the love of God, do you know what people will say?” Piper screeched.
“Hush,” said Cal, looking up at the stairs, “you’ll wake the girl.”
“You need someone who can be a good, faithful wife,” she spat at my grandmother. “Someone who knows a thing or two about farming, someone who will be up with you from sunup to sundown. Not some prissy town maid whose only function is shopping and ordering linen from a catalogue.”
Cal took a step toward his sister.
“You just watch what you—” But then he stopped, because my grandmother had already moved away from him. She came to stand before Piper, her eyes burning a hole in Piper’s face so that my great-aunt leaned her head back and blinked. Then my grandmother stalked past her and went into the kitchen. She began to search through the drawers, opening and closing them, while Cal and Piper stood in the doorway, openmouthed.
When she took out the long kitchen knife and held it up so the light shone on the blade, Cal put his hands up and took a step back, but she was already coming toward them. They sprang away from her as she walked past and opened the door. She went out and stood on the porch and, holding the blade to the soft flesh of her inner arm, she drew the knife across it, so that her blood began to pour from the wound and splatter on the ground.
Piper stifled a scream; Cal stared at her, unbelieving. My grandmother held up the bloodstained knife and her arm from which her blood was continuing to fall. She looked Piper in the eye and said, “My name is not Anne-Marie and I am not a doctor’s wife anymore. I may not have been born here but I will live and die here. I may not have any claim on this land but now I’m part of it, just as much as you. And you’d better get used to it, because I ain’t going anywhere.”
For a minute no one spoke. Piper held her nightgown across her tightly as if it were a shield. Eventually, my grandfather stepped forward and after a brief hesitation took the knife from my grandmother. “It’s been a long day,” he said to his sister. “She doesn’t mean to scare you.”
Piper dropped her gaze and then slowly turned and went back into the house. What she must have thought, how that made her feel, no one ever knew. Piper only ever really confided in one person and that was her childhood friend, Bella. Bella was Piper’s closest ally. When together, they would finish each other’s sentences and fetch cups of tea back and forth from the kitchen in a strange ritual that was a prevalent feature of their relationship. They were a closed book only open for each other. Piper didn’t speak for days after Bella died in 1983 and I remember how every year on the anniversary of her death she would visit her grave and tend to the flowers there with Bella’s husband.
Lavinia once said to Cal in front of my father, “If you want to know why your sister won’t marry, all you have to do is look out there,” and she nodded to the two women sitting closely on the porch steps, their heads bowed in whispered conversation.
My father said that Cal had looked up from the accounts ledger frowning and said in a strange voice, “Darling, you got the strangest mind sometimes.”
But after the night she arrived, Piper saw the determined ambition in her sister-in-law and it scared her. She stood by and watched her marry Cal despite the fear that held her stomach in a cold fist; she stifled her humiliation as she heard conversations fall away whenever she entered a store in town and then resume after she left. She balked as she saw the judgment in people’s faces and though she longed to undo it all she was helpless. Leo would not speak to her and Cal would not listen. She was trapped.
A few days after my grandparents were married. Leo came over to get his things from the house. Piper saw the taillights of the removal trucks Leo had organized pass by in the drive, but when she went down to see him he refused to talk to her. In the
“Hush,” said Cal, looking up at the stairs, “you’ll wake the girl.”
“You need someone who can be a good, faithful wife,” she spat at my grandmother. “Someone who knows a thing or two about farming, someone who will be up with you from sunup to sundown. Not some prissy town maid whose only function is shopping and ordering linen from a catalogue.”
Cal took a step toward his sister.
“You just watch what you—” But then he stopped, because my grandmother had already moved away from him. She came to stand before Piper, her eyes burning a hole in Piper’s face so that my great-aunt leaned her head back and blinked. Then my grandmother stalked past her and went into the kitchen. She began to search through the drawers, opening and closing them, while Cal and Piper stood in the doorway, openmouthed.
When she took out the long kitchen knife and held it up so the light shone on the blade, Cal put his hands up and took a step back, but she was already coming toward them. They sprang away from her as she walked past and opened the door. She went out and stood on the porch and, holding the blade to the soft flesh of her inner arm, she drew the knife across it, so that her blood began to pour from the wound and splatter on the ground.
Piper stifled a scream; Cal stared at her, unbelieving. My grandmother held up the bloodstained knife and her arm from which her blood was continuing to fall. She looked Piper in the eye and said, “My name is not Anne-Marie and I am not a doctor’s wife anymore. I may not have been born here but I will live and die here. I may not have any claim on this land but now I’m part of it, just as much as you. And you’d better get used to it, because I ain’t going anywhere.”
For a minute no one spoke. Piper held her nightgown across her tightly as if it were a shield. Eventually, my grandfather stepped forward and after a brief hesitation took the knife from my grandmother. “It’s been a long day,” he said to his sister. “She doesn’t mean to scare you.”
Piper dropped her gaze and then slowly turned and went back into the house. What she must have thought, how that made her feel, no one ever knew. Piper only ever really confided in one person and that was her childhood friend, Bella. Bella was Piper’s closest ally. When together, they would finish each other’s sentences and fetch cups of tea back and forth from the kitchen in a strange ritual that was a prevalent feature of their relationship. They were a closed book only open for each other. Piper didn’t speak for days after Bella died in 1983 and I remember how every year on the anniversary of her death she would visit her grave and tend to the flowers there with Bella’s husband.
Lavinia once said to Cal in front of my father, “If you want to know why your sister won’t marry, all you have to do is look out there,” and she nodded to the two women sitting closely on the porch steps, their heads bowed in whispered conversation.
My father said that Cal had looked up from the accounts ledger frowning and said in a strange voice, “Darling, you got the strangest mind sometimes.”
But after the night she arrived, Piper saw the determined ambition in her sister-in-law and it scared her. She stood by and watched her marry Cal despite the fear that held her stomach in a cold fist; she stifled her humiliation as she heard conversations fall away whenever she entered a store in town and then resume after she left. She balked as she saw the judgment in people’s faces and though she longed to undo it all she was helpless. Leo would not speak to her and Cal would not listen. She was trapped.
A few days after my grandparents were married. Leo came over to get his things from the house. Piper saw the taillights of the removal trucks Leo had organized pass by in the drive, but when she went down to see him he refused to talk to her. In the
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