wavy hair, silky as exquisite Japanese threads, was gathered in a ponytail and made her appear sophisticated; the same hairstyle made Magdalena look innocent.
Rose shifted her weight and fussed with her hair, pushing strays back in place, squeezing her bun, a jumbled mess after a long night. She’d been too busy to shower and observing Sara Clara prompted a surge of envy. Sara Clara did nothing to help out at home, but always looked stunning for her job of Queen Do Nothing All Day.
Sara Clara’s purring at Henry made Rose cringe. The woman-child bestowed all her attention on Henry, every blessed day, probing him for stories about his days as a Pittsburgh Pirate.
Rose sighed at Sara Clara forcing Henry to relive the best and worst stretch of his life as though it were her story, too. It called up too much emotion for Henry and it unnerved Rose. The exercise excited Sara Clara, satisfied with the stories of another life rather than having her own.
“No, why of course, I understand the decision to go to the Pirates instead of accepting that chemistry scholarship,” Sara Clara said, and swept her petite, manicured hand over Henry’s forearm, resting above his wrist. “But Henry, realllllly a Pittsburgh Pirate. What tales you have to tell!”
Rose was pleased to see Henry worm his arm away and run his hand through his hair. She hadn’t realized she groaned in response to Sara Clara’s inquisition until the whole family turned toward her. She moved quickly to kiss Auntie Anna good morning, and saw the family’s plates were empty. No one had served the food. Like always, they waited for her.
“I ain’t hungry ,” Auntie Anna growled at Rose. “Gonna count the money n’at. Think we’re ‘bout flush for that house you been talking about building.” Auntie Anna pulled her money pouch—the one she never removed unless Rose was forcing her to bathe, or was checking her for repeated bouts of pneumonia, or adding more money.
Rose spoke to Auntie as though soothing a wild animal, tucking the sour smelling sack back into Auntie’s shirt, telling her that they would certainly count the money on pay day—Friday. Rose had been depositing funds into the bank on behalf of her family, but still gave a portion to Auntie Anna, as was the tradition for all of them. Rose would have liked to put all their pay in the bank to make sure it grew at the rate it ought to, but it wasn’t Rose’s home and despite Auntie Anna’s diminished abilities, no one was ready to take the last scrap of her dignity. Besides, from the lessons learned in 1929, Auntie Anna was as safe a bank as Mellon at the bottom of the hill.
Buzzy lit a cigarette and waved the smoke away from the table.
Each payday, Buzzy, Henry and Rose forked over their pay, into the family pot so that as soon as possible, each person could purchase their own home. Unfortunately, illnesses, Buzzy’s irresponsible ways, and a house-fire had filched the family funds from Rose’s open hand so many times she wondered if she’d ever have the opportunity to live the way she’d imagined.
She dreamed it so much and so long, she couldn’t admit it might never come to be. She thought of the orphanage, lying there as a child on rickety cots, slotted between thirty-one other girls, frigid breezes lifting thin sheets and keeping her from drifting into the safety of sleep. During those sleepless nights she formulated the life she’d wanted to live. And really, all that she desired was a small, warm, clean home, a safe home, filled with love.
Rose washed up and served the food, distracted by a spike of hope that Auntie Anna might be right. Maybe they did save enough money for Rose and Henry to buy their home. Rose plunked eggs onto the plates as the conversation drew her from her own mind.
“Having their ninth child?” Sara Clara squealed. “Why, aren’t they aware of methods ?”
Henry dropped his head into his hands, elbows on the table, he rubbed his
Rose shifted her weight and fussed with her hair, pushing strays back in place, squeezing her bun, a jumbled mess after a long night. She’d been too busy to shower and observing Sara Clara prompted a surge of envy. Sara Clara did nothing to help out at home, but always looked stunning for her job of Queen Do Nothing All Day.
Sara Clara’s purring at Henry made Rose cringe. The woman-child bestowed all her attention on Henry, every blessed day, probing him for stories about his days as a Pittsburgh Pirate.
Rose sighed at Sara Clara forcing Henry to relive the best and worst stretch of his life as though it were her story, too. It called up too much emotion for Henry and it unnerved Rose. The exercise excited Sara Clara, satisfied with the stories of another life rather than having her own.
“No, why of course, I understand the decision to go to the Pirates instead of accepting that chemistry scholarship,” Sara Clara said, and swept her petite, manicured hand over Henry’s forearm, resting above his wrist. “But Henry, realllllly a Pittsburgh Pirate. What tales you have to tell!”
Rose was pleased to see Henry worm his arm away and run his hand through his hair. She hadn’t realized she groaned in response to Sara Clara’s inquisition until the whole family turned toward her. She moved quickly to kiss Auntie Anna good morning, and saw the family’s plates were empty. No one had served the food. Like always, they waited for her.
“I ain’t hungry ,” Auntie Anna growled at Rose. “Gonna count the money n’at. Think we’re ‘bout flush for that house you been talking about building.” Auntie Anna pulled her money pouch—the one she never removed unless Rose was forcing her to bathe, or was checking her for repeated bouts of pneumonia, or adding more money.
Rose spoke to Auntie as though soothing a wild animal, tucking the sour smelling sack back into Auntie’s shirt, telling her that they would certainly count the money on pay day—Friday. Rose had been depositing funds into the bank on behalf of her family, but still gave a portion to Auntie Anna, as was the tradition for all of them. Rose would have liked to put all their pay in the bank to make sure it grew at the rate it ought to, but it wasn’t Rose’s home and despite Auntie Anna’s diminished abilities, no one was ready to take the last scrap of her dignity. Besides, from the lessons learned in 1929, Auntie Anna was as safe a bank as Mellon at the bottom of the hill.
Buzzy lit a cigarette and waved the smoke away from the table.
Each payday, Buzzy, Henry and Rose forked over their pay, into the family pot so that as soon as possible, each person could purchase their own home. Unfortunately, illnesses, Buzzy’s irresponsible ways, and a house-fire had filched the family funds from Rose’s open hand so many times she wondered if she’d ever have the opportunity to live the way she’d imagined.
She dreamed it so much and so long, she couldn’t admit it might never come to be. She thought of the orphanage, lying there as a child on rickety cots, slotted between thirty-one other girls, frigid breezes lifting thin sheets and keeping her from drifting into the safety of sleep. During those sleepless nights she formulated the life she’d wanted to live. And really, all that she desired was a small, warm, clean home, a safe home, filled with love.
Rose washed up and served the food, distracted by a spike of hope that Auntie Anna might be right. Maybe they did save enough money for Rose and Henry to buy their home. Rose plunked eggs onto the plates as the conversation drew her from her own mind.
“Having their ninth child?” Sara Clara squealed. “Why, aren’t they aware of methods ?”
Henry dropped his head into his hands, elbows on the table, he rubbed his
Similar Books
