The Oleander Sisters

He grabbed his crutch and clomped to the window while she stood in the middle of the room wondering what to do. When Andy was hurting she could pull him onto her lap and smooth his hair and sing-song his favorite nursery rhyme. Humpty Dumpty sat on the wall. Humpty Dumpty had a great fall. All the King’s horses and the King’s men couldn’t put Humpty Dumpty together again.

Who would put her brother back together?

She joined him at the window and linked her arm through his, then just stood there, not saying a word, scarcely daring to breathe in case he pulled away. She tried to think of something wise to say, but in the end nothing came to her. In the end she said a silent prayer, not even knowing whether God would listen to something as simple as Help my brother. Help me help my brother.

A breeze came through the open window, welcome after a day of intense heat, and voices drifted through—the indecipherable, meandering conversation of Sweet Mama and Beulah on the front porch and the clear, high voice of Andy in the backyard, peppering Sis with questions.

“Do holes have bottoms?”

“Can I dig to China?”

“Do frogs get married?”

“Is first grade scary?”

“Can I come home if I don’t like it?”

The sun was lowering toward the western horizon, reminding Emily she’d promised to cook dinner for Larry. An anxiousness rose inside her, the kind of wishy-washy feeling she hated. How could she leave her brother and yet how could she disappoint her fiancé? A mosquito buzzed through the window, and she balanced on one foot to scratch the back of her leg. She got red welts every time one bit her.

“Jim?” He turned toward her with a look of surprise, as if he were just returning from a faraway country and couldn’t believe she was there waiting for him. “If I invite Larry over for dinner here, will you come down and eat with us?”

“I’m not good company.”

“You don’t have to be good company. In fact, you don’t even have to make conversation. I’d just like for you to spend some time with the man who is going to be your brother-in-law.”

His long silence was bound to be no. She scratched her mosquito bite again, waiting.

When her brother finally shrugged and said, “Okay,” Emily felt as if she’d successfully led an expedition to the North Pole.

She left him heading toward the bathroom to shave, and went downstairs to call Larry. When she got to the telephone in the kitchen, she lost some of her resolve. Should she discuss the revised dinner plans with Beulah and Sis first? But what if Larry said no, and then she’d have to tell them he wasn’t coming?

“Emily?” Sis was suddenly standing in the doorway, holding the hand of a dirty little urchin after an enthusiastic excavation of the backyard.

“Good Lord, Sis, you startled me.”

“What’s up, Em? You look like a scared rabbit.”

“Mommy, what’s a scared rabbit?”

“Go wash your hands and face, Andy,” she told her son. “I’ll explain later.”

As he marched off, she told Sis about her plans to invite Larry over for dinner and how it might turn out to be a wonderful ploy to get their brother out of his bedroom.

“That’s great, Em!”

“I thought I could find something in the pantry to fix.”

“Good Lord, Emily. Beulah always cooks enough to feed an invasion of Martians. And don’t you worry about Sweet Mama.”

“Are the Martians coming?” Andy was back, standing in the doorway bouncing up on his toes in his excitement.

“No, the Martians are not coming.” Emily studied the level of dirt still on her son. “You forgot to wash behind your ears. I could build a frog house with that leftover dirt.”

“’K.”

As her son raced off once more and her sister puttered around the kitchen—washing her hands, pouring herself a glass of iced tea—Emily felt herself settle down. Apart from her family and Sweet Mama’s café, she sometimes felt a bit out of her element, as if she’d taken a wrong turn on the road and ended up in an unfamiliar place.

“Okay, then.” She smiled as Sis settled into a kitchen chair with her tea. “That settles everything.”

“It’s a good idea, Em. Larry needs to learn more about the family he’s marrying into.”

The way her sister’s eyes gleamed, it seemed to Emily the shoe was on the other foot: Sis was the one who wanted to find out about the man Emily would soon be calling her own. Still, as she picked up the kitchen phone and dialed Larry’s work number, she even felt a small sense of accomplishment.

When she said, “Hello, Larry,” and he called her darling, she saw her future unfold as a series of Hallmark cards, each scene a perfect depiction of a happy family.

Words spilled out of her so fast, she got tangled up and had to start over. By the time she’d finished telling him about the change of plans, she was flushed as if she’d been running.

There was a deep silence at the other end of the line.

“Larry? Are you there?”

“I’m here.”

“Oh, thank goodness. For a minute, I thought we’d been cut off.”

“No, I was thinking...how could you just change plans without even discussing it with me?”

“Well, of course I should have. I know that.” She bit her lip, feeling somehow inadequate and wondering what she’d done that was so wrong. “Still, my brother is just home from the war, and he’s feeling so alone right now, I thought it would be nice if you could come over and cheer him up.”

Why didn’t Larry say something?

“You know, a little man-to-man talk in a house full of women?” She waited, nervous, and still Larry said nothing. “Of course, there’s Andy, but I’m afraid his conversation runs to frog houses and rocket ships.”

Emily twisted the phone cord around her fingers, and a little pulse started pounding in her temple.

“Larry? Are you still there?” She put a hand to her forehead and silently counted to three. “Say something. Please.”

Sis set down her glass in that slow, deliberate manner she had when she was getting ready to wade into the middle of a situation gone bad. Even worse, she pushed back her chair. Emily frantically signaled her sister to sit back down.

When Larry finally decided to talk to her again, she was so flustered she nearly dropped the receiver.

“You said you’d make spaghetti and meatballs, Emily.” He was breathing hard, like somebody having a heart attack.

“Larry? Are you all right?”

“Of course I’m all right. Just disappointed, that’s all.”

“I’m sorry, Larry.” She looked down at her engagement ring and twisted it on her finger. “I was just... I don’t know what I was doing.” She squinted at her ring. “I was just trying to be helpful, that’s all.”

Sis was scowling so hard it seemed to Emily the whole room had gone dark.

“I was looking forward to your spaghetti, Emily,” Larry told her.

“I promise you I’ll make spaghetti and meatballs the next time. And listen, Beulah is one of the best cooks on the Gulf Coast. I know you’re going to enjoy having dinner with my family.”

“I even told my boss I was eating spaghetti my fiancée made.”

“I’m sorry, Larry. I really, really am.”

She couldn’t even look at Sis. She knew what she’d see: a sister getting ready to explode.

Emily frantically searched for a way to salvage the situation. It was too late to fix spaghetti from scratch and still have dinner at her house at a decent hour. But she could pick up some spaghetti sauce on her way home and doctor it up so Larry wouldn’t be able to tell it from the real thing.

“Listen, Larry. Just forget I even mentioned dinner at Sweet Mama’s. I’ll hurry on home to cook and see you in a little while. Okay?”

His sigh was as dramatic as Andy’s when he’d been told he had to take a bath before going to bed.

“I forgive you, sweetheart. And I’ll come to Sweet Mama’s for dinner. But next time, discuss plans with me first, okay?”

“Of course. I will.”

Sis was out of her chair before Emily had even hung up the phone.

“That rat! What did he say to you?”

“He was disappointed about the spaghetti, Sis, that’s all.”

“Disappointed, my hind foot. It looks like he put you through the wringer.” Sis stomped over to the sink and dumped the rest of her iced tea so hard ice cubes bounced over the lip of the sink and rattled to the floor. “I’d like to slap some sense into him. And if he gives me half a chance, I will.”

“We have to all get along.”

“If he wants to get along with me, he’d better start treating my sister right.”

“He treats me just fine. Really, he does.”

“Do you call that fine, being reduced to a nervous wreck just because you invited him to dinner?” Sis snatched up a dish towel and attacked the ice cubes on the floor. “Apologizing for Pete’s sake, as if you’d done something wrong!”

“Please, Sis! He’s going to be my husband!”

Sis went very still, collecting her rage the way the air collects turbulence right before a tornado rips through. If you didn’t know Sis, you’d tremble in your shoes; you’d expect her to tear into you any minute and try to straighten you out. But Emily saw with a sister’s heart. She watched Sis rein in her feelings and bury them so deep not a glimmer was left behind.

Sis dumped the ice cubes back into the sink, easy now in her movements and her posture.

“All right. I’ll behave.”

“Oh, Sis! I knew you would.”

“But that doesn’t mean I like it, Em.”

“I know.”

“I don’t like this man and I don’t like the idea of you marrying him. But we’ll get through the evening. Now I’m going to clean up and then warn Sweet Mama and Beulah.”

“Warn?”

“Tell. Is that better?”

“Much.”

“Em, I want you to think about the way Larry acted over something as simple as coming here for dinner. If he’s this controlling now, what will he be like after the wedding?”

“Sis, don’t start on Larry again.”

“I’m not starting on Larry. Just promise me you’ll think about it. That’s all I’m asking.”

“I promise.”

“Okay, then. I’ll see you in a little bit.”

Sis left the kitchen while the conversation with Larry burned through Emily. Not even the endearment he’d used to say goodbye could erase the sense that she’d headed out to pick a basketful of ripe strawberries and ended up in a tangle of briars. She bent over the sink to splash cool water on her hot face, then stood with water dripping down her chin, simply stood there staring into space.

Sis’s footsteps echoed on the wooden floors upstairs. She’d be going about her business, getting cleaned up for dinner. From the direction of the hall closet came sounds of Andy’s rambunctious search, probably for one of Sis’s old balls and her baseball bat. Out on the porch, her grandmother and Beulah would be drinking sweet tea from tall, cool glasses, blissfully unaware of the little storm that had swept through the kitchen.

After a little while, Emily shook herself like a woman coming out of a bad dream, then searched the pantry till she found an apron. She wasn’t going to let this little setback spoil the evening. It was going to be great, maybe even wonderful, that’s all. She wouldn’t have it any other way. Her brother needed wonderful, and right this minute, so did she.

* * *

Upstairs Sis washed the dirt off and changed into fresh slacks and a clean black T-shirt, but there was nothing she could do to erase the awful way Emily had looked during her phone conversation with Larry. He’d crushed her with the ease and carelessness of someone smashing a butterfly.

She thought about knocking on Jim’s door and relating the incident to him, but he might be getting dressed, and besides, he was too hurt from his own wounds to be burdened with Sis’s dark opinions.

She headed back downstairs to warn Sweet Mama and Beulah. They were both in rocking chairs on the porch, swaying gently to the ebb and flow of their conversation. Sis stood in the doorway a moment, the rhythm of their words running through her like a beloved song. No matter what was going on in the world around her, Sis could hear their voices and feel herself being tethered to this place she called home. She allowed herself the luxury of soaking up that comfort a moment longer, and then she pushed away and marched across the wooden porch.

“Guess who’s coming to dinner?” she said.

“If you fixing to tell me you bringing Sidney Poitier, I’m gonna get all gussied up.” Beulah chuckled, and after a heartbreaking lag, Sweet Mama joined her.

They both loved Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner. When it had first come out two years ago, they’d planned the theater outing as if they were going on an overnight trip to the Peabody Hotel in Memphis.

“I hate to disappoint you, Beulah. It’s not Sidney. It’s Larry Chastain.”

“Who?” Sweet Mama said, and Sis leaned down to put a hand on her shoulder.

“Emily’s fiancé. Remember?”

“Of course I do. What do you think I am? Senile?” Sweet Mama eased out of her rocker, one blue-veined hand clutching the armrest to steady herself. “Come on, Beulah. If company’s coming, we’re eating in the dining room and using the good silver.”

“I ain’t sure that man’s worth no good silver, Lucy.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

“Ain’t you always the judge?” Beulah winked at Sis, then took a hold of Sweet Mama’s arm and led her back into the house. Sis would have followed them, but she knew they’d shoo her out of the way. She was useless around crockery and cutlery. She always ended up breaking or spilling something, and in general making a big mess that had to be cleaned up. She knew her place, and it certainly wasn’t in the kitchen.

She leaned against a porch column and shaded her eyes, looking for signs of her future brother-in-law. She wanted to be the first to see him, to talk to him before Emily came out all flushed, trying to act as if Larry hadn’t already spoiled her evening.

Sis flicked a speck of dust off the front of her shirt, harder than necessary, so hard in fact, that she ended up feeling the sting of her own slap.

His car came upon her suddenly, turning into the driveway before she had decided what she was going to say to him. Let him off the hook completely? Pretend she didn’t know he’d acted an ass about dinner? Emily would be pleased if she kept quiet, but Sis might just choke on her own bile.

“Sis! Don’t you look a vision?” Larry strode up the front steps with the confidence of a smooth-talking, handsome man used to turning heads. Before she knew what was happening, he was bent over her hand, kissing it, and she found herself staring at the too-straight part slicing through his black hair.

“A nightmare is more like it,” she said.

Larry didn’t respond to her self-deprecating comment. Instead, he let go of her hand, thank God, and looked out over the Gulf.

“You have a beautiful view. No wonder Emily loves this place.”

“She does, but then Emily loves almost everything and everybody.”

“Lucky me. I finally found a woman who could look beyond my flaws and see a hero.”

“Emily’s a sweet, trusting woman, Larry. And easily hurt.”

“She’s the woman of every man’s dreams.”

“Yes, she is. I’m glad you know how lucky you are to have her.”

“Luck had nothing to do with it.” Suddenly, Larry puffed up with such self-importance Sis thought he’d levitate right off the front porch. “A salesman learns to read people. When I saw your sister, I read her like a book.”

“And what did that book say?” If he noticed her sarcasm, he didn’t show a sign.

“‘I’m a woman you can keep barefoot, pregnant and in the kitchen.’”

He laughed at his own Dark Ages attitude, and Sis wanted to slap him off the porch. Emily saved him, rushing out pink-faced and smiling, the only sign of her nervousness showing in the way she wadded a corner of her blue gingham apron into a tight fist.

“Larry! I’m so glad you’re here.” She rushed over to hug him, and he winked over her shoulder at Sis.

Did that jackass dare to think they were coconspirators? Or was he so certain of his hold over her sister that he didn’t care how he flaunted his power?

Still steaming, she watched Larry lead her sister into the house. She had to stand on the porch deep breathing before she could follow. The evening couldn’t be over fast enough to suit Sis.

Five

THE DINING ROOM TABLE looked elegant with Sweet Mama’s china and silver gleaming in the candlelight. The candles had been Emily’s idea, a last-minute addition to make Larry feel special. She couldn’t help but take pride that dinner was turning out to be a great success.

Sis was playing hostess with such grace, Emily would never have guessed she’d pitched a hissy fit in the kitchen earlier. Sweet Mama and Beulah wore rhinestone brooches for the occasion, and Andy looked darling with his face scrubbed clean and his flyaway hair slicked back. It looked suspiciously shiny to Emily. Later, she’d have to find out what he used. Usually it was water, but his cowlick was too tame for that.

Even Jim had joined them. Emily was glad, though he hadn’t said a single word except hello.

Fortunately, Larry didn’t seem to notice. He was too busy fielding questions from Sweet Mama and Beulah.

“What brought you down here?” Sweet Mama said, and Larry acted as if she hadn’t already asked him the same question three times. Emily hoped Sis noticed.

“I applied for a transfer to this area because I love fishing.”

“It’s his favorite pastime,” Emily added, hoping Sweet Mama would remember a granddaughter better than she did a virtual stranger.

“Before I met our girl here, I spent all my time with a fishing pole in my hands.”

“Jim has a fishing boat and a convertible.” Emily glanced at her brother, hopeful, but he was moving his mashed potatoes around on his plate. “It would be great if the two of you would let the top down and go fishing together.”

When Jim’s hand tightened over his fork, Emily had the awful feeling that she was pushing her brother back instead of drawing him close. To make matters worse, Beulah scowled at her and Andy started kicking the table leg.

“Fish ain’t biting now or me and Jim would’a gone today.” Beulah closed her hand around Jim’s arm, and there it stayed, dark as sorghum molasses against his white shirt. “Ain’t no telling when they gonna bite again.”

Sis shot Emily a warning glance, but it was already too late to stop a conversation rolling toward disaster.

“Fish always bite for me.” Larry turned his attention to Jim, looking pointedly at the crutch leaning against his chair. “How about it, Jim? Go fishing with me and I’ll do all the driving. Thank God I avoided this senseless war and stayed in one piece.”

“Our boy drives just fine.” Beulah looked like a thundercloud that didn’t care who she rained on.

“Jim’s a hero.” Sweet Mama peered at Larry. “All the men in our family are heroes.”

“How come you didn’t go to war?” Beulah asked.

“I didn’t pass the draft. I was 4F.”

Larry’s face tightened and Emily wadded her napkin into a little ball. Did her future husband have some dire medical condition she didn’t know about?

“Why were you 4F, darling?”

“Flat feet,” he said.

Emily wanted to crawl under the table. Her daddy’s World War II medals were on prominent display in a shadow box in the entry hall and Jim’s Purple Heart would soon be there, as well.

Sweet Mama laid down her fork in that big, clattering way she had when she meant business.

“There’s nothing but patriotic men in this family,” she said, “and we’re proud of it.”

“Ain’t that the truth?” Beulah patted Jim’s arm. “In my day, we called them 4F-ers slackers.”

Larry’s face blazed and Emily’s felt hot. She’d explain to Larry later that Sweet Mama was slowly losing touch with reality, that Beulah would say just about anything if she thought one of her babies was under fire, but how would she explain to her family that she was going to marry a man they considered a coward?

And still, there was the rest of this awful evening to get through. She shot a desperate glance at Sis.

“We’re going to take dessert on the front porch,” Sis announced.

“Make sure it’s the good china.” Sweet Mama picked up her fork and smiled at Larry as if the conversation about heroes and slackers had never taken place. “I always serve company on china plates.”

Emily didn’t know what to do except sit there with her hand on Larry’s arm in the desperate hope that one small touch from the woman he loved would calm him down while Sis helped Sweet Mama from the table. Andy was already racing toward the front porch and, from the looks of things, Beulah and Jim were heading upstairs. She hoped so. She didn’t know how she could get through the rest of the evening if Beulah kept acting like a bear protecting her cub.

And poor Jim. She couldn’t endure thinking about him right now. If an intimate family dinner could render him speechless and wrecked, what would a public outing do?

When the dining room was clear of everybody except the two of them, she turned to Larry.

“I’m sorry, darling.”

“Let’s just eat dessert and get out of here,” he said. “I knew it would turn out this way.”

“Beulah and Sweet Mama didn’t mean any harm. Really. They’re just getting on in years and set in their ways.”

“Thank God I don’t have to contend with my family.”

Why not? Emily didn’t dare ask, not after Larry’s humiliation at the hands of her family.

“I’ll make it up to you later, Larry. I promise.”

She led him onto the front porch where Sweet Mama smiled up from her rocking chair, Andy looked like an angel and Sis served up Amen cobbler on china plates. The moon hung low over the water, casting silvery patches on the porch floor. It was the kind of clear summer night that made you think there was nothing bad in this world that couldn’t be fixed.

* * *

Late that night, Sis sat on the front porch in the dark alone, heavy with the feeling that something awful was happening to someone she loved. It couldn’t be Jim. He’d been in his room ever since he left the table tonight without dessert. But Sis doubted he was sleeping, and even if he were, his slumber was unlikely to be peaceful.

And it couldn’t be Sweet Mama or Beulah. She’d checked before she came onto the porch. If they were bothered about goading Larry because he’d shirked his military duty, you couldn’t tell by the way they rested on their backs with their snores rattling the windowpanes. Had their bluntness been deliberate or was it old age? Didn’t they know if you prodded a coiled snake it would strike back?

Sis jumped up from the swing, her sister suddenly so strongly on her mind she wanted to race inside and call her. Sis walked to a patch of moonlight on the porch and peered at her watch. It was after midnight, far too late to call Emily and say, Are you okay? Did Larry punish you for what happened at dinner? Sis had no doubt he would. A man who would reduce his fiancée to tears over a dinner invitation would use any excuse to exert his power over her.

Or would he do worse?

Sis paced the porch until she was so tired she thought she’d fall over. Easing through the front door, she tiptoed upstairs, got into pajamas and fell into bed. But her sleep was restless, broken by nightmares and the helpless feeling of being chased and unable to run.

When the morning light pinked her windowpanes, she sat up in bed with a headache so fierce she didn’t know how she’d begin her daily routine, much less get through it with a shred of compassion. Just this once she wished she could wake up in bed with a good man who would say, Honey, you rest. I’ll take care of everything.

She eased out of bed, tiptoed to the bathroom, then downed two aspirins and waited. When the jackhammers in her head subsided, she went back into her bedroom and picked up the phone. Emily answered on the first ring.

“Em, you sound funny. Are you all right?”