Clair De Lune (9 page)

Toby dutifully trotted across and retrieved the plate.

When he returned, he offered Allen a hand, pulled her up. “Regard this sphinx,” he said. “Is it animal, mineral, or vegetable?”

“Two of the three,” said George. “Mineral in the immaculate form of a lion and a woman, both animal.”

“Head on,” said Allen, “it looks something like Mrs. Medgar.”

Having thus disposed of the riddle, they descended the steps and wandered on.

“They used to have a tiger out at the park,” said Toby.

“When?” said Allen.

“Twenty, thirty years ago. Before my time.”

“Where'd they keep it?”

George said, “There's a cave out there. We've passed it a thousand times. Didn't you ever notice it?”

“It's always dark.”

“I'd have thought you could smell it.”

“Does it smell?”

“It ought to, it had a tiger in it.”

“Do tigers smell?”

“Of course they do.”

“Why?”

“They just do, that's all.”

“What happened to it?”

“I don't know. He died or something. Maybe ran away with the circus.”

It was necessary then to go investigate the cave, and presently they were crossing the high bridge over the ravine that bounded one side of the park.

“Down this walk,” said Toby, “and over there to the right.”

A high fence guarded a sort of cave hollowed out of the limestone strata. They considered scaling the fence but gave up the notion and, after sniffing and snuffling along the bars, soon lost interest.

Cutting across to the swings, they pumped themselves into the air a few times and from there wandered on past the lake and down a long, easy incline at the far end of the park. At the bottom of the slope a footbridge led across the creek at a narrow point and on to the country-club grounds. The evening was young yet, by their time, and they lingered on the bridge discussing tigers and zoos and whether they were or were not ethical or esthetic and if not why not, until the moon, rising behind the trees, prompted George to sing.

Au clair de la lune

Mon ami Pierrot…

Miss Boatwright had chosen the song for the chorus, and the boys had learned it there. Toby picked up the harmony, more or less:

Prete-moi la plume

Pour ecrire un mot.

Ma chandelle est morte

Je n'a plus de feu…

The sound of their voices pleased them almost as much as they pleased Allen. They sang it all the way through. Then they worked out the words in English. A boy pretends to be the god of love and gains admission to a brunette's room, and they look for the pen, and for fire. “I don't know what was found,” the song ends coyly, and closes the door on them.

“Ol' Miss Maxie has us singing a dirty song.” George whooped with delight.

Toby smirked. “She probably has no idea what the words mean.”

Allen was unsure, and their speculations about why Maxine had assigned that song, none too innocent, occupied them for some minutes as they strolled on across the bridge into country-club territory.

It was the very extent of the grounds that drew them on. Acres of lovely greensward—open, inviting, and forbidden. (After all, they were not members.) They stood on a low rise now, taking it in. The ground was mossy with moonlight, the gentle swells billowing off into the distance. In the tree-lined borders of the course, the light picked out the white trunks of sycamores, Every limestone outcrop had turned to rough silver.

“Listen!” Allen said. From the top of the hill, where the clubhouse glittered among the trees, came the faint sound of the band playing “All the Things You Are.”

“They're having a party!”

George said, “Let's go up and crash it. Wouldn't that rattle their bones!”

“And get the dogs sicced on us too. Like Cathy and Heathcliff.”

“
We'd
get Murdstone,” Toby said. “My folks are up there.”

That tickled them so—Mr. Murdstone, nose to the ground, sniffing though the underbrush; Mr. Murdstone barking up a tree.

But the moonlight and the music in the distance overcame their hilarity. They could just make out the band playing “Fools Rush In.” “May I have this dance, Miss Allen?” George asked with a debonair bow, and Allen moved into his arms and he began leading her gracefully around and around the lawn. George was a fine dancer—she remembered that from times he'd cut in on her at the college dances she'd chaperoned in the fall. Toby looked on until the song ended and George and Allen separated. Next the band struck up “Thanks for the Memories.” Toby bowed gallantly and said, “Then I believe this dance is mine, mademoiselle.”

And halfway through, George joined them and the three of them danced around in a circle twirling in and out of one another. They were out of breath when the music ended, and stood, almost shyly, giggling. The band did not strike up another song. Finally, Toby said, “I better get going now, before Murdstone beats me home.”

Eight

I
n the faculty ladies' lounge something was going on. It was noon, just after the last morning class, when the Ladies always met in a rush, with much hair combing and toilet flushing and soaping and rinsing of hands. For the last few weeks the petition had been the main topic of conversation; there were rumors that Mr. Pickering had some new scheme up his sleeve. But this noon there was none of that.

Allen had come in late (waylaid in the hall by Pickering himself, who wanted to twist her arm) and found them hived by the window with Maxine, of all people, in their buzzing midst. Maxine usually met Max for lunch or went home. She sat on the edge of the table, smiling, blotting her eyes with an absurd lace hanky, and looking happier than any girl had a right to look. The room was awash in sweetness. It was like walking into warm tapioca.

“Come in, Allie, wait'll you hear!” Mae Dell pulled her into the circle. “Show her, Maxine.”

Maxine held out her left hand. There on the fourth finger was the diamond, big as a doorknob and flashing blue and gold like a soap bubble in the sun. The engagement, which surprised no one except, apparently, Maxine, was official.

Allen admired the ring. “When did it happen?” she asked.

“I can hardly believe it—I've been engaged for almost four weeks!”

“And you didn't
tell
us?” Mae Dell said.

“We thought we shouldn't announce it till we set the wedding date. And we had to wait till—well, I didn't want it to spread all over school just yet. You know how news travels.”

“Especially romantic news.”

Nothing would do Mae Dell until Maxine went through the story again.

“Oh, you don't want to hear all that again!”

“Yes we do!”

“Well…” It was the third week in March. It was the spring dinner dance at the club. “It was such a beautiful night, we just couldn't stay inside. So we went out on the terrace, and we were dancing out there in the moonlight. It was so lovely! And everything seemed—I don't know—so special, as if something wonderful was going to happen.”

“And it did!”

“Stop interrupting,” said Verna. “If you want to hear it again, let her tell it.”

“Max looked so handsome that night. He always does, but that night—” She paused with a little smile. “It was just one of those magical nights. There was a full moon....”

Past full, if she wanted to get it right.

And if she had wanted to, she could have seen three other dancers at the bottom of the hill. And suddenly Allen felt rather silly, dancing like a child with her friends, while Maxine was being proposed to. “And the band was playing ‘All the Things You Are.' It's my favorite song and we were alone on the terrace.” And she was the promised breath of springtime. And at that moment divine, while Allen and George and Toby danced around and around the lawns, Max slipped the ring on her finger and Maxine and Max were engaged.

“And that's how it happened.” The lovely eyes filled again with tears.

“But what did he
say
?” Mae Dell crowed.

“Be quiet, Mae Dell, she can't tell you everything.” Verna prissed up her mouth and handed Maxine a Kleenex.

“Thanks. You're a pal.” Even Maxine's nose could drip. “I don't know why I'm crying. But it was just so beautiful!”

Mae Dell said she could cry too. Allen ducked her head to hide a red face and a grin.

Drying her eyes, Maxine said she wanted the girls to be among the first to know. “We're going to announce it formally at the club. You'll read about it in the paper. But I wanted you to know ahead of time, from me.”

Verna said, “Does Mr. Frawley know?”

“I told him this morning.”

“How'd he take it?”

“He was darling. He's the sweetest man. You're all so wonderful. I wish I could ask you all to the announcement party, the whole faculty. But there are so many people, my parents' friends and people from out of town—you know how it is. There are so many. But you will come to the wedding, won't you?”

Mae Dell clapped her hands. “We're invited?”

“Of course you are. I wouldn't think of getting married without you.”

“You hear that, Gladys?” But Gladys had gone to the john.

Verna said, “You'll have to get married without me. My sister and her husband are going to Yellowstone Park on a vacation trip, and somebody has to look after Dad and Mama while they're gone. I'm sorry. I'd like to be there.”

“But we're getting married on Saturday afternoon, the day after school's out.”

“Oh well, then. I guess I could wait that long.”

“And I want you all to come to the reception afterward at the club.”

“The country club?” Mae Dell pounced on Gladys when she returned. “You hear that, Gladys? We're invited to the country club!”

“You will come, won't you? I know it's awfully short notice, but didn't know till last week that Max would have to leave so soon.”

“Leave?” everyone said. Gladys said, “Why? Where's he going?”

“Texas!” Maxine wailed. “Fort Sam Houston.”

“That's an army camp!” said Verna.

“He's joining the
army
?” Allen looked at Maxine, incredulous.

“He says everybody will have to, sooner or later, all the men.”

“Oh, I don't believe that.”

“Well, you'd better listen a little,” Verna said. “If you ask me, we're going to get into it before we know it.”

Maxine said, “I just can't bear to think about it, but I guess I have to. He says rather than wait and be drafted, he may as well get a jump ahead. So that's why he applied for a commission. That was in February, and it just came through, a commission in the army. He'll go in as a captain.”

“Well, that's some help,” Verna said.

“Yes, but he has to go for indoctrination the first week of June!”

“That's terrible,” said Mae Dell. “Why would he want to do that—leave you, and a good job at the bank? Does he have to?”

“Well, it's probably for the best. Starting as a captain, he could come out with the rank of colonel, maybe even general. He'll be a wonderful officer, I know he will.”

“And a wonderful husband. You're so lucky, Maxine.”

“So's Max,” said Verna.

“He certainly is. Oh, you'll be a beautiful bride. Tell us about your dress.”

The dress would be custom-made, tulle and lace. She would wear her mother's bridal veil with the long train.

Mae Dell sighed with rapture and gentle regret. “I was engaged once.”

“Yes, you've told us about that,” said Verna, hitching a stocking up.

“I didn't know about it,” said Maxine. “What happened?”

“I broke it off.” Mae Dell said, “I was going to be an artist. My sister and I were planning to go to St. Louis to art school. But then Daddy got sick and we had to stay home and help take care of him. And after that there wasn't any money.”

“Then you never got to art school?”

“No, but I took art courses at teachers' college. It wasn't the same thing, but better than nothing, I guess.”

“Better than getting hitched,” said Gladys. “You never know what you're letting yourself in for. Oh, I don't mean you,” she said quickly, turning to Maxine. “
You're
not buying a pig in a poke.”

“I think I know him pretty well,” Maxine said, laughing.

“And you know his family. Well now!” The familiar grin stretched across Gladys's face. “I'd say she's picked a winner, and this calls for a celebration. How about it, girls? Let's take Maxine out to lunch. Shrimp cocktails and all the works. We'll go to the Bonne Terre!”