A Better Class of Horsethief

Mark my words, my Aunt Helen said darkly as she adjusted the bow on her silk blouse, I pride myself on my tolerance but breeding will tell. No good will ever come from allowing the child to associate with the lower classes.

Oh, put a sock in it and have another drink, my love, Uncle Eddie advised, You spend too much time in that Beacon Hill elevated atmosphere.

Helen, dear, my grandmother added sweetly, More sherry? Your glass is empty. Again.

Aunt Helen sniffed in her overly delicate way, produced a lace handkerchief from her cashmere sweatered sleeve and glared first at her husband, then at her sister in law, but, I noticed, accepted a third or possibly fourth glass of sherry. The dispute was over her proposal that I spend a year or two at her elite girls school - I was in need of what she called "finish and polishing" - it made me sound like a manicure, I had complained to Nana and then made it clear that I would rather die then take one step over her snobby threshold. My grandmother had smiled, a little bitterly to be sure, but reassured me I had nothing to fear and my daddy had laughed outright at the suggestion, earning a look of pure malice from Aunt Helen's side of the table.

Really, Guy, she had said sharply, Are you against the child's betterment?

His usually gentle eyes narrowed at this and for once, my daddy - always the pacifist and peacemaker - spoke without thinking first. Would she learn better manners than you have, Helen?

There was a moment of shocked silence before Aunt Helen abruptly excused herself and hastily fled the room, lace handkerchief clutched in one white knuckled fist. Uncle Eddie sighed hugely and poured himself a generous sherry but made no move to follow. Well, my grandmother said mildly, That went well, Edgecombe. Nothing like a little class warfare to clear the air.

My fault, my daddy muttered, I know she meant well.

The hell she did, Uncle Eddie shrugged, She meant to hit a nerve. She's never gotten over her great grandfather being a horsethief.

Several pairs of eyes turned to him in disbelief.

Oh, yes, he sighed, A better class of horsethief to be sure, he started as a schoolteacher, but they hung him all the same. Damn fool woman's still not over it, always been afraid someone would find out and ruin her reputation at that stiff necked school. Christ, it was over a hundred years ago!

Nana began to laugh, softly at first and then wildly until tears were welling up in her eyes. My mother joined in, my daddy followed, and finally even Uncle Eddie gave in, his shoulders shaking so hard that his sherry spilled on the linen tablecloth. It took him the rest of the day, after we were all sworn to a lifelong silence, for him to coax Aunt Helen back and my daddy had to make an apology - before witnesses - but there was no more mention of my changing schools.

Scratch a saint, find a sinner. Or maybe an unrepentant horsethief.