The River Rose Read online

  "Thank you. Come see, come see!" Marvel trilled.

  "You are dancing in your bare feet," Jeanne said sternly. "And you are dancing without your warm robe. You may dance, Marvel, but only if you put on warm clothes."

  "Yes, ma'am," she said, and danced to fetch her stockings and flannel robe. Jeanne, still yawning, got up and stirred the almost-dead coals and began the tedious process of building up a good fire.

  They had planned their entire day. After breakfast they were going to both have hot sponge baths and wash their hair. It took hours for Jeanne's hair to dry, but not Marvel's, and Jeanne had promised to roll it up into little rags so that it would be curly for their outing that evening. The afternoon was taken up with preparing everything for Christmas dinner: roasting a small hen, boiling the giblets for gravy, baking cornbread and chopping up celery and onions for dressing, and chopping walnuts and raisins and dried apples for a mince pie. Jeanne had spent most of her tip money on the costly food.

  When they finished it was time to get dressed for going to the Christmas Regale. Marvel didn't have a new dress, but Jeanne had washed and ironed her best blue wool, and the ruffles on her cotton pinafore were starched and crisp. She had brand-new cotton stockings that she wore under her wool stockings. Jeanne took down Marvel's hair and pulled the top away from her face, and it fell in soft little ringlets to her shoulders.

  Jeanne wore one of her gray skirts and a plain white blouse, and all three of her petticoats, two cotton and one wool. Her hair, now dry, was gleaming darkly, and the curls were rich and springy. She pulled it up to the crown and secured it with four precious hairpins.

  "Is it time to go?" Marvel asked, hopping from one foot to the other.

  Jeanne smiled. "Just about. Here, it's time to put on your new things." For her birthday Jeanne had made Marvel a new mantle, for her old cape was threadbare and too short. The new one had a hood with a gold tassel, and a little capelet about the shoulders. It tied at the neck with a gold ribbon. Jeanne had also spent a lot of money to buy fine cashmere yarn instead of wool, a bright Christmas red color, and had knit Marvel a long head wrap and mittens. Marvel's skin was very delicate, and wool gave her a rash. Because Marvel always worried that Jeanne never got Christmas presents, Jeanne had also bought cheap wool yarn of the same color and had made herself a muffler like Marvel's. After they were completely dressed, they joined hands and looked each other up and down. "We look beautiful," Jeanne said complacently.

  "You do, Mama," Marvel breathed. "But I'm not as pretty as you."

  "Yes you are, darling," Jeanne insisted. "You're much prettier than I was when I was your age. And your new red muffler makes your eyes bright and your cheeks look rosy. Now, before we go, I have a little surprise for you."

  "Really? A Christmas Eve surprise? What is it?"

  Jeanne took down an old wooden box from the mantle and opened it. "There are going to be lots of nice things at the Regale to buy. Here is a dollar. You're going to have to see everything, and then decide what you'll spend your money on."

  "A whole dollar?" Marvel breathed. "And I get to spend it all myself?"

  "That's right," Jeanne said. "You can buy anything that you want. I'll help you with the arithmetic so you'll know what everything costs, and how much of your dollar it will take, and how much you'll have left. If you reach inside your mantle you'll find a little buttoned pocket on the right-hand side. You should put your dollar there. Now, are you ready?"

  "Oh, yes, yes! Can we run?"

  Jeanne laughed. "It's twelve blocks, and I think after a block or two we might end up sitting on the street curb, out of breath. But maybe we can skip a little."

  They skipped down the narrow alley that opened onto Main Street, and Marvel agreed that perhaps they might walk the rest of the way.

  "Everything looks so pretty!" Marvel exclaimed. "I love snow!"

  Jeanne did too. It rarely snowed in Memphis, and when it did it was hardly ever enough to stick. But it had snowed all night, laying down a glittering snow-layer on the city that was about nine inches deep. The day had been bright, with a gleaming lemon-drop sun in a powder-blue sky. It was very cold, but there was no wind, for which Jeanne was grateful. When Marvel was in a cold draft she was prone to get ear infections.

  As they made their way down busy Main Street, the sun drifted down in the west, and a twinkling silver twilight set in. Lamps were lit in the shop windows, cheery people hurried in and out of the stores, buggies and people on horseback thronged the streets. Marvel was positively goggle-eyed, and Jeanne had to hold her hand tightly, for she kept wanting to dart here and there to see wonders in the store displays.

  "The shops will still be open when we come home tonight," Jeanne told her. "You can look at everything then, if you want to."

  By six o'clock they reached Court Square, and a soft, quiet darkness had fallen. But Court Square was lit up like a child's most wondrous dreams. Hundreds of lanterns hung from the naked tree branches, paths had been swept through the snow, and as they entered the park they heard laughing and singing from everywhere. Lots of people were streaming in, and for a moment Jeanne was worried. The population of Memphis right now was about eight thousand, and if even half that many came to the four-block-square park it would be so crowded that they wouldn't be able to move, much less see anything. But then she saw that many volunteer sheriff's deputies, dressed in regular clothing but with stars on their chests, were handling the crowd. They stopped and turned away groups of drunken men, they kicked out the rowdy young boys that were not accompanied by an adult, they turned away all the prostitutes. As Jeanne and Marvel made their way into the square, Jeanne could see that the crowd was made up of respectable people, families and couples and some like her, unaccompanied women who were either widows or had husbands at work, with children.

  "Oh my gunness!" Marvel exclaimed. "Mama, do you see that?"

  "Yes, I do," she answered as they drew nearer to the center of the park. There, a twenty-foot-high Christmas tree had been put up, and it was trimmed with silver and gold tinsel and gold stars. At the top was a great silver star with a candle before it. The other candles on the tree were enclosed in glass boxes with silver and gold trim. A low railing surrounded the tree, and two deputies kept a sharp eye on it, for the decorations were very valuable, but Jeanne and Marvel pressed close. People surrounded it, and oohs and aahs were heard. Marvel was silent, her face upturned. Jeanne looked down at her, with the candlelight and lantern glow giving her normally pale complexion a soft golden glow, and thought that Marvel did look beautiful just then.

  Beyond them the sounds of singing and tantalizing aromas beckoned, and they walked on. Strolling carolers sang, usually finely-dressed couples with songbooks. Groups of people stopped and sang along with them. Jeanne let Marvel lead her, and she went to a group of young couples that were singing "Hark the Herald Angels Sing." Beaming, Marvel sang along in her high piping voice, and Jeanne joined in, her voice a soft, true soprano. From every path the music of Christmas carols drifted, near and far. In the distance Jeanne could hear the cheery jingle of small bells, and wondered where they were coming from.

  Marvel pulled on her hand, leading her to a side path where another group of singers was starting "It Came Upon a Midnight Clear." Jeanne bent down to tell Marvel, "The bandstand and the performers will be up there, and I would imagine there'll be lots of other things to see, too. Would you like to walk up that way?"

  "Okay," she said, and skipped along in the direction Jeanne had pointed. On Jeanne's walk home from work the previous day she had gone one block out of her way to pass Court Square, and she had seen them building a bandstand and putting up tables for vendors in the northwest corner, directly across from the County Courthouse. Now as they neared that corner they began to see the vendors surrounding the bandstand in a wide circle, and Marvel stopped in her tracks. Everywhere they looked was like a Christmas fairyland; each vendor's table had a white tablecloth and was decorated with evergreen branches and h
olly branches with bright red berries. Golden lanterns shone everywhere, lighting the scene with a festive glow. On the bandstand the St. Paul's Boys Choir, the young scrubbed-face boys dressed in ivory white robes, angelically sang carols and hymns.

  But it was the vendors that were so enticing. Jeanne was delighted to see that there were no loud hawkers here, no butchers with naked geese and turkeys strung up, no monotonously chanting hucksters. Every table was laden with Christmas goods, and each of them looked like part of a glorious Christmas feast. The fruitseller had piles of oranges, lemons, limes, grapefruits, pears, and red and green apples. The confectioner's table had six great silver cornucopias holding sugarplums, butterscotch drops, coconut caramels, peppermint sticks, candied almonds, and chocolate bonbons. From the baker's table came a delicious scent on the sharp air of gingerbread men and sugar cookies. Next to that was the punch table, with spiced cider, eggnog, wassail, hot buttered rum, and cocoa, all warmed in great silver bowls over candles.

  Marvel tried so hard to look in all directions at once that she became dismayed. Jeanne said, "I think that if we start over there, and work our way around past the bandstand and back here, we'll see everything."

  "Ooh, and then I can decide what to spend my dollar on," Marvel said with relief.

  They began walking around to each table, with Marvel staring with her great smudges of dark eyes at every single thing. The vendors, Jeanne noticed, were not the usual tradesmen, for they were dressed in fine clothing and were very well-spoken. Jeanne decided that they must be members of the City Council and their families. Each one of them smiled at the children and said, "Merry Christmas," to everyone passing by.

  As they neared the corner of Court Street and Main Street, where the bandstand was, Jeanne finally saw where the jingling bells were coming from. They were sleigh bells. One of the council members had a great golden sleigh, and the City Council had hired men that morning to pile snow all along the four streets bordering the park. A cheerful man with red cheeks drove the sleigh, and the horse had small silver bells on his harness and bridle. Jeanne had never seen a sleigh, or heard sleigh bells before, and she was enchanted. Marvel was looking up at her, puzzled, and Jeanne picked her up. She was so small that Jeanne could easily hold her. "Is that really a sleigh?" she asked in wonder.

  "It certainly is."

  "How much do you think it would cost to ride in it?" Marvel asked. Several people were waiting at the corner for a ride around the four blocks of the square. Even as they watched, the driver cracked the whip just over the horse's back, and the sleigh began to glide along, bells merrily jingling.

  "Would you like to go see how much?" Jeanne asked, and Marvel nodded. They made their way past the vendors and when they came to the little knot of people they saw a handlettered sign: Sleigh Ride 25¢. Jeanne explained a "quarter" to Marvel, and she nodded thoughtfully.

  They went back and continued walking slowly along, looking at all of the Christmas wares. It took them more than half an hour to work their way around to the spot where they had begun.

  "I don't suppose you saw anything you liked," Jeanne teased.

  "Oh, Mama! You know I saw lots and lots of things I like," Marvel said. "It's so hard to know what to buy! I want some of everything!"

  "Then it's a good thing you can't afford it, because you'd probably be a very sick little girl."

  "I know," Marvel said with adult practicality. "I'll never forget that time, with the chocolate." She fell silent, her eyes roving over the tables. "And so if you get something to drink, you have to stand there and drink it, don't you? Because you have to return the cups. Maybe we could have some hot cider, and maybe one sweet and a gingerbread man, just before we go home?"

  "That would be nice. And, Marvel, I want to tell you, you aren't to spend your money buying anything for me. I have money, too, so I'll buy my own cider and sweets."

  Marvel brightened. "And the sleigh ride?"

  "I'll pay my own twenty-five cents, and you will pay yours, and you'll still have seventy-five cents left."

  "Oh, let's do that. All right, Mama?"

  "I would love to!" Jeanne said happily.

  They went back to the corner and had to wait for two couples ahead of them. Finally it was their turn and Jeanne and Marvel climbed up into the sleigh, which had a royal purple velvet-padded seat. The driver turned around and said, "And a very Happy Christmas to you two lovely ladies. Are you ready? Let's go, then!" He turned, snapped his whip, made a clicking noise, and said, "Whup, go along there, Solomon!" The sounds of creaking leather, sweet bells, and snow swishing along the runners of the sleigh filled Jeanne and Marvel with delight. The driver started humming "Deck the Halls" and they joined in, singing softly.

  It was over far too soon, but Jeanne and Marvel agreed that it had been well worth the money. "I believe the performances are going to start in just a few minutes," Jeanne told Marvel. "Did you want anything to eat or drink before then?"

  "No, but there is something I want," she said slyly. "If I buy one, will you buy one?"

  "What?"

  "Come on, I'll show you." Marvel pulled her by the hand to a small table that had bunches of holly piled on it. A sweet-faced young woman attended the table, which was fairly busy. Many gentlemen were buying sprigs of holly to put in their buttonholes or in their hatbands, and the ladies were pinning them to their corsages or trimming their bonnets with them. Marvel walked up to the table, pointed, and said, "May I have that, Mama?"

  She was pointing to a small wreath made of green ivy with sprigs of holly trimming it. With surprise, Jeanne now saw that the young woman was wearing a like wreath on her head, trimmed with red ribbons. She looked around and saw many children wearing the wreaths, and with dismay she thought that no adults were wearing them. But then, here and there, she saw smiling young women who had removed their bonnets and were crowned with the colorful garlands.

  "Yes, of course you may have one, if you like," she said hesitantly to Marvel.

  "But will you have one, Mama?" she asked. "Please? Oh, you'd look so pretty!"

  "But . . . I . . ." Jeanne's voice faded away as she saw her daughter's imploring face. Jeanne could hardly think of herself wearing such a thing. It was whimsical, and showy, and she was neither of those things. She dressed dully, kept her hair severely pulled up, her eyes modestly downcast. She might have a type of prettiness, but in her mind Jeanne saw herself as a simple, plain woman. But Marvel looked so hopeful. "All right," she said reluctantly. "I suppose we'll look very festive." She pushed back her hood and unwound the crimson muffler from around her head, and Marvel did the same.

  The young lady rose to place the wreaths on their heads. "I think you will both look very lovely," she said. "You, madam, have glorious hair. Here, I'll be very careful, so the holly won't stick you . . ."

  Jeanne thought anxiously, Now there is Marvel with a bare head, and it's so awfully cold . . . the tip of her nose is as red as her muffler, and soon her ears will be, too . . . But then Jeanne chided herself, Just stop worrying so much, and let go and have fun! This is for Marvel, and if she catches a chill, well, I'll just deal with it as I always have! She went down on one knee and shifted Marvel's holly wreath a bit, then puffed up her curls and tied her muffler close around her neck. "You look like a mischievous little Christmas elf," she said.

  Happily, Marvel said, "And you look like a Christmas queen with a holly crown."

  Just then there was a clamor from the bandstand, for the boy's choir was leaving, laughing and shouting as they clattered down the steps of the stage. Then two stout men came up the steps, carrying what looked like a large wooden box. They set it down in the exact center of the stage and pulled open the two-sided front of the box to reveal a clever puppet theater.

  "This is the puppet show, darling, of "A Visit from St. Nicholas." Do you want to get in close?"

  "Oh, yes, ma'am!" she said excitedly. Now Jeanne took her hand and pulled her along, threading through the crowds until they were rig
ht up against the stage. There were long benches in front of the stage for dignitaries and important personages, but now the adults let the children line up around the stage in front of them. Jeanne got Marvel situated and then slipped back several steps so she wouldn't be standing in front of the children. A top-hatted man mounted the stage and in a warm, pleasant voice began, "'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house . . ."

  CLINT BREATHED ON HIS wool-gloved hands and stamped to send some blood into his frozen feet. He was waiting on the courthouse steps for Eve Maxfield.

  Finally he saw her carriage, and smartly the driver pulled up to the steps. Clint went and opened the door to hand Eve down. In a delicate cloud of flowery scent she alighted, and for a few moments Clint was bemused. She wore deep holly-green velvet and a velvet cape trimmed with that most royal of furs, ermine, a silvery-white with the signature black spots, which was the end of the white ermine's tail and the only color on them. Her hands were buried in a large ermine muff, and instead of a bonnet with the deep brim hiding the face, she wore a hat with a close-fitting leather crown and a wide band of ermine that framed her face. She looked magnificent. "Wow," he said gutturally. "Wow."

  She smiled placidly. "Thank you. Please hurry, Clint. It is absolutely frigid out here." She led the way into the courthouse, followed by Clint and Eve's maid, a stolid, rather dour black girl named Beattie. Eve went past the grand staircase to a hallway behind, and walked into an office with an elaborate brass nameplate by the side of the door that read: Judge Eugene Poynter, Esquire.

  Clint followed her in and looked around the room curiously. He had never been in a judge's office. It was large, and on every wall were books from floor to ceiling. An enormous expanse of a mahogany desk was in front of a double window that looked out onto Court Street. Along one wall was a five-foot-high fireplace, and a great fire roared and snapped. Just to one side of the fireplace was Eve's harp.