Eighteen

That evening after supper, Aunt Ella asked Jennie if she would show her the other photos on her desk.

Jennie could not think of a reason to refuse, though she tried.

“Why Jennie,” Aunt Ella exclaimed, “why did not you show me this one before?”

Jennie, 1909

Ella was holding a small framed photograph of Jennie from when she graduated from Chillicothe High School four years earlier.

Ella reconsidered what she

was going to say, about how lovely Jennie looked without her glasses. Her hair looked luscious, piled high but not tightly, with the bulk of her dark brown hair on the crown. Just as it should be. Befitting a queen, she thought.

“Oh Auntie, I like this one too, though I am not sure that is my true self you see reflected there.”

“Why is that, dear?”

Aunt Ella expected Jennie to mention her glasses.

“Because… well, I look kind of sad, don’t I.”

It was a statement for which she did not expect an answer, unless it was in protest.

Aunt Ella instead hugged her niece about the shoulders.

Jennie turned and buried her head in the crook of Aunt Ella’s clavicle where it met her chest.

“Oh, Auntie…”

Jennie sniffled, but then straightened and arose, going to a box arranged front-wise so as to serve as a bookshelf. She pulled out a volume, came back to the edge of the bed where Ella was perched, and thumbed through the pages.

“Here it is.”

She showed Ella the spot to which she referred. The page had the photographs of several of the Senior Class of Chillicothe High School. On the bottom right was Jennie. To the left of it was a quote.

She sat like patience on a monument, Smiling at grief.

“Auntie, do you think this is how everyone perceives me? Or once did? Smiling through the sadness?”

Aunt Ella gave her

CHS Yearbook
1909

intended response due consideration.

“Dearest, no doubt you had much on your mind. It must not have been easy becoming acquainted with strangers.”

“That really was not the issue, Auntie. They were all kind enough. Well, it seemed so. For most of them…”

Ella gazed at her niece but remained silent. If Jennie wished to speak, she wanted to allow her the comfort of a listening ear.

“It was more that, well, I felt like sometimes I was someone others felt sorry for.”

This was a sentiment Aunt Ella expected. The prior two days, she was becoming educated in the ways of her brother and her niece. But she suspected there was much more to learn.

“Go on, dear. If you wish.”

“We never knew when Father would be around. Or his wife. And we hoped he would not come home. Sometimes.”

Jennie again glimpsed up at her aunt whose chin jutted out just above her head.

“Oh, do not mistake what I am saying…”

Ella placed her finger under Jennie’s chin.

“My darling girl, you do not have to explain anything for which you do not feel prepared.”

Jennie stared down at her hands. She reached for the handkerchief which lay inches from her right hand, ever ready.

“I miss my mama.”

Ella stroked her niece’s hair.

“Of course.”

“But I do not really remember her. What did her voice sound like?”

“Like music. Jennie, her voice was lovely, a second soprano slipping into the alto range.”

Ella was aware how much Jennie liked to sing, although she rarely did so aloud outside of a church setting. But in the sanctuary, her voice was a clear bell. Often, parishioners would turn around to find the source of such loveliness, and then, after services ended, they would remark to Jennie how lovely her voice was. “You should be in the choir,” they often said, to which Jennie would shyly lower her chin, blushing and murmuring a “thank you.”

“Then, do I take after her in that way?”

“Yes, now that I think of it, such is very true.”

Whether it was true, it was possible. Ella could not quite remember either, other than a general impression from hearing Annie sing in church. Just as Annie’s daughter now does. So, she was not voicing a falsehood; she was providing the answer she knew her niece sought.

“Jennie,” Aunt Ella said after a brief interlude, “I wonder, is there something else? Which makes you sad, or caused melancholy in you back then?”

“I suppose,” Jennie began. “I suppose I feared failure.”

“My goodness, child, why would you?”

But as soon as Ella inquired, she knew the answer, and she was relieved when Jennie did not respond.

Jennie’s father—Ella’s brother, Orval—viewed himself as a failure no matter how Ella tried to convince him otherwise. Ella knew their father took certain actions—such as turning Orval out of his house years ago, insisting on raising Orval’s children—which were strong indications J. K. looked at his son as someone beyond the pale. But Ella also knew how much her father loved her brother, admired him in some ways. He only was attempting to rescue the children from what was becoming a desperate situation back then.

When Orval enrolled Jennie in the Chillicothe High School, Ella felt J. K. was proud that his son was taking action in securing for Jennie a brighter future. But they all wondered, at what cost?

Jennie drew in her breath, then let it out slowly. She arose and turned to utter an insight Ella often thought.

“Auntie, all that I have been through motivated me to get through college.”

Jennie picked up the framed oval next to the one holding her high school portrait. The one of her mother

Jennie's Mother
Hester Ann Gardner Stark

as a young girl.

“Mama, I think you will be proud of me tomorrow,” she whispered to the girl staring back at her. Jennie had two photos of her mother—one of her parents with Jennie and Jay, and this one from when Hester Ann was about fifteen. “I believe you already are and have always been. I just do not want…” Her voice trailed off.

Aunt Ella finished the unspoken rest of Jennie's thought, “…to become a failure like you fear your father is?”

Jennie put on the smile, the one like patience on a monument, smiling at grief.

#

That night, sleep only came to Jennie in fits. She was careful to not awaken Ella who snored when not turned on her side. Jennie kept staring at the small clock kept near her side of the bed on an oak table. “Mission Style” was all the rage, and Jennie felt fortunate to have two pieces of furniture emulating it—her desk and her nightstand. Both were pieces she brought with her to Columbia from her grandfather’s house.

Ella awoke with a start just about dawn. Realizing her niece was already awake, she felt little need to whisper. If another’s slumber was disturbed so be it. It was a big day with much to do.

“Now, Miss Jennie, why don’t I make a list? Though you will have gloves on your hands later, you should not have ink stains upon them.”

The younger woman was uncertain why a list was necessary, but she handed her auntie—who remained in bed—a pad of paper and a fountain pen.

Ella pulled herself up into a seated position and began scribbling.

“Hair. Simple, yet refined.”

Ella looked up for Jennie’s reaction. Jennie nodded.

“Dress.”

Ella glanced at Jennie, then pulled back the covers, arose, and walked over to her valise.

“Now, Jennie, I shall iron these for you this morning if you wish to wear them today.”

Ella held up a skirt, then a blouse, both bright white cotton with lace and embroidery. The blouse had a high neck, as was fashionable, but it had a detail appliqued to it.

“Belgian lace.” Aunt Ella looked to her niece to see if she was paying attention.

Jennie
c. 1909

“Now, Jennie, this collar is special. Very special. Can you guess why?”

Jennie examined the delicate detailing, with seed pearls dotting the lace which itself was atop a starched linen. “Can this be?”

“My darling, yes. This is from your mother’s wedding gown. I hope you do not mind, in case you were hoping to save it, but some of the dress was in disrepair, and, besides, you are too tall to fit in it. So, your Aunt Lizzie and your Grandmother Gardner took it upon themselves to resurrect the best parts, just for you.”

“My goodness! I had no idea the wedding gown still existed.”

“Well, your father told me your Aunt Lizzie came to him after your mother died and asked for the gown. She told him she would save it for you for such a day as appropriate. She did not expect that the dress would not survive as well as she hoped, but the lace did. And…” she grinned, “since she and I both are unmarried and are now middle-aged, we allowed for the possibility you might follow in such a…” she searched for the word, “well, ‘tradition,’ if you will. Thus, we consider your graduation as possibly the most important event you might experience in your life. A special dress just seemed… right.”

“Goodness, me. Everyone has been saying the same thing. Not that I think of marriage. Much.” Jennie could not help but glance toward her drapes where, behind them, was hiding more photographs of someone she sometimes daydreamed about in such a vein.

“So, yes. This is an important day, and I would be honored to wear this! I was otherwise going to wear what I put on most Sundays. But I must try these on.”

“Luckily, we had an old dress of yours and determined your Aunt Lizzie to be the same size as you, so she served as her own model. Let us see, though.”

Jennie put on a slip, then slid the skirt over her head. She fastened two eye-hooks and a button. The waist was a little large. “Oh! My. Well…”

“Jennie, I have the perfect solution for that which you will see in a moment. Try on the blouse.”

Jennie eased herself into the blouse, made delicate not only because of the lace, but because of how fine the underlying material was. The blouse opened in the back and was sufficiently form-fitting to require buttons the entire length. The young woman turned so her aunt could help button up where she could not quite reach.

“There. Now. Do you have a looking glass?” Ella was uncertain, as she had not yet observed a mirror anywhere in the house. But her niece walked over to the armoire and retrieved one with a handle from her drawer. There also was a mirror on the armoire door, but such was obvious, so Jennie assumed she meant a hand-held one.

“This was mama’s, too. I guess today is such a day I will have many reminders of her.”

“Now. Let’s see. Yes, we need something for your waist. Hold on…”

Ella again retrieved something from her valise.

“Here it is. We anticipated your waist might be smaller. So…try this.”

Ella handed Jennie a yellow satin sash. “White would seem too bridal. Pink, too much like a young girl. Blue, too much like a sixteen-year-old. Lemon yellow? Perfect! And besides, aren’t black and gold the school colors? Won’t yellow be close enough? Even though, of course, you will be wearing your graduation gown over it all.”

Remembering Ella’s promise to iron the ensemble, Jennie smiled at the image reflected in the mirror.

And, just outside her window, a bluebird sang.

Lithograph Details from
Bible Forget-Me-Nots

Lithograph at beginning from
Jesus, Lover of My Soul