Looking back, there seems to be a blind spot in that first year we lived here in Hawai'i. I clearly recollect those first few months, and they were the sweetest I ever knew. Roger moved us into the little gray house on the military base. It wasn't anything like what I imagined home would be like, but surprisingly, I adjusted quite well to the notion I wouldn't have a porch like I did in Roe, no flowerbeds for roses or zinnias or marigolds, no garden patch for tomatoes or onions or green peppers. The house wasn't half the size of Mama's, but that didn't bother me one bit. I rather liked the rooms squeezed together so close, the little windows and the tiny square of property in the back where the Army already had clotheslines strung up for the wives. All the houses on the street looked exactly the same, the same dove gray, the same paneled sides, the same drive with room enough for one car. But on each house, there by the doorbell hung an aluminum plate etched with the family's name. CPL JAMES, R. I was so proud of that little plate, I polished it every morning. Roger was gone before sunup, so every morning, I walked across the empty drive to get the paper, and on my way in, I reached over with the cuff of my bathrobe and wiped away the night's dust. None of our furniture matched, as we received most of it secondhand from the families of soldiers whose tours in the islands were over. The first evening we were there, a chaplain down the street brought over a faded pink sofa and loveseat. A sergeant brought over an old coffee table that wasn't much to look at but was sturdy and made of good wood. A specialist brought his daughter's bassinette. With all the odds and ends we brought with us from Roe, our house looked like a consignment shop for a while, but it didn't take long for me to learn where to buy good fabric for a bargain. As soon as Roger received his first check from the Army, I went down to Ben Franklin's and bought nearly twenty yards of a gorgeous red and white pinstripe. I reupholstered the sofa and the loveseat and sewed curtains to match. It took me two days to make something of that coffee table. I hauled it out to the back patio and spend half a day sanding it down to bare wood. Then I stained it a deep walnut. When it dried, I positioned it in the living room and overlaid it with one of the linen tablecloths Mother gave me. On the hem of each end was embroidered the initial "R", for "Rosalind." Eileen's room was downright charming when I finished it, too. With Roger's second check from the Army, I returned to Ben Franklin's and bought ten yards of a pretty yellow seersucker and four yards' length of a wide eyelet lace. It took me three days to sew the curtains and the linens for Eileen's crib, but when I was finished, her windows and her new blanket and crib skirt were lined with lace from end to end, and the Hawaiian sunlight filtered through the windows and the fabric, casting a warm yellow glow into the room that lit every corner. Above her crib, I hung a mobile of pink, white, and yellow ribbons that danced as the breezes blew in through the curtains. And above the room's only window, I hung the little white crucifix Roger's godmother had given Eileen when she was first christened. Each week, another room in the house bloomed. The third week, it was the kitchen. I didn't buy new fabric for that. Mama sent several yards of white cotton with me when we left Louisiana, so I used that to sew kitchen curtains and napkins. All the dishes and cookware we had, we brought with us. We had enough good stoneware for the two of us, but if we were to ever entertain, someone would end up with a chipped plate or a cracked bowl. It didn't matter to me, though. Mama's coffee set was in good shape--china, with a garland of tiny red roses around the rim. I stacked the saucers behind the cabinet glass in plain sight, alongside the delicate coffee cups with the teardrop handles. They were my pride and joy. Many mornings Mama and I sat together on that porch swing, sipping coffee and listening to the mockingbirds bickering in the trees. Such quiet, quiet times, but even then, I knew damn well they were only a brief rest along the way. By the time I was ready to transform our plain, bare bedroom into something welcoming and comfortable, Roger was rotated to duties in Asia. Eileen was barely six months old when he left, and I'd just spent eight dollars on a beautiful silk blend for our bedroom. The night Roger flew out, I stood at the bedroom door with the fabric in my hands, deciding whether I should wait to dress the room up. It just didn't seem right preparing our room when he wouldn't even be coming home to enjoy it. I knew I wouldn't enjoy it myself, so what was the point? I stored the fabric in one of my trunks and promised myself the room would be ready for Roger when he finally came home. The next day, I took Eileen into Honolulu. It was much different than what I'd seen on the military base. We stepped into the department store, and it was like we were suddenly in a different country. There were brown-skinned people everywhere. Of course there would be. It was a tropical island, but I suppose I'd gotten so used to being Mrs. James, wife of Corporal James of the United States Army, I'd forgotten we were living thousands of miles away from Louisiana and its unremarkable American sameness. Stylish young ladies milled around the cosmetic counters, tight and shining jet-black curls to match their jet-black eyes. They had the most brilliant smiles, such straight white teeth flashing behind those dark red lips. They nodded to me as I passed with Eileen in her carriage, and it was the first time in my life I recall ever feeling out of place in a department store. I turned toward the ladies' apparel, and a mother briskly passed me with four little children in tow. She was a regal looking woman, with stern Polynesian features--a fine, sharp nose; full brown lips and a wide, strong chin. She'd pulled her bark-colored hair atop her head and secured it with a large wooden comb, and I could tell by the sheer mass of the twined plait her hair must've been at least to her knees. She wore a long dress made of the most intricate gold pattern--wild ferns and several strings of tiny flowers, twisted together to form an exquisite border print; the dress nearly brushed the floor with her long, purposeful strides, and that superb chin, raised high above her ruffled collar. The children were as elegantly groomed and dressed. Their shoes were buffed to a high shine, their socks neat and uncreased around their ankles. The boys wore straight white trousers with pressed, white, collared shirts, and the dark brown waves of their hair were cut clean, parted, and combed like little gentlemen. The girls' hair hung to their waists in two tight braids, the ends of which were tied in white satin ribbons. They wore smart royal blue jumpers over bright white Peter Pan blouses, and I saw the glimmer of gold crosses around their necks. If I'd seen a true Hawaiian since I'd come to the island, she would be this woman. I'd heard stories about a Hawaiian queen who lived in the island palace not so long ago, how she was a large, magnificent woman with a commanding presence and the blue of two thousand years' reign flowing through her veins. I'd also heard how she was forced to spend eight lonely, wasting months confined to the prison of her own palace bedroom. There in the department store with Eileen gurgling in her carriage and shoppers crossing walkways from counter to rack, a woman who might've been a queen once upon a time brushed by me with her four little heirs, and something in this Louisiana girl shrank and stepped aside. Back in the ladies' department, I browsed the dresses and suits. Styles were much different than what we word back in Louisiana. Roe women preferred eggshell blues and wheat-colored cottons. At the boutique, Mama got the occasional request for a dress of butter yellow or coral, with a slender skirt line and buttons down the bodice front. But on the racks in the department store, nearly every dress was a vibrant, festive color--all the colors I adored: red, carnation pink, navy and gold. The darted bodices accented the breasts and slimmed the waist before billowing to a full-circled skirt. If a woman had good legs, the dresses would showcase them. Everything else was granted. I ran my fingertips over sapphire green sheath dresses and mauve A-line skirts, wondering at how brave and sensual the women here must be. That's when I spied a taffeta dress of a most stunning russet plaid. Satin threading shimmered under the store lights, and a red patent belt cinched the trim waist. I pulled it from the rack and held it up against me, sizing it in a wall mirror. The bottom hem fell just at the top of my calves, and as I shifted, thick layers of brown mesh rustled under the fabric and peeked out from beneath the skirt. It was a party dress made for me. Against my pale skin and fire-red hair, the fabric lit the rose in my cheeks and the pulpy rind of my lips. It set me in spotlight with virtually no effort on my part. For this reason, I knew Mama would've turned up her nose at that dress, and for this reason alone, I made a beeline straight to the clerk and bought it. Back at home, I could not stave off the guilt that settled with me the minute I left the counter with the sales receipt in my hand. Roger liked for me to have things for myself. He knew I liked pretty things to wear, and he encouraged the occasional cosmetic or perfume purchase. But what would he say about this dress? I’d only glanced at the price tag for a moment and stiffened just a bit to see it was three times the amount I’d normally pay. I rarely bought ready-made clothes anyway. Roger knew I could sew like a master, and he knew if there were anything I saw in a catalog or on a television, I could make the same and better. Since we married, I made clothes for all of us, and we never complained or pined after expensive manufactured wardrobes. But the russet dress was something I couldn’t pass up. It was made for me, so I bought it. But the question remained: What would Roger say? I wouldn’t tell him how much it cost. I could tell him I got it secondhand from one of the other wives down the street, or I could tell him I caught it at discount. Or maybe he wouldn’t ask at all. I could’ve kicked myself for buying that dress if I didn’t love it so much. I finally decided I’d just take it back if Roger made too much of a fuss. In the meantime, I’d enjoy it, so I smoothed the skirt, straightened the collar, and hung it toward the back of the closet along with my other day suits and party dresses. The rest of the evening I spent pondering when I’d get to wear it, and oddly, I didn’t give any thought to whether or not Roger would be with me when I did. On Sunday, Eileen and I attended early morning services at the post chapel. The congregation, from what I gathered, was mostly Baptist, but there were a handful of Methodists in attendance who were there because the only other alternative was the Catholic mass on the other side of the base. Mother raised me Methodist, but Roger was as Catholic as they came. When he was home, we went to mass. When he was gone, I was free to choose worship services however I saw fit. I never gave much thought to which faith we intended to raise Eileen. She was still young yet, and though she was christened Catholic, she was--in my opinion--as much a Methodist. I was, after all, half responsible for her making, so it would follow she share half her faith with me. In any case, Roger was gone that Sunday, so there we sat, on a polished pew in the Baptist church. After yesterday’s adventure in Honolulu, I fell back into the military day with a little uncertainty. Blonde and brunette heads filled the church; white faces waited patiently for the pastor to begin his sermon. There was not a brown face in the room. How odd, to be in a community within a community. I’d always wanted to see what lay in the world beyond Roe, but it seemed I’d gone halfway around the world just to be holed up again in another sequestered little society. At times, the familiarity that was sometimes not familiarity at all offered me peace and comfort. But more often, the sense of stalled progress bored and beleaguered me, and I was left with an impatient frustration that lead me to seek other avenues of distraction besides sewing curtains or dress shopping. I considered these things when Pastor Weeks began his sermon with, “A virtuous woman who can find? For her price if far above rubies!” A more familiar verse there was none. How often Mama--in the height of a sentimental sip of coffee--thoughtfully trilled this same passage, rolling the rickrack trim of her collar between her petal-soft fingertips. When I was younger, I rolled my eyes and bit my nails, sighing melodramatically as Mama drew out her faithful conclusions for me in moldy old anecdotes and halfly-structured memories. I married, and as all new wives do, I soon began to ponder those words of my own volition, and when she began to tenderly preach them again, I nodded in humble agreement, though I reserved a very large part of my faith for that exciting and foreign world out there that would serve as the perfectly bee-busy background for my virtuous role. Hence, a smug smile readily lit my lips. I suppose, when I considered it, I had reached the threshold of the ruby-priced life I was meant to lead. With a newborn baby, a good husband with a respectable career and a decent paycheck, and a warm little house on a lush little island in the Pacific, I was exactly where I’d always wanted to be. The pastor spoke that morning about the glorious duty of a loving, conscientious, and obedient wife. Mama would’ve been proud I so enthusiastically received The Word, and The Word so special to her. I went home with a sense of purpose renewed. I abandoned thoughts of what to do with that dress, and I dug out that rich silk fabric I’d gotten for Roger and me. Over the next three days, I sewed and sewed until our bedroom resembled a plush, cosmopolitan suite. Once complete, the room was so precisely what I’d imagined it to be, I realized there was no way I could sleep in there one night alone. That was the first night I spent sleeping on the living room couch, hoping tomorrow might be the day Roger would come home.

The night, woven so purple-tight,
It smothers and strangles
As spider web tangles
with glistening, poisonous Vs.
On some strange eastern vine,
It comes creeping,
Pin-tip toes tapping
Down a humming wire line.
My black-belly baby,
My eagle-winged pilot,
Make haste, lest there be
Nothing left but a knot.