The Wilful Daughter (14 page)

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Its acquisition was somewhat strange” The Blacksmith sipped the brandy and Willie sat back to listen to the old familiar story. He leaned against the gleaming fireplace and positioned himself to speak, like an orator on a podium, Willie thought. He had seen one outside the general store once telling people about Africa and a Man named Garvey. June didn’t want to stay and listen. He assumed she was not interested in what the man had to say because he was not handsome. But the way the man spoke reminded him of papa that night.

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Before Minnelsa was born and people knew me well, my colored customers were few and some of them very poor. Often I got paid in chickens and eggs, I still get paid that way by some, so I had to take up other means to support myself. I was determined that my wife was not going to work in the white folks’ houses.” The Blacksmith glanced at Peter and remembered his mother. “Not that it isn’t honorable good clean work. But I wanted to have a wife that stayed at home and took care of my family.

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So I would take my wagon out in the evenings for jobs moving things for people. Hauling paid good money, especially since I didn’t have to hire someone to work with me.

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One day I get a message from this lady who owned the place where most of the teachers stayed that one of the professors had died in his sleep. When they got the body out she looked around and got furious. An uneducated woman,” the Blacksmith said with icy pride. “She actually wanted someone to come over and take all those books somewhere and burn them.”

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Burn them!” Peter exclaimed as he coughed out cigar smoke.

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She was going to pay me well for the deed but I was not about to burn books. I asked her did I have to burn them so she said: ‘Just get them outta my house. I gots to rent me this room and don’t nobody want to sleep with all these ole books.’

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I packed them carefully in one load in my old wagon, it was bigger then the one in the back now, and brought them here. For years I had to come in here and sit on the floor in front of the fireplace to read at night. But as things got better, so did the room. I got more books, had the shelves made. Then I had an excellent stone cutter to make this fireplace and mantle. I even got a photographer to take a picture of my wife and daughters.”

Willie looked at the photograph over the fireplace. The family portrait he painted once hung there. It was there only a few days before the photographer showed up. When the photo came back, the Blacksmith had it framed and took the painting down. Mama had complained, but papa said he wanted something ‘more real.’ His mother hung Willie’s painting in her sewing room.

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A very nice room, Mr. Brown. I hope one day my wife and I will have such a room.”

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This is papa’s room,” Willie interjected fanning the smoke away as he resisted the urge to cough. The two older men put out their cigars knowing what the smoke might do to the boy. The Blacksmith cut Willie a smile. “But sometimes mama sits with him.”

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Well, I think men need places of their own, Willie, Mr. Brown. After all in a house with children, especially daughters, a woman is really in charge. She appoints it, decorates it, and literally owns it. A man needs a place that is his.”

They each took a sip of brandy in agreement. What the Blacksmith said next had come as a shock to Willie. Peter, however, seemed unamazed.

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When a man marries one of my daughters, Peter, he will have a place to build him a house. A house big enough for a big family and lots of room for a room of his own.”

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Is that so?” Peter had said calmly. Willie almost choked on his second sip of the burning brandy.

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Oh most definitely. A present of land is the dowry, the wedding present to each of my future sons in law. Each time I could acquire some property I did so until I had one piece for each of my daughters. I have title, deed and ownership for thousands of acres of land. Most of it is farmed and cared for by those who lease it from me. One piece I own is near the university. Just perfect for a professor and his wife. Perfect to build a house where a man can have a room and a place to teach piano to those who want to learn and better themselves.” The Blacksmith was staring directly in Peter’s face and Peter was smiling back. “But far enough from the school to keep things private.” The Blacksmith sat down and watched the Piano Man for his reaction.

Willie couldn’t believe what he was hearing. So the rumors he had heard were true. People always talked when the suitors for the Blacksmith’s daughters were turned away. Especially the neighbors. Brother would be out in back sitting and painting and they wouldn’t see him as they said: “Turned away another one yesterday, he sure did. Guess he don’t want none of them girls to get married and have a life of their own.”

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Or maybe,” the other voice said, “he just don’t want to give up all that land he told everybody he got for they’s dowries. He don’t let the boy court the girl, she don’t get engaged. She don’t get engaged she don’t get married. She don’t get married he don’t have to give that boy none of his land. Fifty acres for each daughter.”

Fifty acres of land to each husband. It was all true.

Willie didn’t like the feeling that came over him and it wasn’t the spirits. A new chill made him shiver. Not like the illnesses that he had now and then, but like someone was walking over his grave. He didn’t want to think of Peter as one of those men looking to marry his sisters for their money. He liked Peter, liked his music, and his charming ways. He liked the fact that since Peter had come into their lives, the house had been happier. His older sisters were more youthful, dating eligible men that the Blacksmith found acceptable and giggling together in the evening about the future.

It didn’t matter whether June understood or not because it was obvious that Peter had played his cards right. He sat and listened. He did not interject a word as the Blacksmith spoke. Willie observed this with a smile. The Piano Man was playing papa like a well tuned instrument. Every key he hit made the right sound. The Piano Man would sit and listen, ask questions, speak only at the right time, and argue only when he knew the Blacksmith wanted a good argument. Of this talent Willie was jealous. But he figured it came with age. He figured that as old as the Piano Man was he had learned something about getting what you wanted over the years. Willie listened and watched as his father continued.

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Minnelsa is thirty-three years old. An old maid in the eyes of many, but wise for a woman. She has talents and attributes and you are not the first man to come and call upon her. You are more intelligent than the others. I feel that my daughters should have husbands that befit their station in life. They are all college educated, could take care of themselves if need be, but well trained in the household arts. A young wife, say a young woman June’s age, is sometimes too quick to jump to conclusions, not understanding the ways of the world. Maturity in marriage brings with it a certain spark, don’t you think?”

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Yes, sir,” was all Peter had added. Willie observed that the Piano Man did not even flinch at the mention of June’s name.

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Some people say I am wrong, but I expect Minnelsa to marry before the others, After all she is the oldest. It is expected for her to marry first. It is respectable and, of course, customary.”

Peter nodded and sipped his drink. Willie followed suit, feeling comfortable between the two men. He was sure from what was not being said that Minnelsa was being given away.

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It is the custom in many countries and in many tribes, although we are not of a tribe, that the eldest is given away first.” Peter turned to Willie. “Daughters and sons do their parents’ bidding. They don’t marry for love. They marry to unite families. As you said, sir, it is a custom in many places.”

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Yes it is.” William Brown stood stretching a bit longer than his full six foot six. “The old customs are sometimes the best. I am not sure that I have ever met someone who was married for family unity.”

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It is more an Anglo custom,” Peter went on to explain. “A white custom. But it is not looked on lightly in many Spanish countries.” He pointed to the box of cigars. “The gentleman from whom I received this charming gift married his eldest daughter to a widowed rancher ten years his senior to achieve peace between their properties. Marriages are not always made in heaven.”

The two older men nodded as did Willie, though he did not agree. He wanted his sisters, each of them, to be happy. Why did papa think that they would have to marry for money? Why did papa assume that each man who courted them wanted the dowry, the property papa put aside for them? Didn’t he see they were beautiful, that any one of them could have any man she wanted?

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Some marriages are made in heaven. Like Mama’s and Papa’s. Right, Papa?”

The Blacksmith smiled at the boy and walked around and patted him on the shoulder. “Some marriages, my marriage. Yes, Brother is right, made in heaven.”

Willie had always known that the mention of mama’s name, even at the most unpleasant time, brought a smile to his father’s face.

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Do you mind my asking how you met Mrs. Brown, sir?”

The Blacksmith sat in the chair closest to Peter directly across from Willie. “She doesn’t like to be talked about, son,” he said softly. Peter nodded respectfully. “But we met in Alabama. She had just buried her family and was working for an uncle of mine. Cleaning his house. My uncle took her in ’cause he had known her folks. Felt more like his daughter and he treated her that way. Uncle Leroy wasn’t real interested in another woman other than my aunt. Their marriage wasn’t made in heaven, Willie, but they learned to love each other. When I met Bira I thought she was the most beautiful thing in the world. June looks a lot like her mother did then. When I asked her what she thought was most important to her and she told me family, I knew she was the woman for me.”

The men sat and sipped in silence for a few moments. Willie, no longer imbibing, would not share with June what he had seen. Given the nature of the conversation she would not care what their father did if he was giving her sister to her Piano Man.

“
I suppose there is a suitable period of courtship prior to a marriage proposal for each country, don’t you agree, Mr. Brown?”

William Brown did not even study upon this for a second. “By the town, son, not the country but the town. Courtship is a ritual decided by some families, the families that start the towns.

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Years ago, when I first sat up this little area of Atlanta, when most of the people couldn’t afford to own their own home and I built and rented them everything they needed, the fathers and mothers would come to me and say: ‘Brother Brown, our daughter been seeing that boy across the way. They been keeping each other company for four months. Spend every Sunday night taking dinner at my table. Now don’t you think that’s long enough for this boy to be getting his meals for free and my daughter to be twiddling her thumbs waiting for him to ask for her hand?’”

The Blacksmith laughed boisterously at his imitation of the man from long ago.

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What did you tell them, sir?” the Piano Man asked.

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I told them the next time that boy came to sit at their table stop him at the door. If he had no flowers, no candy and if he didn’t have on his best shirt and shoes or if he looked like he thought he belonged in that family they should ask him what his intentions were. Because if he wasn’t dressed like he was courting anymore then he should be dressing to go to the altar.” The Blacksmith laughed again as did Willie and the Piano Man. Then he talked on.

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That girl got married five months after the suitor darkened her door that evening. Now I call that a short courtship. They had known each other since childhood and didn’t need to know each other better. That was back when nobody around here had two sticks to rub together. Taking a wife meant taking on a partner, someone to help you with your future. Some say long courtships are suitable in the young. I was young and courted my wife for six months, a long courtship by poor southern standards. Uncle Leroy was eager to get rid of her and me.”

Peter cleared his throat before he spoke. “I guess things have changed since more people around here own their own houses and land.”

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Yes, indeed.” The Blacksmith smiled. “They got it all from me.” He sipped a bit of brandy and thought before he spoke, his big dark fingers gently caressing the snifter. “Right after I sold the first few pieces of property people started making more money for themselves and being able to put it in the bank or get new furniture, even send their children to school. Courtships got longer, sometimes a year, because the parents wanted to make sure that the man was marrying the girl for her sake and not to get something from the family.”

He settled back in the big chair and asked the Piano Man: “What do you consider a proper courtship?”

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Well, sir,” Peter started off slowly. Willie watched as the man weighed his answer. “If a man has the means to support a wife and family he is justified in expecting a short courtship. But if he has little means, or if he is just getting on his feet, he must first prove himself. He must become worthy even if his financial situation becomes stronger.”

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Good answer,” said William Brown. Then without blinking an eye the Blacksmith changed the subject: “Tell me about the writers you met in Paris.”

The subject may have closed that night, but the topic was always present. Willie had to find some way to explain to his sister that, love him or not, the Piano Man was not for her.