Nancy Carson - Rags to Riches

The cheer from the family turned into a rousing chorus of ‘Happy Birthday to You’, then more cheers and shouts of ‘Speech!’

‘Twenty-one is a person’s coming of age,’ Will went on after his further request to be heard had been heeded. ‘It’s that time in a young person’s life when she is considered an adult, considered to be of an age, at last, when she can be independent. She can come and go as she pleases – within reason – which is why she is traditionally handed the key of the door…’

‘She’s already got the key to our door,’ Henzey remarked.

‘It is a time when she doesn’t have to seek permission from her parents to get married, if marriage is on the agenda. It is a time when she can sign up to any legal binding contract. In short, it’s a time of freedom from the constraints of parental discipline. However, I have got to know Maxine a little better since she’s been living here with Henzey and me, and I believe she is not one to abuse such freedoms. She’s sensible, level-headed…and, incidentally, far too modest about the exceptional talent she has. So…before we all shower her with gifts and congratulate her, let’s make her sing for her supper…’ Will grinned roguishly. ‘Maxine, I’m well aware that your cello playing has done you proud recently, but some of us here consider your piano playing worth a listen. So would you like to take the stool and play?’

Maxine blushed, giggling with embarrassment while Joe moved clumsily away from the piano. ‘What on earth shall I play?’ she asked as she sat down.

‘How about ‘Clair de Lune?’’ Henzey suggested. ‘That’s one of my favourites.’

‘Okay. There’s this nice romantic passage…’

Debussy’s inspired music flowed easily, melodically through Maxine’s fingers, while everyone listened in attentive silence. She played the section tenderly, demonstrating an accomplishment beyond her years. It never crossed her mind to wonder if anybody knew how difficult it was; the long hours of practice needed to play well; the dedication. Yet, it was clear for all to see that Maxine had a natural gift since she could play two instruments with such apparent finesse.

‘Play something modern,’ Herbert, her brother, cried when the piece was finished. ‘We’ve had enough classical for one night.’

‘You and Pansy play that Fats Waller thing,’ Stephen suggested.

‘Oh, yes. I know,’ Maxine replied, glad of a prompt. ‘ “Whose Honey Are You”. Come on, Pansy. Will you play on this one?’

Pansy took the piano stool and began to play. Immediately, the compulsive rhythm had everybody’s feet tapping. But even more of a surprise than the piano playing of either girl, was Maxine’s singing as she leaned against the piano. Nobody had ever heard her sing before.

‘Do “Stormy Weather”,’ Stephen called. ‘You know – that one by Ethel Waters.’

Pansy played the introduction and Maxine launched into the song, using the same soft vocal technique, mimicking the style of Ethel Waters. This American music was unfamiliar to most of them, since few such records were available and they listened to few on the wireless, but everyone was stunned silent by Maxine’s vocal dexterity.

‘More, Maxine!’ Will called when it was finished. ‘That was great. Do you know any more?’

‘They could go on half the night, I daresay,’ Jesse answered.

‘Isn’t that enough?’ Maxine asked at the end of it, effervescing with her success and enjoying the attention she was getting. ‘Can’t I have my presents now?’

‘One more,’ Herbert called.

‘Yes, one more,’ Will echoed.

‘ Then can I have my presents?’

They all agreed she could.

‘Okay. Well here’s one for Jesse. Mom would have asked me to play it, I know…’

Pansy vacated the piano stool when it was obvious that Maxine wanted to accompany herself this time. She launched into a compulsively rhythmic, ‘My Very Good Friend the Milkman’.

‘Oh, very appropriate,’ Jesse the dairyman remarked to Lizzie with a wry grin.

‘Cheeky madam,’ her mother declared, watching and listening with profound pride. ‘She told me she’d get a job playing piano and singing in a pub if she had to,’ she whispered to Jesse, ‘but I never realised she’d be this good. She’s come on a bundle since she left home.’

It was obvious that most of the folk present would have allowed Maxine to play and sing for them all night, but Will brought the impromptu concert to a close.

‘Maxine,’ he said, and raised his glass. ‘God bless you and your wonderful talent. Here’s to your future success and happiness. Congratulations and many happy returns of the day.’ He drank, and everybody followed his example. ‘Now…I understand that one or two of us have gifts for you…’

Henzey stepped forward before anyone else. ‘Congratulations, our Maxine. Many happy returns.’ She took her youngest sister’s hand and kissed her on the cheek before pointing to the large but beautifully wrapped parcel lying on the floor that had puzzled Maxine since their return. ‘That’s from Will and me.’

‘Am I supposed to open it now?’

‘Of course.’

She stooped down and fumbled with the wrapping, to reveal a portable gramophone. She gasped with genuine delight, stood up and kissed Will, thanking him profusely, then Henzey. ‘I never imagined…’

‘Consider yourself lucky,’ Henzey said good-humouredly. ‘I would have bought you a vacuum sweeper so you could help with the housework, but Will thought a gramophone might be more appropriate.’

When she’d unwrapped a gold watch, a leather writing case, a silver-plated photograph frame and an elaborately carved wooden music stand, Stephen stepped forward. Maxine was expecting an item of jewellery he’d designed. He handed her a small thin case that she guessed must contain a necklace of some sort and, when she opened it, saw that it was indeed a string of pearls with matching pearl earrings.

‘Thank you, Stephen,’ she said with obvious delight and kissed him on the cheek. ‘But you shouldn’t have done.’

‘I…er…I have this as well, Maxine,’ he said unsurely, and handed her a small cube, wrapped in fancy gilt paper.

She looked at it apprehensively. It could be a ring but she dearly hoped it was not. He’d already said he’d had an idea for a design. Warily she regarded him, hoping that she was wrong.

She said, ‘Thank you, Stephen. I think I’ll open this one later.’

‘No, you must open it now, Maxine,’ Henzey chided. ‘It would be very ungracious not to open it now.’

She was aware of somebody else saying, ‘Yes, you must,’ and she hesitated.

‘Please open it, Maxine,’ Stephen said softly, earnestness brimming from his eyes.

She looked at him again, a look that was a mix of compassion and admonishment, and fumbled as she tried to locate the join in the wrapping. Perhaps it was only a dress ring – nothing to get worked up about; or just another pair of earrings. She removed the wrapping paper, screwed it into a ball and gingerly opened the ivory coloured box. At once she shut it again, unsmiling. She was disappointed, angry and embarrassed simultaneously and Stephen was watching for her reaction, looking apprehensive.

After her initial silence, some pressed her to tell them what it was.

Stephen obliged them. ‘It’s a ring,’ he announced.

‘An engagement ring?’ somebody queried.

He shrugged, unsure of himself. He had intended it as such.

‘Congratulations, Maxine,’ her brother peeled. ‘You must be thrilled.’

She wanted to say I’m not thrilled at all , but she could not. She wanted to say that Stephen had got a real nerve trying to pull this off in front of all her family; that it was all a big misunderstanding and she was not engaged. But she could not utter a word. She could neither defend herself, nor leave Stephen open to embarrassment by an outright refusal. As her confusion mounted along with her uncertainty as to how she ought really to respond, the congratulations began to flow along with pats on the back, hugs, kisses and best wishes for their future happiness.