Alice felt a leap of fear that he was going to confide something personal to her.
“What?” she asked.
“I don’t know if it’s ever going to get better. If I knew that, I could wait. I think I could really be patient. But thinking the rest of my life is going to be like this is hell.” Alice wasn’t sure what to say.
“I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to follow in my father’s business or have a girl.” Avery’s eyes were closed, but tears were rolling over his cheeks to the pillow. Alice pulled a wicker chair from the corner and sat beside the bed and took one of his hands in both of hers. It was the only thing she could think to do, since she had no idea what to say. She sat there with him awhile. He squeezed her hand once, but he didn’t open his eyes, and as the medicine began to work, his hand went limp in hers and he slept. Only then did she set it on the bedcovers and get up, leaving the door ajar as it had been before.
She was grateful for the fresh air of the hallway, where windows were open at both ends. She paused at the mirror near the top of the stairs to collect herself and saw reflected at her a face that betrayed nothing of her earlier conversation with the minister’s son. What Mrs. Pruitt and Claudie would want to know was what had transpired during her long visit to Avery’s bedroom; all of that she could tell them truthfully.
9
T he harvest began on a Tuesday early in October. Frank came home the night before, smelling rank from a load of manure, and announced the picking would begin tomorrow. Ida was permitted to stay in the packing room rather than picking because of the baby, but in the absence of other work, Alice was out on a board the first day in her oldest dress and her work shoes, her long hair pulled back in a braid, precut lengths of string around her neck for bundling the bunches as she picked. Ida was hopeful that Alice would be allowed to pick for the season, offsetting Frank’s debt and buying Ida time to find her sewing work. Alice was one of the fastest pickers, gathering up to twenty bunches of fifty blooms in an hour. She knew just how long to pick the stems and how to hook each flower head to the others so the bouquet would resemble a single mass rather than a bunch of tiny individual blossoms. Even Harold, normally parsimonious with praise, complimented her work that morning, and Alice looked pleased.
Some of Alice’s old classmates were out picking by the second or third day with her. Many of them, like Alice, were no longer allowed to continue their education because their families needed the income. Oliver picked with his friends Alan Harris and GeorgeEllerby. And there was Joe Jacobs, more steady on the board than he had been at planting time, though not nearly as adept as Alice.
The season always began with a rush to supply the New York Horse Show, held every fall at Madison Square Garden. The bandstand would be festooned with garlands of violets, and the Swanley White violets were always included in the winners’ rosettes. Every bunch picked in the week or two leading up to the show was leafed and booted and set in a galvanized tank of water to keep it fresh; then a hundred thousand blooms were transferred into shipping boxes and sent to the Coburg station for the journey to the city.
William had obtained complimentary passes to this year’s horse show, enough to take everyone to the city: Frances and Norris, Harriet and her girls, and four tickets for Ida’s family. Ida would have enjoyed the trip, but Mary and Jasper were too young to go. Frank said he had business with a wholesaler in the city, so he would accompany Oliver, Alice, and Reuben. Harold would stay home to manage the pickers from town, and Ida would have a quiet Saturday to start sewing Alice’s new winter suit after the baking was done.
On the first Saturday in November, Frank and the children rose before dawn to do their chores and catch the seven-thirty train. When Jasper
“What?” she asked.
“I don’t know if it’s ever going to get better. If I knew that, I could wait. I think I could really be patient. But thinking the rest of my life is going to be like this is hell.” Alice wasn’t sure what to say.
“I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to follow in my father’s business or have a girl.” Avery’s eyes were closed, but tears were rolling over his cheeks to the pillow. Alice pulled a wicker chair from the corner and sat beside the bed and took one of his hands in both of hers. It was the only thing she could think to do, since she had no idea what to say. She sat there with him awhile. He squeezed her hand once, but he didn’t open his eyes, and as the medicine began to work, his hand went limp in hers and he slept. Only then did she set it on the bedcovers and get up, leaving the door ajar as it had been before.
She was grateful for the fresh air of the hallway, where windows were open at both ends. She paused at the mirror near the top of the stairs to collect herself and saw reflected at her a face that betrayed nothing of her earlier conversation with the minister’s son. What Mrs. Pruitt and Claudie would want to know was what had transpired during her long visit to Avery’s bedroom; all of that she could tell them truthfully.
9
T he harvest began on a Tuesday early in October. Frank came home the night before, smelling rank from a load of manure, and announced the picking would begin tomorrow. Ida was permitted to stay in the packing room rather than picking because of the baby, but in the absence of other work, Alice was out on a board the first day in her oldest dress and her work shoes, her long hair pulled back in a braid, precut lengths of string around her neck for bundling the bunches as she picked. Ida was hopeful that Alice would be allowed to pick for the season, offsetting Frank’s debt and buying Ida time to find her sewing work. Alice was one of the fastest pickers, gathering up to twenty bunches of fifty blooms in an hour. She knew just how long to pick the stems and how to hook each flower head to the others so the bouquet would resemble a single mass rather than a bunch of tiny individual blossoms. Even Harold, normally parsimonious with praise, complimented her work that morning, and Alice looked pleased.
Some of Alice’s old classmates were out picking by the second or third day with her. Many of them, like Alice, were no longer allowed to continue their education because their families needed the income. Oliver picked with his friends Alan Harris and GeorgeEllerby. And there was Joe Jacobs, more steady on the board than he had been at planting time, though not nearly as adept as Alice.
The season always began with a rush to supply the New York Horse Show, held every fall at Madison Square Garden. The bandstand would be festooned with garlands of violets, and the Swanley White violets were always included in the winners’ rosettes. Every bunch picked in the week or two leading up to the show was leafed and booted and set in a galvanized tank of water to keep it fresh; then a hundred thousand blooms were transferred into shipping boxes and sent to the Coburg station for the journey to the city.
William had obtained complimentary passes to this year’s horse show, enough to take everyone to the city: Frances and Norris, Harriet and her girls, and four tickets for Ida’s family. Ida would have enjoyed the trip, but Mary and Jasper were too young to go. Frank said he had business with a wholesaler in the city, so he would accompany Oliver, Alice, and Reuben. Harold would stay home to manage the pickers from town, and Ida would have a quiet Saturday to start sewing Alice’s new winter suit after the baking was done.
On the first Saturday in November, Frank and the children rose before dawn to do their chores and catch the seven-thirty train. When Jasper
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