Papa stepped onto the piazza. “Are you ready, son?”
“Yes, sir.” Reluctantly Joseph set aside his book.
“Have your mother and sisters come down yet?”
“No.”
“Shall we see how close they are to perfection?”
Upstairs, he and Papa found all the females clustered around Mama’s dressing table. Mama was attending to Cathy’s hair, while May dressed Hélène’s. This might take a while yet. Joseph perched on the trunk at the end of his parents’ bed to watch.
There was more hair to arrange than ever before. That morning, his sisters had squealed with delight at the arrival of their strange package: the severed, glossy tresses of peasant women that had come all the way from Italy.
For as long as Joseph could remember, Cathy had been whining about her hair. She couldn’t grow it long or shape it properly because it was too frizzly: it only stood out from her head. Looking like a hedgehog might have been the fashion in Great-Grandmother Marguerite’s day, but not now! Lots of women added false curls, so why couldn’t she? “Maybe when you’re older,” Papa answered again and again, till at last he surrendered. And Hélène wanted whatever Cathy wanted.
Hélène spotted Papa in the mirror and darted away from May to tug on his sleeve. “Am I pretty now, Papa?”
His smile seemed sad. “You have always been pretty,ma poulette.”
Cathy actually stuck her nose in the air while she admired her reflection. From long habit, she signed and spoke at once. “Hers don’t match as well asmine.” It was true: the added hair was slightly darker than Hélène’s own.
Mama scowled at Cathy, in the way only Mama could. ‘Vanity is a mortal sin, Catherine. Remember your patron saint. When she wasn’t much older than you, her brothers wanted her to marry. But Saint Catherine knew she was a bride of Christ, so what did she do?’
Cathy rolled her eyes but signed: ‘Cut off all her hair to make herself ugly. But I don’twantto marry Christ, Mama! I want to marry aman!’
Hélène had run back to the mirror and was tilting her head sideways so she could see the curls better. Her lower lip trembled, and her ragged breaths threatened to become sobs.
“No one will notice, sugar,” May soothed. “All we do is add alittle decoration.” The black woman plucked two ideas from the dressing table. “Feathers, or flowers?”
Hélène weighed a choice in each hand as if her entire future lay in the balance. “Oh, May, I can’t decide! Which doyoulike?”
Cathy laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous, El. Everybody knows negroes don’t haveopinions; they just do what they’re told.” Cathy motioned to the blue kerchief wrapped around the black woman’s head. “Does Maylooklike she knows anything about hair? Negroes only have wool! Don’t they, May?”
“Yes, miss,” she replied quietly, her eyes lowered.
Meanwhile, Papa was noticing that Mama still wore her frilly white wrapper. ‘You haven’t chosen a gown yet?’ he asked with his hands and a smile.
Mama avoided Papa’s gaze. ‘You go with the children.’
He frowned. ‘You said you wanted to meet the new Priest.’
‘I’ll meet him later.’ What she meant was:When there aren’t so many other people about.This was an old argument. Mama had never liked parties, and Papa was always trying to get her to go places besides church. There, she would hide behind her mantilla. Mama had even asked their family not to sign to her in public. They didn’t always obey.
Joseph hopped off the trunk and caught Mama’s attention. ‘The Grands will be at the party. You can talk to them.’
‘Only with my hands.’
Papa lifted one to his lips and kissed Mama’s knuckles. ‘Then use your hands.’
‘I’ll embarrass you.’
‘No you won’t, Mama,’ Hélène assured her.
“May?” Papa asked aloud, turning to her. “Would you find Anne something to wear that doesn’t have too many hooks?”
May looked puzzled. “Sir?”
Papa grinned. “Something you can get her intoquickly.”
