A Fireproof Ho me fo r th e B ride
•
21
ternoon, either on a sturdy, gnarled limb or in the shady grass below. She could almost picture her own children up in these trees, spying on pirates or Indians, or maybe even little green men from Mars. This thought helped with the notion that she might someday be the lady of the enormous white Victorian house looming before them, the neatly trimmed green shutters and bare front porch giving Emmy the same old feeling of a thing untouched by love. Christian stopped the car in front of the big white slope-shouldered barn across the circle from the house, and Emmy crossed her fingers and made a quick wish: Please let me be happy here. They were greeted at the door by Maria Gonzales, who had been both housekeeper and cook for the two men since Mrs. Emmaline Brann had died from consumption the summer before Emmy was born. It was from this tragedy that Emmy got her name—a sign of respect for the dead woman who had been Grandmother Nelson’s best friend. Maria was the smallest grown woman Emmy had ever seen, and the tightly wound bun of hair at the crown of her head had gone completely white in the years since Emmy had first looked up at it, and then gazed down on it, fascinated by its pristine roundness. Before Emmy was born, Maria had been a betabelero alongside her husband and five sons, splitting the beet roots in the muddy spring fields and thinning the rows by hand, stooped to the ground for hours on end. Moving out of the field and into the house was a rare but fortunate event for a migrant, and Maria’s cooking for the Branns bore none of the spice or color that Emmy had on occasion seen her take to the team of Mexican laborers who worked under Pedro on the immense Brann acreage. Emmy removed her coat and slipped out of her snow boots, replacing them with the low-heeled church shoes that she had worn once a week, in every season, since her feet had reached their full size. The tight little group of Nelsons moved together into the formal dining room, where the table was set and Mr. Brann spoke in excited tones to the unfamiliar man Emmy had seen at church. She glanced at Ambrose, who stood behind a chair, ready to pull it out for her. With the delicacy of a china teacup, Lida walked over to where the two older men sat, her arms extended in a warm welcome. “Why, I can’t believe my eyes,” she exclaimed, a childlike look of wonder brightening her face. “I didn’t notice you at church.”