Page 29 of Junie

Chapter Twenty-Nine

The wedding preparations consume Junie’s days. From the moment her eyes open until she collapses to sleep at night, she is preparing food, washing linens, and sweeping walkways. Muh works day and night to repair Mrs. McQueen’s wedding dress for Violet to wear, while Bess rushes around the house to complete all the regular housework, plus wedding cleaning. Christmas celebrations are brushed aside to make way for the big event on New Year’s Eve, leaving only a two-week engagement. Despite the short time frame, Mrs. McQueen demands the best qualities of food, drinks, and hospitality to please and impress the limited guests. Junie longs to spit into the cake frosting, to sneeze onto the curing roast, and to lick the roasting vegetables.

Especially with the Taylors, the house is a fortress, leaving its vulnerable entrances sealed by their watchful eyes. Without Violet to protect her, there is no way to ensure Junie’s safety. She needs help getting into the house.

“Where’s Momma?” Bess asks, seeing only Junie standing at the cookhouse counter.

“She went around to the smokehouse,” Junie says.

Bess nods, turning toward the door. She is the only one with the access Junie needs to the house and its liquor cabinet. Bess is her only solid option. Junie sighs while she chops carrots at the thought, imagining Bess’s smug face when she asks her for a favor.

“Bess?” she calls, just before Bess disappears around the side of the doorframe.

“What you want?” she asks.

“Nothing, I just wanted to say hello, is all.”

“Now I know you want something. Go on, say it,” Bess says.

“All right, then. Well, I need to get into the house,” Junie says.

Bess raises her eyebrows.

“Queenie banned you from the house, from what I understand.”

Queenie. Interesting. Mrs. McQueen’s the one who banned her, not Violet. A lie starts to form in Junie’s mind.

“Yes, but it’s for Violet.”

“Miss Violet?”

“Her mother won’t let me in, but Violet and I—well, we’ve made up, and she’s on her head to have me at the wedding, but her momma won’t have it, even when she asked.”

Bess narrows her eyes. “You’re lying, Junie. I can tell you’re lying. I ain’t gettin’ involved in any foolishness you’re cookin’ up,” she says, starting to stomp away.

Junie curses under her breath.

“Bess, wait! Please!” Junie cries. Bess waves her hand in the air in dismissal.

“Bess! Bess! I met Uncle George! I met your daddy in Montgomery!”

The words are out of her mouth before she can catch them. Bess turns around, rushing at Junie in a torrent of whispered curses. She grabs her by the wrist, dragging her back into the empty cookhouse.

“What in the hell are you talkin’ about, Junie?” Bess hisses.

Junie steadies her shaking body. Bess’s eyes are a storm of rage and apprehension. And hope.

“It was when I was at the ball, in Montgomery,” Junie says. “I was dancing, and a man, Uncle George, he recognized me. Said I looked just like my momma.”

“My daddy’s dead, Junie. You’re tellin’ lies now.”

“Bess, it was him. He asked me about you, asked how his ‘Sweet Cake’ was doing. I didn’t know who he meant until he told me it was you.”

Bess’s mouth falls open. She sits down on the bench, her hands on her chest.

“Daddy? Daddy’s alive?”

“He lives just a ways up the river, someplace where all three rivers meet. And he’s free. Bess, he wants us all to come to him, to live.”

“Jesus in heaven,” she says, tears dripping down her cheeks. “Daddy’s alive.”

“That’s why I got to get into the house, I…have to fetch some things I used to keep up in Violet’s room,” Junie says. “Violet’s wedding night is the night the boat that can take us to him will come. We all only got one shot to make it.”

Bess sits, choked on her tears. “You…you haven’t told Momma, have you?” Bess asks.

“I…I thought it would give her too much hurt to know.”

“Good,” Bess whispers, rubbing her eyes on her kitchen rag. “So, what do you expect me to do?”

“Well, I was hoping you could convince the mistress to let me in? You know how she’s so fond of you.”

“Just because she’s fond of me don’t mean she listens.”

“Well, what if you pretended to be sick or something? Or hurt? So that I’d have to come in and help you? Pretend you hurt your ankle. We can make you a little splint or something, and you can walk with a limp. Nobody will ever know.”

Bess’s nose flares as she crosses her arms. “And then what?”

“And then, come nighttime, I’ll come to the cookhouse and fetch everybody.”

“How you know this is gonna work, Junie?” Bess asks.

“I don’t know, but it’s got to be worth a try, don’t it?”

“You…you really are a fool, you know that?” Bess says, looking up at her.

“Will you help me, Bess?”

Bess sighs, pressing her hands into her eyes. “It really was Daddy?”

Junie nods.

“I’ll…I’ll do my best.”

Junie’s eyes light up. She throws her arms around Bess in a hug.

“Thank you, cousin,” she says.

“I don’t need all that,” she says with a laugh, nudging Junie. “But you got to promise me. Promise me you won’t tell Momma. Not until we know we gonna make it. The knowing…it’ll kill her.”

“I won’t, I promise.”

“Now, get back to chopping before Momma sees you ain’t done yet. I’ll go find her in the smokehouse.”

Junie goes back to her station and resumes chopping, feeling for the first time in a while the warmth of hope.

—

Violet’s wedding is held in the rose garden on the afternoon of Monday, December 31, the last day of 1860. Uncle and Aunt Taylor travel from Montgomery, serving as Mr. Taylor’s family in place of his mother and father. Junie is forced to attend the ceremony with the other Negroes, made to stand in the cold on the side while the performance takes place.

The winter roses bloom pink and red among the barren thornbushes on either side of the altar. Mr. Taylor stands underneath the magnolia tree, wrapped in Spanish moss. He wears the same suit he wore at the Montgomery ball, and has the same frozen look of gentility on his face that he has since he arrived at Bellereine. The bell rings to start the ceremony, and Mr. McQueen walks in a straight line long enough to take his daughter down the aisle. He takes his seat next to the mistress, who is clad in a deep emerald, high-necked gown. Violet’s wedding dress is yellowed ivory with thick layers of lace along the neckline and sleeves, made in a style that would have been old-fashioned even when her mother wore it. With Muh’s tailoring, the dress glides along her figure elegantly, but even from far away, Junie can tell that Violet wants to rip the fabric off. Bess has done Violet’s hair, setting her red locks into a tightly pulled bun with two thick curls framing her pale face. Miss Taylor sits in the front row, her face obscured with a fan even in the freezing weather.

The vows are short and ordinary. The pastor calls them to kiss, and they do.

Violet becomes Mrs. Taylor for the rest of her life.

Junie’s plan has landed her a place in the house, to help with the service alongside Bess, who limps as she works the food service alongside Granddaddy and Caleb. Junie tends the bar, minding the bottles of wine and champagne, bringing any soiled linens and dishes to the kitchen to save Bess the trip with her supposed bad ankle. The white folks do not look at her, and she does her best not to look at them. For the first time, she does not want to overhear anything, instead wishing to stuff her ears with cotton to drown them out.

Her plans tonight are set. She’ll wait for the moment when the master’s illness takes hold, then she’ll run to the riverbank. She’s begun to store what she’ll need in her apron: a handful of nuts, some scraps of paper, and a few dollars. It isn’t much, but it might be enough to make her way. She will bring Caleb, of course, and Bess, as thanks for helping her. There will be room for Granddaddy and Muh, and she is sure Uncle George will be furious if she does not bring along Auntie Marilla, as well.

They will all come along as soon as she tells them, she reassures herself, over and over again.

They must.