The Gilda Stories (16 page)

The broad-brimmed felt hat she wore flopped down over her face leaving only her lips exposed in the amber light. She slapped the dust from her hem and decided she was presentable enough even though a fine grey film from her final sweep through the garden rimmed the soles of her boots. The cloak would hide it, she thought, if she should encounter anyone on the street, and Aurelia cared little for appearance. Or more precisely, her outlandish outfits seemed to appeal to Aurelia. Gilda decided to rinse her hands before leaving and was startled to hear a knock at her door just as she returned a towel to its rack.

There was a moment of terror when time eclipsed itself and it was again 1850. Gilda fought the panic barreling through her and searched her mind for who it might be. So rarely did she have visitors, and people did not ride this far out to visit unexpectedly at this hour, that Gilda was certain it must be Aurelia. She hurried to the front of the house trying to suppress a gnawing guilt at what Aurelia must have perceived as neglect.

She was surprised to see not Aurelia but her neighbor, John Freeman, whose farm lay further west. He was a tall, narrow man who filled the doorframe with his stiff coveralls and straw hat. Gilda was rankled by his presence but unsure why. He lived alone and worked his farm steadily and was the only person, other than Aurelia, to have ever been inside Gilda's home. Sometimes he stopped by to stand at the porch railing exchanging the small talk that was part of the ritual of farm life. Occasionally she'd discover a peck of beans on her porch or a bottle of the homemade wine for which Freeman was famous. She smiled at the memory of the rough wine that had made her feel so warm and opened the door wider.

“Well, Brother Freeman, this is a pure surprise. Have you come to continue in your efforts to persuade me with your wine to the ways of the devil?” She said this laughing as she stepped out onto the porch.

He was a reed-thin man with—at first glance—a stern demeanor, the effect of working in the sun all day. At the slightest encouragement his eyes opened wide, and his smile rose shyly from deep within brown furrows. Although he knew little about Gilda he'd taken to her from the time he first saw her squinting into the sunset three years earlier.

“No ma'am,” he said in a deep voice echoing miraculously from his long neck. “That's not 'til next harvest. I expect the berries to be sweeter than ever too.” Gilda sat in one of the porch's ladder-back chairs and indicated the other for Freeman.

“You know, Miss Gilda, I need to ask your thought on something,” he said, ignoring the chair, “but I'ma hope you ain't peeved 'cause these ideas come up.”

“I can think of few ideas you might have, Mr. Freeman, that would make me angry.”

He began slowly, phrasing his words carefully for this peculiar woman who appeared to live outside of their world and to hide her own universe beneath her hat brims. “Well, you probably know that Miss Aurelia got this notion in her head to minister to the poor. Not that I'm against it, but she's took into her mind to maybe start a class or a school for them that's just up from down south and them Indians that live north of town and God knows what all! She's even talking about…” He broke off there, embarrassed, then went on. “Well, you probably know something 'bout all this. You two is big talkers, I know.”

“I thought it a fine project, myself,” Gilda asserted, then held her silence.

“I agree, Miss Gilda, you ain't gonna get no arguin outta me on that account—”

“So what is it exactly, Mr. Freeman, we're concerned about?” As Gilda spoke she gazed out from under her hat, casually catching John Freeman's eyes. Exerting her will she corralled his thoughts, making it easier for him to be direct so they did not dance around his meaning for the next twenty minutes.

“Well, I just wondered if you thought it un…uh…unseemly for Miss Aurelia to have those people troupin' through her house, probably at night, and she'd be there alone and all. It just looks like the people in town might talk in some kinda way. You know they got nothin' better to do but think on colored folks' business. And you know white people think we're all trash no matter who's husband was a minister or a farmer or such like!”

Gilda laughed out loud at that. It became clear what caught her up short about this man: his carefully contained yet certainly passionate interest in Aurelia.

“In some ways you are right, of course, Mr. Freeman. Aurelia should not be left to bear the burden of this all on her own. Surely she should have someone to stand by her. We've discussed perhaps having the lessons out here at my farm sometimes, or even moving the lessons around to give others a chance to host—implicate everyone, in a manner of speaking,” Gilda said with a glistening smile. “But those are barely plans right now. And, Mr. Freeman, we can't always be so concerned with the talk of our neighbors. Talk is mostly useless chatter that feeds no cows and brings no rain.”

“You got it right there!” John Freeman said, relieved that Gilda appeared to agree with him. He was unsure if Gilda's participation made the idea more or less savory though. Everyone said two women were bound to get into even more trouble than one.

“I'm on my way to see Aurelia right now, so maybe she and I can discuss some of your suggestions.”

With that, Gilda pulled her front door tight and left her porch in long strides. John Freeman tumbled quickly behind and opened the car door while Gilda put on her goggles. She climbed in and moved the car onto the road as Freeman mounted his horse. He turned back toward his farm, frowning. Gilda's words had been comforting, nonetheless, and odd as it seemed even to him, he had a lot of confidence in her.

Sitting in Aurelia's kitchen, listening to her excited talk of the new venture, Gilda felt less certain about her ability to manage the situation.

“You remember that first time you come by here to pay your respects? Why, I was so shy I was hardly able to open the door, much less look you in the eye. I remember how that sunset made your hat look like a halo, and I was so flustered I didn't know what you'd think of me.” Aurelia laughed with embarrassment.

“I thought only that I'd caught you by surprise.”

“I do say, you caught me by surprise. I can't remember any time I've been more surprised. Except when the Reverend asked for my hand. Even then I could tell my folks expected it, so it wasn't much of one.” She laughed nervously, remembering how narrow her choices had seemed then, how broad they were now that she knew Gilda. “You looked so overpowering I wasn't certain if I should be afraid or relieved.”

“You hid your indecision well,” Gilda said. “I thought you were simply measuring me to decide if I were suitable enough to use the good china.” They laughed together as they had done on many occasions since that first time.

“It doesn't feel like almost three years have passed. If you had seen me in the Reverend Hayne's office yesterday, you wouldn't have recognized me. I just kind of made my back go stiff like I was pushing a stuck drawer and kept talking, no matter what he said. When I asked about using the church at night for class, he just sputtered around his desk. Then when I said I wanted another night for offering social services, you know, giving out food and all, he stoppered up like a bottle. Just a year ago, even a month ago, I don't know if I'd ever have been able to be so bold. And I can tell you that if we'd had to depend on some of the other ladies, we'd be meeting in your barn.”

They both laughed loudly since Gilda's unused barn was the least amenable facility in the vicinity.

“I know he kept thinking to himself:
Mercy be, this could have been my wife!
So, between guilt and relief he said yes—maybe!”

A glow of pride spread across Aurelia's face. And, indeed, she had grown a great deal in the years since they became friends. The evenings they spent together had changed: Gilda was no longer there simply to provide entertainment, to draw her out. They were accustomed to each other's tastes in discussion. Gilda came to know this new Aurelia quite well and was not surprised at her success. Still, the afternoon's discussion with John Freeman stayed with her. Beside it was the gnawing restlessness she continued to push into the back of her thoughts.

“And just what are you going to do now that he's said yes—maybe?” Gilda asked.

She didn't touch the teacup Aurelia placed before her. Instead she watched Aurelia put away the knives, bowls, and jars from her afternoon of canning. Once the vegetables Gilda had brought were stored in the back pantry, Aurelia tossed her apron onto a pile of stained towels.

“What is it, Gilda? You're not saying something,” Aurelia accused with an easy familiarity. Then added, “Let's sit in the parlor. I, unlike some of us, have had enough of the kitchen today.”

She gave Gilda a tart smile and did not wait for her to follow into the next room. She removed a bottle of sherry along with two glasses from the sideboard.

“Is this going to be unpleasant?” she asked as she poured from the crystal decanter.

“I think you have to make careful plans, Aurelia, that's all. This isn't something you should take on alone.”

“I'm not alone. Edna Bright is planning to help with the lessons, and if her sister is willing to work on dispensing food and you're going to give us a share of your yield, I'd say that's a fairly strong beginning.” Aurelia did not look in Gilda's direction but sipped from the tiny glass and paced before the low settee.

“Of course I'm going to contribute. I've always got much more than I can ever use, and that's true for some others as well, like John Freeman. I know he wants to make donations. You'd do well to involve him; he'd be quite a help.” Gilda listened to the voice as if it were not her own.

“Why? I've got you.”

Gilda's heart pounded loudly in her chest as the room fell silent around them. She was now certain she must make plans to leave Missouri but had not expected the decision to be presented to her so soon. Despite the passing years she still felt unsure of how to know when one she cared for might be suited to this life, or when she might simply be thinking of her own desire and not the needs of others. The misery she'd seen in Samuel's eyes traveled with her.

“But I might not always be here, Aurelia.” The words did not fill the silence, only deepened it. “I've told you, sometime in the future I may need to go back east. My family could call for me at any time.”

Gilda's lie hung low in the air. Inside she cringed at the word
family.
The thought of leaving Aurelia for family when she still had not found Bird made her tremble. She stared in Aurelia's direction avoiding her eyes; how easily she could make her one of them. The knowledge landed heavily on Gilda's chest, almost cutting her breath from her. Aurelia would be acquiescent, eager, letting Gilda draw the blood and return it in the ritual of sharing that would bind them together forever. The pulsing of Aurelia's blood at her temple mesmerized Gilda. Here could begin a new family, she thought. Hunger and desire almost pulled Gilda across the parlor. Instead she stood and excused herself, then snatched her cloak from its hook by the door. Aurelia followed her, a look of alarm spreading across her face. Gilda stilled her before she could speak.

“I have to go. We'll talk more tomorrow.”

“You'll come for church?”

“No. I must be in St. Louis in the morning.”

“St. Louis!” Aurelia was appalled to hear herself almost shouting. “You can't start out at this hour. It's too dangerous!” She clutched Gilda's sleeve. “This is foolish—” She tried to continue but couldn't.

Gilda held her gaze, calming her, suggesting she read then go to sleep early.

“I'll be here before evening supper. We'll have our ride then,” Gilda said without speaking. She loosed Aurelia's hand from her arm and latched the door behind her as she left.

Gilda had reached her farm and changed her clothes before Aurelia realized she was sitting in the armchair she thought of as Gilda's. The amber glow of the reading lamp was comforting, and soon Aurelia was ready to retire.

Once back on the road Gilda felt her trembling begin to lessen. She looked for the key to her hesitation as her feet carried her east. She'd never changed anyone but was certain she knew the process: exchange of blood, two times taken, at least once given. She knew the method and the timing but she drew back from the idea. Why? The restlessness Gilda felt would surely be quieted if Aurelia joined with her. But Aurelia's life was now full of many new plans and people. She had begun to make a real place for herself among people she cared for. To claim this life now would be thievery. To pull Aurelia away from the ties she'd made, the commitment she felt, and to ask her to live apart from these things would be cheating her. The idea that Aurelia might one day look at her with the same misery she had seen in Samuel's eyes wrenched her heart.

A cracking sound behind her brought Gilda's attention back to the road. She stood frozen for a moment, listening warily, not anxious to repeat the events of the recent past. She recognized the sound as a skittering rabbit and began to move briskly again. By the time she was outside of St. Louis she no longer thought of Aurelia but only of the hunger she had aroused, and of escape. She skirted the city, then pulled her hat down further as she started for its center. She was inconspicuous in the Saturday evening crowds.

Gilda walked among the people, listening to their heartbeats, letting the scent of their blood and perfumes drift past her. She turned into an alley behind a house she recognized. In the shadows of a doorway she listened to the sound of voices wafting down from the windows above. High-pitched laughter mixed with clinking glassware and soft entreaties. They made her ache for Woodard's, a place that no longer existed. She longed for the girls who years since had become old women, who most probably lay at their final rest by now. The music floated eagerly through the back door of the building which was ajar only wide enough to let one man pass through: an ejected customer stumbling homeward. Gilda stared at the building, absorbing the familiar sounds and smells, and recognized her restlessness. It was unfinished. She'd left Woodard's without knowing what her life with Bird might be, just as Bird had left her unable to say what they were to each other. Gilda wanted to reach out to Bird, but even more she needed to settle inside herself. Aurelia could not help her do that. Aurelia would be fulfilled in Rosebud, not on unknown roads delving into a past she did not understand. It was not a journey she needed, but one that Gilda did.