Maid of Honor Page 3

  “I doubt it. She’s probably asleep by now.”

  But Persis was wrong. Though it was after midnight by the time Frederick Lanscome walked her to the door, both her parents were still sitting in front of the television set in the family room. She burst in on them, forgetting she’d been hurt by their indifference, wanting only to share her triumph.”

  “Guess what!”

  Muriel Green shot up out of her chair and whirled around like a cornered tigress. “Never mind what. You just listen to me, Persis Green! If you ever humiliate me like that again—”

  Persis couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Like what? Mama, they gave me a standing—”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about and I don’t want to hear it. All I know is that you’ve made me a laughingstock in front of Marcia Powell and heaven knows who else. Ruining that lovely dress out of sheer spite! Wasting all that money—”

  “How do you know about the dress?”

  “Because I saw you in it, of course. And that’s the thanks I got. I’d been running my legs off trying to get hold of that woman who’s supposed to be getting the napkins and matchbooks printed up and being stalled off again till I’m almost frantic. And then I made a special effort to get over to the auditorium, even though I was ready to drop and it was so late I thought I’d probably find the recital over and done with. And what happens? I open the door to the auditorium and there you are, strolling out on the stage in front of that whole audience with your bare arms hanging down to your knees and some piece of blue rag wound around you like an old woman going to market. I was so humiliated, I just shut the door, turned around, and came straight on home. Eighty-nine dollars and ninety-five cents I paid for that dress, and you rip it to shreds as if it were—well, don’t just sit there like a bump on a log, Charles. Say something. She’s your daughter.”

  Charles obliged. “And that was my ninety bucks, in case you didn’t happen to notice. What’s the big idea, Persis? You think I’m made of money?”

  “You think I wanted that stupid dress in the first place? Mama bought it, I didn’t. And she’s the one who sent it to the auditorium after she’d made me late getting this ghastly haircut I didn’t want, either. That’s another thirty bucks down the drain, but you needn’t start yelling at me for spending it.”

  Mrs. Green started to say something, but Persis wasn’t finished yet. “Mama, you knew perfectly well I meant to wear the red gown I bought with my own money. I picked it out because it was a dress I could play in, which the one you sent me wasn’t. It isn’t ruined, we just had to take the sleeves out because you can’t play the piano if you can’t bend your arms. You never thought of that, did you? And if you were embarrassed, how do you think I felt?”

  Persis stormed up to her room, still clutching the plastic garment bag with the mauve dress inside, even though she hated the sight of it, too hurt and furious even to cry this time.

  She didn’t sleep very well, which wasn’t surprising. At about half-past six she gave up the struggle, remembered it was Saturday, got out of bed, and noticed that loathsome bundle slung over the chair where she’d dumped it. Now what was she going to do? If she didn’t get the miserable thing repaired somehow so she could wear it tonight when the Cowleses came to dinner, she’d never hear the last of it.

  Persis thought a minute, then rolled up the garment bag, which also held the torn-out sleeves Angela Folliott had insisted she bring back with her, and tied a belt around it for easier carrying. She took a quick shower, dressed a little more carefully than she normally would have on a morning when she didn’t have school, sneaked down to the kitchen with the rolled-up garment bag in her hand, got herself a glass of milk and a doughnut, and slipped out the back door.

  It was a two-mile walk to the bus station, but Persis didn’t mind. The exercise was a good way to work off tension. She caught the eight o’clock bus with plenty of time to spare and was halfway to Lowrey when it occurred to her she might have been smarter to phone ahead and say she was coming.

  Luck was with her, though. When she reached the somewhat rundown apartment house in an unfashionable part of the city, she found Gran Green still in bathrobe and slippers, coming to the door with a cooking spoon in her hand.

  “Persis! This is a surprise.”

  “I know, I should have telephoned first. Sorry, Gran.”

  “Forget it, dearie, I’m glad to see you. How did you get here? Is your father downstairs?”

  “No, he doesn’t even know I’m here. I came on the bus.”

  “All by yourself?”

  “Gran, I’m a big girl now. If you want the truth, I’m in a jam with the folks. I was hoping you could bail me out.”

  Persis unrolled the garment bag and pulled out the mangled remains of her ninety-dollar mistake.

  “So that’s how it happened, Gran,” she said after she’d told the dismal tale of how the dress had arrived there in three pieces. “Mama’s spitting tacks about the dress, and Daddy’s mad about the ninety dollars. And they’re giving that ridiculous dinner for the in-laws at the house tonight, and I was supposed to wear this thing again. I thought you might possibly be able to sew the sleeves back in or something, so they wouldn’t keep jumping down my throat about it.”

  Her grandmother took the mauve dress from her, looked at the torn armholes, checked the sleeves. “Oh, I expect we can cobble it back together somehow. I just don’t see why you want to wear the silly thing anyway. I didn’t care for it on you at the engagement party, and I don’t suppose it’s going to suit you any better after we get it fixed.”

  “I didn’t say I wanted to wear it, Gran. Mama says I have to because it harmonizes with Loni’s, as if anybody was going to notice. And I’ll never hear the last of that ninety dollars if I don’t. Honest, I’ll be so glad when this damned wedding’s over!”

  “Persis, what have I told you about swearing?”

  “That it’s a sure sign of an ignorant person who can’t think of a more intelligent way to express herself,” Persis mimicked. “Look, can’t I do some shopping or something for you while you fix the dress?”

  “You can walk over to the stores with me in a little while, if you want to, and help carry the bundles. This shouldn’t take too long. They can’t have sewn the sleeves in right in the first place, or your Miss What’s-her-name couldn’t have ripped them out so easily. Ninety dollars for a shoddy rag like this!”

  Charles Green’s mother always made a point of not criticizing her daughter-in-law openly, but she was pretty capable of letting a person know what she was thinking. “But quit dithering on the doorstep, child. Come into the kitchen. I don’t know what possessed me to make blueberry pancakes this morning. I haven’t had them in a coon’s age.”

  “You must have heard me coming.” Persis was beginning to feel better. “It’s just as well you’ve kept in practice. You’re going to be seeing a lot more of me before long.”

  Chapter 5

  “How’s that, dearie?”

  At last Persis had a willing audience. Her grandmother listened to every word about the gold medal and what it had led to, asking all sorts of questions, to most of which Persis didn’t yet have answers.

  “A full scholarship! And to think he made that special trip last night to hear you. He must think you’re pretty good, dearie. And you’ll be having lessons here next winter, too? What happens if you run into bad weather?”

  “I’m glad you asked. Would it be okay if I brought my sleeping bag and parked it behind the garbage pail or somewhere, in case I get stuck for a place to sleep?”

  “You don’t need to bring a sleeping bag. There’s that perfectly comfortable sofa bed in the living room, and I’m not so hard up I can’t spare you a couple of blankets. I wonder if that medal’s really gold?”

  “Probably not. Gold’s awfully expensive these days. Dad was yelling about it the other day. Loni wanted to give her bridesmaids gold charms, but they’d have cost far too much. She’d picked out
the most adorable little piano for me,” Persis added rather wistfully.

  Gran Green sniffed. “What would you need a thing like that for? You’ve got your medal, haven’t you? Solid gold or painted tin, you won it fair and square. First in the whole state, imagine! Wait’ll I tell them down at the bingo parlor. Come on, dearie, finish up that last pancake. You don’t have to worry about your figure. Maybe you’d like to clear away the dishes for me while I take a look at your dress.”

  “Sure.” Persis mopped up the syrup on her plate with the last wedge of pancake, then got up to deal with the sticky plates.

  She liked this apartment. She’d been parked with Gran every so often when she was younger and her parents had some engagement in Lowrey, and she had always enjoyed those times. After she’d gotten old enough to be left at home with Loni or by herself, which amounted to the same thing for practical purposes, she hadn’t been here much.

  Somehow, the family never seemed to get around to visiting Gran except on Mother’s Day or her birthday or some other special occasion when they could come bustling in with an armload of presents to show how much they cared. Muriel Green would do most of the talking while Gran served tea and the rest of them sat around wondering how soon they could leave.

  For certain functions, Charles Green would drive over and get his mother and take her back to Donville. She’d been at Loni’s engagement reception, for instance, in a new gray polyester dress she’d made herself. Persis had thought how nice and grandmotherly she looked. Loni had fussed afterward about getting Gran fixed up for the wedding so she wouldn’t look so dowdy compared to the rest of the older women. Chet’s grandmother was having her gown custom-made.

  “Gran’s is custom-made, too,” Persis had argued. “That only means having something made specially for you and nobody else, in case you’re too dumb to know.”

  Naturally, that had led to another big blow-up. Her father had asked her when she was going to get smart and learn to keep her mouth shut. Persis had thought that was pretty crummy of him, since it was his own mother she’d been sticking up for. She sometimes wondered if her father was ashamed of Gran because she was no more than decently provided for instead of filthy rich like his in-laws.

  Gran was far better company than her mother’s parents, anyway. They pushed the shopping cart around, cracking silly jokes over the groceries, then went on to the hardware store, where Mrs. Green bought some vacuum cleaner bags and told the manager all about her granddaughter the genius.

  She didn’t mention the scholarship because Persis didn’t have anything in writing from Frederick Lanscome yet and Gran was a firm believer in not counting chickens before they hatched. A medal, now, that was different. You could set it up on the mantelpiece to show your friends when they dropped in for a cup of tea after the weekly bash at the bingo parlor. Persis must be sure to bring it with her when she came next time, so the neighbors wouldn’t think Mrs. Green was making up fairy tales in her old age.

  “You’re not old,” Persis protested loyally.

  “Yes I am, dearie. I’m a precious antique, like this stuff in Trotter’s window. My stars, will you look at the prices? Why people want to fork out good money for stuff somebody else was glad to get rid of—well, I do declare!”

  Gran Green paused in front of the antique shop and peered through the glass. “If I’m not mistaken, that’s a twin to my great-grandmother’s cake basket, the one I gave Loni for a wedding present. And that she hasn’t got around to thanking me for, I might add. I wonder what Trotter’s asking for it. Can you see the tag?”

  “No, it’s stuck down into a crease in the cloth.” The antique dealer had his wares tastefully set out on a swirl of faded blue velvet. “Want me to go in and ask?”

  As it happened, she didn’t have to. Mr. Trotter, who must have been having a dull morning, came out to see what they were so excited about.

  “Something I can help you with, ladies?”

  “We were just wondering what you’re asking for that silver cake basket,” Mrs. Green told him. “That one back there with the knob broken off the handle.”

  “Knob broken off?” Mr. Trotter was affronted. “Oh, no, madam, that piece is perfect in every way. A superb example of late Federal silver craftsmanship.”

  “That’s as may be,” said Mrs. Green, “but if you take a good, hard look at the handle, you’ll see where there used to be a little ivory knob in the shape of a pineapple, right at the top. I know because I’ve always had to be so careful of mine when I polished it.”

  “An ivory pineapple, eh?” That interested him. “And you say you actually own a duplicate? Could I ask where you got it?”

  “It came from my mother’s family,” she told him. “My mother always claimed her own mother had had a pair of them. She could remember her sister and herself each having to pass one around when the minister and his wife came to tea. I’ve often wondered where the other one got to.”

  “Interesting,” murmured the dealer. He’d picked up the graceful serving piece and was going over it inch by inch with the aid of a little magnifying glass he’d stuck up to his eye.

  “Yes, I do see now where there could have been a tiny mounting broken off. The handle’s been repaired so expertly nobody would ever notice. But those carved ivory pineapples were certainly characteristic of the period. The pineapple is a symbol of hospitality, as you perhaps know, and it was often used in ornamentation. And you say yours still has the ivory knob?”

  “It did the last I saw of it.” Mrs. Green was enjoying herself, Persis could see.

  “You wouldn’t by any chance be interested in selling? If it’s something you never use any more—”

  He slitted his eyes and gazed at her shabby coat. Gran Green had never been particularly clothes-conscious, and she didn’t see why a person had to get all rigged out like a hog going to war, just to impress the cashier at the supermarket.

  “I might go as high as two hundred dollars,” he coaxed.

  “And you might go a darn sight higher when you wrote up the price tag,” she retorted. “What’s that one marked at?”

  “Well, naturally we have to take a legitimate profit. How else could we stay in business? Two-fifty?”

  “Aren’t you going to show me the price tag?”

  “Five hundred, and that’s my final offer.”

  “Which means you’d resell it for at least a thousand. I’ll think about it. Come along, Persis. We still have that dress to finish.”

  As they went on down the street, they heard a wild shriek of “Five-fifty” wafted on the breeze toward them. Gran chuckled.

  “If Loni doesn’t want that cake basket, tell her to send it back to me. I shouldn’t be surprised but what we might beat Mr. Trotter up to six hundred, if we took the notion.”

  Chapter 6

  The dress came out better than Persis could have hoped. Instead of replacing those straitjacket sleeves, Mrs. Green had ripped them apart and used the material to make puffy little caps that would be more comfortable on a warm night. She’d bought rich lilac ribbon downtown and used it to perk up the insipid mauve bodice with pipings and a belt with long streamers that hung down over the skirt. It still wasn’t Persis’s style, but at least it wasn’t blah.

  As a crowning touch, she presented her granddaughter with an engraved gold locket on a handsome gold chain. “Here, dearie, this was my great-grandmother’s, too. I’d intended to give it to you for a graduation present next year, but you might as well have it now.”

  “Oh, Gran, that’s beautiful! You shouldn’t.”

  “Why shouldn’t I? If everybody else is hanging gold medals on you, I guess I can, too. Now you’d better scoot along or you’ll miss your bus. And carry the dress carefully so you won’t get it wrinkled and have to press it again when you get home. Here, hang the garment bag over your arm, like this. And spread it out over the seat when you get on the bus, if you’re lucky enough to get one. I’ll see you at the wedding.”

  “Aren�
�t you coming to the rehearsal dinner?”

  “It’s all part of the same thing, isn’t it? Near enough as makes no never mind, anyway. Watch out for that hem, you’re letting it drag. Sure you don’t want a sandwich to take with you and eat on the way?”

  “Oh, sorry.” Persis snatched the open end of the bag up off the floor. “No, I’m still full of pancakes. They were great. Thanks for everything.”

  A quick kiss and she was off again, feeling infinitely better than when she’d come. The bus wasn’t crowded, so she was able to share a seat with the mended gown. She even managed to catch one of the scarce local taxis when she got back to Donville, which saved her having to walk the two miles home. When she got there, she found her mother in a tizzy, as she’d anticipated.

  “Persis, where have you been, will you tell me that? I’ve called all over town trying to find you. You’ve got to go down to the bridal shop this instant. They said they’d try to find something for you to wear tonight, since you so kindly demolished that lovely mauve gown I paid—”

  “It’s all fixed,” Persis interrupted. “See?”

  She held up the garment bag. For once, Muriel Green couldn’t find anything ready to say. Persis’s father, coming downstairs unshaven and blear-eyed from sleeping the whole morning away, had plenty.

  “What’s this, for God’s sake? Another ninety bucks?”

  “Nope, just the price of a bus ticket to Gran’s. I told you the dress wasn’t ruined. Gran fixed it, better than new.”

  Persis took the dress out of the garmet bag and held it up for her parents to see.

  “Hey, not bad. Not bad at all. Try it on, Puss.”

  Charles Green must be really pleased. Puss was her baby name. He hadn’t called her that in ages. Muriel Green wasn’t giving up without a struggle, though. She didn’t care much for those cap sleeves because they’d show Persis’s bony elbows too much. She didn’t see why her mother-in-law had spoiled the effect with all those gaudy ribbons. But she supposed it would have to do, since Persis’s father was in one of his stingy moods. And it was nice of Gran to give Persis that gold locket, though she wondered why the elder Mrs. Green hadn’t seen fit to send the bride something. After all, this was Loni’s wedding.