All Bedlam Courses Past (part one hundred ninety-one)

All Bedlam Courses Past

Chapter Eight

Things Relative

(part one hundred ninety-one)

In Indianapolis a new surgery could be had, removal of the uterus.

Their godmother had called divorce the death of respectability. Although widows remarried, so the quibble couldn’t be chastity, it was…

Bad business practice? Reneging on a contract? Ranilde had retired from life and could no longer be touched by reputation.

“It doesn’t scare you, does it?”

With a shift to sit straight, Ranilde disordered her cushions. “Can you please not speak to me at all?”

“Luce, think of something helpful, or leave well alone.”

“But, Nildie is awfully brave…”

A horrid thing, to be cut open. Élucide caught her mother’s eyes directing her to the chore a single look could these days. “Let me see what Primmy needs.”

Primmy was trained in meal planning, but wasn’t allowed any planning of meals. She was educated in home economics, but made inept by Ysonde’s outdated instrument. “Tell her for a family pie the crust can be half-browned, but I’ll need better when we have guests.”

Primmy was bored and lonely in Ysonde’s old quarters, and expensive—

Asking modern wages as she did.

“Miss Gremot, will I be not needed when they’re all away? You don’t live here.”

Élucide liked that Primmy would not call her simply “Miss”. Their cook addressed the family as clients. She had told them to call her Primmy, not Primrose (sensible), but might…if aged into the courage of her convictions…have clients call her Miss Barger.

“Just a three-weeks’ leave, without pay? Would you consider working for the Wellers? I know Edith wants a cook, and you’d have that excuse if you can’t stand them.”

“But if I did?” And a tentative, “You’re a very straightforward person, aren’t you?”

“Well. I live in town and I have my reasons. If you can stand them, stay. You know my parents have been preoccupied, with my sister…”

The preamble had been towards, “I will hire the next cook.”

But Primmy took a seat. “Oh, that scares me so much, her going off to be operated on.”

The casket lowered from sight, beaded rain on waxed ebony, shoveled earth soon to snuff the brass trim’s glint. Élucide had bought a new gown in puce for Virginia, trying with a black shawl and bonnet to have it count somber enough. Not to be gossiped for dress-hunting with her sister dead, she had given an old one to Libby, to dip in black. From the dye it came aromatic, and from the iron, stiff. Without the understructure that once supported it, the dress fell in its ribboned tiers like a mourning tent.

And when Élucide shifted on her feet, she rustled; the smell rang in the wet air. All this invited remark, but Mother’s face was veiled. Papa’s was set in grim defeat, rousing to ire in the presence of Owen. There was no helping Owen, and no helping that he clustered near Élucide. He knew a friend from an enemy.

204

Bedlam

All Bedlam Courses Past (part one hundred ninety-two)

(2025, Stephanie Foster)