sandwiches.
“Now,” Darlene said, smoothing the dress pattern on the table, “we might have to do some alterations, here with the sleeve. It might be chilly in October.”
Dorothy Lynn leaned forward, chewing her sandwich and studying the line drawing of the woman modeling the dress. Her figure was as two-dimensional as the drawing—flat-chested and narrow-hipped—much like Dorothy Lynn’s own. The artist’s pencil had given her a cap of close-cropped curls. One arm extended gracefully, showing off the flutter of the sleeve; the other was bent, bringing a narrow finger to touch her dark, puckered lips, as if hushing herself.
“In an ivory sateen,” Darlene said, running her finger over the image as if feeling the fabric. “That would give it a nice weight against the chill. And see how the sash gathers here and ties at the hip? I thought maybe a rose-colored lace, and get silk shoes dyed to match.”
“That all sounds a bit fancy for a simple wedding. I don’t see why I don’t just wear Ma’s dress.”
“Because nobody rides in covered wagons anymore.”
“It was good enough for you.”
“I didn’t have a choice,” Darlene said, expressing a regret she’d managed to keep hidden all these years. “We didn’t have any money, and the styles weren’t so terribly different. But we’ve won a war since then. You deserve a new dress.”
“Seems a waste to spend so much on something I’ll never wear again.”
“Oh, but of course you could wear it again. Change out the sash and the shoes. It would be perfect for any kind of smart party.”
“We don’t have smart parties in Heron’s Nest,” Dorothy Lynn said. “Things haven’t changed so awful much since you left.”
“Maybe you won’t be in Heron’s Nest forever. Your man’s from a big city, right? Could be you’ll end up right back there someday.”
“You don’t know Brent. He thinks he’s found paradise itself.”
“That’s because you’re his little bird.”
Dorothy Lynn blushed. “Well, I’ve been happy enough there up to today. No need to think things’ll change much.”
Just then a whoop heralded the arrival of the boys, one chasing the other, wielding two pistols and screaming, “Bang! Bang!” as he fired bullet after bullet into his brother’s back. They circled the table three times, each snatching a sandwich on the final pass.
“Those aren’t for you!” Darlene leapt from her chair and gave chase, though the sandwiches had been ferreted away in the boys’ mouths.
In their absence, Dorothy Lynn browsed through one of the pattern books scattered on the table. Ma had said not to worry about the money, that they’d been putting aside a little for her ever since Darlene’s wedding.
“I just don’t know if I can see myself in it,” she said to the empty kitchen. The ride up from Heron’s Nest and even these few minutes in Darlene’s house made it impossible to ignore just how quickly the world was growing up without her. Who besides Brent, her mother, and every other soul she’d known all her life would see her in this dress? The day before the wedding would be just the same as the day after—and all the following. Seemed an awful lot of trouble for a bit of fabric.
When Darlene came back in, she had a triumphant smile on her face and two half-eaten sandwiches in her hand.
“Savages,” she said, but her eyes conveyed a glint of humor.The boys followed behind, significantly subdued, and climbed up to the table. Without speaking a word, Darlene placed the remnants of the recovered sandwiches on a plate in front of each boy. Slowly, as if their very appetites had been stripped away, they nibbled in silence.
Darlene plopped herself back in her chair, only mildly breathless. “You’ll see, when you’re a parent. It’s never too late to demand obedience.”
Later, those words echoed in Dorothy Lynn’s mind as she stood obediently, arms extended, while her sister wrapped a measuring tape around
“Now,” Darlene said, smoothing the dress pattern on the table, “we might have to do some alterations, here with the sleeve. It might be chilly in October.”
Dorothy Lynn leaned forward, chewing her sandwich and studying the line drawing of the woman modeling the dress. Her figure was as two-dimensional as the drawing—flat-chested and narrow-hipped—much like Dorothy Lynn’s own. The artist’s pencil had given her a cap of close-cropped curls. One arm extended gracefully, showing off the flutter of the sleeve; the other was bent, bringing a narrow finger to touch her dark, puckered lips, as if hushing herself.
“In an ivory sateen,” Darlene said, running her finger over the image as if feeling the fabric. “That would give it a nice weight against the chill. And see how the sash gathers here and ties at the hip? I thought maybe a rose-colored lace, and get silk shoes dyed to match.”
“That all sounds a bit fancy for a simple wedding. I don’t see why I don’t just wear Ma’s dress.”
“Because nobody rides in covered wagons anymore.”
“It was good enough for you.”
“I didn’t have a choice,” Darlene said, expressing a regret she’d managed to keep hidden all these years. “We didn’t have any money, and the styles weren’t so terribly different. But we’ve won a war since then. You deserve a new dress.”
“Seems a waste to spend so much on something I’ll never wear again.”
“Oh, but of course you could wear it again. Change out the sash and the shoes. It would be perfect for any kind of smart party.”
“We don’t have smart parties in Heron’s Nest,” Dorothy Lynn said. “Things haven’t changed so awful much since you left.”
“Maybe you won’t be in Heron’s Nest forever. Your man’s from a big city, right? Could be you’ll end up right back there someday.”
“You don’t know Brent. He thinks he’s found paradise itself.”
“That’s because you’re his little bird.”
Dorothy Lynn blushed. “Well, I’ve been happy enough there up to today. No need to think things’ll change much.”
Just then a whoop heralded the arrival of the boys, one chasing the other, wielding two pistols and screaming, “Bang! Bang!” as he fired bullet after bullet into his brother’s back. They circled the table three times, each snatching a sandwich on the final pass.
“Those aren’t for you!” Darlene leapt from her chair and gave chase, though the sandwiches had been ferreted away in the boys’ mouths.
In their absence, Dorothy Lynn browsed through one of the pattern books scattered on the table. Ma had said not to worry about the money, that they’d been putting aside a little for her ever since Darlene’s wedding.
“I just don’t know if I can see myself in it,” she said to the empty kitchen. The ride up from Heron’s Nest and even these few minutes in Darlene’s house made it impossible to ignore just how quickly the world was growing up without her. Who besides Brent, her mother, and every other soul she’d known all her life would see her in this dress? The day before the wedding would be just the same as the day after—and all the following. Seemed an awful lot of trouble for a bit of fabric.
When Darlene came back in, she had a triumphant smile on her face and two half-eaten sandwiches in her hand.
“Savages,” she said, but her eyes conveyed a glint of humor.The boys followed behind, significantly subdued, and climbed up to the table. Without speaking a word, Darlene placed the remnants of the recovered sandwiches on a plate in front of each boy. Slowly, as if their very appetites had been stripped away, they nibbled in silence.
Darlene plopped herself back in her chair, only mildly breathless. “You’ll see, when you’re a parent. It’s never too late to demand obedience.”
Later, those words echoed in Dorothy Lynn’s mind as she stood obediently, arms extended, while her sister wrapped a measuring tape around
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