“Who do you think is handsomer?” Rose mused and twirled her parasol, “Ronald Colman or Wash Peacock?”
“I don’t know.” Evelyn shrugged. “They’re entirely different types.”
Rose sighed. “I just can’t picture Wash Peacock and Sister getting married.”
“Grace Elizabeth? And Wash?” Evelyn raised her eyebrows. “I didn’t know that.”
“I did,” Francine said.
“I thought everybody knew,” Rose groaned. “Can you imagine it? Sister and Wash? It’s like Beauty and the Beast.”
“I don’t think Wash is a beast,” Francine protested. “He doesn’t have much of a personality, but I don’t think he’s mean or anything.”
“I meant it the other way ’round.” Rose sighed.
“They don’t seem to have much in common,” Evelyn agreed. “Why did they decide to get married?”
“They didn’t,” Rose said. “Daddy didn’t want an old maid in the family. Sister’s twenty-six, you know, and never has had a beau. So Daddy fixed it up with Wash’s daddy.”
“Was it all right with Grace Elizabeth?” Evelyn frowned, well aware of Judge Willet’s tyranny over his wife and three daughters.
Rose lifted her eyebrows. “Why wouldn’t it be? How else could a Plain Jane like Sister get somebody as gorgeous as Wash Peacock?”
“That wasn’t exactly what I meant,” Evelyn said softly. She suddenly had a feeling of sadness. The thought of gentle, shy, intelligent Grace Elizabeth with Wash Peacock, who always reminded her of a big, beautiful, dumb stallion, was depressing. But there was nothing she could do about it, and it might work out. The fact that they were such opposites might be to the benefit of both. And Francine was right; Wash wasn’t mean. If he would be kind to Grace Elizabeth, it might work out.
“You’re just jealous, Rose,” Francine smirked.
“Jealous?” Rose snorted and her parasol spun. “Wash Peacock may be about the handsomest man in the county, but he’s also the dullest. When he comes to call on Sister, he just sits like a lump. When he does talk, it’s always about the farm: the milo is doing poorly this year, the corn has a blight, the oats only came to four bushels an acre, the harrow broke. I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t even know the name of the President of the United States. It’s enough to make you climb the wall. I wouldn’t marry Wash on a bet.” A sly smile crept across her lips and she twiddled the parasol handle. “Of course, I wouldn’t mind being Sister on their wedding night.”
Francine gasped and sniggered, putting her hands over her face to hide her blush. “Rose Willet, you’re terrible!”
Rose rolled her eyes.
Suddenly Jack Spain’s excited yells floated through the thick air, shaking it, quaking it, trembling and quivering it, stirring the town like sediment in the bottom of a warm pond. The girls craned their necks and hurried back toward the main street. The old men sitting in the shade of the sycamore trees looked up from their whittling and shuffled toward the sound. Mr. Bowen and Sonny stepped out of the drugstore and peered down the street. People appeared at the doors of shops and houses, shading their eyes against the sunlight.
A black Model-T Ford chugged from the alley that ran behind the Majestic and clattered past the girls. Louis Ortiz smiled and tipped his hat. Francine giggled.
“Who was that?” Evelyn asked, watching the car move away.
“I don’t know,” Rose frowned. “He must be with Haverstock’s Traveling whatchamacallit.” Her lips pursed into a smile and her eyes narrowed in Francine’s direction. “He sure was good looking, though. Didn’t you think so, Francine?”
Francine blushed.
Jack Spain and Quicksilver appeared around the corner where the pavement ended and the county road began. He bounced and yelled and waved his hat as if the old horse were running with the wind instead of plodding along at her normal plowing speed.
Folks left their houses and shops and stood beside the road, stretching their necks, trying to see around the corner. Women, interrupted in their chores, dried their hands on cup towels and found themselves still holding spoons damp with soup. They carried half-bathed babies and half-darned socks and grinned at each other, delighting in the unexpected break in their routine.
Finney ran to Jack, his bare feet popping as they hit the pavement. Dozens of yelling, shrieking children appeared from nooks and crannies and hidey-holes, converging on Jack. They jumped and hopped and screamed in pure physical release, some of them not even knowing what was happening, but suspecting that it must be something truly stupendous.
Jack stopped the horse, threw his leg up and forward, and slid from her back. He and Finney talked excitedly, glancing back at the bend in the road.
The wagons turned the corner abruptly. Finney and Jack ran toward them, trailing a wake of shrill children and barking dogs. Quicksilver wandered into the Whittaker yard and delicately began to nibble the petunias.
The girls strolled casually toward the painted wagons, letting it be known their interest was incredibly slight.
The children and dogs surrounded the wagons like rampaging Indians. The roustabouts driving the teams ignored them with lofty indifference and boredom.
Suddenly the rear of the last wagon folded open with a clatter to reveal a calliope, red and gold and shining in the sun. Steam hissed from the valves. It began to play; raucously, gloriously, with festive blasts of sound. And no one was at the keyboard.
“Oooh!” Francine breathed, her eyes round, when the first wagon passed them. “Look at those scary eyes!” The eyes seemed to focus on her even as it moved past. She quickly looked away.
“I’d hate to meet him on a dark night, all right,” Rose agreed. She turned her gaze to the second wagon. “I don’t know if he’s magic or not, but he sure is gorgeous.”
“He’s even prettier than Ronald Colman,” Francine said with awe. “Prettier than Ronald Colman and Wash Peacock put together.”
Evelyn looked at the picture of Angel the Magic Boy speculatively, letting her eyes follow it as the wagon moved by.
“I know all about the Minotaur,” Rose said complacently. “You’d better stay away from him, Francine.”
“What? What?” Francine hissed, trying not to look at the picture of a heavily muscled man wearing only a brief loincloth, with the head and hoofs of a bull.
Rose winked at Evelyn and leaned over to whisper in Francine’s ear. Francine’s eyes grew steadily larger and her mouth formed a small circle. “Oh, Rose, you’re so wicked.” She blushed.
“Come on, Francine,” Rose growled.
“You only have to worry if you’re a virgin,” Evelyn said in spite of herself.
“Evelyn Bradley! You’re worse than Rose!”
“Boys, too, remember,” Rose said, nodding sagely.
“Well,” Francine said, blushing so hard her ears were ringing, “I suppose if only virgins have to worry, you and Evie are safe?”
“She’s got us there, Rose,” Evelyn laughed.
“I’ll never tell,” Rose said, trying to look worldly.
“Rose!”
“Oh, Francine!”
Evelyn was laughing so hard she staggered.
“That mermaid is probably some poor old dead fish in a jar of alcohol,” Rose pronounced skeptically.
“But the poster said they’re all alive,” Francine protested.
“Oh, Francine,” Rose growled.
Francine began to giggle.
“What’s the matter with you?” Rose asked with faint disgust.
“A half man, half woman,” Francine sputtered. “I mean… he… she… it… wouldn’t have to…” She broke down completely.
Rose simply growled and turned back to see the picture of a beautiful woman with long silver hair. She rested in a nest of massive reptilian coils, the scales dwindling to pale flesh just below her navel. “A snake goddess! An invisible woman!” She pouted. “How gullible do they think we are, anyway? Medusa! I mean, really. If they had Medusa, they’d all have been turned to stone ages ago!”