Helen’s eyes blur back to blue.
She bends to open a drawer. Christine, I knew
when you told me to hide my jewelry
I’d forget where I put it. Helen reaches
under rolled stockings and gloves
to pull out a necklace. She laughs,
as if no one had heard accusation
flicker over her tongue. I wasn’t hiding
it from thieves. But such trinkets are forbidden
in school so they don’t cause trouble.
My father gave me a necklace, too. Edmonia stands
straight as a guest alert to hints she’s stayed too long.
It was made of garnets. You can find them
near the river. I’ll put those pearls in your hair.
She twists them through smooth strands. Helen flinches
and sips from a china cup painted with roses,
then purses her lips. The cider is sour.
Did you put something in this?
Spices, Christine says. And a bit of something
my Albert says will make you fuss less about what’s proper.
Like Cleopatra’s love potions? Helen swallows.
She had to lure suitors? Christine asks. I thought
she was beautiful, clever, and rich.
She wanted men on the wrong side. Romans
kneeling at her feet, feeding her peeled grapes.
I expect that wasn’t all they were doing.
Christine pours more cider in their cups.
Didn’t she murder her brother and sister?
They say “assassinate” in history class, Helen says.
But yes. And she put poison in a rival city’s water.
Nobody rules by being kind, Christine says.
Didn’t she kill herself? Like Romeo and Juliet?
She didn’t poison herself because of love gone wrong,
Helen says. Rome was invading her country.
Her maids snuck in an asp curled among figs in a basket.
Why would she kill herself?
If the Romans won, they’d mock and chain her.
Maybe put her in prison.
Helen picks up the mirror again.
You can’t really see the pearls.
They must have looked better on Cleopatra,
white pearls and black hair together.
She had black hair? Christine asks.
Of course, she was queen of Egypt. I forgot
that’s in Africa. But who cares where she lived?
You two can laugh, but my Albert doesn’t mind
that I’m no genius in geography. He and I
will get cozy in the back of the sleigh. Helen, you can
recite all your daffodils and nightingales and shores
of Gitche Gumee, while Seth minds the horses.
You’re riding with Seth?
Edmonia blurts out, He likes me!
Don’t be foolish, Helen says.
Christine makes a sound like a laugh. That’s all
my father needs to hear: a romance
between a white boy and a colored girl.
Edmonia hears a cup settle on the table.
Have more. Don’t. Stop. Listen.
Outside, sleigh runners scrape packed snow.