Hang Em High

It was still dark when Emily woke up. Dark and yet the thick blanket of snow outside mirroring the moonlight bathed her room in a silver light. She sat up and took a look at her alarm clock, which said it wasn't later than 4:39. She hadn't been born before 5:21 and still this was her birthday. She was 21, officially an adult now. She'd have a marvellous party tonight. Dozens of guest would fill the house, family and friends, Richard, they all would come to celebrate her birthday. A happy smile shooed over her face. Today was her day. Hers alone.

Emily pulled the blanket away and - trying to make no noise - got up. Everybody else was probably still asleep and for a second she played with the thought of using the opportunity and sneaking to the phone in the hall to call Richard. Her reasoning dominated eventually. He was probably still asleep. It was her birthday and it was up to him to call her anyways. Moreover, there was always the chance somebody might see her despite the time and she didn't want to risk anything to spoil the perfection of the day. With the intention to read until everybody was awake, Emily grabbed a book and sat into the armchair in the corner of her room, turning on the floor lamp standing next to it. She wasn't able to concentrate. Her thoughts twirled around the day, more exactly around the party, and to be totally specific around Richard's attendance. She imagined how he'd look in his suit, the looks he'd throw at her, how he hopefully would silently gnash his teeth whenever she danced with someone but him and how he'd dance with her, whispering compliments into her ear as he did. She knew that he'd ask her if there was any place in the house where they could be alone for some minutes and she would tell him to go to the corner room on the second floor. Nobody would be on the second floor. No one was ever on the second floor but at most one of the maids to clean the unused rooms up there. And tonight the employees would have more important things to do than dusting the furniture that had once belonged to her grandmother who had lived up there until she died, died long before Emily was born or her father had even married her mother. The corner room. It had been Louise Johnson's drawing room. A cozy place in warm colours which hadn't been changed since her death. There were still unfinished embroideries lying around, magazines and dime novels from the early 1930s, there even was an unwrapped box of Swiss chocolates standing on the davenport, next to it an unfinished thank you note to "Sweetest Dredie" dated on July 24th 1935. It was as if time was nonexistent in this room and that's why Emily chose it.

Yes, she thought once more and closed the book, this really would be a perfect day. Even Hopie would forget her resentment. It was her birthday after all. Everything would be more than perfect. Emily got up and took a long bath, thinking of Richard while the warm water smelling of roses and lavender surrounded her, thinking of Richard while she wiped her body and put crème on it, dried her hair and got dressed. She felt tingly. Every part of Emily's body prickled after she'd finished her morning routine and headed down the stairs to the breakfast-room. Partly she knew why she felt this way, it was her birthday after all, there'd be a party and lots of ballyhoo. But there was something different, too. Something the thought of Richard had caused, the thought of him and the prospects of being alone with him. The thought of him while she'd felt the soft towel on her naked skin and later had massaged the cream into it. Emily couldn't help but be slightly ashamed upon it. She couldn't help enjoying it at the same time. She enjoyed being awake to her body in a way she'd never been before. It made her feel beautiful, more beautiful than everyone else. She'd be the centre of the party and not only because it was her birthday. They'd all look at her with admiration, some of the women with jealousy, most of the men with desire. Richard would look at her with desire. Desire and love. Emily felt incredibly special.

Henriette put a damper on her exaltation. Her mother hugged her, a kiss on the cheek and birthday wishes. Her father shook her hand and offered her birthday wishes. Henriette, however, put a spoonful of oatmeal into her mouth (She ate! She ate despite knowing that no one was supposed to eat until everybody sat at the table for heaven's sake! She ate despite knowing that Emily, as the birthday girl, was entitled to the first cup of coffee, the first slice of toast and that she was the first one to be served the scrambled eggs and bacon) and didn't even look at her. Emily swallowed and smiled while she sat down.

"Henriette!?" Lillian reprehended and her daughter made an indefinable noise in between two spoons of oatmeal. "Henriette," she repeated sharply. She had no idea what was going on between her daughters, even causing her youngest to forget everything that beseemed. Meals were a sad and silent affair lately.

"It's alright, Mother." Emily put the napkin on her lap.

"It most certainly isn't," Lillian disagreed. "Henriette," she gave her an unmistakable look.

Henriette sighed annoyed and put the spoon away. "Happy Birthday," she stated with an undertone that made clear she wished Emily everything but a happy day.

Emily winced. "Thank you, Henriette." She smiled politely, wishing her mother hadn't forced Hopie to congratulate. She could live with the enmity of ignorance, but the enmity in her sister's voice felt like needles.

"Well," Lillian put a good face on the matter and gestured for the maid to pour the coffee. "Let's eat," she said chattily. "Shall we?"

Nobody said anything. Henriette continued to scarf down the oatmeal. Emily nipped at her coffee without touching her plate and Baldwin improved his coffee with a virile lacing from the pocket flask he always carried around in the front pocket of his worn-out jersey.

"This is ridiculous," Lillian eventually told her family. "I don't know what is going on, but none of you will rise from this table until you two will act decent again - Baldwin!" She exclaimed because her husband had gotten up while she'd talked.

"According to you, I've never acted decent. Therefore you can't be referring to me and there's no need for me to stay." He took his cup and headed towards his studio.

"The party will start at seven o'clock and I expect you to be punctual," Lillian called after him. "In the suit I had the maid iron on for you. Showered and without paint under your fingernails."

"I will see what I can do," he called back. He loathed festivities like this.

"You will -", Lillian moaned annoyed. "This is important, Baldwin. Your whole family will be here as well as most of the town. The important people anyways. And I don't want you to make a mock of yourself. Do I make myself clear?" There was no answer. "Baldwin?" she shouted. "Baldwin!?" Another moan and then she put her napkin onto the table and got up. "I expect to see my daughters smiling and companionable when I return," she demanded and followed her stroppy husband.

"Henriette, please," Emily begged as soon as they were alone. "You can't be mad at me forever."

Henriette dribbled the oatmeal on her spoon back to the bowl. She hated this grey stodge. She hated Emily.

"I suggested to go shopping seventeen times within the last six days. I said I'm sorry more than a hundred times and I really don't know what to do to placate you anymore," her sister continued. "Mother is right. This is really getting ridiculous," she hissed as Hopie didn't even grant her a look or something else that would've shown she was at least listening. "Ridiculous and childish!" Again there was no reaction. "Hopie!"

"How many times again!?! Do. Not. Call. Me. That!" She threw the spoon into the bowl and the pulp splashed on Lillian's fine linen.

"Stop acting like a child and I'll stop treating you like one," Emily scolded, although she was glad Henriette had decided to talk to her again after almost ten days of silence.

"I'm not acting like a child," she disagreed. "In some cultures they're cutting off the tongues of traitors, stone and hang them, so you should be glad about how civilized and adult I act."

"For heaven's sake, I didn't turn you over to a court, but broke the promise to buy a brassiere with you."

"You did it twice!"

"I had to finish the paper."

"And you keep telling me lie after lie."

"I'm not! I never would lie to you," she lied. It wasn't that much of a lie, she told herself. She usually wouldn't lie to Hopie. She never had and only did it because she'd no other choice. It even wasn't a real lie. A white lie, that's all, not a real one.

"Ha!" Henriette exclaimed triumphant. "And that's why I've a letter from early December in my drawer in which you write how glad you are to have finally finished all upcoming university work, even a paper you don't have to deliver until March?"

"I - it was on short notice", Emily mumbled, blood surging to her face.

"Bla, bla, bla," Henriette mocked to cover her offendedness. Even now Emily didn't tell her the truth. Even now she lied and didn't trust her a bit, while she always had told her everything, really everything. She felt so stupid. "Someone really should cut off your tongue, but even that would be too nice considering what a treasonable and detestable snake in the grass you are." With as much grace and dignity as possible she folded her napkin and laid it next to her bowl. "And now excuse me please, the bitchy smell in here gives me the urgent need to throw up."

Emily was unable to reply. She was even unable to move while her sister left the room with her head held high. Her eyes were burning and Emily swallowed and took a deep breath while she forced herself to calm down and think of pleasant things. She thought of the party. She thought of Richard. She wanted to burry her face on his shoulder. She wanted to do so while everyone watched. This simply wasn't fair. It was her birthday. It ought to be perfect. Nobody should offend her and she should have more than one or two dances and some poor minutes in a stupid corner room with the man she intended to marry.

"Where's Henriette?" Lillian asked displeased when she only found Emily to be left in the breakfast room.

"Upstairs," she mumbled and forcefully spiked some of the rumbled egg and bacon.

"That pig is dead already, Emily," Lillian reminded her. "Don't play with your food," she added when the fork hit the porcelain with a sound that made her fear it'd break.

"I'm going upstairs, too," her daughter dropped the silverware.

"The coiffeur will be here at three o'clock. And despite that Mildred is exceptionally gifted, she won't be able to cover that scowling face of yours. Hence you'd better do something about it."

"Whatever."

"You surprise me," she said with raised brows. "For months there wasn't a thing more important than this party, your dress and make-up, the flowers, the music and invitations with real pearls on them and all of sudden it seems as if you couldn't care less. But you should care. This is an important day. There will be important people and I want them to remember you as a beautiful and winning young lady and not as a grouchy Bactrian camel. Especially for the young and unmarried men, better to remember you as the former. And believe me there'll be some. Even your uncle - and heaven knows how busy he is with the company and work - gave me the names of some decent candidates."

"Now, that's great," Emily mumbled annoyed. "Why don't you two just auction me off and have me married by Judge Farnston to the highest bidder at midnight and just get through with it already?"

"Emily Johnson, your attitude is really getting on my nerves. We're only trying to help you."

"I don't want your help and I don't need it. I'll marry soon enough and to whom I want and you can bet it won't be someone Uncle Carl has chosen for me."

"Can you tell me where this snottiness of late is coming from? Snottiness and rejection upon an issue which is just as important to you as to me or your uncle."

"I'm not renunciatory. At least not if it comes to the idea of marriage and a family. I'm just so unbelievably sick of getting reduced to nothing more than a broodmare who desperately needs a stud to tup her before she's too old to conceive."

"Emily! Nobody ever would reduce you to that," Lillian disagreed, shocked by her daughter's choice of words.

"Uncle Carl did," she hissed. "And so do you despite that you've phrase it in a more refined manner."

"Don't you dare allege such horrible things," her mother exclaimed. "And if Carl really dared to say something like that, he'd better bundle up, because I attach very little value to people approaching one of my daughters with such obscenities!"

Emily snorted. "It doesn't matter how he said it," she nevertheless stated, surprising calmly.

"Go to your room, Emily."

"I'm twenty-one, Mother, you can't -"

"Go to your room," Lillian interrupted her icily. "Now."

To be continued

ATN: You see, I kept my promise to update faster this time, hope you don't mind ;) Thank you very much for the wonderful and long reviews, they're my red shoes, umm, gloves (...fingers can dance on a keyboard, believe me...) and I'm looking forward to the next bunch of them.

This chapter was proofread by Elizabeth (thank you so much) and is totally dedicated to Mel.