pumping my aunt for information. I was glad to see the townsfolk again, that familiar Bradleyville stability washing over me like warm rain. But the constant invitations to chat, normallywelcomed by my aunt, were now driving her to near frenzy as she shooed me out the door and back into her old tan Buick. “Gracious,” she exclaimed, hefting her purse onto the seat, “it’ll be a wonder if we ever get off Main Street!”
We stopped at home to wrap the gifts. When we finally arrived at the Matthews’s, Thomas was still at his meeting. Not a good sign, but none of us wanted to say so. Miss Estelle and William Matthews greeted me warmly, while six-year-old Celia threw her arms around me in unabashed adoration. Celia was a striking child—blond-haired, serious beyond her years. At times, she carried an air of sadness that I could not quite define.
“Celia,” I said, pointing out the front window, “did you make all those designs out there?” Aunt Eva and I had been amazed at the chalked artwork on the front sidewalk. Almost every inch of it was covered in multihued hearts and flowers.
She stilled. “Yes.”
“They’re absolutely beautiful! Are they for something special?”
Her eyes slid away from mine. “I colored it for Mama when she brought Kevy home from the hospital. It was a present.”
I ran my fingers over her hair, feeling its silkiness. “You must have worked a long time. I’ll bet your mama really liked it.”
“Mmm hmm,” she replied distractedly. “Want to see my brother?”
Proudly, she showed me baby Kevin, sleeping in a small crib in his mother’s room, one tiny fist against his cheek. Back in the living room, she clamored to open my gift herself, already pulling at the ribbon on the brightly wrapped box.
“Celia!” Miss Estelle’s voice was sharp. “Mind your manners or go to your room.” Purposely, she took her time unwrapping the gift, ignoring Celia’s impatient jiggling. “Oh, Jessie, it’s so sweet.” Her fingers smoothed over the blue and white summer outfit. “He can wear it to church tomorrow.”
Miss Estelle was a pretty woman, with light brown hair and satin skin. Her features may have been delicate, but an undeniable strength resonated beneath those smooth pores. She donned herselfin simple dresses, her hair in a bun, but no doubt about it, she wore the pants in the Matthews family. Her control extended over her family’s speech; no bad grammar allowed. Her husband worked as an accountant in Albertsville and was one of the nicest, quietest men I’d ever met, often holding up his hands in mellow contrition when Miss Estelle decided he’d overstepped his bounds. I often thought she reined her husband in so sternly to make up for the fact that she could do nothing to stop her father’s shenanigans or his war stories, which he loved to recount. Not to mention that Thomas spoke like any other long-time resident of Bradleyville and was proud of it.
Aunt Eva settled herself on a small love seat as if she were there to stay. Miss Estelle and Mr. Matthews sat in their respective armchairs. Celia cuddled next to me on the couch.
“Jessie, have you found a place to live yet?” Mr. Matthews asked.
“Yes.” Absentmindedly, I smoothed Celia’s hair. “It’s a great one-bedroom apartment in a large complex with a pool. Not too far from my job. I can move in August first, so I’ll have two weeks to settle in before I start working.”
“Good, good. Will you be back in your old neighborhood?”
“Close to it.”
He nodded thoughtfully. Aunt Eva and Miss Estelle exchanged a glance. “No boyfriends hanging in the wings?” he asked.
The inevitable question. I was an old maid by Bradleyville standards. Typically, the town’s young men and women linked up in high school, adhering to strict rules that allowed actual dates only after girls turned seventeen. After graduation, there was always a rush of weddings. Within a year or two most of the brides had babies,
We stopped at home to wrap the gifts. When we finally arrived at the Matthews’s, Thomas was still at his meeting. Not a good sign, but none of us wanted to say so. Miss Estelle and William Matthews greeted me warmly, while six-year-old Celia threw her arms around me in unabashed adoration. Celia was a striking child—blond-haired, serious beyond her years. At times, she carried an air of sadness that I could not quite define.
“Celia,” I said, pointing out the front window, “did you make all those designs out there?” Aunt Eva and I had been amazed at the chalked artwork on the front sidewalk. Almost every inch of it was covered in multihued hearts and flowers.
She stilled. “Yes.”
“They’re absolutely beautiful! Are they for something special?”
Her eyes slid away from mine. “I colored it for Mama when she brought Kevy home from the hospital. It was a present.”
I ran my fingers over her hair, feeling its silkiness. “You must have worked a long time. I’ll bet your mama really liked it.”
“Mmm hmm,” she replied distractedly. “Want to see my brother?”
Proudly, she showed me baby Kevin, sleeping in a small crib in his mother’s room, one tiny fist against his cheek. Back in the living room, she clamored to open my gift herself, already pulling at the ribbon on the brightly wrapped box.
“Celia!” Miss Estelle’s voice was sharp. “Mind your manners or go to your room.” Purposely, she took her time unwrapping the gift, ignoring Celia’s impatient jiggling. “Oh, Jessie, it’s so sweet.” Her fingers smoothed over the blue and white summer outfit. “He can wear it to church tomorrow.”
Miss Estelle was a pretty woman, with light brown hair and satin skin. Her features may have been delicate, but an undeniable strength resonated beneath those smooth pores. She donned herselfin simple dresses, her hair in a bun, but no doubt about it, she wore the pants in the Matthews family. Her control extended over her family’s speech; no bad grammar allowed. Her husband worked as an accountant in Albertsville and was one of the nicest, quietest men I’d ever met, often holding up his hands in mellow contrition when Miss Estelle decided he’d overstepped his bounds. I often thought she reined her husband in so sternly to make up for the fact that she could do nothing to stop her father’s shenanigans or his war stories, which he loved to recount. Not to mention that Thomas spoke like any other long-time resident of Bradleyville and was proud of it.
Aunt Eva settled herself on a small love seat as if she were there to stay. Miss Estelle and Mr. Matthews sat in their respective armchairs. Celia cuddled next to me on the couch.
“Jessie, have you found a place to live yet?” Mr. Matthews asked.
“Yes.” Absentmindedly, I smoothed Celia’s hair. “It’s a great one-bedroom apartment in a large complex with a pool. Not too far from my job. I can move in August first, so I’ll have two weeks to settle in before I start working.”
“Good, good. Will you be back in your old neighborhood?”
“Close to it.”
He nodded thoughtfully. Aunt Eva and Miss Estelle exchanged a glance. “No boyfriends hanging in the wings?” he asked.
The inevitable question. I was an old maid by Bradleyville standards. Typically, the town’s young men and women linked up in high school, adhering to strict rules that allowed actual dates only after girls turned seventeen. After graduation, there was always a rush of weddings. Within a year or two most of the brides had babies,
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