Jacqueline Kelly - The Evolution of Calpurnia Tate

How to describe it? It looked like speed incarnate, its every line carved by the wind. There were the shining brass appointments, the gracefully curved mudflap, the tufted black leather seat. And there was my own grandfather sitting on that seat, peering intently at the steering wheel as if mesmerized. A tall man sat in the machine next to him, shouting in his ear and gesturing at the controls. He turned out to be the owner, and Granddaddy was offering him cash on the spot for the machine—twice what he’d paid, then three times, then five times—but the tall man would not sell at any price. I wormed my way up to the auto-mobile and tugged on Granddaddy’s coat as the owner shouted “Sorry! She’s not for sale!” and climbed out of the machine.

Granddaddy saw me and then spoke again with the owner and pointed at me. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but Granddaddy was claiming me as his own, and so a second later the tall man lifted me up and placed me on the seat next to my grandfather. The crowd evidently liked this from the buzzing cheer it sent up, increasing the din to an unbelievable level. The noise momentarily stunned me, and all I could think about was that the backs of my legs were sticking to the leather and I needed to pull my dress down over my knees. But a second later someone whisked me out of the car and set me back on the ground. Granddaddy climbed out the other side, and the tall man nodded at two more bystanders, who scrambled to take our places. There was no question of driving the thing; it was an overwhelming experience to merely sit in it, to see it and touch it, to be in its presence, even at rest.

Granddaddy took me by the hand, and we began our struggle back to the entrance. The noise and the smoke and the press of people made me lightheaded and limpsy. I thought, Right, I’m going to see what it feels like to faint after all, but if I faint in here I’ll have to do it standing up because there’s nowhere to fall. That might be a first. At the moment when I thought I couldn’t stand it anymore, we pushed outside and stood panting in the fresh air.

I puffed, “You tried to buy the machine, didn’t you?”

“He would not sell at any price, and I don’t blame him,” he said. “We have to hurry home. I must write—no, telephone—the Duryea factory in Massachusetts and place an order at once. The internal combustion engine. Think of it! The power of four horses!”

“I don’t feel so well,” I said. “I think I’ll rest awhile. You go on ahead.”

Granddaddy peered at me, saying, “You look flushed. Are you sure you’re all right?”

“It’s the smoke. I’m fine,” I said feebly as the world went black and I pitched over backward.

Now, FAINTING. There’s a subject I’d always wondered about. The heroines in books seemed to faint a lot, swaying genteelly onto a handy padded couch or into the convenient arms of some concerned suitor. These heroines were always willowy and managed to land in graceful postures of repose, and were revived with the merest passing of a decorated flagon of smelling salts under their noses.

I, on the other hand, apparently went over like a felled ox and was lucky to land on the grass and avoid cracking my head open. What brought me to was not the whiff of smelling salts but a half bucket of cold water thrown in my face. I opened my eyes and looked up at the sky. A ring of faces peered down at me. How blue the sky is, I thought. And look, there goes a cirrus cloud, it looks like Bunny’s fur, and why are all my family staring at me like that, and which one of my stupid brothers is throwing water on me?

“Pet, pet, can you hear me?” Harry’s voice came from a long way off.

I located his face, which for some odd reason was undulating, and croaked, “Sure I can, Harry.”

Next to Harry I saw Fern Spitty. She was vibrating strangely, her enormous hat blocking out a good part of the horizon. And even though I had seen her half a dozen times before, I said dreamily, “Hello. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.” For this I got another half bucket of water in the face.

All right, enough of that. I pushed myself up and shook water from my face like a wet dog and glared at the circle around me. Granddaddy took my wrist and felt my pulse. “Calpurnia,” he said, “what is the order of the spider commonly known as daddy longlegs?”

“Opiliones,” I said tartly.

“Very good,” he said. “I believe she is coming around.”

“Stop that water,” I said to the circle at large.

Next to Granddaddy were Travis and Sam Houston. I couldn’t see a bucket anywhere. No doubt one of them was holding it behind his back. Then of course there followed a big foofaraw about getting me to my feet and slapping the grass off me and getting me a lemonade and putting me into a borrowed gig to get me home. It wasn’t far, but no one would let me walk. Mother and Father weren’t to be found, so Harry drove, and Fern came along for the ride.

The fresh air blowing across my face as we trotted smartly home made me feel worlds better. The attention was welcome at first but then quickly became oppressive as I perked up.

Viola met us at the door, took one look at me, and said, “Lord, what now, Mister Harry?”

I didn’t think there was any need for her to take that tone, especially in front of a visitor.

“It’s nothing, Viola,” I said with great dignity. “I fainted, that’s all. You need not concern yourself with me.”

“She’s fine, Viola,” said Harry. “It was smoky and hot in the tent. Let us sit down. Miss Spitty, do you care for a cup of tea? Perhaps a glass of cold lemonade?”

Well, Miss Spitty thought a cup of tea would be delightful, and Viola went off to make it. We sat in the parlor and looked at each other. I searched her face closely and found her expression entirely lacking in the grasping quality that Minerva Goodacre had displayed. Miss Spitty had strawberry blond hair, which was definitely unfashionable, but I found it a beautiful color. Her complexion was a faint pink, and her eyes were a light blue, and although she gave an overall impression of paleness and delicacy, her alert expression and mobile features saved her from looking insipid. Compared with the odious Miss Goodacre, she stood up well. Perhaps I would have to bestow my approval on her after all. Everyone would be greatly relieved. She smiled at me. I smiled at her. The clock ticked on the mantel.

Viola came back in with a tray of the best china and set it down. She looked at me. “Miz Calpurnia,” she said.

“What?”

“I think it’s time for you to go rest. After you fainting and all.”

“I feel all right.”

“I think,” said Viola, “it’s time for you to go rest.”

“I’d like some tea,” I said.

“I think,” she said, “it’s time. Right. Now.”

“Oh.”

“I’ll get you tea in your room,” she said.

“Okay.” Unwanted again. Still, the idea of curling up with Treasure Island and a cold cloth wasn’t such a bad one. I left the parlor to the accompaniment of the inviting clash of crockery and the light tinkle of teaspoons, and went upstairs. SanJuanna brought me a pitcher of cool water and a fresh towel. Viola came up later carrying a tray set with the second-best china as a peace offering for my banishment.

She said, “You be careful with this tray. If you break one thing—”

“You don’t have to tell me that.”

She put the tray down and inspected my ribbon, which I’d put on my dresser.

“You got you a prize,” she said. “How did that happen?”

“How do you think it happened?” I said grumpily.

“The judges was all blind peoples?”

“Ha ha.”