Chapter title: July 4, 1912
Jan. 7th, 2006 08:57 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
aamusedinatxfrom Six of One by Rita Mae Brown, published by Harper & Row, 1978.
“They all turn out for the Fourth—young and old, rich and poor, black and white, drunk and sober,” Spottiswood sang out, watching the ladies preen themselves before the hall mirror.
The two beauties sailed out the door into a shining July day. Spotts, flawless in his captain’s uniform, raced between them and they linked their arms through his. As they promenaded down to the square they could see the bands, politicians, various societies and clubs backed up all the way to the Hanover road. The children on the floats nearly got the rash from excitement.
Cora posted herself at the edge of the square so she could get a good view of Louise and Julia approaching the square and then circling it. Louise had won the singular honor of being the Statue of Liberty for the annual float “Liberty Enlightening the World.” Several years before, Delphine Bickerstaff was Liberty and now she was an actress on Broadway. Louise, all of eleven, knew this was her magic moment. Julia Ellen had to be content with being a tugboat in New York harbor.
Cora caught sight of one enormous white hat with golden hair cascading underneath Celeste, wasp-waisted in her apricot dress, distained a hat and let her black hair shine in the hot sun. Spots simply sparkled in the middle.
A quick drum roll and bugle blast riveted the crowd. From a few blocks away huge horses’ hooves were heard and everyone got goose bumps immediately. Increase Martin turned the corner, driving a sparkling fire engine, Old Dixie; enormous black horses pulled in unison, their manes and tails braided with gray and gold. The giant engine glided smoothly behind all that power. A few paces behind Old Dixie rode Lawrence Villcher with four dappled grays, their manes and tails interwoven with blue and gold. The North Runnymede fire department boasted a white engine. Increase and the boys said it had no more power than a grasshopper urinating. Today the rivalries melted under the sun. The first band came into view. The new band uniforms were as loud as the music—rooster red, with gobs of gold braid hung all over their bodies. Behind the first band marched the Yankee war vets. Those that couldn’t walk were in caned wheelchairs. Theodore Baumeister, highest-ranking officer alive, led the way. While many a paunch cold no longer be contained by a blue coat, the fellows marched in good order. Following them, the Olive Branch Petition band, all women, banged on their tambourines. Tubas and trumpets flashed in the light. The girls introduced a two-step this year, swinging their instruments in time. People cheered and clapped. This Fourth started out smoothly. Behind the Olive Branch rode the men in gray. Officers, ever mindful of the feminine eye even though they were too old to enjoy the results, wore their caps and had placed ostrich feathers in their cream-colored hats. The men on foot stepped briskly. As always, the women sighed. Never failed to burn Theodore Baumeister and his men to see these damn rebels play the cavalier. He called out to his straggling line, “Let the ladies swoon. Remember, we won the goddamned war.”
The Irish band pulled into view You could barely hear them for Caesura Frothingham belting out to her Daughters of the Confederacy, “Hup one, hup two, hup three, hup four.” Each Daughter wore a large ribbon from right shoulder to waist. Minta Mae, preceding Caesura as the tail end of the Sisters of Gettysburg, kept changing her pace in an effort to throw Leather Lungs off her beat. As the Irish band moved closer, the first float came into view, Rife’s Munitions and Cannery. A huge cannon stuffed with canned peas was as far as Rife’s imagination ventured this year. Now Cora and Orrie could just make out the back of Louise’s head with all her silver prongs glistening. Julia Ellen and three other little girls bobbed up and down between thin wooden waves. Each child wore a big smokestack on her head, with two tiny peepholes. The smokestack ended at her waist and a chicken-wire deck, covered with cloth, made up the rest of the costume. Julia’s tugboat had “Cora” painted on the prow. She was already bored with bobbing up and down the length of the float between two wooden waves that marked her channel. Louise stood in all her glory, flaming torch aloft and tablet cradled with accuracy, just like the statue itself. The old mule pulling the patriotic sight plodded at a steady pace. Louise looked neither right nor left but straight ahead. Cora and Orrie applauded when they beheld this noble apparition. Even Celeste took notice from her vantage point. Idabelle McGrail walked directly in front of the float, playing “America the Beautiful” on her accordion. For the grand occasion her socks matched.
The heat and the applause went to Julia’s head. Rolling back and forth, yelling “Toot! Toot!” she decided right then and there to exact her revenge on Louise. As she made her pass in congested waters, she gave Louise the slightest nudge. Wheezie pretended not to notice. Making her turnabout, Juts picked up steam and this time bumped the base of Liberty hard.
By now more than the child noticed all was not well in New York Harbor. Liberty began to rock with rhythmic regularity. Cora couldn’t ignore it as much as she would have liked to. She pushed her way along the crowd and out onto the road. Walking up to the float she cupped her hands to her mouth. “What are you two doing?”
The mule got skitterish with all the commotion and picked up speed. Idabelle tried to clip along a little faster, but she was not built for speed. She did manage to play “America the Beautiful” faster than anyone had ever heard it before. Cora and Orrie ran to keep up with the float.
Julia Ellen lurched forward, both out of vengeance and from loss of equilibrium. Bam! This time she knocked a snarling Statue of Liberty flat on her ass.
Juts, blind as a bat, crawled over the last set of waves, feeling her way, and then slid off the edge of the float, followed quickly by other crying tugboats. Juts ran through the crowd, bumping people and leaving pandemonium in her wake.
Smelling fire, the mule shot off without warning. Louise, already on her bottom, bounced off like an old pear. Prongs bent all around her head, she was bawling to beat the band. Cora hurried to fetch her as fast as her dress shoes would allow.
Lawrence Villcher atop the white engine spied the blaze. “Turn her around, boys, Float’s afire.” Not to be left behind, Increase wheeled his beasts and Old Dixie raced Villcher to the blaze. The Irish band, caught in the middle, jumped for the sidewalks. The instruments they had left strewn all over the road were flattened in the rush. The water stopped both the water and the mule. That blast of water cleaned every tick right off the terrified animal.
Cora had Louise firmly in hand. Celeste hurried over to offer assistance between peals of laughter.
The other was being towed over toward the fire chief by a stocky, powerfully built man with a bristling mustache. He handed Juts to Cora saying, “I believe this sinking ship belongs to you.”
Louise had time to ponder her meaning as she picked up broken waves, a splintered tablet and squashed trumpets.
You can guess as to WHICH character here I most personally identify with. Hint: It isn't one of the grown-ups!
“They all turn out for the Fourth—young and old, rich and poor, black and white, drunk and sober,” Spottiswood sang out, watching the ladies preen themselves before the hall mirror.
“A Fourth without a disaster—do you think it’s possible?” Celeste adjusted her “Votes for Women” pin.
Spotts looked out the window. “The weather’s beautiful so it won’t be hailstones.”
“Who leads the parade this year—South or North?” Ramelle tried to center her hat.
“It’s an even year. Increase Martin will charge out with Old Dixie, pumps gleaming.” Exhilarated by the sunshine, Spotty couldn’t sit another minute. “Darlings, I’ll meet you at the gate.”
“Fine.” Celeste eyed her button suspiciously as it tipped in the direction of her right breast even though she’d pinned it on three times already.
“Maybe the vets will start in again. I never will forget the year Captain Tibbet took off his wooden leg and swatted Keeper Baines.”
“Darling, you missed 1901, when Runnymede enjoyed a saber clash. The Southern fire department broke it up, but not before Diller Beard spewed a fountain of blood from his left ass cheek.” Celeste’s laughter rang out clear.
“Something has to go wrong. Shall we bet on it?”
“I wager Caesura Frothingham takes her Daughters of the Confederacy regiment too fast around the square and collides with Minta Mae Dexter, rear guard of the Sisters of Gettysburg.” Celeste savored the vision of two busty matrons boiling over in front of God and everybody, while Fannie Jump Creighton, Caesura’s second in command, would try to break up the fight.
“If only I could bet on Yashew Gregorivitch, but he’s off the floats this year.” Ramelle thought out loud.
“Well, I guess after that scandal last year.”
"We never will see the equal of it.”
“The Dorcas Aid Society still won’t speak to his mother. La Sermonetta prayed for his soul publicly lest the Lord strike him dead for portraying gentle Jesus on the cross.”
“I didn’t mind him hanging on that cross with paint on his hands and feet, but the screaming was hard to bear.”
“I thought the float number on his back rather a nice touch.”
“Celeste, you are wicked”
“For once you and La Sermonetta are in accord.”
“Will she be in the parade this year?”
“My sister miss an opportunity to waddle in public with a Bible clasped to her bosom? She’ll no doubt have a float constructed that allows her to walk on water.”
“Then I will bet that she creates the spectacle.”
“Ramelle, her drawing breath is a spectacle. Here—your hat isn’t rakish enough. Let me tilt it for you. Yes, that’s better. I doubt anyone will watch the parade. They’ll be gazing at you.”
“Base flatterer, are you ready?”
“Quite.”
The two beauties sailed out the door into a shining July day. Spotts, flawless in his captain’s uniform, raced between them and they linked their arms through his. As they promenaded down to the square they could see the bands, politicians, various societies and clubs backed up all the way to the Hanover road. The children on the floats nearly got the rash from excitement.
Cora posted herself at the edge of the square so she could get a good view of Louise and Julia approaching the square and then circling it. Louise had won the singular honor of being the Statue of Liberty for the annual float “Liberty Enlightening the World.” Several years before, Delphine Bickerstaff was Liberty and now she was an actress on Broadway. Louise, all of eleven, knew this was her magic moment. Julia Ellen had to be content with being a tugboat in New York harbor.
Orrie Tadia skipped over to Cora. “Mrs. Hunsenmeir, do you see anything moving down there?”
“No Orrie, not yet.”
Cora caught sight of one enormous white hat with golden hair cascading underneath Celeste, wasp-waisted in her apricot dress, distained a hat and let her black hair shine in the hot sun. Spots simply sparkled in the middle.
Ramelle dipped her parasol. Celeste waved to Cora and Spotts called out, “Happy Fourth.”
A quick drum roll and bugle blast riveted the crowd. From a few blocks away huge horses’ hooves were heard and everyone got goose bumps immediately. Increase Martin turned the corner, driving a sparkling fire engine, Old Dixie; enormous black horses pulled in unison, their manes and tails braided with gray and gold. The giant engine glided smoothly behind all that power. A few paces behind Old Dixie rode Lawrence Villcher with four dappled grays, their manes and tails interwoven with blue and gold. The North Runnymede fire department boasted a white engine. Increase and the boys said it had no more power than a grasshopper urinating. Today the rivalries melted under the sun. The first band came into view. The new band uniforms were as loud as the music—rooster red, with gobs of gold braid hung all over their bodies. Behind the first band marched the Yankee war vets. Those that couldn’t walk were in caned wheelchairs. Theodore Baumeister, highest-ranking officer alive, led the way. While many a paunch cold no longer be contained by a blue coat, the fellows marched in good order. Following them, the Olive Branch Petition band, all women, banged on their tambourines. Tubas and trumpets flashed in the light. The girls introduced a two-step this year, swinging their instruments in time. People cheered and clapped. This Fourth started out smoothly. Behind the Olive Branch rode the men in gray. Officers, ever mindful of the feminine eye even though they were too old to enjoy the results, wore their caps and had placed ostrich feathers in their cream-colored hats. The men on foot stepped briskly. As always, the women sighed. Never failed to burn Theodore Baumeister and his men to see these damn rebels play the cavalier. He called out to his straggling line, “Let the ladies swoon. Remember, we won the goddamned war.”
“Think it’s going to be war again?”Ramelle whispered to Celeste.
“How unimaginative. I hope not.”
Theodore settled himself. One of Old Dixie’s horses reared up as a firecracker exploded near her.
Orrie touched Cora’s hand. “I don’t see Louise and Juts anywhere. Maybe they didn’t get off.”
“Hold your horses. Floats come between the third and fourth bands.”
“You know, Wheezie and Juts flew at each other today like wet hens. Maybe Louise threw Juts off the float.” Orrie tattled.
“Hush. Those two can’t do anything but fight.”
The Irish band pulled into view You could barely hear them for Caesura Frothingham belting out to her Daughters of the Confederacy, “Hup one, hup two, hup three, hup four.” Each Daughter wore a large ribbon from right shoulder to waist. Minta Mae, preceding Caesura as the tail end of the Sisters of Gettysburg, kept changing her pace in an effort to throw Leather Lungs off her beat. As the Irish band moved closer, the first float came into view, Rife’s Munitions and Cannery. A huge cannon stuffed with canned peas was as far as Rife’s imagination ventured this year. Now Cora and Orrie could just make out the back of Louise’s head with all her silver prongs glistening. Julia Ellen and three other little girls bobbed up and down between thin wooden waves. Each child wore a big smokestack on her head, with two tiny peepholes. The smokestack ended at her waist and a chicken-wire deck, covered with cloth, made up the rest of the costume. Julia’s tugboat had “Cora” painted on the prow. She was already bored with bobbing up and down the length of the float between two wooden waves that marked her channel. Louise stood in all her glory, flaming torch aloft and tablet cradled with accuracy, just like the statue itself. The old mule pulling the patriotic sight plodded at a steady pace. Louise looked neither right nor left but straight ahead. Cora and Orrie applauded when they beheld this noble apparition. Even Celeste took notice from her vantage point. Idabelle McGrail walked directly in front of the float, playing “America the Beautiful” on her accordion. For the grand occasion her socks matched.
The heat and the applause went to Julia’s head. Rolling back and forth, yelling “Toot! Toot!” she decided right then and there to exact her revenge on Louise. As she made her pass in congested waters, she gave Louise the slightest nudge. Wheezie pretended not to notice. Making her turnabout, Juts picked up steam and this time bumped the base of Liberty hard.
Louise warned through the side of her mouth, “Cut it out.”
“Toot! Toot!” Julia Ellen churned to the end of the float. On her return trip she gave the symbol of Freedom quite a jolt.
“Piss on your teeth Juts.” Louise spat.
“Mommy, the Statue of Liberty said a dirty word.” A child remarked to her mother.
By now more than the child noticed all was not well in New York Harbor. Liberty began to rock with rhythmic regularity. Cora couldn’t ignore it as much as she would have liked to. She pushed her way along the crowd and out onto the road. Walking up to the float she cupped her hands to her mouth. “What are you two doing?”
“Mother, it’s Juts.”
“Toot! Toot!” Julia whirled by for another slam.
The mule got skitterish with all the commotion and picked up speed. Idabelle tried to clip along a little faster, but she was not built for speed. She did manage to play “America the Beautiful” faster than anyone had ever heard it before. Cora and Orrie ran to keep up with the float.
“Ramelle.” Celeste touched her elbow. “Liberty Enlightening the World.”
Julia Ellen lurched forward, both out of vengeance and from loss of equilibrium. Bam! This time she knocked a snarling Statue of Liberty flat on her ass.
“Goddamn son-of-a-bitch, I’ll kill you, Julia Ellen Hunsenmeir!” Louise swung her tablet and--crack!--she smashed Juts’ smokestack around her ears. Now Juts couldn’t see a thing. In all the commotion, the torch, beacon to huddled masses, flew into the crepe paper and the float caught fire.
A man yelled out, “America’s on fire!”
Coolly Celeste remarked, “Perhaps.”
“I don’t know about America, but Louise Hunsenmeir is sure going up in smoke,” Ramelle noted.
Juts, blind as a bat, crawled over the last set of waves, feeling her way, and then slid off the edge of the float, followed quickly by other crying tugboats. Juts ran through the crowd, bumping people and leaving pandemonium in her wake.
Cora bellowed, “Orrie, catch that devil!”
Orrie tore off in the opposite direction, wanting no part of the debacle. A slowed Juts parted the crowd, ramming people with her prow.
Smelling fire, the mule shot off without warning. Louise, already on her bottom, bounced off like an old pear. Prongs bent all around her head, she was bawling to beat the band. Cora hurried to fetch her as fast as her dress shoes would allow.
Lawrence Villcher atop the white engine spied the blaze. “Turn her around, boys, Float’s afire.” Not to be left behind, Increase wheeled his beasts and Old Dixie raced Villcher to the blaze. The Irish band, caught in the middle, jumped for the sidewalks. The instruments they had left strewn all over the road were flattened in the rush. The water stopped both the water and the mule. That blast of water cleaned every tick right off the terrified animal.
Cora had Louise firmly in hand. Celeste hurried over to offer assistance between peals of laughter.
“Cora, which girl started this mess?” Increase hollered at her.
“Six of one, half dozen of the other,” came the reply.
The other was being towed over toward the fire chief by a stocky, powerfully built man with a bristling mustache. He handed Juts to Cora saying, “I believe this sinking ship belongs to you.”
“Julia Ellen, what got into you, girl?” Increase was amazed.
“Toot! Toot!”
Cora rapped the sorry smokestack. “Juts, take that damn thing off your head and answer the man.”
Juts wriggled out of her smokestack.
“Well?” Cora demanded.
“It was Louise’s fault.”
“Liar, liar!” Louise took a roundhouse swing and missed. Cora grabbed an ear apiece. “Simmer down, young ladies. I’ve had just about enough of this. As far as I can see, you’re both party to it. Now apologize to Chief Martin and Chief Villcher.”
“I’m sorry,” Juts whispered.
“I apologize for both myself and my ratty sister.” Wheezie offered.
“Louise.” Cora squeezed her ear, then let both of them go. “You two stay right here until you get this pile cleaned up, you hear! When you’re done, I’ll be at the pavilion.” She turned her back on them. Louise leapt for Julia’s throat. A hand caught her by the back of her costume and held her suspended.
“Louise, revenge is a dish best eaten cold.” Celeste deposited her on the ground again.
Louise had time to ponder her meaning as she picked up broken waves, a splintered tablet and squashed trumpets.
You can guess as to WHICH character here I most personally identify with. Hint: It isn't one of the grown-ups!
