Chapter 1
“Where ever did you get that thing?” The offending garment lay on the bed untouched. “I won’t wear it, Aunt Eugenia, and you can’t make me. No one wears a corset anymore. Besides, the patching makes it looks like the holes in Swiss cheese are sewed together.” Rose was twenty and stopped herself from stomping her foot.
“I mended those holes’ young lady. I will not have you go to your mama’s grave site looking like a street urchin. I cut down one of mine especially for you and purchased you a proper dress.”
“Aunt Eugenia you’ve wasted money I don’t have to pay back. I could care less what people think of me. Most of my neighbors already believe I’m stuck-up because I prefer being alone. And don’t forget, Daddy’s body is in the other room with mama.”
“Rose Langley. Your mouth just became my nightmare. I know my sister didn’t teach you to speak like a guttersnipe. She was educated. Your father was a different story.”
“You will not speak ill of my father. He taught himself and then taught me. He believed in the independent female. Not to mention, I’m much too slender for corsets. They warp the spine, and they’re out of style. It is 1924, you know.”
“Your father made those same excuses to me because he couldn’t dress you or your mother properly. You might have caught a man if you wore a corset growing up. Not that you can call this place a home.” Her aunt sniffed the air like a hound.
Rose’s home was a sorry sight. Living in the upper Bottoms of Genoa, Alabama was one-step up from the coloreds who lived in the lower Bottoms. The pillars of society lived a mere five miles above the impoverished. They thought little about the Bottoms unless there was a scandal for them to pass around along with their tea and cookies. Their colored maids spread their employer’s skeletons, floating secrets stories from house to house. They shared the sins from Orchard Street to anyone who would listen. The people of the bottoms knew every dirty secret their employers had. It proved the only thing that separated the townsfolk was money. The same evidence of alcoholism, incest and wife beatings were as prevalent in those pristine homes as the rotting households five miles away. Once known, secrets found no hiding places.
“My unmarried state is none of your business, Aunt Eugenia. I would like to be alone if you don’t mind. I need to rest before the people come to gawk at the Langley’s. Would you please excuse me?”
“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt for you to withdraw from the next hour or so. The service is not until tomorrow. A service I paid for I might add. Don’t forget you are a Whalebone as well.”
“I know and I thank-you. I’ll see to our supper when I get back.” Air kissing her aunt, Rose slammed the screen door on her way outside. Eugenia remained at her post sitting at the wood-worn table in a chair with the fewest splinters. Eugenia sipped the tea she brought with her. She took inventory of the food brought by neighbors for the grieving family finding nothing eatable to her.
It was customary to have the deceased coffins placed in the parlor shrouded by partially closed curtains. Lighted candles led the way into darkened parlors to view the bodies of those who passed. The Langley’s, having no candles or parlor, the curtain free living room allowed daylight to reflect the poverty of the owner and mourners. The floors sagged with termite damage, but Rose was lucky. She and a handful others lived in the Bottoms were considered rich since they had a shower and refrigerator.
Sliding out the back door, Rose estranged herself from her aunt. She wished she had something to read. Instead, she scuffed her shoddy shoes on the rocks in the yard to her favorite place; a tiny worm holed bench covered with morning glories. Gently moving the blooms aside, Rose sat down allowing their aroma fill her senses with her mama. As a child, she told her mother she was sure the tea cups held homes for fairies and if you caught one awake that it must grant wishes. And, Rose had many, many wishes.
