84 Ribbons (25 page)

Lynne yawned. “Just what I need; a hearty meal before I flop into bed.”

After dinner, Lynne yammered on and on about rehearsals. Marta visualized each dance, wishing she could lift out of the wheelchair to perform a simple series of
balancés
. Embroidering costumes paid a few bills, but costumes were window dressing and had little to do with the art of dancing. Most dancers would wear black leotards and be content, as long as they could dance.

“News flash,” Lynne said. “Madame’s threatening to look for replacements before audition season begins. She’s so steamed at you and Bartley that she paces and talks about loyalty and respect and people risking their careers. But you’ll prove her wrong when you come back next season. I’m anxious to watch her eat her words. I’ll bring the ketchup.” 

Bartley began calling Marta and Lynne Sunday afternoons at Marta’s. The girls sat close, sharing one phone, comparing their weeks, and talking ballet.

“Is Madame still mad about me leaving?” Bartley said.

Lynne laughed. “Almost never comes up, just every day. Calls you a disloyal, ungrateful girl, but doesn’t mention your name.”

“Oh, guys, I’m sorry, but only because of you. I loved it here the minute I arrived. The ballet mistress is nothing like Madame. She treats us like Damien does, as human beings. I belong here; so do you.”

“Don’t worry. Marta and I are fine. Hey, do you really have room for us to come visit?”

Bartley laughed. “The entire company could move in and there’d still be empty space.”

“Has Steve called you?” Marta said.

“He left a message with the butler, but I haven’t seen him yet. I’m sure he’s busy settling in. It will be nice to see a familiar face from Billings.”

“Too bad you’re not here, Bartley,” Lynne said. “My aunt has a brainy idea. She wants us to give ballet lessons to the little girls in her church’s after school club starting in March. Looks like Marta and I will have to do it without you.”

“That sounds fun. But where will you meet?” Bartley asked.

“Wait. Lynne, when were you going to tell me?” Marta said.

“I just did,” Lynne said. “Tomorrow, I’ll ask Madame about using a small practice room. What could it hurt?”

The next evening Lynne paced Marta’s bedroom as she relayed her encounter with Madame. “You’d think I’d asked her to pay us more money or make us prima ballerinas next week. I thought she’d have a heart attack. Her face got blotchy, and I thought the mole on her face might burst.” Lynne crossed her arms and lifted her chin. “And, I quote... ‘We can’t let you in and out whenever you
feel
like dancing or giving lessons.’ I couldn’t think of anything more to say, so I backed out of her office.”

“Ouch.” Marta wheeled to the window in her bedroom and turned her chair to face Lynne. “I’ve got an idea. And Madame won’t have anything to say about it.”

Mrs. B. stood by the kitchen sink scraping carrots. Marta watched the easy way she kept the peeler moving down and around each carrot.

“Having a good day, Marta?”

“Kinda. I need to ask you something. If you say no I’ll understand.”

Mrs. B. stopped peeling and turned to face her.

“Is there any way Lynne and I could use my basement studio space to teach ballet lessons? Lynne’s aunt supports the after school program at her church. She thought ballet lessons would interest some of the girls, but Madame said no to our using a rehearsal room.”

“I bet she did.” Mrs. B. wiped her hands on her apron. “So, what’s your plan?”

“The church bus will bring the girls here twice a week at a quarter after four and pick them up at five-thirty. When Lynne has late rehearsals or performances, the lessons will be canceled.”

Mrs. B. turned back to the sink. Marta watched her pick up another carrot and continue peeling.

“When would it start?”

“The first part of March. The girls would be supervised at all times, even going to the bathroom.”

Mrs. B. turned to Marta with a grin. “Sounds good to me. The girls may use my private bathroom. But I have two questions: will they need a snack, and do you and Lynne get paid?”

“The girls will have a snack before they arrive, and Mrs. Meadows said we’d get a small stipend. We could share it with you.”

“No, no, dear. I wanted to be certain you two women were paid for your time and your skills. And seeing a happy face on you will be wonderful.”

“It will be fun. Thanks, Mrs. B.”

Marta wheeled plates and silverware to the dining area. Carol sat by the bay window with a book in her lap. Seeing her brought up one last question. On her return to the kitchen, Marta approached Mrs. B. “What about the boarders?”

Mrs. B. smiled. “I’ll handle Carol.”

Marta called Lynne from the downstairs phone as soon as Carol headed up the stairs. “Mrs. B. sounds as excited as we are.”

“Good,” Lynne said. “Let’s plan it out tomorrow.”

The following evening, Lynne joined the boarders for dinner. Marta caught Carol eyeing Lynne at regular intervals. It didn’t appear that Carol knew about the arrangement yet.

After dinner, Lynne and Marta disappeared into Marta’s room and closed the door. Lynne lounged on the bed while Marta sat in the wheelchair with a tablet on her lap. “How shall we start?”

“Like we do, with
barre
exercises,” Lynne said. “They’ll need to wear shorts and undershirts so we can see their bodies until they get leotards. I’d hate for them to start bad habits. My aunt will buy what we need. I’ll have her pick up rug samples for them to sit on, plus scarves and beach balls for movement activities.”

“I’ll make totes,” Marta said. “We can ask the church auxiliary to purchase ballet slippers once we know if the girls are interested.”

While Lynne continued to throw out ideas, Marta absentmindedly opened a box beside her nightstand and took out a pair of scissors and four old
pointe
shoes. She cut off the ribbons and rolled them up.

“More ribbons?”

“I just found these in a bag in my closet. They may be the last ribbons I’ll ever have.”

“Come on, Marta. Don’t talk like that. If you don’t believe you’ll recover, who will?”

Lynne had a good point. She needed to stay positive. She closed the box and shoved it under the bed.

At nine-thirty Lynne stretched and grabbed her coat. “We have enough to get started. Let’s decide records later. I doubt the girls will appreciate Shorty’s
Overture of 1812.
This may be the kick in the
derrière
you need. I’m tired of coming over to find you all gloomy about dancing and Steve and Bartley and getting fat.”

“By then I’ll be out of this cast, so getting to the basement will be easier.”

Lynne put her hand on the doorknob. “If it weren’t for you and Mrs. B., we couldn’t do this.” Lynne bowed. “Thank you, Miss Selbryth.”

As Lynne turned the knob, footsteps scuttled away. She closed the door and stepped close to Marta. “We have a spy in the hall. Let’s make up an outlandish idea to entertain snoopy Miss Carol.”

“Naw. She’s not worth the time and energy.”

Excitement over working with the girls raced through Marta. The next morning, after Friday’s breakfast dishes were done, Marta placed an early call to Bartley, trying to catch her before she left for practice. The phone rang and rang.

“Hello?” A man answered.

Marta didn’t speak.

“Hello?”

She set the phone back in its cradle. Her spirit sank into the floor. Steve answered the phone. He must have been there all night.

Her hands were shaking as she wheeled to her room. He’d played with her emotions, and she’d almost fallen for it. How could he? She decided to bake bread to fill her mind and her hands with activity.

Minutes later she banged bread dough against the kitchen worktable. Thunk. Steve stayed at Bartley’s all night?
Thunk. What had she been, a naive girl to laugh about? Thunk. Her heartache promised to linger.

The dough looked
overworked. She stopped, wiped her hands and wheeled to the back porch. The unseasonably cool morning soothed her overheated face.

The phone rang. She ignored it.

“Marta? Phone call.”

Mrs. B.’s voice jangled in her ears. She turned back inside and took the call.

“Hey, Marta,” Lynne said.“ No practice today. The Valentine Festival starts today in Livingston. We’re going. I’ll be there by half past ten. We need a change of scenery.”

Marta focused on the countryside west of Billings, too embarrassed to tell Lynne about hearing Steve’s voice on Bartley’s phone. Lynne would tell her to stop leaping to conclusions. Right now, she wanted to forget most everything and everyone.

“You’re quiet today, Marta. Got a lot on your mind?”

“No. There’s nothing I want to say right now.”

“Right.”

“I can’t talk about it, okay?”

“Okay.” Lynne pulled into the play field parking lot. ”Now, Miss Selbryth, we are going to wander around. So hang on to your wheelchair handles and expect a few bumps. We’re going to have a good time, even if it kills us.”

The trip proved to be exactly what Marta needed to keep her mind busy. The community center had rows of tables displaying a sea of handmade afghans, quilts, preserves, and crafts. Lynne wheeled Marta past every exhibit. They shared chili with corn bread and sat people-watching.

Marta loved the way people acted happy, gave each other flowers, and sent out cards declaring their love. One elderly couple worked together in a woodcraft booth. Marta couldn’t keep her eyes off the way they touched hands and shared private smiles. Her mom didn’t have the chance to grow old with her dad. Maybe Robert would be there for her. She wondered what it would be like to share her life with someone, especially Steve. Too late for that. He’d moved on to share his life with someone more sophisticated.

Returning to the boarding house, she ate her traditional Saturday dinner a day early: a spoonful of peanut butter, but she skipped the bread and jam. She moved to the common room to finish the costume embroidery.

Every stitch became a stab. While she sat sewing, Steve was no doubt entertaining Bartley in a posh club, laughing all huddled together, then dancing cheek to cheek. She and Steve had never danced.

When she looked at her embroidery, the tight, angry stitches puckered the material. Now she’d need to redo everything.

The phone rang. Marta answered, “Belvern Boarding House.”

“Marta? Hi, it’s Steve.”

“Who?”

“Very funny. Happy Valentine’s Day. I miss you so much. I’m sorry I didn’t call earlier.”

“That’s okay. Lynne and I were out most of the afternoon.”

“I’ve been on assignment. I hardly remember my own name. Got back late Thursday, then Bartley asked me to drive her to the airport early this morning. It’s been hectic.”

“You drove Bartley to the airport? Why?”

“She had a family emergency. Flew home for a few days. She asked me to tell you.”

Marta felt the pressure in her chest float away. So that was what had happened. “Did she give you any reason at all?”

“No. She’ll probably fill in the details once she’s back. It must be serious. She looked tired and even thinner than I remember. She worries about things even more than you do.”

Marta couldn’t think of what to say next, so she sat waiting for Steve to pick up the conversation. The phone line hummed with silence.

“Marta, are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Tell me about your week.”

Steve rattled on and on about security and inspections for his trip onto a military base. “You’d have thought we were trying to carry
in
weapons the way they checked us. I wish you could have seen me. I feared they’d kick us out, so I didn’t crack a single joke.”

“Good thinking.”

“How did your week go, Marta?”

“Nothing new.”

More silence hummed on the phone. Steve tapped his mouth piece.  “Marta? Are you sure you’re okay?“

“I’m fine. But, Steve, I’ve got to go.”

“OK. I’ll call you tomorrow night. Sweet dreams. Think of me.”

“Sure. Night.” After hanging up, she placed a collect call home to surprise her mom.

“Will you accept collect charges from Marta?” the operator asked.

“Yes. Hello?” answered a baritone voice.

Hearing a man’s voice surprised Marta. “Is my mom there?”

“She’s got the flu and she’s sleeping right now. I’m Robert Marsden, Elle’s friend. May I take a message?”

“Yes, thanks. Wish her happy Valentine’s Day.”

“I will. I’ll tell her you called. She’ll call you when she’s feeling better.”

Marta’s loneliness turned to sadness, then concern. Maybe she should have gone home to keep her mom company. No, Robert took over
that
job. What help could she be from a wheelchair anyway?

As she moved to her bedroom window, tiny snowflakes drifted down. In minutes a wind whipped up, changing them to a wild blur. Another storm passing through. That would keep Lynne holed up; she hated to drive in snow.

Marta imagined the icy flakes glancing off her cheeks and dropping onto her out-stretched tongue. In reality she was stuck inside with no hope of escape.

The front doorbell rang. Marta heard quiet laughter, then footsteps in the hall and a knock on her door.

“Come in,” she said as she ran her hands through her hair.

Steve walked in.

22

M
arta gasped. “I thought you were out of town.”

“I was, but I wanted to be with you for Valentine’s Day.” Steve closed her door with a quiet click.

“But you called me.”

“From the Billings airport. We landed before the storm blew up. Did I surprise you?”

Marta saw Steve’s smile change to a quizzical look as she started to cry.

“Hey, don’t cry.” He tossed his overcoat on her bed and knelt beside her wheelchair.

She wiped her eyes and stared at his face. “I’ve missed you so much.”

He touched her hair, moving it away from her face and kissed her forehead. “Good! That’s the welcome I’d hoped for.”

“I...I’m glad you’re here. I’ve been... Did I say hi?”