As the Shadows Fade
Chapter 1
"Karen, wait up!" I shouted as I ran toward our porch carrying a large armful of firewood. But, like the wonderful sister she is, she not only stopped and waited for me, but she decided she would take the armful of wood from me and carry them into the house. Her gentle smile made me feel all warm inside, despite the biting December wind.
"Ruby, you're one of a kind," she said, laughing. "Even a small armful of wood will send you teetering and tottering up the porch stairs!"
"I know. It's funny sometimes, except for the times when you're not here to help me," I said, giving her an affectionate punch to the shoulder. She smiled at me as we both stepped into the dimly lit but rather warm house.
As I took off my dirt-caked boots, I looked around and was surprised to find Mom and Dad still sleeping soundly on the futon. They were usually the first ones up, and would always tease Karen and me for being such sleepy heads. "Early to sleep, early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise," Mom always liked to say. She had always been one to quote sayings like that, and Karen and I often scared ourselves whenever we found ourselves repeating these quotes to our cousins if they ever misbehaved, wanting to stay up past bedtime. The last things that we'd wanted for our lives were to become exact copies of our parents.
We crept around the cottage as quietly as possible, being careful not to upset any dishes or pans. I got to work on building the fire while Karen made dough for the daily bread that we often sold at the large open-air market. I stared into the livening embers as I listened to Karen's rolling pin, the ticking clock, and, on this particular morning, Mom's and Dad's inhumanly loud snoring. It was all VERY comforting, and I could not imagine my day starting without these simple comforts. The modest cherry wood clock hanging on the far corner of the living room, the paintings of Grandma and grandpa, the old but remarkably in tune and richly resonant grand piano, the mahogany bookshelves lined with heavy, leather-bound volumes, and the velvet-shaded curtains of the large front window were all home to Karen and me.
The marble fireplace with its almost over decorated mantle was now blazing and alive with flames as Karen and I set the pan of bread to baking. Patches of sunlight filtered through the partially opened velvet curtains and fell softly on Mom's thick, flowered rugs. She had made them herself, Karen said, while she had been pregnant with me. I ran my fingers through the woven flowers and vines as I watched Karen once again take up the dress she'd been working on for the better part of the past month. For the large full skirt, Karen had chosen to use a champagne silk, hemming it with emerald lace and tiny, glass multicolored beads. The bodice of the dress was to be made of shiny, black velvet with a V-neck that was to be surrounded by rhinestones. The shoes, she said, would be finished in just under a week and would be worked on last since "they're my favorite part of the outfit."
She worked with such care and patience, seemingly to almost nurture the individual threads and fabrics to take shape. I smiled to myself as I thought about the time I'd tried my hand at sewing and knitting. Mom had tried to teach me the domestic arts, reasoning that I was to become a wife and mother someday and would need to care for my children and husband.
"Now Ruby," she began, "your needlework must not be only practical but artistic and graceful," she said, threading a needle not two inches from my eyeballs.
"Your husband will admire the great beauty of your work as well as its durability and practicality. Every time he puts that sweater on, you must see a smile on his face. It must remind him of you and you alone, or you've not done the job well," she continued, taking my hands and forcing my fingers into painful twisted knots and entangling them with the numerous strands of thread that had somehow birthed themselves out of the needle's eye.
As she went on for another hour and lectured me on the importance for a woman to be "adept in the domestic arts," I nodded and responded when necessary. I remembered with a smile that Karen just looked on helplessly as Mom tried to mold me into the perfect seamstress.
"Poor Ruby," she'd said afterward when we were both getting ready for bed, "you looked like Her Majesty trying to change the oil on a car! It didn't take a rocket scientist to see that you clearly weren't meant for the domestic life."
"Well," I said with a sigh of resignation, "society calls for it, I guess. If you're a baby girl, you grow up in your early years playing with dolls and using them as a learning tool for housewifery and such. Then, you become an older child, around ten years old I'd say, you'll learn about the arts of domesticity and use them to care for your future husband and children. That, according to society, is the life a woman is supposed to live."
"Well, that's only what most people think. Personally, I believe that you were meant for much greater things than that, not that mothers who choose to become housewives aren't important, but you're just not made for that role," she continued, turning over in her bed to face me.
"Well, how do you know that?" I asked, my eyes now trained on her face and waiting for her answer.
"Well, for one thing, you've always been very gifted in the area of the performing arts. You sing, play the piano, the guitar and the flute, and you've written a musical, which was excellent by the way. You're a very good writer, and you love performing every chance you can get." And just as I was about to ask a question…
"And don't think I've not noticed you locking yourself up in our cellar, of all places, with your book of sheet music in hand and practicing until I've pounded on the door for you to come out and eat something before you faint!" she finished with a smile, throwing her two-ton, pink plush rabbit at me.
After that, we decided to drop the discussion, concluding that I was really meant for something other than housekeeping and childrearing, and a furious pillow fight lasting until three in the morning ensued.
