ask if she could open one of the three tall windows, but thought better of it.
The dark wood walls and an enormous canvas painting above the stone fireplace heightened the feeling of suffocation. The portrait showed the Shawcross family, Uncle Otis in a black suit and plaid tie, sitting in a ladder-back chair, looking bored. Aunt Ida stood beside him in a red gauze dress, her bosom corseted nearly up to her double chin, one hand on Uncle Otis’s shoulder. A young Percy stood in the center, wearing a white sailor suit with a blue collar, his chubby legs like sausages stuffed inside navy leggings, his face pale as a ghoul’s.
Emma thought back to the day her parents left her and Albert in Coal River while they went back to Manhattan to look for new jobs. On the wagon ride back to her uncle’s after dropping them off at the train station, she held her mother’s locket so hard, the edges nearly cut her fingers. Then, later, at this very dinner table, Uncle Otis informed her and Albert that from that day on, they would be expected to earn their keep. After all, he had taken them in after their parents lost their jobs in New York, and they’d already stayed twice as long as planned. The next morning, Albert polished shoes while Emma scrubbed the bathroom floor on her hands and knees, Aunt Ida standing over her to make sure she rinsed twice. Every day after that, Emma polished the silver, folded the linens, swept the rooms, and pressed the clothes while Albert slopped the hogs, split and hauled wood, and cleaned and filled the oil lamps.
Once, during a winter thaw, Uncle Otis sent Emma up a ladder to wash the outside of the second-story windows. She begged him not to make her do it, and Albert even offered to do the job in her place. But Uncle Otis refused his offer, insisting Emma face her fears. When she froze at the top of the ladder and couldn’t climb back down, he sent the stable hand up to rescue her. As punishment, he withheld her supper for the next two days, accusing her of weaseling her way out of the job. A week later, when Albert forgot to lock the hog pen, Uncle Otis forced him to kneel on a corncob in the mudroom for three hours, then told him to “buck up” when he limped into the kitchen with red and swollen knees.
Now Emma had to face Uncle Otis alone, without Albert to make faces behind his back during his nightly lectures and angry rants. How would she get through this without her brother?
“While she’s living in this house,” Uncle Otis said, “she must wear the proper mourning clothes!”
“Her mourning dress is too big,” Aunt Ida said. “Even the outfit she’s wearing now is too loose. I don’t think her parents made enough money to buy proper attire for the poor thing. God rest their souls.”
Emma opened her mouth to respond, but Uncle Otis interrupted.
“Then have a new one made for her! It’s bad enough she’s sitting at my table with no respect for her dead parents. I won’t tolerate it in public.” He yanked his napkin from beneath his silverware, wiped his brow with it, then stuffed it into his vest like a bib.
“The rules are changing, Uncle,” Emma said, her fists in her lap. “In the city, women are turning away from wearing black during mourning. Now, it’s gray or purple, or even mauve. My mother only wore a mourning dress for a week after my brother died. Albert knew she loved him, so it didn’t matter what she wore.”
“Maybe it’s that way in the city,” Uncle Otis said. “But this is Coal River, and I won’t have you bringing disgrace to our family.”
“Of course she won’t, dear,” Aunt Ida said, patting the tablecloth beside her husband’s plate. “I’ll make sure she has a proper mourning dress for going out. If you really think that’s the right thing to do.”
Uncle Otis scowled as if tasting spoiled meat. “Have you lost your mind?” he said. “Of course it’s the right thing to do.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” Aunt Ida
The dark wood walls and an enormous canvas painting above the stone fireplace heightened the feeling of suffocation. The portrait showed the Shawcross family, Uncle Otis in a black suit and plaid tie, sitting in a ladder-back chair, looking bored. Aunt Ida stood beside him in a red gauze dress, her bosom corseted nearly up to her double chin, one hand on Uncle Otis’s shoulder. A young Percy stood in the center, wearing a white sailor suit with a blue collar, his chubby legs like sausages stuffed inside navy leggings, his face pale as a ghoul’s.
Emma thought back to the day her parents left her and Albert in Coal River while they went back to Manhattan to look for new jobs. On the wagon ride back to her uncle’s after dropping them off at the train station, she held her mother’s locket so hard, the edges nearly cut her fingers. Then, later, at this very dinner table, Uncle Otis informed her and Albert that from that day on, they would be expected to earn their keep. After all, he had taken them in after their parents lost their jobs in New York, and they’d already stayed twice as long as planned. The next morning, Albert polished shoes while Emma scrubbed the bathroom floor on her hands and knees, Aunt Ida standing over her to make sure she rinsed twice. Every day after that, Emma polished the silver, folded the linens, swept the rooms, and pressed the clothes while Albert slopped the hogs, split and hauled wood, and cleaned and filled the oil lamps.
Once, during a winter thaw, Uncle Otis sent Emma up a ladder to wash the outside of the second-story windows. She begged him not to make her do it, and Albert even offered to do the job in her place. But Uncle Otis refused his offer, insisting Emma face her fears. When she froze at the top of the ladder and couldn’t climb back down, he sent the stable hand up to rescue her. As punishment, he withheld her supper for the next two days, accusing her of weaseling her way out of the job. A week later, when Albert forgot to lock the hog pen, Uncle Otis forced him to kneel on a corncob in the mudroom for three hours, then told him to “buck up” when he limped into the kitchen with red and swollen knees.
Now Emma had to face Uncle Otis alone, without Albert to make faces behind his back during his nightly lectures and angry rants. How would she get through this without her brother?
“While she’s living in this house,” Uncle Otis said, “she must wear the proper mourning clothes!”
“Her mourning dress is too big,” Aunt Ida said. “Even the outfit she’s wearing now is too loose. I don’t think her parents made enough money to buy proper attire for the poor thing. God rest their souls.”
Emma opened her mouth to respond, but Uncle Otis interrupted.
“Then have a new one made for her! It’s bad enough she’s sitting at my table with no respect for her dead parents. I won’t tolerate it in public.” He yanked his napkin from beneath his silverware, wiped his brow with it, then stuffed it into his vest like a bib.
“The rules are changing, Uncle,” Emma said, her fists in her lap. “In the city, women are turning away from wearing black during mourning. Now, it’s gray or purple, or even mauve. My mother only wore a mourning dress for a week after my brother died. Albert knew she loved him, so it didn’t matter what she wore.”
“Maybe it’s that way in the city,” Uncle Otis said. “But this is Coal River, and I won’t have you bringing disgrace to our family.”
“Of course she won’t, dear,” Aunt Ida said, patting the tablecloth beside her husband’s plate. “I’ll make sure she has a proper mourning dress for going out. If you really think that’s the right thing to do.”
Uncle Otis scowled as if tasting spoiled meat. “Have you lost your mind?” he said. “Of course it’s the right thing to do.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” Aunt Ida
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