Chapter Five

5

Anglican

Cowgirls

KATHERINE & BEA

In the porcelain silence of the restaurant washroom, Katherine’s fingers dug and worried at the knuckles of her shoulders. She watched her mother, looking for cracks, “So, this Bessie person, she really didn’t have anything to do with my father?”

Beatrice heard the insinuation and refused it house room, “No, no, she was a local girl, off a farm, but she’d been away. She didn’t even know him.”

Katherine honestly believed that her mother would be better off knowing the truth, “Then why did he leave?”

Beatrice was growing impatient and had no intention of letting herself go in a public washroom, “I don’t know, Katherine. It’s just one of those things.”

Katherine glared with disbelief and mockingly picked up the tune, “Just one of those crazy things? A fabulous fling? A trip to the moon on gos…”

“That’s enough, Katherine!” Bea’s lips pursed, “I said it was one of those things, and it can’t be changed. Nobody likes a smart-alec.”

Her eyes rolling with exasperation, Katherine tried a therapeutic tone, “Mother, even if this Bessie had nothing to do with it, there has to have been a real reason. Men don’t just get up and walk off.”

Condescension from her own daughter was the last straw, Beatrice wanted to slap her. She gave up being nice, “Why is David leaving?” and watched for a minute in silence as Katherine winced, as her face crumpled, as her head drooped and began to heave with sobs over her crossed arms. Bea sucked at her teeth a moment longer, “Now, don’t carry on like that, you’ll look a mess.” She heard an intake of breath and carried on herself, “I don’t know why your father left, Katherine. I don’t know why men wander off, but they do. Maybe once they’ve got a job and a wife and a house and a baby… maybe they’re as bored as the rest of us. They don’t know what to do with themselves and off they go looking.” She looked thoughtful and sighed, “I guess if your father was that bored at the start, he wouldn’t have been much of a treat around the house.”

She placed a hand gently on the cross of Katherine’s wrists, “I’m not sure there’s anything you can do about it, honey.” Her face softly curled into a wry smile, “If you look around at the ones who stay, there’s not much to choose from, not many you’d want to be next to, anyway.”

Katherine’s head bobbed and a sniff turned into a snort, her face came up red and leaking, her lips bunched against a wail. Her nostrils quivered and dripped with tears which she brushed with the tips of her painted nails. She looked hard at her mother and smiled ruefully, “Thanks,” she said, “We’d better get out there before Gran gets loaded on whiskey-sours.” She turned to the mirror wall and fumbled for her eye-liner.

“Oh!” Bea straightened her shoulders, tugged at her cardigan, patted her skirt, “My purse, yes.” She checked the mirror, dabbed the corners of her lipsticked mouth with her tongue, blinked rapidly and patted her hair with both hands. She watched Katherine pick up the hairbrush and wave it uncertainly at the cloth of her beret. “That’s what’s so hard on your hair. You really should carry a comb. I think David’s too nice to lose.” She turned and marched for the door, “Don’t forget your make-up.”

DAVID

“I’m looking for a trio. Female.” David looked down into the admiring brown eyes in the brown face and gave an answering grin, “They’re not sisters and they can’t sing. More like MacBeth. Or the Stooges.” Both smiles popped into laughter. David stretched himself over her to scan the room.

Her face uptilted, she allowed her eyes to slip down, and then pausing on a long breath, as he came to a stop, she moved from beneath him. With a toss of her pumpkins, she said, “I’ll bring you a drink.”

“Coffee.”

“Whiskey.”

“You’re right.”

BEA & TILLIE

“There’s nothing you and I can do about it, Bea. I’m your mother, sit down and let me forgive you.” Tillie leaned to pat her daughter’s chair, “What did you do with Katherine?”

Beatrice stared at her mother. She seemed to hear a rending crash, as of cars in collision, and she imagined Tillie sailing, unbelted, through shattering glass, “An accident, Mother?” she asked in a carefully controlled voice, and then yelped as something struck her heel.

Tillie glanced at the chrome teapot skittering on the floor, a spatula slithered out of the kitchen door, “Either that, or a revolution in Fran’s kitchen. You’d better sit in case your chicken’s on its way, you don’t want it in the back of the head.”

Bea wanted to bury her head in her hands and melt into the silence of a winter night, instead, she bent to check that her purse was under the chair, sat, and drained her old-fashioned to the fruit. “Mother,” she tried for a confidential tone, “Mother, she says David’s leaving her.”

“Yes.”

“She told you?” Bea couldn’t keep the annoyance out of her voice. She was, after all, the girl’s mother, she should know these things first. It wasn’t fair if Katherine had been practising, “She told you?”

“I guessed.” Tillie was bland, satisfaction was a rich diet at her age. “I don’t expect she knows why?” She made it a question for Bea’s sake.

“She says… David!” Bea’s hand convulsively clasped her mother’s where it lay on the tablecloth, “What on earth…?”

KATHERINE & BEA
& TILLIE & DAVID

Half out of the door behind her mother, Katherine had remembered the make-up, returned, and hesitated before the mirror. Her eyes looked bewildered. She gave her head a slight shake and felt the vodka slosh behind her face. Not much point to paint, she thought, and watched her mouth twist a smile. She hoped that was irony. The eye-liner was in the basin where she’d dropped it. There has to be somebody else. If he’d tell me… If he’d just tell me what she does… Katherine winced and screwed her eyes shut on tears. If he’d tell me… I’d do that.

Fumbling the make-up back into her bag on the way to the table, Katherine collided with the back of a tall, attractive man whose jeans… “Umm. Excuse… David! What the hell’re you doing here?”

Raising both brows, David’s blue eyes examined his suit. His big square hands patted Katherine on the lapels, and he turned to the table with a smile, “Ladies, ladies. You’re looking as lovely as ever, Tillie…” He stretched and landed a kiss on her ear, and looked at Beatrice, “and you are…”

“Surprised to see you!” Bea snatched her hand back from Tillie, and bridling, folded it with the other on the edge of the table.

“Marty called.” David pointed Katherine at her chair with a touch on the shoulders, and excusing a chair from the next table, sat himself opposite Beatrice, “How’s the car, Bea? Wanta sell it?”

“No, thank you.” Bea’s two-tone blue and white ’55 Ford Niagara was a coveted car. “You couldn’t afford to run it. I can’t afford to run it.”

David acknowledged the truth with a grin, “I couldn’t afford to park it in this town. You know they’re making new wide white-walls again. Saw them in…”

“David!” Katherine pulled on an elbow and leaned into his face, “What d’you mean Marty call… Oh, Jesus! He’s supposed to be here. Shit! I completely forgot. How could I… Where did he call? Why did he call you? What’s wrong? He’s supposed to be hanging the picture and… Oh, God!” She lurched up from her chair, “What’s happened? Jesus! Where is he?” Suspicion of disaster slammed her napkin and bangles onto the table. Bea’s folded hands took the shock. “I knew I shouldn’t have let somebody else do it!” Katherine moved to grab up her bag, “Why do I always have to…” David held and tugged gently on the tail of the blue pin-stripes.

“Sit, Katherine, sit. Marty’s fine. It’s all fine. Sit. Marty called…” He held on until her bottom touched the chair, “…at the house. I was there. Looking for my suit, as a matter of fact. You know that’s my best tie. Never mind. Marty’s fine… but…”

“I knew there was something!” Katherine snatched at her drink.

“Katherine, please.” Beatrice patted the tablecloth.

“I know it sounds ridiculous, but they wouldn’t let him use permanent fixtures to hang the picture with.”

“What the fu…”

“Fortunately,” David covered and touched a finger to her lips, “Marty found some rope and says he’s got the thing up and tied off to some balcony, or something. Or he says he can, anyway. It’s fine, he’s handling it. But he hasn’t got time to get here, said he’ll see us tonight.” David leaned as a brown arm passed over his shoulder to set a tumbler of ice, then a brimming shot-glass before him. He turned his attention, “Thank you,” to the hostess at his elbow, “Very right. Thank you.”

“Rope!” Terror sucked the blood from Katherine’s head as David turned from her; she felt as much as saw the magic of his drink appearing unasked, and the returning flood beaded hotly on her brow.

“Now, hush, Katherine.” Beatrice was appalled, the situation was getting out of hand, “David,” she recalled his attention, gave a brief smile to the hostess, and extended one hand to hold down the air over the table, “Just calm down. There’s no need for any of this.” She glanced up again at the unmoved hostess, “Thank you, Miss. I think we’re ready to eat, if you’ll just… Thank you.”

“Rope! What the…”

“That’ll do, Katherine!”

“Mother! For God’s sake! I’m being hung on a wall with ropes!”

“Just one.” David neatly drowned his ice in whiskey. “Marty says he can do it with just one at the middle, says it’ll balance okay.”

“A rope. Fine. By the neck until dead!” Katherine buried her head in her hands.

“Will you stop carrying on!” Bea slapped the tablecloth. “As long as it’s up. Martin will do a nice job, I’m sure.”

“Screw Martin!”

“Katherine?”

“Don’t be smart, David!”

“Anyway, that’s why I’m here. He caught me just as I was going out the door and…”

“Lucky him, he’s doing better than I am.” Katherine’s mouth turned down, ready to quiver.

David held her eyes with a smile, “…and I had a dream, a vision of ladies. Ladies, Katherine. Three Graces awash in a sea of white wine and chef salad, three queens and no knave. So I caught a cab.” David slowly wagged his head, “And it’s a sorry sight, the three of you tossing off the cocktails, loaded for bear. I think maybe I oughta mosey before you bust up the saloon.” He swiped up his glass and banged the ice to his nose, “What d’you think, Miss Tillie?”

“Nick Nolte’d make a good cowboy, if he’d lose some weight. You’ve caught us red-handed with our irons in each other’s fire, Marshal.” Tillie saluted David with her glass, “Would you like my maraschino?”

KATHERINE & DAVID

David Bailey had stood Katherine McAlpine up against the roses in Tillie Sutherland’s back garden and slipped a ring on her finger. Katherine would rather have had Bea’s yard up in Strawbridge, an acre of poppy and lily bending to the water of the Straw. The shifts of linen, old polished taffetas, thin new silks, yards of ribbon and lace, cut stone and glass gem, grandfathers’ watchchains, wire gold and silver filigree, the scarves, the hats, the rediscovered reticules, the dogs, the drunks and the obvious children all would have spilled harmlessly over Bea’s lawn of rock and devil’s paintbrush.

But Strawbridge was inconvenient, a bridge too far from everywhere, and though it would have given Beatrice enormous satisfaction to have the village as witness, she didn’t care to have it run on any longer than it should, and there weren’t enough overnight beds. So, Tillie’s trim borders, her arbour and views on an old suburban edge of the city had taken the beating.

Bea had fussed over announcements, paid for tissue inserts, studied Chatelaine. She had cleaned Tillie’s house from which Tillie was banned for running her finger along a picture rail after a dusting. Tillie sat under the pink-climber, drinking tea and reading a biography of Emily Dickinson, quite pleased with herself.

The Reverend Robert Ross, and his wife Anna, had been asked down as old friends for the occasion. He had christened and catechized Katherine; had heard about art and encouraged her pictures; had insisted, to Bea’s relief, on his right to officiate. He was wonderfully kind with Beatrice, but laughed and teased Tillie, telling old secrets. Anna, pale and dry on a minister’s salary and a manse with mice, felt out of place in a brown shirtwaist. Her offer of white triangles, tinned salmon and no crusts, looked so unhappy among the heavy dark breads, thick salads, lumpy queer cheeses and rich thin meats, that she agreed with Beatrice to rewrap them and save them for an afterwards snack.

Conceded by Katherine, invited by Bea, the Lettie Girls arrived in matching suits of grey seersucker. They had followed the Rosses at an unsafe speed all the way from Strawbridge, and had taken a side-trip around Tillie’s neighbourhood to remember that it wasn’t what it had been. They changed in Tillie’s bedroom, into matching dresses of pearl silk and Velma sent Vera back to the bathroom mirror to get her rouge right. Their crystal bowl full of berries was elegant with cream.

It went off as a wedding, though the groom had wakened with the bride and took brandy in his coffee. The bride wore garnet satin, but her new blue garters held up a favourite pair of net stockings, and she stood in her mother’s shoes. Reverend Ross read some vows and the band favoured bluegrass. The Letties drank tea and were confused by the fiddler’s eye, until the groom explained he was a minister’s son and wasn’t it sad about his blindness. It was tatty and smart and everyone behaved as everyone expected.

KATHERINE & BEA
& TILLIE & DAVID

He’s leaving and Katherine doesn’t know how to stop him. Why did he marry her, Tillie wondered, crush my portulaca borders, crack my birdbath? And I suppose she doesn’t even know why. Or won’t believe it. She’ll know it’s another woman. She’ll know he doesn’t love her any more. God knows she’d do anything to keep him. God knows it’s not her fault. The poor child. He’s here, isn’t he?

Her maraschino! Beatrice was shocked. Her mother was… She couldn’t be drunk on one drink, could she? She was… Bea felt a boot in the ribs. That woman was a common… flirt! The armholes of Bea’s blouse seemed to have shrunk. D’you suppose she’s always been? Oh, God, Bea drooped, it’s come to this. They drink and they fight and now they’re going to say things and chase after men. I can’t take it. I just can’t take it. She perked up at the sight of the hostess with plates.

David had no intention of leaving. He ordered corned beef and eggs.

Katherine gagged and considered crying. Hash and eggs had been for a time a lazy-day ritual, David had the knack of poaching, Katherine did toast. She tried to remember when and why that had changed. “I’ll have the cauliflower quiche and the…” The noise David made puckering his mouth stalled her. Was that when things went wrong? Quiche? Why hadn’t she noticed that? “Unh. Is it fresh?” It was a stupid question, but she needed some idea… Brown eyes rolled and the hostess shifted weight. “No, never mind, then,” Katherine put a hand on the back of David’s chair, “I’ll have what he’s having, thank you.”

Tillie thought her roast beef a bit rubbery, the pretense to a rare joint on the sideboard suffered from slabs in a microwave, but she intended to finish it, for Bea’s sake. She watched her daughter prepare herself denture-conscious bites of chicken, skin safely at the edge of the plate. Poor Beatrice! Tillie allowed the flow of old sorrow to pass unbridged. She invests so much in fairness. ‘Goods satisfactory, or money refunded.’ Succoured and suckered for shopping Eaton’s. She can’t refuse David, but the last thing she wants back is Katherine. Out on approval and back on the rack, like mother, like daughter. Oh, dear, it’ll break her heart again. “You know,” Tillie pierced a french fry with her fork, “I think the gravy’s from yesterday’s pork, look at the colour.” She lifted her gaze above their bent heads, “I think I might just like to come to your little do tonight, Katherine.”

Katherine wasn’t sure what she’d heard, “Gran?”

Bea was, “No! Now don’t be silly, Mother. You’ll be all played out by the time we get you home from here.”

“You just don’t tell me!” Tillie stabbed and pointed her last bite of beef at her daughter, “If I have a lie-down beforehand, I could manage it very well, thank you.”

“Oh, Gran! Wonderful!” Katherine was shining with excitement, “Look, David’ll come pick you up, won’t…”

“No, your mother will bring us.”

“Why don’t you come to the house and have dinner with…”

“No! Now, Mother, Katherine, this…”

“We’ll come for coffee. About seven?”

Bea threw her last flag, “You’ll have an attack!”

Tillie ignored it, “Perhaps David knows how to make a whiskey-sour?”

“I’ll lay in a fresh bottle of cherries.”
“That’s the stuff then! I’ll just hunt out some glad rags and we’ll go have a look at what this girl’s got to show.”

back next