always been one of a kind because of her condition—the challenge to make for her a whole life, unimpeded by any handicap. And it was this determination, honed over Leah’s seventeen years and counting, that had convinced Father and would convince the Committee and the inevitable naysayers that would invoke their imperious frowns. Leah was one of a kind, a singular challenge and opportunity—for their family and for the community in which they lived: end of debate.
Father shrugged, “If you can convince them—.” His voice trailed off. He picked up his knife and fork, then added, “But it has to be approved in advance. I don’t want any surprises.” He looked to Brooke.
Brooke frowned. How had this become about her?
Momma nodded. “I’ll get it approved in advance.”
No one at that table doubted her.
Leah stared steadily at Brooke, the hint of a grin gently pulling up the corners of her mouth.
Later, parked at the Mill—each leaning against her door, legs crossed on the wide vinyl seat, Leah’s left knee resting on the steering wheel, the camp lantern hanging from the rearview mirror—Brooke asked her about Momma’s assertion. “Do you feel like one of a kind?”
Leah smiled. Same as you.
“How much is that?”
Always! Leah’s right hand flew outward from her toward the dark windshield. And never. She slowly pulled that hand back into herself, buried it in her lap.
“Same as me?”
Is it?
Brooke considered the question. She always felt an outcast, wanting to do something other than the crowd. Yet she never felt truly excluded from her world, always knew her community and her family would find a place for her no matter the offense or outrage. At the tail end of this arc of self-contemplation, her focus fell back on Leah, her face aglow in the silver light. It wasn’t the community or even her family that would always make a place for her, it was Leah. Brooke slowly nodded but added, “My rebelliousness isn’t the same as your deafness. I can change.”
Leah tilted her head.
“I can!” Brooke protested then added, “Maybe I can.”
Leah pressed her lips together. I used to wish I could hear, and still do sometimes—as a convenience or a pleasure, not as a necessity of life. But I think everyone has impossible wishes—you might wish you could fly when you are late for class, Momma wishes she could sing soprano, Father would like to be a pro golfer. I wish I could hear the cardinal singing in the cherry tree this morning, or speak my opinions on Lend-Lease in History this afternoon. We all sometimes wish for something we cannot have. She paused in her signing.
For once Brooke held her tongue.
But long ago, I stopped wishing I could hear just for the sake of hearing. This is who I am.
Brooke nodded. “I stopped thinking about it too, a long time ago.”
Leah smiled. Why do you think I did?
“Me?”
Leah laughed. Do not act so modest.
Brooke shook her head. “I never did anything with you.”
Except love me.
Brooke shrugged. “Of course.”
Leah folded her arms—nothing left to say, or sign.
Brooke nodded. “One question?”
Leah waited.
“What’s ‘give and take’?”
Leah tilted her head.
“Your discussion topic today, in History.”
Leah remembered—Lend-Lease—then signed, A path to deeper entanglement. She twined her fingers for this last.
Brooke nodded. “Don’t I know about that!”
So the entire unlikely sequence pointed toward its improbable culmination—a deaf girl presented at the annual Debutante Ball of the Central Carolinas!—moved forward with surprising ease and minimal resistance.
Momma met with the Committee and explained her desire to have Leah presented. The Committee was persuaded, as much by the known beauty and grace of the daughter (who wasn’t present) as the impassioned and eloquent plea of the mother; and only two of the twelve members—the ancient Carol Alston whose former power had waned since her husband ran off with one of his grad students, and the imperious Justine Leonard—dissented.
There was somewhat more debate over Momma’s request that Leah be allowed to dance the Waltz with her sister Brooke as partner and lead. This raised reservations on multiple levels, from the concern that the deaf girl might get out of time with the music and disrupt the other dancers to the fear of establishing a precedent for same-sex couples. But Mrs. Stafford, the dance teacher and an advisor to the Committee, lobbied in favor of Leah’s being allowed to dance (despite her quiet reservations about Brooke as a partner, reservations that arose more out of concern for Brooke’s ability to lead properly than her gender), saying that Leah was the best dancer she’d taught in her twenty years as an instructor. Mrs. Stafford’s endorsement avoided an outright rejection of the request, and eventually a compromise was agreed upon—Leah could dance with Brooke as partner but only after the main Waltz was danced and the award for Waltz Queen presented. Their solo dance would serve as a transition between the evening’s formal program and the informal “open floor” dancing and socializing. Momma initially objected to this compromise, wanting Leah to be treated as any other debutante. But she held her tongue, realizing that she couldn’t win this debate, not this night anyway. Only after swallowing her objection did she recall her words at the dinner table a week earlier—that Leah was one of a kind—and begin to see a solo dance as an opportunity to highlight this one of a kind daughter, and her not so singular sister (if she could rise to the occasion in support of Leah).
And later that spring Leah began the Deb class with the several dozen other candidates for this year’s ball. Her long history with Mrs. Stafford made these classes not only easy but enjoyable, as Mrs. Stafford constantly looked at her while speaking and would often use Leah to demonstrate a certain practice—how to enter the ballroom, how to stand during presentation, how to curtsy. While Leah sometimes felt a twinge of embarrassment at this attention she learned to hide it. And in these classes, she came to both accept and bask in public scrutiny, having the ability to find the best balance between enjoying it too much and dreading it. She was, as Mrs. Stafford said on a regular basis now, “a natural.”
Until Paul attended the last two classes, along with all the other escorts. As soon as he came around, Leah lost all her innate grace. It wasn’t that Leah was flustered by him or their relationship. They had over the months established a comfortable rapport that was mainly a close friendship with perhaps the earliest intimations of romantic interest. The problem arose when she felt the need to look out for him in this unfamiliar environment, with all the other girls (made all the giddier by the inclusion of their escorts) and the strange lessons and demands—“hold your elbow just so,” “look at your date with the correct mix of respect and adoration” (that brought many stifled guffaws). Leah had long since learned to take care of herself, as long as she knew the general parameters of a given situation. But she’d not yet figured out how to take care of others, at least any others not named Brooke (and even that one had limits on the care she would accept). Paul himself was fine—patient and attentive and solicitous. He actually seemed to enjoy these arcane lessons in archaic ritual. It was Leah that got out of sorts.
Yet they managed to get through it alright, no worse than any of the other unsettled couples and maybe better than most. And by the end of the regular classes, no one cared that one of their number was deaf, or even seemed to notice.
Then came the waltz lessons. Twenty-two girls, and their male escorts, took the lessons this year, as participation in the signature dance had revived, helped along by the just established five-hundred-dollar scholarship awarded to the Dance Queen and her partner. Brooke was busy preparing for finals (or so she said) the first two weekends of classes, and so couldn’t attend; besides, Mrs. Stafford and Leah and Momma had already agreed that Brooke and Leah would take private lessons, so as not to disrupt the other
dancers or reveal the plans for a solo dance. But Leah still attended the waltz lessons, alone as she had two years before, only this time she danced with the others in the studio, not hidden in the observation hall. And Mrs. Stafford danced with her, as her lead, both in example to the other dancers and to affirm and assist Leah’s lessons—not that she needed much assistance as she already knew the steps by heart and could perfectly follow the lead of the other dancers, and the music it implied.
By the time Brooke finished her finals and returned home and the sisters showed up for their crash course in dancing the week before the Ball, Leah was as much an instructor as student and had already schooled Brooke in the basic steps during impromptu lessons in their living room cleared of the coffee table and upholstered rocker. So it was left to Mrs. Stafford to incorporate flare and creativity into this solo opportunity, a challenge she approached with relish. And Brooke, bless her heart, was a quick learner. Having no prior training or preconceptions to undo, she adapted easily to Leah’s polished form and Mrs. Stafford’s cues and hints. She wouldn’t have been caught dead doing ballroom dancing under any other circumstances; but as a highly visual and soon to be dramatically public affirmation of support and love for Leah, she approached the lessons with zeal and focus. And Brooke’s presence and support granted Leah even greater confidence and freedom of