Little Sacrifices (9 page)

‘Yes, I’m sure I do.’

Ma threw in the towel before they’d sipped through their second cup of tea. I didn’t blame her. My mother was generally light–hearted when she wasn’t on her soapbox. She had a mischievous streak a mile wide that, luckily for me, was usually aimed at Duncan. She once presented a bundle of sponges slathered in chocolate icing to Duncan for his birthday. We sang heartily, beaming wide as Duncan blew out his candles. She handed him the knife with a flourish. ‘What’s the matter, Duncan?’ She asked sweetly as he started to sweat. The last thing he wanted to do was insult her cooking so he sawed and sawed until he saw Ma’s face. It was hard to imagine Missus Rumer appreciating her sense of humor. Ma needed friends able to match her frivolity and fervor in turn. The mean or the meek need not apply. So much for neighborly neighbors, I thought, but Ma was dogged in her pursuit of a friendly face within walking distance. Eventually she stumbled upon our across–the–street neighbor, the lady in the hat who spied on Jim and me on my first day in town. Ma set her hook for the big catch. My birthday was to be her tantalizing bait. It was to be her coming–out in Savannah.

My sweet sixteen had all the makings of a colossal washout. I hadn’t been in town long enough to meet a respectable number of potential guests, let alone convince them that my party invitation was the best thing going. But Ma wasn’t swayed by our lack of willing revelers. She planned with an enthusiasm that made Shirley Temple look like a sourpuss. She even took me shopping for a party dress, which was quite a sacrifice for someone so attached to her Singer sewing machine.

Savannah’s shopping district ran along Broughton Street and Adler’s Department Store presided over the stretch like Jesus at the Last Supper. Old Mister Adler knew how to entice shoppers who dared try to walk past without a peek inside.  Enormous panes of glass flaunted the most delicate hats, sumptuous coats and newfangled appliances for all with the means to buy. As we pushed through the doors, I realized why Ma made me put on my best dress to go shopping for my best dress.

She was bursting with pride at the prospect of a day out together. Her step was springy as she rushed to point out every piece of jewelry, each hat or glove as if I’d lost the ability to recognize everyday objects. I tolerated her enthusiasm only because she showed no inclination to steer me towards the lingerie department. Ma’d initiated me into the world of ladies undergarments just as soon as she detected the slightest bumps on my chest. I was literally bound by convention to wear layers of underwear in public. Gone were those halcyon days of freedom in simple drawers and undershirts. Foundation wear gave its all beneath my clothes to make the most of my scant attributes.  

‘What kind of dress would you like, May?’

What would I like? Something that made me the most beautiful girl in the room, nay, in the City of Savannah. Naturally.

The perfect dress was the caboose on a long train of rejected frocks. I was going on
sixteen
, I reminded Ma and the saleslady time and again. After scores of children’s confections, the perfect costume was delivered in the hands of one very weary and out–of–patience salesclerk. It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. 

Ma paid the clerk but had one more card up her sleeve. She led me to the footwear department and straight to a shelf twinkling with high heeled shoes. In the forties your first pair of heels was a rite of passage almost as important as, well, your sixteenth birthday. ‘Which ones shall we try?’ Ma grinned at me. ‘Ma, really?’ Really. I was a woman, she seemed to say. A woman who had earned the right to wear such an outfit.

Wishing that Lottie could be with me wasn’t going to bring her eight hundred miles. It would be the first milestone that she wasn’t in hugging distance of. When Duncan could no longer stand my moping, he agreed to send me to Williamstown by bus over the summer. The irony of his decision wasn’t lost on either of us. I thought hard about it and wrote to ask Lottie to come to Savannah instead. Aside from the fact that I knew just how boring the bus ride was, it would be more fun to have Lottie visit me and meet my friends. The good people at Greyhound would deliver my best friend within a week of her final exams. Our letters took on a new direction. There was a lot of planning to do once we had a target to aim at.

Meanwhile I had more immediate social plans to contend with. As handy as I was with scissors and paste it took me the better part of a week to make the invitations. I was nervous when the time came to give them out. At home it never occurred to me that my offer wouldn’t be snapped up with a smile. There, whole neighborhoods were invited to parties, so anyone begging off an invitation had to be willing to hide in the house on the day. In Savannah, I was on much less steady ground.

Jim and Fie didn’t worry me. They were as lacking in social alternatives as I was. But I decided that if I was going to ask virtual strangers to my house anyway, I may as well aim high. I planned to invite the popular girls. They were nice enough when we talked in class but a party invite was another matter altogether. They lived in a wide world of potential social engagements and weighed each invitation carefully before delighting or disappointing its presenter. I practiced all morning, then tendered my bid as nonchalantly as humanly possible.

‘Why thank you!’

‘Thank you!’

‘Your birthday? I had no idea, thank you!’

‘You’re welcome. So it’s on Saturday. It’ll be a lot of fun.’ I hesitated, wondering how boys managed to ask girls out all the time. ‘I hope you can come.’

‘Well I don’t think we’re busy. Listen, gotta run!’

‘So–’

‘Okay, we’ll see–’

‘Then you can–?’

‘Come on girls–’

‘Because it’ll be–’

‘See you later!’ They were off to class in a flurry of clicking heels and lively chatter.

‘... fun.’

Were they coming or not? It seemed like they’d accepted. But there was always the chance. Did Minty say ‘we’ll see’ as in ‘... you later?’ or ‘we’ll see... if we feel like coming’? If I asked again would I look desperate? I decided I would. I told Ma to expect five guests.

Chapter 13

Saturday morning dawned windy and gray. Savannah hardly ever suffered a direct hit but autumn was hurricane season, when the winds in the Atlantic conspired to slap the coastal towns silly. The eighth Atlantic storm of nineteen forty–seven donned a party hat for my birthday.

My parents knocked on my door at an unsociably early hour, carrying my all–time favorite breakfast and grinning like my birthday was their bright idea. I spied two wrapped packages, one big one (clothes) and an intriguing little one. It’d be childish to wrench the boxes from Duncan’s hands so I perched on my mattress as if I hadn’t noticed them.

He smoothed the sheet–rubbed hair from my forehead. ‘What's knitten', kitten? Want to open your gifts or have your breakfast first?’

‘Maybe you should eat first, so your breakfast doesn’t get cold.’ Ma knew well enough that I’d be eating cold pancakes with torn wrapping paper for company.

In the big box was my first pair of dungarees. They were a fairly recent fashion discovery and my parents were wholeheartedly against girls wearing them. Duncan likened them to Beelzebub and blamed the decline of all western morality on them. Ma was more realistic, thinking them unladylike and ugly. I couldn’t wait to try the little devils on.

Duncan handed me the little gift. Carefully I peeled the tape, folded back the paper and peeked inside. A velvet box. Inside, suspended on an impossibly delicate gold chain was a milky stone that winked fire. ‘It’s an opal, your birth stone.’ It was beautiful. I bounced from the mattress to hug and kiss my thanks. They got awfully sentimental. Duncan looked a little teary. I couldn’t think why the anniversary of a child’s birth would be so emotional for her parents.

I held my hair up for Ma to fasten the clasp. ‘When I turned sixteen,’ she said. ‘My parents gave me a necklace just like this, but with my birthstone instead. It meant a lot to me... I still have it. Anyway, I thought you could wear this today with your dress. Let’s see. Aw, that’s pretty.’ I had to agree.

The guests weren’t due until one but Dora Lee was already singing in the kitchen when I came downstairs in my dungarees. She appraised me with a smile. ‘You look like Rosie the Riveter in those dungarees! Miss, they’re real nice – you’ll turn heads when everyone sees you.’ I thought so too, though my audience was to be an intimate one. My new jeans came with more wearing than washing instructions. My parents might have conceded to their purchase, but they weren’t about to let me out of their sight in them. I wasn’t to set foot outside our neighborhood even if the house was on fire.

Baking smells played around the kitchen. Dora Lee took charge of the punch and the snacks but my birthday cake was Ma’s operation. Each year she chose a theme for its decoration under a shroud of mystery that would have made J. Edgar Hoover proud. We weren’t allowed to see it until the lights were dimmed and her creation set fire to. To keep from stumbling upon it before the unveiling, I stayed in the living room fixing crepe paper to every bare inch of wall and blowing up balloons until my cheeks hurt. I was so excited I felt sick. I’d come down with a case of Ma’s high hopes for the party. I dared to glimpse the chance to catch myself some popular friends. My motives caused me no distress, though Duncan’s mother did flash unbidden to my mind. I dismissed her easily. This was different – I truly liked the girls, or at least what I knew of them.

The buzzer rang at one o’clock on the dot. And rang and rang. Trust Jim to be right on time. ‘Hi, May. Wow, you look pretty.’ I blushed at the compliment, even coming from him. He looked like his Nan had scrubbed him raw with a Brillo brush. He’d even managed to get his hair to lie flat on top. When he handed over a clumsily wrapped package, his wrists extended a good few inches from the ends of his cuffs. Dora Lee beckoned us to the dining room where an enormous crystal bowl held her raspberry punch. I chased lumps of sherbet around with the ladle until I’d filled our glasses. ‘Why don’t you put on some music?’ Ma suggested. Duke, Dizzy, Benny, Glenn and the Count were waiting in my parents’ record collection to entertain us. I flipped through the 78s until I found Savannah’s son, Johnny Mercer. He wasn’t my favorite but I figured the guests would appreciate the nod to local culture.

The sky finally put some bite to its bark and rain pelted in sheets against the windows. Fie and our across–the–street neighbor, Missus Welles, blew through the door at the same time. Fie lived downtown, which was a long walk on a nice day. With a hurricane brewing, she’d cajoled her mother into driving her over. Her mom came in, but only stayed long enough to make sure Fie wasn’t spending the afternoon with reprobates. That accomplished, she made her exit to Ma’s disappointment.

‘Wow, May, you look beautiful!’ She hugged me happy birthday. I returned the praise and thought she was right. I was mint green from head to toe except for the wide dark green band that cinched my waist. The dress whistled when I walked, lacy silk layers shivering with each step. I managed my new shoes pretty well, too, though I was only able to mince along where normally I trod in flat–footed confidence.

Missus Welles and Ma acted like schoolgirls when Ma showed her guest around the house. Our neighbor laid it on thick, squealing with approval at every silly doily–ensconced trifle. They weren’t even ours, for Pete’s sake, and she’d lived across the street for years. I was willing to bet everyone in the neighborhood was elbow–deep in each other’s business. She’d probably snooped around our house a dozen times. I couldn’t hold a grudge against her, though. She put a smile on Ma’s face and brought me an intriguing gift that smelled of roses.

By half past one, all of Ma’s neighborhood ladies had arrived and were perched daintily on the living room furniture. Duncan gave me a quick kiss and bolted upstairs, happy to escape the feminine multitude while he had the chance. Jim, Fie and I claimed the kitchen, talking and trying to filch snacks off Dora Lee’s trays. For a little while we talked about everything except what was on my mind. Where were the girls?

‘Maybe the weather’s held them up.’

‘Yeah, they’re probably just a little late because of the rain. It was pretty bad in town when we started off.’ Fie made a terrible liar.

‘Maybe they thought the party started later. I did put one o’clock on the invitation, didn’t I?’ My friends nodded solemnly. Yes, it had read one o’clock.

‘Because I remember wondering if it should be at one o’clock or two. I hope I put one o’clock on everyone’s...’

Jim sighed. ‘It said one o’clock. Anyway, you don’t need them to have a good time. Your good friends are here, May. Don’t let anything worry your day.’

I did appreciate my good friends. I really did. Though I had a hard time smiling while my lip trembled.

Dora Lee refused to feed us unless we went into the living room and were sociable. She could be quite a bully when she chose, so we sprawled as gracefully as our dresses allowed near the record player on the very fringes of the ladies’ conversation. I gave one ear to my friends and the other to our neighbors. They were fussing over the woes faced by the good people of Savannah.

One woman with an undulating chin chirped up. ‘I tell you, they’re never happy. Just look at all the hullabaloo that Hodge woman’s stirring up.’

‘It’s terrible.’

Another piped in. ‘And don’t forget the political league they’re planning.’

‘Isn’t it just awful.’

‘You can say that again.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Ma confessed as her head swung in time to the ladies’ volleys. ‘I’m not sure what you mean.’

Everyone inched forwards on their chairs, closing in on her.

‘That woman! She wrote letters to everyone about the rents being too high for Negroes. Over there in Yamacraw Village. It’s not like they’re not paid for an honest day’s work. I’m telling you, they’re getting too big for their britches.’

‘And now Mayor Kennedy’s spending our tax dollars on some study to see whether they’re getting a fair deal all over the place.’