THE HOUSE OF WOMEN, BERNICE54 [red white royal blue TXT] 📗

THE HOUSE OF WOMEN

The morning air was cold; the wind icy, but Daisy didn’t mind as she breathed in the scent of the pine trees that grew at the bottom of the garden near the river. Her mother shivered and asked to go back indoors. ‘Those trees frighten me. Their dark shapes seem to swallow the whole sky,’ she said.

Inside the house it was warm and smelled of dust and forgotten lives. This house was a woman’s house and Daisy supposed it always would be as only she, her sister Yolandie and their mother lived in it. Once there’d been a man, her father, but her ma said he’d died before she was born. Although a few of his hats still hung on the hat-stand in the entrance hall, there wasn’t even a photo to at least see what he’d looked like.

All Daisy knew about him were the stories her mother told. And as she’d grown older, Daisy was convinced that her ma made up most of the tales. Imagine, her father being the one to find the coelacanth?

Yolandie challenged their mother and said how could a man who was afraid of water and had never learned to swim, catch a fish. She’d laughed, ‘And not just any old fish mind you, oh no that would've been far too ordinary for the likes of him to catch a yellow-tail or even a snoek!'
'Ja,’ said Yolandie, ‘The marvellous Cedric Venter managed to catch one of the world's rarest salt-water fishes right here, right here in our very own river in the backyard!’

Daisy didn't know much about coelacanths or anything else for that matter, but what she did know for certain is that her sister had a point. Once they'd watched a programme on television where it said the strange fish was only found in the deepest part of the ocean.

Their mother had been distraught by Yolandie’s outburst. She’d sat in her armchair beside the piano and cried silent sobs. Her overly-mascaraed lashes made her tears black as they rolled down her sagging cheeks.

‘I remember him well,’ murmured Yolandie, her thin face, paler than usual. ‘I was ten when he … when he died …’

Their mother put her hands to her head, ‘I don’t want to remember – it gives me a headache, like a cold fire burning through my head.’

From a young age, Daisy had learned to block out Yolandie and their mother’s histrionics; she picked up a magazine from the coffee table and turned to the page where people placed advertisements looking for pen-pals, some even for love. Her heart raced; she’d answered one a few weeks earlier and was expecting a reply any day now.

Daisy's delight hadn't been lost on Yolandie who suddenly stopped taunting their mother and asked, ‘Are you keeping a secret?’

Not much escaped her sister's watchful eye thought Daisy as she quickly replaced the magazine and replied, 'No, how could I have a secret ...'

Daisy felt extremely smug by the way she'd handled Yolandie. She wondered what her sister would say when she discovered that she'd replied to the advertisement. She supposed Yolandie would only laugh and call her a silly fool. But Daisy knew deep down inside that once she got her reply it wouldn’t be long and she’d be a bride; a real one this time.

For as long as she could remember she'd longed to be married and to wear her ma's wedding dress. And even though the dress was yellowed by age, it was beautiful, each stitch and fold filled with memories. Her ma had said she’d spent untold hours lovingly sewing on the beads that adorned the bodice. And when Daisy had held it up to the light – they sparkled like diamonds. The sleeves were hand-made lace. ‘Ja, old Mrs Kearley embroidered that for me. It took her months …’ said her Ma.

The dress smelled of moth balls and the faint scent of lavender still clung to the material. And on the rare occasion when Yolandie and their ma were out, Daisy would slip on the dress and veil.

One morning they’d returned unexpectedly and found Daisy roaming around the house wearing the dress. Yolandie had laughed, ‘Do you know how ridiculous you look. Besides, don’t you know it’s bad luck to put on a wedding dress before you’ve even found a man to marry?’
Her ma had remained silent for a while and then said that she looked like an angel, ‘A beautiful golden angel.’

Yolandie waited for her to slip out of the dress and then hung it back in the wardrobe. She turned to Daisy, ‘Sometimes, I swear you’re as mad as ma,’ she said, but there was a note of compassion in her voice.

Although plain-looking, Yolandie had lovely eyes, wide they were, almost as wide as the veld that surrounded their small house. She was tall and lanky and wore her blonde hair in a thick plait that hung almost to her waist. Unlike Daisy, Yolandie had had an opportunity to marry, but she’d declined. He lived in the neighbouring district and owned a small farm.

‘Huh, a small farm indeed! It’s no more than a small-holding with a few scraggly chickens and a goat!’ scoffed Yolandie. Later she’d told Daisy she had no desire to marry at all, ‘Anyway, what would I want with a man? He doesn’t want a wife - all he wants is a cook and a live-in maid.’

So, here they were the three of them stuck with each other. Daisy glanced across at their ma who had now nodded off in the arm chair. She seemed to be growing frailer by the day. Her memory was fading and at times she’d forget who they were. Other times she’d seem to think she was a young girl and spoke of things that made Daisy flush with embarrassment; shocking things they were too, stuff that Daisy had only read about. But Yolandie told her to ignore it, ‘Her mind is going. Half the time she doesn’t know what she’s saying or even where she is.’

Yolandie was tough, much stronger than she. She kept the house going. She did all the heavy work, like the gardening and fixing up the house. She didn’t talk much though. But Daisy was lonely; thirsty for company, real company from people who were filled with life. And that’s what she hoped to find when she’d answered that advertisement in the personal column in the magazine.

Later, Daisy awoke to strange sounds coming from her ma’s bedroom. She rushed across the hall and opened the door. Her eyes widened in disbelief. Her ma stood in the dark dressed in the wedding dress, the veil covered her face. The dress hung on her stick-like body. She held out her arms to Daisy, ‘I want to dance. I haven’t danced in such a long time,’ she said.

Daisy took her in her arms and they danced to the tune her mother hummed. They weren’t aware of Yolandie as she entered the room. ‘What are you doing? Why are you dragging ma around like she’s a rag doll?’

Daisy stopped, ‘She asked me to.’

Yolandie walked over to them and gently eased their ma out of Daisy’s arms. ‘Come on ma, it’s time for bed.’ She turned to Daisy, ‘She’s had far too much excitement. I can feel her heart pounding against her chest …’

A few hours later, Daisy crept back into her mother’s room. No sound came from the bed. Daisy leaned over and kissed her forehead. Her skin was cold. She called for Yolandie and as they sat on the edge of the bed, Daisy turned to her sister and asked if they should put her wedding dress on her. ‘Then she’d look beautiful when she meets pa again.’

Yolandie shrugged, ‘Ja and hopefully this time Cedric Venter will marry her, hey …’
Daisy’s jaw dropped. Cedric Venter hadn’t only not married their ma, but said Yolandie; it was possible that he wasn’t her father either. Daisy demanded to know who her father was. Yolandie shrugged, ‘Half the town could be, I suppose … she had that way about her … couldn’t leave the men alone. Surely you can remember her so-called boyfriends?’

Cedric Venter had been a wanderer and had stopped in their town for a few weeks. Their ma had hired him to help around the house. Only after he’d left did she discover she was pregnant with Daisy. All the stories she told about him were figments of her imagination said Yolandie. ‘Even the hats aren’t his – she bought them to make you believe he actually shared our lives at some point.’

In the end they decided to keep the wedding dress to remind them of their ma. Daisy was happy; Cedric Venter if he was dead she told Yolandie didn't deserve to see their ma in the dress. Her sister gave her an odd look and said she agreed.

Several days later, Daisy finally received a reply to her letter. She didn’t say a word to Yolandie as she knew her sister wouldn’t approve. And no one was going to stop her leaving; especially since their ma was no longer with them.

There were times Daisy thought she saw her sitting in the arm chair beside the piano; other times she swore she heard her ma talking to her, urging her to leave. Last night she’d even smelled her lavender perfume. She’d called Yolandie and asked, ‘Can’t you smell it too?’
Her sister frowned and Daisy said, a little too excitedly for Yolandie’s liking, ‘Ma’s perfume – she’s here in the room.’

Yolandie shook her head and said, ‘Ma is gone, buried …’ and then suggested that Daisy should pay the doctor a visit. ‘Maybe he can give you something, you know, to calm your nerves.’

It was then Daisy decided that there would be no more confiding in Yolandie; her sister didn’t understand. She slipped the letter out of her pocket and read it again. The man, his name was Dewald Prinsloo said he worked on the gold-mines in Johannesburg.

Daisy shut her eyes; he even owned his very own house. He said it was a big house too, a mine-house, with a large red stoep that ran the entire breadth of the house. Daisy smiled; funny that’s just what she’d written in her letter. She remembered she’d said one of her wishes was to have a house with a red stoep where she could sit in the evenings and watch the beautiful African sunsets.

Daisy clutched the letter to her chest; but best of all was, he, Dewald Prinsloo said the one thing he desired most in the world was to find a wife, a good woman to share his life with and that he just knew that Daisy was the one. Imagine that; she, Daisy Venter from Picketburg had not only found herself a husband, but who would have dreamed she’d end up living in a fine house too.

At first Daisy thought about packing the wedding dress in her suitcase, but then changed her mind. She’d have it on when