Little Bluestem: Stories from Rural America

  ##

  She came as expected at ten thirty. The wind was up by then, and when Rose Cottering got out of her car with her bridal gown surrounded by plastic from the cleaners, the wind made it a sail which she guided, the white skirts billowing, towards the house and the safe harbor of its front porch. He saw her coming and gathered in the soft folds of her bridal dress with both of his arms, his foot propping the door open against the wind, her face grazing his as they kissed.

  What were they making here? Was it anything more than they together had already made, or was what they were doing today like her dress in the wind, something to be gathered in and held; something to be treasured for what it meant of their past and of their continuing into the future?

  “Is it going to be windy like this all day?” The wedding dress was between them and he was looking deep into her eyes.

  “Don’t know, Rose. Could well be. After all, a front is coming in and this is the ridge that you’re standing on.”

  “I’m shocked,” she said.

  The screen door creaked in the wind. He pushed the front door open behind him and she eased past him with her dress and he followed her meekly into the house. He was proud of it now: it was clean. They had never spoken of living anywhere else. What was his was hers. Her place, in town, she thought they eventually might put up for sale. There was much to think about that they had put off, kind of strange for Gordon to be putting things off, but he was more impulsive and less organized these days. He was also happy. He was now, she thought, remembering him both from before Allison’s death and after, set free at last, a ribbon in the wind.

  The ribbons were in the box. She began with them. Ruthie, her sister, would be here soon, and Rose laid out the bows and the ribbons on the dining room table for her sister to place here and there, inside and out. Why old man Jenkins had put up that clothes line in direct view of the best view of the land, Rose had no idea, but she and Gordon had not had enough time to take it all down, so Ruthie was instructed to dress it all up: winding ribbons round the poles and placing bows and streamers along the lines in the colors of this day. Green was the color of hope, she had explained to Gordon one evening; and gold was where they now were, their lives a bounty of riches. He had listened patiently, and Rose had decided that in fact he had not heard a word, but then the next day he had commented over their supper that he liked her colors and her reasons for them. She had extra ribbons. But now as they felt the wind whistling about their house, Rose wondered about how many of the bows and streamers would indeed survive their first hour out of doors. Ruthie would have to decide. Perhaps they all belonged indoors. Perhaps the wedding party would stand in the lee of the house on this bright, windy day, who could tell?