Andi was alone in her room, staring out the window through the hopper bars, her heart racing, her breath coming rapidly… more so as she heard a set of footsteps on the stairs. Then she heard them pause at the doorway and, turning to the curtain, she saw her confidante push her way in.
“I told everyone else they had to wait a few minutes,” she said, laying her baby down on the bed along with a pack and coming over to hug Andi. “But that won’t last long. How doest thou?”
“I’m fine,” Andi said, and burst in to tears.
“Nervous?”
“No, yes, no… I mean…”
“Scared?”
“Yes! What am I… what will he think of me?”
“He will love thee. Excited?”
“Yes! How long have I waited for this day? How many times have I complained about mother, knowing that what I was really complaining about was that I wanted my own husband, my own house… or whatever.”
“Sit down,” her confidante commanded, “I will get out the bark paint.”
“Oh!” Andi said. “But… but what are we going to do? And where?”
“He is shop class,” her confidante said, firmly. “He will not appreciate some intimate pattern… not until after he had invoked the contract. We will do a simple flower pattern from your wrist up your arm. That will be very appropriate, not at all garish.”
Andi watched her confidante get out the bark paint and held out her arm. Her confidante laid it on a pillow, put a towel between them, and dipped her paint and began. Andi watched the curling vines as they crept up her arm and tried to relax. Her cousine was good at this. Mother had made a good choice.
The brown vines done, her confidante switched to the green and began on the leaves. Somehow the design made her marriage seem more and more real, and she began to get… to get eager. Eager to see the lad, eager to walk away from her house, her bag in one hand, his hand in the other. Eager for him to invoke the contract…
“It’s obvious what you are thinking about!” Her confidant said, and Andi blushed.
“It’s a good thing,” her confidante said. “I would be worried if you weren’t thinking about him. “Now, I am almost done. I think I will just do red roses.”
Five separate red roses, one at her wrist, one at the crook of her elbow, and the other three randomly spaced up her arm. She stared. It was real. He would be here soon. Her husband!
“Can we come now?” Her sister called from behind the curtain, and her confidante looked at the curtain, looked at Andi, and said, “OK!”
The curtain burst open and a dozen siblings, cousines, and even a neighbor or two came in and arranged themselves around the room, ready for the ‘dressing’ ceremony, ready to watch her try on clothes and discuss them.
“OK, I brought this skirt for thee,” her confidante said, taking it out of a sack and sitting down to nurse. “Try it on first.”
“You found one in my size?” Andi asked, pulling it up and staring at it.
“It wasn’t easy,” her confidant admitted. “But I managed. And I like the color on thee.”
Everyone watched as Andi adjusted the waist and then nervously spun around, letting everyone see.
“The skirt looks very well on thee,” her confidante said. “And wearing it without a blouse would certainly appeal to the lad. But, though I brought it myself, I can’t say it looks right.”
“I could wear a blouse,” Andi suggested.
“Thou couldst,” Aleshia agreed. “Altho it wouldn’t become thee with thy lack of bust. But I think a frock would do best even so.”
“I’ll get it,” her sister said, and rushed off to get Andi’s frock as Andi reluctantly pulled off the skirt. Seconds later her sister was back, holding up Andi’s church frock. “Mother cleaned it for thee yesterday,” her sister said, handing it to her.
Andi and her confidante exchanged glances. Mother was being very good and not interjecting herself into the confidante relationship, but she obviously thought the frock would be best. Andi pulled it over her head.
“That is more formal,” her confidante agreed. “And you can bring the skirt on your honey trip. Once you have well started it will be very appropriate, something even a shop class girl would wear.”
Andi nodded and put the skirt reluctantly into her bag for the trip. Then she turned to the mirror and looked.
The colors were fine. She had always looked good in blue, especially a bright blue, and the greens helped set off her hair, or so everyone always assured her. She tightened the bright white belt around her waist, desperate to give herself hips. Then she looked back at the bodice and despaired. The sharp but shallow street class neckline did nothing for her, nor did the material.
“He will find thee beautiful,” Aleshia said, coming up and whispering in her ear. “Not every lad wants a lass all bursting out in curves everywhere. And you have a beautiful face, Darling.”
Andi nodded. She must needs be content with her looks, they were all she had.
“But, come, we can certainly brush your hair. We have a good half an hour before he must come.”
Apparently all the cousines and siblings thought brushing hair was boring, or else they wished to be in the street to see the lad, her husband, and his family come, because after a few minutes the two were alone.
“He will like thee,” Aleshia said, the brush moving easily through the hair. “Lads are put off by chatterboxes. My husband is always railing at me to give him peace. Your husband is shop class, he will want a studious wife. And you have ensured he will not stray.”
Andi nodded, unable to speak.
“The rumor is that he is as thin as you,” Aleshia said.
“It is no rumor. The contract listed his measurements.”
“Well, yes, I saw that. But I heard from a cousin who is friends with a lad that lives on their street and who has seen him. He says…”
“Oh, don’t tell me,” Andi pleaded. “I would see for myself.”
“Very well. And it is said that love has its own eyes. But they say he is very smart.”
“And he’s shop class.”
“Well, there knew that there were good odds you would marry a shop class lad once you put down that you were going for the army. They tend to train their lads well, the shop class do, all ready to do their duty. Why I know half a dozen street class lads that should have gone for the army but refused. One reason their family stays street class. Shop class tend to do better at it: Two for the army, two for the navy who might instead go for the army and get a good exchange, one for papa’s business, then the rest for the army, bringing in more exchange.”
“Lots of our lasses marry shop class. I even knew one that married crystal class! He was an unusual class, tho. His family had suffered great reverses and were in danger of being de-classed. He went out for the army, married a street class lass, became an officer, had seven kids off of her, and he died in some great space battle. She certainly did well out of it, as did his family. I heard he was happy with her, too. Had their seven kids quick enough, anyway.”
“Do you think I should wear this frock? It doesn’t do anything at all for me.”
“Stop worrying. This is a contract marriage, not some back street tumble, nor yet a temp contract for money. You aren’t there for him to lust after… and I don’t doubt he will!” She added quickly. “There is nothing so attractive to a lad as a lass in his bed. Not a willing lass, anyway, and you’ve more than committed to that. I pray you won’t regret your choice in a few years.”
“I won’t!” Andi said, decidedly. “Now what should I tie my hair with?”
The weather was wet and chilly, his clothes were light and formal, and Lorcan was nervous. This was about the most important day in his whole life and he was scared to death… and freezing. His uncle had picked out these clothes, light but formal clothes, knowing that Lorcan and his bride were going to be walking a long way, and it was going to warm up. But right now he was freezing and nervous.
And eager. Anxious. Ready to see his wife!
His parents walked on as if unconscious of the wind, and, realising he was falling a bit behind, he hurried after them.
This street was busy with people, mostly street class people, and most of them seeming to be staring at Lorcan, but the architecture seemed a bit higher class. Most of the houses seemed like they had two apartments in them, but the buildings were all nice four story houses made of brick and clay with some wood trim.
He realized his father had stopped and was looking at a scrap of paper. “This is it,” he pointed, and Lorcan’s heart began racing. The house he had pointed at was a bit thinner than many of its neighbors, was painted a kind of dark raspberry colour, but there was only one address at the door, indicating that only one family lived there. Definitely moving up from street class.
His father marched up to the front door and knocked, and the door was opened seconds later by a man of about his fathers age, altho a bit taller and thinner. The man was wearing a stiff, white, street class shirt over black pants, and he gave them a broad grin. “Welcome, welcome!”
He and Lorcan’s father grasped wrists and Lorcan’s mother curtseyed. “This is my son, Lorcan,” his father said, and Lorcan stood awkwardly, uncertain whether he should bow or grasp wrists. But the other father settled that, coming and giving him a hug, which Lorcan awkwardly returned.
“So, my newest son-in-law,” the man said, staring at Lorcan. “Not very heavy, but army training should do that for you. Come in.”
Lorcan walked in, his eyes peeled for a lass old enough to be his wife, but all he saw was an older woman, his mothers age, and younger lads and lasses, all staring at him.
“Gillian, take this lad to the library, please,” the older woman said, and the young lass in a bright pink skirt came up and held out her hand.
Lorcan was pulled along to the ‘library’, a tiny room, only two paces by one inside of the bookshelves and the table and chair at the far end. The lass grinned, giggled and left, pushing her way out the plain brown curtain.
His parents had warned him that this might happen, but Lorcan still didn’t like it. He sat down, then got up and paced. Then sat down again.
Suddenly that same lass was there, carefully carrying a bowl of soup past the curtain, which she put down on the table, giggled again, and left; coming back some few seconds later with a large piece of bread and a spoon.
“Bon’patit,” she said, and left again, giggling.
Lorcan sat down to eat his dinner. An early, light dinner, as they would be able to eat whatever they wanted on their honey trip.
He heard footsteps in the hallway and his mother pushed past the curtain. “I slipped out from dinner for a second, dear. How are you doing?”
“What is she like, Mother? Have you seen her? Is she eating dinner with you?
“You will like her,” his mother said.
Lorcan didn’t think that was very helpful. It was his job, after all, to not only like his wife but to love her.
“As her paper said, she is short and thin, but I wouldn’t call her ‘plain’. Nice, regular features. Quiet eyes.”
“No, she isn’t eating with us. Like you she is off by herself. In her case in her room. But I did get to meet her. That seems to be their tradition, they sent me off upstairs to greet her soon after we arrived.”
“You will like her, and will get to meet her in a few minutes, dinner is winding down. Don’t worry, she is just as nervous as you are, and just as eager,” she said, with a grin, patting him on the head.
Still grinning she pushed through the curtain, leaving him staring after her. What had she meant by that?
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Thanks again, God Bless, Soli Deo gloria,
Von