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She held her evil smile, a smile that chased me upstairs, but it seeped in under my door, and at night it even slipped into my dreams.
Whether it was because of the things Eugenia had said to her or whether it was a result of the machinations of her own evil mind, Emily didn't tell Mamma or Papa anything about my outing with Eugenia. That night at dinner, she sat quietly, contented to be holding the threat over my head. I ignored her the best I could, but Emily's eyes were so big and so glaring at times, it was hard to avoid her gaze.
But it didn't matter; she had her own special revenge prepared, and like always, she would justify it with some religious belief. In her hands, the Bible became a weapon and she wielded it unmercifully whenever she felt it was necessary. No punishment was too severe, no amount of tears shed too much. No matter how much she hurt us, she went to sleep contented with the belief that she had carried out divine work.
As Henry once said, looking right at Emily, "The devil, he ain't got no better soldier than the self-righteous man or woman who swings that dreadful sword."
I was soon to feel the sharp end of it.
6
VICIOUS TRICKS
Of all the people I would meet in my life who were able to go about their business normally from day to day while plotting behind your back, none would be as conniving or as good at it as Emily. She could have taught the best spies how to spy; she could have given. Brutus lessons before he betrayed Julius Caesar. I was convinced that the devil himself studied her and then took action.
During the week that followed Eugenia's and my Saturday outing, Emily didn't say another word about it, nor did she exhibit any more anger or belligerency than usual. She seemed very involved in her work for the minister and the Sunday School as well as the public school and was even gone from the house more than she often was. She didn't behave much differently toward Eugenia. If any
thing, she appeared to be a little more pleasant, one night even volunteering to bring Eugenia her dinner.
Once a week she would visit Eugenia anyway to give her religious instruction—read a Biblical story or explain the teachings of the church. On more than one occasion, Eugenia fell asleep as Emily was reading and Emily got very upset about it and refused to accept Eugenia's apologies.
But this time, when she went in and read from St. Matthew, and Eugenia fell asleep, Emily didn't stop to lecture about the importance of staying awake and paying attention when the Bible was being read aloud. She didn't slap the book closed so hard that Eugenia's eyes would pop open. Instead, she got up quietly and slipped out of the room as softly as one of Henry's ghosts. Even Eugenia was feeling better about her.
"She's sorry for what she did," Eugenia concluded. "She just wants us to love her."
"I don't think she wants anyone to love her, not Mamma, not Papa, maybe not even God," I replied, but I saw how my being angry at Emily disturbed Eugenia, so I smiled, thinking of something else. "Imagine if she really did change," I said. "Imagine if she let her hair, grow and wore a pretty silk ribbon in it, or she wore a nice dress instead of those old gray sacks and clodhopper shoes with fat heels that make her look even taller than she is."
Eugenia smiled as if what I was saying were pipe dreams made of smoke.
"Why not?" I continued. "Why couldn't she change overnight, magically? Maybe she had one of her visions and in the vision, she was told to change.
"Suddenly, she would listen to more than just church music and she would read books and play games . . ."
"Imagine if she had a boyfriend," Eugenia said, joining in the pretend.
"And she decided to wear lipstick and put a little rouge on her cheeks?"
Eugenia smothered a giggle.
"And she took her boyfriend to the magic pond, too."
"What would the new Emily wish for?" I wondered aloud.
"A kiss, too?"
"No, not a kiss." I thought a moment, then looked at Eugenia and broke out into a wide, gleeful smile.
"What?" she asked. "Tell me!" she demanded, and bounced on her bed when I hesitated.
"She would wish for a bosom," I replied. Eugenia gasped and put her hand over her mouth.
"Oh my," she said. "If Emily just heard you."
"I don't care. Do you know what the boys at school call her behind her back?" I said, sitting beside her on the bed.
"What?"
"They call her Miss Ironing Board."
