to be written

chapter 1,

With how much Sally was yelling, I was sure I would go deaf soon enough.

The guests were horrified, I could tell, but they sat politely, lace napkins on their laps, hands folded on the table, their mouths turned up in porcelain smiles that would break with one more wrong word. It was like this every time we had guests at our house — my older sister would throw another fit, and the guests would remark daintily on the fine weather we've been having lately, or gingerly attempt to ask for the salt, or compliment my father or my mother or my oldest sister. Then they would say, "We have business to attend to, I'm sorry, we must go." They would fold up their napkins, stand from their chairs, maybe bow, maybe wave, and then they would hurry out the door. I had not a doubt in my mind that they whispered to one another about the dreadful dinner at Mr. McAndrew's house, but rumors were little to none in such a pent-up little town, and so we have not heard the tales people had spread about us yet.

"Maybe I don't WANT to be your daughter!"

I felt my throat tighten as I strangled a fork in my hand, my knuckles whitening as I clutched it. I looked across the table and saw my father was doing the same as I, a respectful little gesture that showed either cowardice or self-control. Sally was on the other side of my mother, her voice shrill and lady-like, but her screams outweighed the pitch of her words by a long shot. She breathed quite heavily, and her eyes warned us not to interfere with the standoff she was having with our father. It was the same thing as always, but I found myself looking at my plate in shame and guilt and selfish longing, wishing I had been born into a different family. This always happened. Why did she always have to embarrass us?

"Your father only wants to help you," I heard my mother chide softly. She and Molly were the voices of reason in this godforsaken bloodline, the ones who soothed the sparky fire of Sally and Father and Polly. Mother had set down her utensils and had reached out one round, comforting arm to touch my older sister's shoulder. It was no surprise that Sally only flinched away and glared, but I frowned anyway. Couldn't she just cooperate for one supper?

My father's fork clanked on the plate as he set it down rather roughly. He said, "No, no, Mary, let the girl speak. I'd like to hear what she has to say for herself."

It was all so predictable! Father would tickle Sally's temper until she burst, and when she burst he would blame everything on her. I itched when I thought of the rumors that would circulate about the McAndrews' dreadful tempers, but I realized that every word of it was true. Sally and Father and Polly, the three of them constantly spraying mud onto our already dirty name.

Sally opened her mouth and her eyebrows inched towards one another as she glared daggers across the table, but before a word could be released from those impulsive lips, the Mr. of our guests rose loudly, the chair scraping against the floor rather rudely. "If I may interject, Miss McAndrew," he addressed my sister too politely, more polite than she deserved. "I think the time that allows us to be with you all tonight is running out. I have many matters to clear up at home, and well, my wife, you know the busy life a woman must endure at home. We must go," And then, quieter, but still able to be heard, "we must go."

Fancy that! The exact words I said at the beginning, spoken right out of this guest's mouth himself. Did I not say it was predictable?

Then his wife rose too, the same scraping sound following, and I remarked to myself silently that perhaps these people were not very polite after all. My father looked at them and nodded, and even though he didn't look at me I could tell he was smiling from the way his voice was strained, "Yes, yes, go on, it was a pleasure to have you, Mr. Page, Mrs. Page. Please do come again soon." The couple had locked arms by now, and they were retreating to the front door, not even having anyone accompany them. As Mr. Page opened the door for his wife, my mother called, "We'd love to have you again in a few weeks, perhaps the Tuesday after next!" But it was moot, for they were already hurrying out into the chilly October afternoon.