Sisters in Waiting
A Novelette
Copyright © 1999, Kellis
At one point Cissy was nearly awakened by the
dry leaf sound of whispers but resumed her slumber when the bed disturbance
ceased. When finally she came fully
awake, the room was just beginning to gray from the earliest morning
light. She flung out a hand
automatically to verify Tissy’s presence beside her. The touch was so strange that she rose up on an elbow to regard
the younger girl. The lighting was just
strong enough to reveal sparkling eyes and an impish grin.
Cissy exclaimed, “You’re cold! How’d you get so cold?”
“I just got back into bed. You do tangle the covers! Let me have some.”
Cissy extricated one side of blanket and
sheet, holding it up for the younger to scurry beneath it. Tissy immediately snuggled a hard belly
against her sister.
“Eek!” cried Cissy, flinching. “You’re cold all over. Where’s your shift?”
Tissy, who had begun to giggle, froze. “I … don’t know. On Arleigh’s floor, I bet.”
“Arleigh’s floor?” Cissy’s eyebrows rose.
“You’ve been back over there?”
Tissy’s twinkling eyes answered for her.
“Without me?” Cissy added.
“You were sleeping.”
“I heard whispering. Did they come here for you?”
“Arleigh did.”
“Arleigh!
What did Dick have to say about that?”
“Nothing.
Dick didn’t know about it.”
“Theresa Harwick! What’re you up to?”
“Nothing.”
The girl smiled. “Now.”
Cissy studied her and nodded slowly. “I see.
You had to find out, eh? Well,
did you like it?”
Tissy shrugged. “Ye-ah.”
Cissy snorted. “That’s pretty faint!’”
“It … didn’t do much at first.”
“No?”
“I learned something: Arleigh’s thing is too long.”
“Too long?”
“Sometimes it hits something that hurts. At least that part was better.”
“Better how?”
“It didn’t hurt in the butt-hole, no matter
how far up it went.”
Cissy threw an arm and leg over her sister. “I don’t like you being so cold. What did you do - lie there and talk to him
afterwards?”
“To them.”
“Them?
You got Dick, too!”
“Corky.”
“What?
You mean that Arleigh and Corky -”
“Did me together. Why should you have all the fun?”
“Top and bottom, eh? How did you like that?”
The girl breathed, “Oh, that was the
greatest! I loved it.”
“I see.
That’s when it got better, was it?”
“And that’s what we talked about. The boys said they could feel each other
inside me.”
“How did you do it?”
“Like you.
Corky on the bottom holding my belly up. This’ll be a lot easier when we lose these bellies.”
“Everything will be easier! Did you come a lot?”
“Over and over! It’s the best way, isn’t it?”
“So far, I guess.”
“I’m glad to share them. They loved sharing me, too, but …”
“A problem?”
“I’m not sure Dick will want to share.”
“Did you ask them about him?”
“He and Uncle Edward were fast asleep. So they said.”
“I mean, did you ask them whether he would
share, too?”
“Yes.
They wouldn’t say - not in words.”
“What do you mean?”
“They didn’t offer to go wake him up. Do you think he will, Cissy?”
“Hmm.
He shared you before. And he
shared himself Wednesday. If he balks
remind him.”
“Okay.
Good point.”
A bit later Cissy asked, “Are you sore?”
“No.
It still tingles.”
“You will be, a little. Don’t worry about it. It soon goes away.”
Tissy hugged her. “Oh, Cissy, we’re so lucky!”
The elder nodded slowly. “I think we can be.”
* *
* *
Someone was shaking her. Cissy’s eyes popped open to regard Miss
Horner’s excited face.
“Wake up, girls, wake up! We’ve got a lot to do.”
Tissy’s head was still nestled into her
shoulder. Cissy extricated herself and
sat up. “You’re going to check us
again?”
“Check you?
Oh, you mean - No, no, my
dear. I told you: forget all about that. What we have to do first is get you and
Theresa into your bath. Maisy has
already drawn the tubs. Theresa, where is
your shift? Don’t you know it’s not
healthy to sleep nude? Never mind,
here’s one in your drawer. Come, now,
out of bed! Find your slippers.”
The girls stumbled sleepily erect. Tissy sighed and shimmied into the garment
that the woman handed her.
Looking at the clock, Cissy cried, “What’s
happened? We’ve missed breakfast.”
Miss Horner’s eyebrows rose. “You slept through the gong? I ought to - Never mind. Just this
once Maisy will fetch you coffee and toast in the bathroom. Here are your slippers. Get them on and let’s go.”
Cissy’s lips firmed. “One moment, please. This is Saturday morning, isn’t
it? What’s so important about a
bath? What’s the big rush anyway?”
“We have so much to do! The hairdresser will be here at ten, and
she’s just the start. Do you remember
how long it took to pin you into that green satin on Thursday? He said to dress you the same today plus
makeup. And somewhere in there you need
to eat lunch. You have to keep up your
strength.”
The woman stared at Cissy, eyes widening in
horror. “My god! What if something like this should … Dr. Durling says it will be any time
now. Please do hold off until this is
over!”
“Till what is over, Miss Horner?”
“You mean he didn’t tell you?”
“Tell us what?”
The woman took a deep breath. “That you’re both getting married at two
o’clock this afternoon - if you don’t give birth first.”
* *
* *
“It’s ten minutes to two.”
Cissy grinned at her sister. “In a hurry, are you?”
Tissy tossed her head, though not a hair
departed its fellow in her newly bobbed coiffure. “I don’t see why we had to hurry so, then only go to the library
and sit and wait.”
Cissy leaned forward. Afternoon sunlight slanting through the
windows burnished her full length satin swaddling. “You heard Old Lady Horner.
Uncle George wanted to see us first.
Everybody waits on him!”
“I guess so.”
“What’s the matter with your side?”
“I think one of Maisy’s pins is sticking me.”
“Stand up.
I’ll see if I can find it.”
The sisters stood together, Tissy submitting
to Cissy’s exploration. After a moment
she sighed with relief.
“Better?” asked Cissy.
“That much, thanks. But I still hate waiting.
That’s all we do: wait for
dinner, wait for bedtime, wait for the men, wait to have our babies, now wait
to get married.
They don’t have
to wait all the time!”
“They who?”
Tissy waved her hand. “All of them. How do they get by?”
Cissy’s brow wrinkled and she shook her
head. She was saved from replying when
one of the room’s double doors flew open with a crack. Uncle George, dapper in formal afternoon
clothes and cummerbund that matched their satins, entered the room. Another man followed him.
He intoned, “Good afternoon, my dears. Look who’s with me.”
He waved his companion forward, slightly
taller in an imperfectly pressed brown business suit. The man’s eyes shifted away from first contact with the
girls. Both female faces paled under their
makeup.
“Stan!” they cried in unison. Each took a step toward him, then hesitated,
looking first at each other then at Uncle George. With eyes huge in the surrounding mascara Cissy declared, “You
said you shot him!”
Uncle George smiled in satisfaction. “So I did.”
The smile became a glare turned upon the other man. “And I did shoot him: with five grand and a ticket to
Chicago. But I realized Thursday that
you believed me a little too well. So
here he is to prove that whatever else I may be, I am not the murderer you
thought.”
Cissy remained incredulous. “You showed us a newspaper.”
“Yes.
I wanted to be sure you didn’t try to contact him. But I didn’t show you this one.”
He took a thick paper from his inner pocket
and unfolded a page from the Albany Morning Banner for August 24,
1928. Extending it to Cissy, he
indicated a circled paragraph.
Retraction
Yesterday’s
report of the burial of Stanley J. Gilligan in Potter’s Field on Wednesday was
a reporter’s error. No such Mr.
Gilligan is known to have died or been buried there. The Banner regrets any inconvenience this report may have caused.
“What does it say?” asked Tissy.
“That a reporter made a mistake.” Cissy regarded the older man accusingly as
she thrust the paper back into his hand.
“You made him make it.”
“Yes, of course,” Uncle George responded
suavely. “Not a very expensive one,
either.” He smiled. “Mr. Gilligan can only stay a moment. He must leave immediately to make his train
back to Chicago. Do you want to tell
him anything?”
The girls looked at each other, then to the
downcast man in brown. “Good-by, Stan,”
they intoned in unison.
Uncle George chuckled, but his eyes were
hard. “Is that all? Mr. Gilligan tells a most convincing story.”
“Convincing?” repeated Tissy.
“Not to us,” Cissy declared. Her chin lifted. “Good-by, Stan.”
The man sighed and looked up at Uncle
George. “The same way I came in?”
“Yeah.
Bonnover has orders to take you directly to the Albany station. You had damned well better be on that four
o’clock train.”
“Bonnover?”
“Your replacement.”
Gilligan gave each girl a last piercing look
before spinning on his heel and leaving the room. When the door was well closed behind him, Uncle George directed
upon them a similar stare. “He swears
that he made love to both of you, together and apart, two or three times a day
from Christmas until I fired him in July.
He further swears that he allowed no other man near you at any time when
he was responsible for your safety.”
Uncle George’s gaze shifted from one to the
other. They bore it silently.
“Ladies, that story ends here today. The truth of it will likely be evident in a
few weeks, but I don’t care. Your
children, whoever they resemble, will belong to your legal husbands. I don’t want ever to hear the name of that
ex-chauffeur again in my house. Do you
understand?”
“Yes, sir,” Tissy agreed quickly.
He nodded at her and turned his regard upon
the sister. “Well?”
“If we have legal husbands.”
“Huh?
That’s what you’re about to get!
What do mean, if?”
Cissy took a slow, deep breath. She reached into a fold on the hip of her
gown and slipped out a typewritten sheet.
Unfolding it, she handed it across and declared, “I have my own paper to
show. We won’t get married unless you
sign it.” Though her voice trembled
nervously her chin rose in determination.
“Sign what?” Uncle George demanded,
squinting owlishly at the paper.
“Where’d you get this?”
“I made Old Lady Horner let me use a
typewriter right after lunch.”
“You typed it?”
“I wrote it.”
“Who else has seen it?”
“Only Tissy.”
He paused to read.
to
Whom It May ConCern
On
Septmber 1o, 1931 when I become 21 and can take the money from my federel
trust, I want to take $3,500,000 to belong to me only, leaving Uncle George to
manage the rest. Uncle George may not
take my $3,500,000 away from my husband.
Agreed
to by George S. Chapman, my uncle ___________________
Unless
this is signed by my uncle, I will not marry Edward Mastrit
Cecilia
Mary Harwick, October 28, 1928 Cecilia_Mary_Harwick
The
same goes for my sister and her $3,500,000.
Unless this is signed by our uncle, she will not marry Richard Shendley
Theresa
Sarah Harwick, October 28, 1928 Theresa_Sarah_Harwick
The signatures were in looping but dissimilar
hands. He raised his eyes to Cissy and
declared, “Mastrit put you up to this!”
“No, sir!
He knows nothing about it.”
“Don’t hand me that!
You’re the one who knows nothing
about it!”
“I know about you making him promise to let
you take all my money.”
His accusing expression became
defensive. “Take your money,
indeed! I mean to preserve your
money! You girls don’t have the
experience to judge men and life, but I do! I want to make sure you still have some money a year later,
that’s all.”
Cissy nodded. “Yes, Unc - ah, Edward
said that it wasn’t greed, that you were the best at managing money.”
“He did, did he! Well, listen to your lover.”
“I have another reason.”
“For what?”
“For you to sign this. I’m learning by watching you, Uncle George,
what it means to control money. It
means you get your own way, doesn’t it?
Well, that’s fine, but sometimes my way is different from yours. When it is, I - Tissy and I - will need the
money to get it for ourselves.”
He stared at her. “And when your way is also different from your husband’s, what
will you do then?”
“Yesterday I read about something called
‘Doctrine of Prior Consent.’ Can you
help me set up my money so that my signature is needed before any withdrawal,
even if my husband is the legal trustee?”
Slowly the man nodded. He even produced a smile. “Yes, I can do that - easier than you
think. The legislature is about to
grant wives the right to own property separately from their husbands.”
The girl smiled at him for the first time in
months. “Then will you sign that
paper?”
“Cissy, what’s come over you?”
The girl cocked her head. “I don’t know, but I do know I’m
different. It’s like I’ve been
asleep. But now I’m waking up.”
“Yes, you are. I’ll go you one better:
I’ll have my lawyer draw up a legally binding contract to replace this
paper.”
She warned, “It has to mean the same thing.”
“It will.
Where’s a pen? To show I take
you seriously, I’ll sign this one right now and we can get on with your
wedding.”
“On that desk. One last point, Uncle. My
new husband gets to hold it.”
He sighed as he bent over the desk. “Well, at least there’s no question that you
love him!”
“I don’t know for sure about that. But I do know I want him to be all mine.”
* *
* *
The ceremony was held in the main building
reception room. Miss Horner, a
principle witness and uncited prime mover, even managed to dress it up a
bit. Red spots of indignation on her
cheeks, she had declared, “They’re getting married, Mr. Chapman, not passing
real-estate papers!” Because of her
efforts and because she was able to play the Lohengrin chorus on the upright
piano, after admitting, “Good thing it’s so slow!” - Uncle George guided his
waddling nieces through the foyer door and across the room to the tableau
before the fireplace, each with an arm tucked under one of his, in the measured
tread of submissive brides instead of the bustle of impatient businessmen.
Waiting for them were his honor, Judge Albert
Marcel of Green County, and the judge’s secretary, before whom the girls had
signed their predated marriage licenses ten minutes earlier. Also waiting were Messrs. Edward Mastrit and
Richard Shendley in formal clothing.
Seated to either side of the impromptu aisle were Mr. Arnold Millinger,
Director of Rolling Meadows; Messrs. Arleigh Jones and Corquer Raventuck, friends
of the grooms, and Maisy, the maid. Miss
Horner exchanged her seat at the piano bench for one beside Maisy.
No one had thought to buy wedding rings. Miss Horner, aghast, had promptly
volunteered to loan two rings of her own.
Fortunately her fifty year old fingers were thicker than those of the
girls.
Uncle George regretted that no photograph
would be taken. The girls’ faces were
attractively made up over expressions of solemn delight rarely seen before, and
the swaddling green satin, above which blonde curls glowed sunnily, was
artfully pinned and draped, neither concealing nor emphasizing the peculiar
aspect of this ceremony. Of course,
without color no photograph could do them justice.
The judge, quickly rented but of known
reliability, conducted the essential ceremony.
“We are gathered here today to marry these two couples -” And he quoted all four names from the
scribbled cheat sheet in his palm.
He looked around at the audience. “Does anyone here know any reason that might
interfere with the lawful wedding of either?”
He waited a moment. The silence was broken by Mr.
Millinger’s cough. When all
faces turned to him, the director blushed, took out his handkerchief and wiped
his face.
The judge continued, “Do you, Edward
Bartholomew Mastrit, and you, Richard Jeffries Shendley, Jr., take respectively
Cecilia Mary Harwick and Theresa Sarah Harwick as your legally wedded wife,
promising to discharge faithfully all legal and customary obligations of
husbands?”
Each man looked earnestly at his woman. Uncle Edward’s Adam’s apple was seen to
bob. Each solemnly intoned, “I do.”
“Do you, Cecilia Mary Harwick, and you,
Theresa Sarah Harwick, take respectively Edward Bartholomew Mastrit and Richard
Jeffries Shendley, Jr., as your legally wedded husband, promising to discharge
faithfully all legal and customary duties of wives?”
Each girl’s eyes sparkled up to her man. “I do,” they said in unison.
“Then by the authority of the State of New
York I pronounce you husbands and wives.
Gentlemen, you may kiss your brides.”
Uncle Edward and Cissy leaned together. Dick leaned down over Tissy’s belly and took
her roundly into his arms. She squealed
and closed her arms around him in return as they kissed.
One couple squeezed too hard. In the moment of silence before the congratulatory
applause a splash of liquid was clearly audible on the tile floor.
Once again Tissy led the way. Her water had broken.
END
kellis@dhp.com
Stories at
http://www.dhp.com/files/Authors/kellis/www