me my way around a kitchen." Fannie bounced off the bed and toured the bedroom, glancing at the dark, handsome furniture, batting not a lash at the spare cot. "Light as swansdown, I swear. Shall I bake you some for supper?"
"That would be wonderful."
"And when I put them before you, you'd better eat!" Fannie pointed at her cousin's nose. "Because I've brought along my bicycle and I fully intend to get you strong enough to ride on it."
"Your bicycle! But, Fannie, I can't ri…ride a bicycle!"
"Why ever not?"
"Because…" Josephine spread her hands. "I'm a … a consumptive."
"Well, if that isn't the frailest excuse I've ever heard, I don't know what is' All that means is that you've got weak lungs. You want to make them strong you get on that set of wheels and make them work harder. Have you ever seen a blacksmith with puny arms? I should say not. So what can be so different about lungs? It'll be the best thing for you, to get out in the fresh mountain air and rebuild your strength."
Looking on, Edwin thought there hadn't been so much merry chatter in this bedroom since it had been built. Fannie's gaiety was infectious; already Josie's face wore a dim hint of pink, her eyes were happy, her lips smiling. Perhaps he tended to mollycoddle her and in doing so, encouraged her to feel worse.
The young people arrived; they'd picked up Frankie somewhere along the way and from below came his voice as he led the trio up the steps. "Hey, everybody, there's a bicycle downstairs!"
He burst into the bedroom, followed by Emily and Charles.
"It's mine," Fannie announced.
Edwin stopped his son's headlong charge into the room. "Frankie, I want you to meet your cousin Fannie. Fannie, this is our son Frank, who smells a little fishy right now, if my nose doesn't deceive me."
Fannie extended her hand nonetheless. "I'm pleased to meet you, Master Frank. How long would you guess your legs are?" She leaned back to take a visual measure. "They'd have to be—oh, say, a good twenty-four inches for you to ride the bicycle with any ease at all."
"Ride it? Me? Honest?"
"Honest." Fannie held up a palm as if taking an oath and charmed yet another member of the Walcott family.
Emily could not take her eyes off Fannie. She was a dazzling creature, the same age as Mother, yet years younger in action, temperament, and interest. Her voice was animated, her movements energetic. She had a contumacious look about her—that kinky apricot hair, perhaps, frizzing about her face like lantern-lit steam around a newborn colt—that made her seem untrammeled by the gravity that made most women dull and uninteresting. Her eyes constantly shone with interest and her hands never remained still when she talked. She was worldly: she rode bicycles and had traveled alone clear from Massachusetts, and had boated under sail to a place called Nantucket where she gigged for clams; and she had attended the opera, had seen Emma Abbott and Brignoli starring in The Bohemian Girl , and had had her fortune told by a palm reader named Cassandra. The list went on and on—tales from her letters that Emily had been absorbing ever since she was old enough to read. How incredible to think such a worldling was here, and would stay, would sleep in Emily's own bed where they could talk in the dark after the lanterns were extinguished. Already the house seemed transformed by her presence. Gaiety came with her, a carnival atmosphere that had been so badly needed. Mother, too, had fallen under Fannie's spell. She had forgotten her illness for the moment; it was plain on her face. And Papa stood back with his arms crossed, smiling, relieved at last of a portion of his worries. For bringing all this to the Walcott family within an hour of her arrival, Emily loved Fannie already.
Just then Papa boosted himself away from the chiffonier and said, "Speaking of bicycles, I'd best get Fannie's in the shed and bring her trunks up, too. Charles,
"That would be wonderful."
"And when I put them before you, you'd better eat!" Fannie pointed at her cousin's nose. "Because I've brought along my bicycle and I fully intend to get you strong enough to ride on it."
"Your bicycle! But, Fannie, I can't ri…ride a bicycle!"
"Why ever not?"
"Because…" Josephine spread her hands. "I'm a … a consumptive."
"Well, if that isn't the frailest excuse I've ever heard, I don't know what is' All that means is that you've got weak lungs. You want to make them strong you get on that set of wheels and make them work harder. Have you ever seen a blacksmith with puny arms? I should say not. So what can be so different about lungs? It'll be the best thing for you, to get out in the fresh mountain air and rebuild your strength."
Looking on, Edwin thought there hadn't been so much merry chatter in this bedroom since it had been built. Fannie's gaiety was infectious; already Josie's face wore a dim hint of pink, her eyes were happy, her lips smiling. Perhaps he tended to mollycoddle her and in doing so, encouraged her to feel worse.
The young people arrived; they'd picked up Frankie somewhere along the way and from below came his voice as he led the trio up the steps. "Hey, everybody, there's a bicycle downstairs!"
He burst into the bedroom, followed by Emily and Charles.
"It's mine," Fannie announced.
Edwin stopped his son's headlong charge into the room. "Frankie, I want you to meet your cousin Fannie. Fannie, this is our son Frank, who smells a little fishy right now, if my nose doesn't deceive me."
Fannie extended her hand nonetheless. "I'm pleased to meet you, Master Frank. How long would you guess your legs are?" She leaned back to take a visual measure. "They'd have to be—oh, say, a good twenty-four inches for you to ride the bicycle with any ease at all."
"Ride it? Me? Honest?"
"Honest." Fannie held up a palm as if taking an oath and charmed yet another member of the Walcott family.
Emily could not take her eyes off Fannie. She was a dazzling creature, the same age as Mother, yet years younger in action, temperament, and interest. Her voice was animated, her movements energetic. She had a contumacious look about her—that kinky apricot hair, perhaps, frizzing about her face like lantern-lit steam around a newborn colt—that made her seem untrammeled by the gravity that made most women dull and uninteresting. Her eyes constantly shone with interest and her hands never remained still when she talked. She was worldly: she rode bicycles and had traveled alone clear from Massachusetts, and had boated under sail to a place called Nantucket where she gigged for clams; and she had attended the opera, had seen Emma Abbott and Brignoli starring in The Bohemian Girl , and had had her fortune told by a palm reader named Cassandra. The list went on and on—tales from her letters that Emily had been absorbing ever since she was old enough to read. How incredible to think such a worldling was here, and would stay, would sleep in Emily's own bed where they could talk in the dark after the lanterns were extinguished. Already the house seemed transformed by her presence. Gaiety came with her, a carnival atmosphere that had been so badly needed. Mother, too, had fallen under Fannie's spell. She had forgotten her illness for the moment; it was plain on her face. And Papa stood back with his arms crossed, smiling, relieved at last of a portion of his worries. For bringing all this to the Walcott family within an hour of her arrival, Emily loved Fannie already.
Just then Papa boosted himself away from the chiffonier and said, "Speaking of bicycles, I'd best get Fannie's in the shed and bring her trunks up, too. Charles,
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