Galveston (14 page)

Is it not true that each of us should have one person in the world on whom we may lavish all our love, who will ever be deserving of our devotion and never disappoint us or become disloyal, no matter what? For me, it is Cousin Ruth, almost from the day of her arrival as special as my own child in terms of affection.

She was, I believe, a surprise for all of us.

Though she stepped from the train an unpolished pearl—plainly clad in schoolgirl clothes and wide-brimmed hat, ribbon trailing behind—she had a quality of freshness, a wide-eyed enthusiasm for everything around her that would have endeared her to anyone, and seemed especially appealing to Charles.

As to beauty, she held possibilities I knew I could bring to life throughout the summer. Her light blond hair was long and straight, with a fringe of straight bangs across her forehead. Her cheeks were high, her nose small and upturned, her large eyes brown and coy.

Even as she assailed Charles with a round of questions during the ride home from the train station, I thought of the ways her good features might be enhanced, so that I could send her home to Betsey at summer's end as an accomplished young lady.

“What are those ships over there carrying? Where do they come from? Where is your office, Cousin Charles? What's that big, tall building over there? What a lovely house—who lives in it? That's the tallest tree I've ever seen—some sort of palm, isn't it? Are the oleanders really poisonous? I've read they are. Where is the beach from here? I just adore the water. The only place for swimming at home is the old pond south of town … but of course you knew that, didn't you? Can we go to the beach?”

Ruth talked fast and staccato, but Charles seemed unruffled by her manner. He answered each question patiently, though she stayed one or two ahead of him all the time. “You bet we'll go to the beach,” he said, “and to Woollam's Lake for picnics. And we'll have to take you to the Garten Verein, won't we, Claire? I'm sure Pete can get us in there. Maybe we'll even take out a membership of our own.…”

Of course we had to explain about the Garten Verein, then about Pete, and this proved convenient because we soon passed in front of his house. “Oh, I don't think there's anything as elaborate as that in Grady,” she said. “It's like something out of a picture book—all the houses are.”

“Pete's a close friend of ours,” Charles told her. “He has a fine boy who wants to meet you.”

“Oh? Is he very handsome?”

“I don't know. Claire, is Teddy handsome?”

“My goodness, I never gave it much thought. No, I don't think you could consider Teddy handsome, but he is at least nice-looking, and about your age.”

“Oh.”

“Don't you like young men your age?”

“They're all right, though I kind of prefer men a little older. Maybe it's peculiar to Grady, but most of the young men I meet seem so childish. Of course if I'd gone to the public school instead of the Pedagoguery, I'd have had more of a chance to meet boys. But Mother says the Ped's a better school.”

I had had my term in the Pedagoguery at her age. It is a finishing school for young women, and the only one of its kind anywhere in that part of the state. A woman named Helen Tannery from England, who came to Grady with her husband ten years before the war, had started it, and in the beginning people had laughed at her, almost booed her out of town at the foolhardiness of such an idea, for people in Grady don't take kindly to frivolousness. Yet she stayed—probably out of spite as much as anything—and the school soon thrived, drawing girls from wealthy families miles away, even across the state line. Of course Ruth was far from wealthy, and so were Betsey and I when we attended. It is the room and board which makes the Pedagoguery School expensive. Day students need not have much money to go there.

“Is Helen Tannery still running it?” I asked her.

“Yes, although she's getting so old she has an assistant doing most of the work. Did you know her husband died last year? Um-hum, consumption, I think. Anyway, she has a hard time keeping good teachers. Nobody wants to come out to Grady. Everybody just wants to leave, and when I see Galveston I can understand why you two picked such a place.

“I've a feeling it is going to be a terrific summer.”

“I don't know,” said Charles, teasingly. “The mosquitoes are pretty bad in the summertime, and I have to keep a rowboat and oars at the house because when it rains hard I have to take a boat to work. Horse doesn't know how to swim.”

She stared at him for a moment, stunned at this new information. Then, realizing she was being fooled, burst into gales of laughter. Ruth's laughter is pleasant: like the sound of a fingertip as it is pulled across the strings of a well-tuned harp.

“By the way, have you got a piano?” she asked.

“No,” said Charles, “but Janet and Rubin Garret—our neighbors—have one that I'm sure they'd let you play if you want. Janet's out of town now, but as soon as she gets back you might ask her. She's a very talented woman, you know, paints and writes poetry …”

“Does she play piano?”

“Not much, I don't think. But she'll probably be thrilled to learn that you play. Did you bring music?”

“Yes, unfortunately I haven't the ear for playing without it. But I brought only a few pieces. I was afraid of filling too much baggage, and one whole grip is full of presents Mother sent for the two of you.”

In the evening I helped Ruth unpack the sparse amount of clothing she'd brought along. The clothes simply would not do for meeting the Marlowes and attending the Garten Verein functions. “Tell you what,” I suggested, “tomorrow we'll go shopping. There's a great place downtown called the Emporium, where I buy fabric. Then there is Madame LaRoche, whom you must meet—a dressmaker. We'll pick out some material and have some outfits made for you by her—she is the best in Galveston.”

“Oh, I hadn't thought much about clothes,” she said, sitting down on the floor. “In Grady there isn't much emphasis on that kind of thing, though we did study fashion a little at the Ped. But I didn't bring a lot of money. Is Madame very expensive?”

“Don't worry. I want to do something for you after your mother sent all these presents to us. I wish she hadn't sent all these things … makes me feel beholden.”

“Not really. You did her quite a favor, inviting me. Oh—don't look like that. She never fooled me for a moment. I know she asked you to do it.”

“Well, she loves you, that's all, and anyway, I'm so glad she did. We've gotten so involved in things down here … I might never have thought, never have known what I missed by not having you. And it'll be good for you to get away after—”

“After being jilted,” she said, and leaned against the bureau, picking up an embroidered handkerchief and toying with its design. “Want to know what got me the most about him? I trusted him. I really trusted him. That's hard to do, when your own father deserted you so long ago you can't remember what he looked like.

“Are all men so untrustworthy? No, of course they aren't … look at Cousin Charles. He must be very fine. You're lucky, Claire.”

“I am, in a way, but Charles isn't the only trustworthy man around. Someday you'll find one. Take my advice, dear: never marry for anything except love. You'll save yourself a great deal of heartache in the long run.”

She looked at me for a long time then, probably wondering where in my own experience I had learned such information, and, afraid I would give something away in my face, I prodded her again about her own lost lover.

“Cornel Talbeaux is his name—French heritage. He's been all over the world.”

“What was he doing in Grady?”

“His father bought six hundred acres outside of town for ranching and horse breeding. We—Cornel and I—met one day when he came into the store for supplies.

“I should have known … in Grady I was perhaps among the best of the lot of girls, as far as looks anyway, although that's not saying much, and I'm terribly bowlegged—of course he had no way of knowing that!—but I wouldn't kid myself about the choice he'd have had once he went away to school.”

“How old is he?”

“In his late twenties. He didn't start college until they came over here from France. He's going to be a surgeon. You ought to see his hands: beautiful, almost delicate. And very steady …” She held her own small hands out in front of her and studied them.

“You're young yet. Don't think you have to find someone else right away. People make mistakes when they marry too young.”

“I know. Look at Mother. Lately I've decided maybe I'm better off Cornel dropped me when he did. I mean, suppose after we were married he found someone else and left me? That would have been far more terrible, I know.”

I stood up. “Right you are. Now, while I can't promise you a string of beaux on Galveston Island, I can at least try to show you a good time. Let's find Charles and go sit out on the verandah. I'll make something cold to drink.”

“Let me help you,” she said. “After that marvelous dinner, and I didn't turn a hand. At home I do most of the cooking, and I must say I could use a few lessons from you.”

“No, you hunt up Charles—I expect you'll have to pry him from his study—and go on out. I'll expect you to help me some while you're here, but tonight is your first with us, after all. And of course I'll be glad to give you some pointers on cooking. Until we got rid of Helga, I didn't know how myself. But I learned quickly.”

“Oh, Claire, you have no idea how glad I am I came.… I did need to get away, and after just being here today I can tell I'll find a cure for everything.”

“It's our pleasure having you. It's good for me, too, having you just now.”

“I'm so glad. I'll get Charles. See you outside.”

“A person could get killed on these things,” she said, standing at the edge of the porch and looking down the stairs. “How treacherous they look.…”

“You get accustomed to them after a while,” said Charles.

“I suppose so,” she said doubtfully, and sat down.

It was then, I believe, that Rubin stopped by briefly to welcome Ruth, and to say Janet would return within a couple of weeks. He stayed but a moment, pleading he was late getting started on next Sunday's sermon, and when he was out of sight Ruth asked, “What color is his hair?”

“Light, blondish,” I told her.

“That's funny. In the moonlight it looks silver.”

“Hardly,” said Charles. “Rubin and Janet are younger than Claire and I … speaking of silver, I notice I'm getting a few strands of it in my hair, right above the temples. Have you noticed that, Claire? Guess it comes inevitably when a man gets close to forty.”

“We're not over the hill yet,” I said. “Rubin's but a year younger than I am, you know.”

There was a shuffle down the block then, and presently young Josh Driscoll appeared at the edge of the fence and walked to the gate. “Evenin', Mr. and Mrs. Becker,” he said, tipping his straw hat. Seeing him there, tall and impeccable, yet pathetically plain-looking, I was sorry we'd made a point of telling him Ruth was coming. She surely wouldn't be interested in him.

“Come on up and meet Ruth Miller, Josh,” said Charles. “This is Claire's cousin from Grady I've been telling you about.”

The boy was clearly demoralized in Ruth's presence. She must have made a winning picture, sitting there crosswise, her legs stretched out in front of her and her well-developed bosom outlined against the moonlight.

He removed his hat again and held it in front of him, and nodded at Ruth as though incapable of speech. Josh Driscoll has round, bulging eyes like his father and freckles from his mother's side. Tonight the eyes were all the more noticeable under the moonlight, and I had this terrible urge to push them back into his head.

Ruth was demure. “I'm very pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Driscoll,” she said, twirling a few wisps of her long hair around her finger. “Goodness, if Cousin Charles had told me how nice the young men were down here I'd have come long before now. You live in the neighborhood?”

“Yes, no, yes … that is, at the end of the block up yonder,” he said, cocking his head to the right and twirling his hat around in his hands. “May I call again, sometime?”

“Why, of course, any time, Mr. Driscoll.”

“Please call me Josh. That's my name—that is, my name is Josiah but hardly anybody calls me that except my grandmother and Mr. Klein down at the dry goods store. But of course—”

I could bear no more. “Do call again, Josh,” I interrupted. “Give our best regards to your mother and father, will you?”

“Yes'm,” he said, grateful, I am sure, for the reprieve. He wished us all good evening and backed down the walk. Then, narrowly escaping a collision with the gate, he stopped, put his hat back on, jumped over the gate instead of opening it, looked surprised at himself, and took off at a pace somewhere between a rolling gait and a fast dash.

Ruth was holding her hand across her mouth to keep from laughing aloud. “Poor dear,” she said softly. “He must not meet many girls.”

“What did you tell him about Ruth to make him act so silly?” I asked Charles.

“Absolutely nothing except she was about eighteen and coming for a visit. Better that way, not to say anything at all.” He drew on his pipe. “Besides, I didn't know what to expect myself.”

I leaned back again and thought of Janet's pending arrival. How tiresome it would be, having to explain her foolish moods to Ruth, and poor Rubin, having to pretend he was glad she was back, for he would be pretending on that account, I was certain.

Chapter 14

Dark treetops against a lavender sky: sundown at Woollam's Lake. Couples rowing in small boats on the glassy water; others leaning against the big trees, talking, and some hiding in the shadows, spooning.