risen into a serious crescendo when the front door squeaked and banged shut again.
Sophie, a blue-gray image of graveness stood in the doorway in a fusion of rain, perspiration and yesterday’s perfume. Pools of kohl scooted down her pasty cheeks in the fashion of a lugubrious circus clown.
Ceci pretended concern. “Why, Sophie, where’s Bonnie?”
“She had to make a stop at the pharmacy.”
“She have a new prescription?”
“Beats me. If she does, I haven’t heard about it.”
“Perhaps she’s meeting someone there…say, for a cherry coke?” Ceci chirped
“Maybe.” But it’s none of your damn business if she is.
“You know something?” Mattie chimed in.
“No, but she did seem secretive. Told me to go on ahead. Said she’d be along directly.”
“I’ll bet it’s that new railroad man at the depot.”
“Why would you say that?”
“Why not?” two voices piped in unison.
“Well, heaven knows, but we’ll never know unless we choke it out of her.” Sophie chuckled and noticed the cat peering oddly at her from the hallway door.
“Why, Sophie, that’s no way to talk about your sister,” Ceci said.
“Well, you know her as well as I do. Besides, if she’s meeting someone, at least…well...say, Ceci, how ’bout you? Did he call?”
Ceci’s face froze. Her eyes flooded, her chin dropped, and the room slipped back into the quietude of a tomcat on a moonlight prowl.
“I’m sorry, dear,” Sophie offered. Ceci’s tongue lay numb in her cheek. She shook her head weakly.
“Come in and have some tea with us, Sophie,” Mattie shouted, shuffling down the hall for more hot tea.
“Don’t mind if I do,” she said, peeling off her rain-soaked coat, “terrible chill out there.” Then, turning to Ceci, she whispered, “Do forgive me, dear Ceci. I meant no harm.”
“I know,” she said in a quivering voice. You’d cut my heart out if you thought you could get away with it.
The front door opened to a drum of rain and rumbles off in the distance. Holding a collapsed umbrella, a caped silhouette in a wide-brimmed hat stood wobbling in the hall like a defeated musketeer. “Damn, it’s awful out there!”
“Come over by the fire, Bonnie, and warm up a bit.” Never could teach her to curb that gutter tongue of hers.
“Soon as I can shuck this wet mess, I will.” She shambled toward the hall closet, her galoshes squeaking as she moved.
Mattie placed a fresh pot of tea on the table and said, “So, what held you up, dear?”
“Had to make a stop,” Bonnie said. She flopped down in a chair and kicked off her shoes. A curious stillness slowly crept over the scene. Mouths skewed and eyes wandered with teacups held in a conventional pinkie pose.
“What!” Bonnie barked. Is this one of their frigging kangaroo courts?
“Nothing, dear,” Cecile said. “We’re just wondering how the store did today.”
“We did okay.” Truth about commerce in the bookstore had long ago been erased from polite conversation at home. Bonnie leaned from her spot just long enough to grab a tea cake and scarf it down before she collapsed on the sofa again in her wet stocking feet. “Whew, what a day.”
“Yes, indeed,” Ceci said, “and where did you linger on the way home, dear?”
The warmth in Bonnie’s cheeks vanished like a dream of passion at dawn. Mattie stood and turned in to the hallway toward the kitchen. “I’m going to start dinner,” she said. “Somebody let me know if there’s any news,” she added, her foxy grin hidden in the shadows of the hallway.
“Maybe I just stopped in the pharmacy for some suppositories.” Bonnie said, her pink tongue slyly removing confectioners’ sugar from the corner of her painted lips. Her announcement was met with painful scowls. “I believe I’ll give Mattie a hand in the kitchen,” Ceci said as she started toward the doorway.
“Me, too.” Sophie quickly followed.
Nosy tarts. Serves ’em right. Bonnie sat alone, feeling empty as she remembered a lingering chill and a new run in her stocking. Closing her eyes, she sighed. The parlor fire hissed and popped as partially consumed pieces of wood fell into growing mounds of ash below. Bandit tiptoed into her lap and curled up. The only one here who’ll give me any peace, she thought.
Dinner commenced with the usual tinkling of silver against china as each contemplated a new line of conversation that might prove amiable tonight.
“So, did we sell books today?”
“We sell books every day, Ceci. What’s your point?” Bonnie said curtly.
“Well, did we return any to the distributors,” she continued, ignoring the rebuff.
“Never on Fridays,” Bonnie said.
“Well…how’d we do with magazines, Sophie?” Maybe she’ll be more civil.
“Usual lookers.”
“Anyone in particular?” Mattie’s forehead furrowed as she waded into the fray.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sophie demanded.
“Just trying to make conversation, dear. You needn’t be short with me.” Though heaven knows that’s the best you can do.
“Sorry, Mattie. Yes, we sold magazines today. That fellow who comes in on Fridays bought three.”
“Mr. Thompson?” Cecile asked in a stage whisper.
“Yes, I suppose that’s his name. Awfully chatty, though. Awfully.”
“What’s he say?”
“Can’t recall. Good chops, Mattie. You really outdid yourself tonight.”
“Why, thank you, Sophie.”
“Uh huh,” Bonnie added with a nod.
“What does this Mr. Thompson do, Sophie?” Ceci asked.
“Some kind of insurance business. Why?”
“Oh, just curious.” Ceci tried to hide a grin behind a napkin.
“Say, Ceci, you get any calls today?” The words echoed off the walls like the closing arguments of a prosecuting attorney. Ceci’s teeth clamped down on a thin, whitened lip. Doubt hung long in her face like a bad hangover.
Deflections of heavily engraved silver collided with fine bone china adding a gentle discordance to the air, its timbre mirroring the unpredictable darkness just beyond the vision of the four sisters. The goodness of the holiday season had somehow quietly slipped away, leaving the cold rain to assault the barren scene.
“Mr. Marcelli has invited us to a big party following the baptism of his new niece,” Mattie said.
Bonnie was intrigued. “Oh, really? When?”
“Well, he thought the child might be baptized in three months, so it’ll be awhile. He said a hundred or so people will be invited.”
“Sounds grand. You his date?” Bonnie quipped as she took a bite of lamb chop. Mattie’s countenance quickly betrayed her, her face morphing into the shape of a large fish, hooked and defeated. Bonnie began to cackle like a hyena.
“What’s so damn funny?” The three looked at their baby sister. Bonnie sat rigidly erect as humiliation began to dance across her cheeks. Thunder echoed across the ugly darkness just beyond the walls surrounding the ladies and, again, a hush fell over the room.
Her blouse adorned with the soup of the day, Bonnie stood first, signaling a coda to the evening’s polite dinner exchange. Enough detritus remained across the table to satisfy a pack of hungry wolves with only the fine teacups left empty.
Embers of the dying fire grumbled and burped, sending soot and ashes the way of forgotten dreams as the ladies settled in for evening coffee. Ceci looked around at the others, her eyes wide. “Does anyone know what an Irish dynamo is?”
“Born a naïf. Destined a naïf,” Mattie replied.
“I’m sorry.” A tissue raced across Ceci’s lap to her nose. Her inquisitiveness was understood, but routinely ignored. Mattie thought to herself, Tyrone Power, you dolt.
Dangerously close to the fire on the hearth Bandit sat, sphinx like, its feral eyes fixed on unknown prey in the hallway, its tail flipping like a metronome set in a three-quarter-time beat.
“Salvatore Marcelli. Such a mellifluous name, don’t you think, Ceci?” Sophie’s smile was aped by two others. A fourth died in front of a squad of clinched teeth.
The four women gazed at the fire, the warm glow fading across faces filled with fanciful notions. Each ministered to a conjugal hope hidden deep within where rehearsed remarks roiled like the chilling storm across the fading landscape.
Suddenly, the doorbell rang, rattling the composure of this odd congress. The cat lifted its chin from its paws, its amber eyes intense.
“Who could that be at this hour?”
“And in this weather!”
“Anybody expecting anyone?”
Ceci scurried down the hall to the door and peeked through the leaded glass like a child anticipating St. Nick. Turning, her eyes twinkling, her mouth the shape of an egg, she gasped, “Flowers!”
Fred Miller is a South Carolina author. His works have appeared in Dew On The Kudzu: A Southern E-zine, Muscadine Lines: A Southern Journal, Oxford Town, Puckerbrush Review, Skive Magazine [print], Static Movement, Troubadour 21, Scarlett Rosebud, and in The Houston Literary Review, July 2011. "The Parade" has been accepted by Cantaraville.