Oh the tedium of a Sunday! What Christian child hasn’t felt an envy of the unbeliever on a Sunday? What churchgoing child hasn’t despaired of the Sunday ritual, a long day of worship and rest, contemplation and prayer; an easement of work for the adults, quiet time for reflection and reminiscence; all of which is to say for a child, boredom, boredom, boredom.
Every Sunday either Happy or Beauty left church right away to hurry home and put on dinner, which was served at two o’clock. Sunday dinner was something of a tired affair, late and long and formal. No one in the family would wish to hurt the feelings of their much loved Sarah, but everyone in the house except her wished they could eat in the kitchen with Happy and the younger children.
Sunday dinner was always something fancy that Beauty wanted to try out before offering it to her customers. Too often it was something no one really cared for, mysterious sauces on fish or sautéed vegetables no one liked. Beauty was almost always exasperated after fussing in the kitchen for hours and she grumbled under her breath as the children pushed her food around their plates and tried to appear as if they were eating. No one wanted to be stuck at the table for even longer, supervised by Sarah until they forced down their food and could finally be excused.
Sarah and Sylvester always praised the food, and Sylvester could usually get at least a smile from Beauty. But once dinner was over Sylvester would look around at the women and, with a slow, mocking smirk for his sisters, announce: “Time for a pipe.” He would invite the older two boys to join him on the porch and they would rocket from their chairs when Sarah approved their requests to be excused. Reprieved, they would scuttle past the girls without a glance of sympathy and flee out the front door. A.T. almost always was allowed to follow providing he turned a pitiful enough glance to his Grandmama.
Sarah would retire to her room for a rest and the four middle girls would be sent to the kitchen for clean up while Beauty took the little children upstairs for naps.
After helping Happy clean up the kitchen, grumbling about the boys never having to clean, the appropriate activities for the young ladies on a Sunday afternoon were limited to reading, embroidery, making lace or knitting. In the case of nine-year-old Mary the choices seemed to be sighing, thrashing about on the horsehair sofa, thumping the pillows or kicking the ottoman. One Sunday Rose was so maddened by Mary’s fidgeting she threatened to squeeze her arm until the blood ran out. Marlene threatened to black both of Rose’s eyes if she even looked crooked at her sister. Queen told Marlene she better be ready to be bald since she would snatch every hair off of her fat head if she touched Rose. Sarah’s appearance in the parlor to sit and read forced a truce, reducing the two pairs of girls to hot stares and angry sullen silence.
Sometimes Sylvester would have pity on his female kin and come back inside after only one pipe-full of the sweet, aromatic tobacco he favored. He’d open the piano key cover and call out, “Who’s ready for some music?” and the young men and ladies would all join him in the parlor, smiles returned, all of them making sincere, fervently whispered prayers: “Thank goodness.”
He would always start with hymns and Sarah would sometimes sing the words with him. Marlene always sang, her beautiful voice moving easily through the simple songs.
“We need to teach you some opera,” Sylvester would tell her. “You can move to New York, become a famous opera singer.”
Beauty and Queen would join in, making a nice harmony behind Marlene’s strong voice. Roy had a good, steady voice he sometimes added, singing with a confidence his shy speaking voice belied.
The Sunday before Christmas week was the Sunday Gertrude came home. Dinner was a brighter affair than usual, thanks to Sylvester’s cheerful chatter. That afternoon he told stories and played silly songs and Christmas carols, playing so loudly and causing so much laughter that even the little children came down from their naps and sang along. He joked and laughed with the children and even teased his mother until she was laughing helplessly at his foolishness.
At four o’clock Sylvester left for the afternoon train, dressed in a suit and his good coat and hat, walking quickly along the tracks toward town. Once he reached the depot he paced the platform back and forth, up and down, back and forth until he saw the train approach in the distance. Once the train was in view he stood still and waited stiff in one place until the train stopped and he saw his wife in the door at the rear of the carriage. Then he rushed over to hand her down, took her hand as she carefully stepped down to the wooden platform and they embraced, holding each other as tightly as two survivors of a shipwreck. Who knows whose tears fell first? Who knows why both of them just stood and held on and cried?
The next morning as Rose tiptoed down the hall to go downstairs she heard giggling coming from Sylvester’s room, and a small crash that might have been a lamp on a bedside table or the lid of a trunk too quickly thrown back. In the kitchen an occasional quiet thump and laughing from the room above could be heard as Rose and Sarah worked.
“Sounds like a happy reunion,” Sarah smiled at Rose.
Happy and Beauty were at the table having breakfast. The sisters looked at each other and shook their heads.
“They’re always happy enough at first,” Beauty said. “Happy today, next few days. Maybe even a happy New Year’s. Soon enough though, something will happen. Someone will say something to Gertrude or to him, or she’ll miss all her sisters. She’ll be sad, start talking about missing Miami. He’ll get mad at her for not being happy. She’ll cry, he’ll yell, next thing you know he’ll be walking her up the road to the depot and she’ll be gone, and he’ll be gone too, off in to the woods for weeks. No help to anybody, no help to himself, and more likely to be troublesome than even usual.”
“It’s like poison, those two,” Happy added. “No good for anybody.”
Sarah shook her head at the two sisters but didn’t say anything. Rose could see the sad look on her aunt’s face as she brought a plate of biscuits to the table.