Novel snippet

After not writing for a few days, I finally kicked it into high gear and got caught up tonight. I really do like this novel. It's fun to write.

This is very rough, from tonight's writing.

Genevieve had packed Edward's dressing gown with her belongings when she prepared her trunk for Washington. She kept it a secret from her maid and from Mrs. Mayes because she correctly assumed that they would not understand her need to keep his scent with her. It helped her to sleep.

When she dressed for bed, she pulled Edward's dressing gown around her and folded its lapels firmly around her shoulders, breathing deeply of Edward's own scent. Just this evening she would allow herself to sleep in his dressing gown. It would almost be as if he were there, with his arms around her once more, warming her with his body. It would not be long now before that dream was reality, as Edward had cabled her that he was on his way home.

In the far watches of the night, Genevieve received a vision. It was a vision which would haunt her for the remainder of her days, and one which could send her into instant loss of self-control for years. She had a vision of Edward.

In the vision, her bedroom door opened and he crept in softly. When she looked up at him from her bed, he lifted a finger to his lips and silently closed her door. Genevieve smiled up at him and whispered, "Edward, darling! I did not think you would be here yet. Did you board another ship?"

Edward smiled but did not answer. In the moonlight made soft by her gauzy curtains, he sat on the edge of her bed and smiled down at her. Genevieve could smell his own scent, fresh from his own body and she smiled to know that he was back and she would no longer need to sleep with his clothing. She felt the bed move when his body rested there. She reached out for his hand but it was so cold that she pulled hers away.

"Darling, you are frozen! You must warm up. Here, come in here with me and get warm," she offered, raising up part of the bedcovering to let him in. He shook his head slowly, seemingly with amusement, and patted her hand through the blanket. "Well, if you're sure, sweetheart," she murmured sleepily. "I am so glad to see you. Skipper and I missed you," she ended with a shocking yawn. "I am so sorry, dear, it has been a long day."

When she felt his body leave the bed and the springs decompress, she opened her eyes once more. He stood next to her bed, looking down at her, in his gray suit with the white shirt she had specially packed for him to wear while he was in England. She smiled sleepily up at him and he smiled in return, stroking her shoulder. He took out his watch, looked at the face of it and then pulled out the photograph he had placed inside. Her eyes were so heavy, filled with sand but she kept them open as long as she could and saw him replace the photo into the watch case, close it, and put it back into his pocket before they closed. One last time she opened them, to smile and laugh at her inability to stay awake. His blue eyes studied her sadly. She was so very warm and tired but his eyes almost woke her up. Almost. Finally, her eyes closed and stayed closed. She did not see him leave.

The next day dawned a bit brisk but sunny. She stretched as she sat up in bed and looked around for evidence of where Edward had disappeared. There were not that many rooms in the house, where had he spent the night?

Genevieve got up, washed her face in the chilly water in the basin, and rubbed a rosy glow into her cheeks. Still wrapped in her husband's dressing gown, she wandered the second floor of the house, listening at closed doors for a snore or the sound of conversation. Her mother burst from her own room, then caught at her chest when she saw Genevieve in the hallway. "What on earth, child!" she exclaimed. "You will catch your death, parading around in that dressing gown! What are you doing?"

"Looking for Edward," she said, simply.

"Edward is not due to arrive here before the weekend, isn't that correct?" was her mother's confused question.

"But I thought he arrived last night," was Genevieve's equally confused assertion.

"I don't believe so, dear, but I will check with Mrs. Sanker and see. It would be delightful to see him earlier than we had hoped. Now run along and put your clothes on. The very idea! Motherhood has made you rather indolent."

Genevieve smiled and returned to her room to dress. Surely the day would warm up some, perhaps they could go for a walk. Walking downstairs, she saw Mrs. Sanker walking away from her mother, who awaited her at the bottom of the staircase. "Mrs. Sanker says that Edward did not come in last night, Genevieve. You must have dreamt it in your keen desire to see him again."

"It was surely a powerful dream, then. I felt him sit on my bed and take my hand. His hand was freezing." She smiled at the memory and blushed a bit. "I tried to get him to come to bed and warm up but he did not. I thought he had gone to sleep elsewhere so as to not waken me further."

"No, dear, I'm sorry. He is not in the house," was her mother's firm response.

"Oh well, I guess it was just a dream. It was surely realistic!"

"Ah yes, darling, that happens when you are in the family way. Everything is so vivid! Why I remember when I was expecting you..." and Jane Lodge escorted Genevieve to the dining room for a bite of breakfast.

Abject goofiness

I don't know what it is but I've been pushing the goofy button waaaaay too much of late. That would be that I am a total goober, not necessarily the children, although they are happy to jump right in given the opportunity. Well, I think it's stress. Not necessarily the novel, which is ahead of schedule, but the children are sucking the life force right out of me. Apparently my reaction is to get totally looped.

To wit: Yesterday, I had to take Firstborn to a skit rehearsal waaay far away. We were running out of gas on the way down there but as I was running late, I just hoped that it was enough to get us there and then to a gas station afterward. It was (thank you, God!). So I'm at the Circle K filling up the Big Black Van and the twins hopped into the front seats and were tapping on the windows and waving at me in the side mirrors. About that time, a scrungy-looking guy pulled up opposite to fill up his tank. I didn't really notice him until after I bowed to my innate silliness.

You see, many times when I'm filling up the BBV, I pretend like I'm a monster, circling the van and roaring at the children within. It is apparently a tradition to them. So I snuck up to the driver's side window and roared loudly at David. He was delighted. He was also invisible.

I think Scrungy Guy couldn't see the twins in the front seats because he gave me a look of amazed alarm. I mean, truly, I was a little frightened of SG. He looked like a guy who could do some damage. But apparently I terrified him much more than he terrified me. I was too tired and stressed out last night to fully appreciate it but when I remembered it this morning, again in the BBV with numerous children in tow, I began to laugh. Uncontrollably. I mean, it was bad. Braintrust (that's another story, hold on) asked me what I was laughing about and I told her about Scrungy Guy and the Great Roaring Housewife incident, at which point she began to guffaw as well.

Then we started taking pictures with my new phone. Firstborn lost my phone a few weeks ago and since we could never find it, I got another one. The phone dude thought it was high time. He told me I was way overdue for an update and what kind of features did I want. I fixed my Mother Eye on him and said, "I want it to call out." Before he could fully process that I said, "And I want it to receive calls." Phone Dude (who was probably around 18 but looked younger said, "Ok, gotcha," and pulled down what he described as his cheapest model. Works for me! Ten minutes later I was off with my new phone.

When I told Friend Husband about the purchase, he cheered me on, then said, "Does it have a camera?" Well, the stupid thing did not come with an instruction manual and I hadn't found anything referring to a camera on the main menu so I said, "No, I don't think so." But I was in error...it does have a camera and man is that a fun feature!

So today we were taking goofy pictures in the BBV while waiting for Son to come out of his speech therapy session. This was Braintrust's favorite, the one that had her guffawing into hysterical laughter:



That would be me, gnawing on Germophobe's ankle.

Ok, Braintrust. Sometimes Rachel is just so blonde. She knows that her dad and I joke around with them constantly but she can still be utterly bumfoozled by the stuff we say. Yesterday was a case in point. I had just taken some tilapia fillets out of their little plastic bags and put the bags (wait for it) in the trash can. I suppose that my poor abused children are not accustomed to seeing trash actually put into the trash can because Rachel asked, "Why are those in there?" The incredulous look I gave her should have been a clue. Alas, she is somewhat blonde. I started to weave a cockamamie story about how I was cleaning out the freezer and throwing away everything we don't use, blah blah blah. She interrupted me to ask, "What are we having for dinner?" Again, I shot her an incredulous look and waited for her to realize the sheer goofiness of her question. When she did not, I said, "Tilapia, Braintrust, what do you think?" After (I kid you not) about five seconds she actually understood. For the rest of the evening we called her Braintrust. I called her dad and told him to call her Braintrust when he came in from work. The twins surprised her by calling her by her new nickname. I like it. I think I'll keep it.

Now, Abigail is another story. We've called her Crabby Abby for years, mainly because she is pretty crabby. But today she kept demanding that I confine Keziah to the back of the van because "she is sick and is going to make me sick". Finally I told her that, since Keziah is black, it would be impolitic to send her to the back of the bus. Of course, Abby didn't get it but I think Braintrust did because she gave me a funny look. From that point forward, we called her Germophobe.

We are still working on twin nicknames. I wanted to call them Tweedledum and Tweedledee but Germophobe was violently opposed to that notion as she is playing Dum in the production of Alice in Wonderland that they're putting on in April. And having a twin named after the character would "ruin the whole year" for her. (Playing Dum...ha ha...I crack myself up!) So they'll probably have to stick with Thing 1 and Thing 2. Ha ha.

Ok, none of this is getting my NaNo writing done (and it is now at a complete standstill), so I'll mosey. I hope that it was at least somewhat amusing to you. It sure made me laugh until I almost threw up.

♥♥♥

P.S. This book that I'm reading is an excellent (and totally terrifying) depiction of life during the Spanish Flu epidemic in England...highly recommended.

Novel, novel, who's got the novel?

Having finished 26,000 words in this puppy, I am excited about the novel itself. Unfortunately, I like to read those epic novels that could double as doorstops when they are not being read and my writing reflects that, I recently read Pale Horse, Pale Rider, by Katherine Anne Porter, which is a book composed of three tangentially related short novels. The sort of short novel that you are writing in NaNo. I can't write like that, at least yet. So I've got chunks of novel that make sense in my head but probably only in my head because that's where the characters are living. Here's another chunk for your perusal, but don't feel bad if you don't understand it in context of the rest of the snippets.

I hope it is as beautiful at your place as it is at mine...November has been so lovely!



Although they would not normally have been long-term friends or even friends in the moment, the girls of Gall High School were close. Perhaps it was the utter impossibility that they would be educated, being women in the Edwardian age. Perhaps it was an exploit long forgotten by the group of them but which served to cement them for longer than just their high school years. Perhaps it was part and parcel of the mores of another time, where people kept closer contact than we do today. Whatever it was, the Round Robin Letter served a purpose both social and historical for the women who contributed to it.

The way it came together was this: a group of them were sitting around the Ladies' Lounge during Finals Week, discussing their plans for the future. One of them, no one could later remember who, suggested that they keep up with one another via letters after Commencement. This sounded like a marvelous idea to some of the others but the problem remained that if they wrote one another one by one, the news would probably not reach the others. It was then that Catherine mentioned something that some of her cousins would do. They called it a Round Robin Letter. Each would contribute an update, then pass it around to the others, in order. That way each would find out what was going on with the other women in the group and without writing tens of letters.

It was Genevieve who had the brilliant idea of putting the letters into a leather-bound journal, so that they would not become separated over time and mailing. She put in the first letter, then gave it to Catherine, who filled it out and gave it to Ruth. Ruth elaborated and gave it to Sarah. Sarah passed it on to Sophia after filling it in and thus it began. Though miles and life circumstances began to separate them, they knew what was going on in their lives and in the lives of some of their other classmates.

May 5th, 1910

Washington

Dear girls,

I scarcely know what to put into this volume, as we are not yet out of school! But it does seem important to put down a few things and get into the habit of correspondence prior to leaving the "hallowed halls". So here it is.

In a few weeks, I plan to leave school and go to Europe, at least for the summer months. My parents believe that it will serve a dual purpose: to lend me some polish which is sorely lacking and to keep me out of trouble. It is difficult to know now if they will achieve their hoped for purpose. I should be back to the United States by the beginning of September, so don't leave me out of the Round-Robin! I shall be very put out if you do.

It is now time for me to lay aside this volume in order to study for Fishbein's chemistry exam. How I long for the day when I no longer have to mix smelly chemicals to satisfy old Fishy! It won't be long now, for any of us.

Ever yours,

Genevieve Lodge

May 7, 1910

Washington, D.C.

Dear friends,

I will follow Genevieve's sterling example by putting down a few words before we go our separate ways. At this moment, I am supposed to be working on my Latin declensions for the Commencement ceremony but I will lay them aside for the moment. Why do you suppose it is of interest for the parents and visitors coming to see Commencement to see young ladies doing Latin? I feel rather like an animal in the Zoo.

At any rate, here is my excitement for the immediate future...did any of you get a copy of the picture that Mr. Hannigan took of us about six weeks ago? If you did, and you look at me in the picture, you may get an idea of my news. If you don't (or even if you do), here it is: I am engaged to be married! Please try to keep it as much a secret as you can. I have, for these six weeks now, but I have been fairly bursting to tell you all. That was the only day I wore my ring to school. You know how nastily the teachers discuss our futures. I did not want to hear about how I was wasting my education by becoming affianced so soon after (or before!) Commencement. Let them shake their heads afterward, the harmless old bachelors. I am getting married!

Thus far, our plans are for a Christmas wedding, so that we can take advantage of the holiday and take a trip. Gene would like to go to Mexico to an archeological dig and I shall accompany him. Between now and then, my Latin will be getting a run for its money with my trying to learn some Spanish. I suppose I should have taken that instead of French!

That is my news and as I am determined to not befoul my reputation any more than I already have, I must dig back into my dusty old Latin. As Genevieve said, it will not be long until we bid adieu to the halls of Gall High School.

Adios!

Catherine

May 10, 1910

Good day ladies!

I trust that we are all getting our pretty speeches prepared for our Commencement? I will take this opportunity to scrawl into our communal book, although I do not have any news nearly so exciting as that of Gennie or Cathy (and if you two call me 'Ruthie', I will see to it that toads find their way into your book bags!). How exciting...Genevieve and her European tour and Catherine and hers of Mexico. Oh, and the wedding of course. You two did get all the breaks, did you not?

I do not have any firm plans for the time following Commencement. I only plan to relax and enjoy as much of the summer as one can when one is trapped in the environs of Washington for the dull summer months. Perhaps I will have the opportunity to visit one of my many relations in another (and I hope cooler) city.

Best wishes to all from

Ruth

May 11, 1910

Washington (as if we would be elsewhere!)

Ladies of the Round-Robin Society,

As you all know, my sojourn in academia continues past our sacred Commencement ceremony. I am thrilled and relieved to announce that I have been accepted to the Philadelphia Women's School of Medicine. I will need to get special tutoring in chemistry and physiology (no such luck for me as you Genevieve!) prior to my moving to Pennsylvania but you all know that I will not mind. I can not tell you how utterly delighted I am to have the opportunity to do exactly what I have wanted to do for so many years now--study to be a physician! I am not idiotic enough to believe that the work will be easy for me, but I think I have the brains enough and I know that I have the heart enough to make a good physician. So, off I go to more schooling! I know that you all are green with envy!

Keep me in the loop. This Round Robin may be the only opportunity I have to know what normal life is like, once I disappear into the halls of the Medical College.

Best wishes to all,

Sarah (not Sissy!)

15 May 1910

Washington, D.C.

My dear classmates,

Thank you so much for giving me the opportunity to join you in your special Round letter. You all have always been so kind to me, even when I arrived, as green as a stick, and did not know enough English to get by outside of school hours. I will delight in reading your exploits and will attempt to dress up my own so that they will not bore you when I write in my turn.

I do not have big plans of success following our Commencement. I mean only to gain employment somewhere so as to assist my parents in educating the remainder of my brothers and sisters. If any of you hear of a good job where they don't mind my Swedish accent, kindly let me know what it is. I thank you in advance, both for the job hints and the gift of your continuing friendship.

Yours,

Sophia Admundsen

Genevieve



Catherine



Sarah



Sophia and Ruth

Genevieve

Another novel snippet, this time in a new direction.

You seldom know when you are about to meet your destiny. Usually you don't think about it until later, much later, and you realize that your life turned around the random (or not so random) event at that very time. Sometimes you have a sense of magic and electricity that helps you to look for something to happen, but that is unusual in the extreme.

Genevieve Lodge was no exception to this rule. She was merely hoping to not be bored stiff all evening. She spent much of her life bored stiff. It seemed the thing to do for women of her class, with her brains. Unable to use them sufficiently within the constraints of society, they were either bored, troubled, or in trouble. Seeing as Genevieve was young, she was merely bored.

The ballroom was lit by gaslight, which lent an odd shimmery green cast to the room. Genevieve missed candlelight. It was beautiful in the extreme to dance in the light given by hundreds of tapers. Of course, it was much safer and more ala mode to use gaslight. She understood that. But in the back of her mind there was just the niggling that doing things because it was "the thing" to do was idiotic. It was not yet voiced, it had not even peeked its head out from where it was hiding, but the aroma was there. She was poised to begin questioning, which would probably alleviate the boredom.

In the light of day, the ballroom was merely an enormous room, rather plain, with windows set at regular intervals in the wall. Decorated in a dull ivory satin, she thought that it was supposed to be attractive and rich-looking, but mainly it was just ordinary. Genevieve had not really experienced "ordinary" in her life but for her station in life, the Doringer's ballroom was ordinary.

It was scarcely better in the gaslight. All the ladies had greenish skin, all the gleaming shirt fronts of the men were a sickly green. Genevieve scarcely wished to know how she looked in this hideous light. She would find somewhere else to hide out as quickly as she could, if only to relieve herself of the smell and sight of those wretched modern gaslights.

Banks of hothouse flowers were placed between the windows, predictably. There were lilies and roses, and plenty of those cheap frowsy white flowers whose name Genevieve could never recall. They lent a funereal cast to the already depressing ballroom as well as a sweet, almost cloying scent. Many of the young of the society class were already present, chatting along the walls, waiting for the small band to warm up and begin playing. Dowagers were already seated in their plush thrones, keeping a beady eye on the doings. Genevieve sighed and resigned herself to an utterly dull few hours until she could safely absent herself and do something, anything that was more interesting, even if it was merely to go to sleep.

Another short one

Here's another excerpt. I think I'm getting steadily worse, but I'm pressing on nonetheless. If nothing else, at least I'll have achieved some manner of discipline regarding plowing through something that I don't want to do.


Looking at Ruth, Tillie realized that she would be staggering no where, any time soon, because she was unconscious. Whether she had fainted or fallen asleep suddenly, Tillie could not say, but she was relieved just the same. Laying her down on her sitting room divan, Tillie gave Ruth a cursory scrub with the now cool water. She, Tillie, would go out and start digging the grave so they could lay this little one to rest. When Bill showed up, if Bill showed up, Tillie would be giving him more than a piece of her mind. With that, she arose from her position on the floor and realized for the first time that her bread was ready to come out of the oven. Sometimes the way that life went on in the face of tragedy was bracing, sometimes it was cruel. Tillie was not at all certain which one this was, but she thought she would have herself a good private cry while she was out digging the grave for the little boy who had been her son's friend.

After laying the bread on the table to cool, Tillie left the house, securely fastening the screen door to prevent incursions by the farm animals. She had found evidence of at least one hen in the house. Tillie walked the short distance to the barn to look for a shovel. Or did the Walkers have a tool shed? She stopped just short of the barn doors to look around. There it was, a little tool shed. Tillie headed in that direction and shook her head. She was going to have to work hard. That poor little one had to be put in the ground soon. The smell was beginning to permeate the yard.

Tillie was a sturdy woman and well accustomed to hard work. She did not, therefore, slack in her endeavor to dig that grave. She dug until it was almost too dark to see, and then finally determined that it was deep enough. Scrambling out of the earthy-smelling hole, she grabbed the shovel in hands that were almost numb with the digging. She didn't have the wherewithal to build a coffin, she just didn't. And Bill had not shown up either, so she couldn't send him after help or the preacher, one. The boy would just have to be laid to rest in a winding sheet, as they had done in the very old days of the frontier. She would just have to show Ruth that it had to be done that way, and soon. Tillie began her walk back to the house with the dark windows reflecting the last rays of the sun. The house looked as if it were deserted, burning and Tillie shuddered once before continuing on, this time unable to square her shoulders against her load.

Nuther piece o' novel goodness

From today's word weaving:

His wife smiled as he walked into his own kitchen. He hung his hat on the peg on the wall as she questioned him about the Walkers but did not answer. He turned to her and she put down the casserole dish she held when she saw his face. He was white beneath the sweat that covered his face. “Bill? What’s wrong? Are you sick?”

“The Walkers…”

“The Walkers are sick? Is that why you were there so long?” she queried anxiously.

He nodded heavily, then sat in his own chair. Looking over at the casserole and then at his own place setting, he pushed his plate away. After wiping his face with his hand, he said, “They have some kind of bad sickness over there, Tillie. Everyone’s sick abed, except for Hiram.” There he paused.

“So Hiram’s trying to take care of them all? Poor man! Poor Ruth!” she joked as she turned back to the kitchen to gather up the rest of their lunch.

“No,” he began slowly. “Hiram’s not there. Not that I could see, leastways.”

“Hiram’s not there? Where is he?” Matilda’s forehead creased with the questions.

“I don’t know. Never saw him. Just Miz Walker and the children. Oh,” he began and gulped hard.

Matilda sat down and waited for him to clear his throat. “One of the boys passed. That friend of Samuel’s, Simmons.”

Matilda gasped. “Passed! What do they have?”

“I don’t know Tillie, but it’s the worst thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

NaNo 2009

NaNo has me firmly in its clutches. I am still not feeling the rushes of wonderful writing periods that I did when I first did NaNo but it seems like it's not going to be the "character building experience" that it was last year. For that I am thankful. Here is a tidbit from the 2300+ words I've written so far...

Susan glared into the camera. She hated being photographed. She never came out looking like she felt inside. Of course, with her irritation clearly visible, this time she would.

Maud ventured a tiny smile. Surely she could pull it off this time. Her image burned onto the film at that time was a memoir of her escapade forever more.

Delia acquiesced to sit on the steps with the other young women of the class. She was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to sleep peacefully in a soft bed for days, weeks maybe. She merely hoped that she would remain awake long enough to make it safely home tonight.

Genevieve snatched the hats off two of the boys immediately before the photographer asked them all to please be still for a couple of minutes. One she perched atop her impeccable hairdo, slightly smashing it down. The other she popped atop the head of the perpetually gloomy girl sitting on her right. Millie accepted the hat with resignation. Genevieve rested her elbow on her knee and assumed a combative contemplative pose. Hiram and Eldred attempted to wipe the snarls of irritation from their faces before the art, the magic, the sorcery of photography recorded them there forevermore.

Julia and Frances, ever the sisters of the heart, tilted their heads together at the same moment, and wrapped their arms around the waist of the other. Julia smiled slightly, sweetly as she imagined showing the finished product to her grandmother. Grandmother Rachel did not understand how she could be friends with a Gentile, after all that the family had been through. Perhaps when she saw the transparent love and goodness of Frances’ face, she could understand how the bonds were so easily formed. Perhaps she could approve of the friendships that Julia found so stimulating amongst the girls of the school.

Frances, for her part, was grateful that she had worn her best shirtwaist to school that day. Although her skirt was nothing remarkable and certainly not the match of Sarah’s or even Molly’s, it was clean and it was what was available that morning when she woke late to get ready for school. First, of course, she had to do her chores for her Aunt Sylvia, who was yet again “in the family way” and found it difficult to get breakfast on for the huddled masses of her little brood. She stacked the dirty dishes in the dishpan and promised the green and heaving Sylvia that she would do them when she came back this afternoon from school. Avoiding any other encroaching tentacles of duty, she scampered out of the house to walk the brisk streets for two miles before reaching the hallowed halls of Gall High School, Washington, D.C.

Catherine surreptitiously pulled her hand out of hiding from her voluminous white skirt. The ring that George had placed upon it last evening peeked from its alcove between her skirt and her neighbor’s. By the time the photograph had been processed and distributed, her secret would long be out, but for now, she shared it with the photographer, a thin, harried man who had no idea that she was trusting him with her deepest secret to date.

“Young lady!” the photographer wheedled, “You can’t have that animal on your lap in this photograph.” The young woman slowly ran her hand down the spine of the cat resting comfortably in her lap. She then raised her eyes to challenge the photographer’s assertion. After a short time, he backed down and Sarah’s pet cat, Tom Thumb, was a part of the class photograph forever.

As the photographer harangued her neighbor, Bonny’s arms raised to her hips in a note of challenge to him. At that point, his attention shifted from the nefarious cat to the extensive work on her leg o’ mutton sleeves. “Kindly retain your position, Miss,” the photographer wheedled. Bonny acceded, mostly because she had no idea why in the world he said this and Mr. Hannigan disappeared beneath his dark cover and snapped his photograph.

Waiting patiently in the warm sun, Ruth and Sophia were resigned to missing yet another course of Greek. They muttered to each other through lips pressed as closed as possible while the fussy little photographer uttered useless imprecations to Sarah. Knowing Sarah as they did, they knew that that cat would be on her lap until the Lord came again, so the photography man had better just take his photo and move on. Who would see such a little thing in the mass of humanity that they represented anyway? When Bonny was cajoled to keep her hands on her hips, they knew that the time was here. No more whispers, no more murmuring. Although both girls attempted to keep still so the exposure would be clear, Ruth was unable to control her impatience for enough time. She was here to study, not to take silly photos.

The scene was blurry to Maudine’s eyes. She squinted just a bit to bring the photographer into focus. “Oh no!” she thought, too late. “He’s under the cloth covering!” The photograph captured her forever in the squint of near-sightedness. While her classmates would remember her as a warm and loving friend, she was forever captured by one group photo as looking stern and stiff. It was no consolation to her that Consuela, beside her, suffered the same unjust fate. None of the girls save Hazel wore glasses. And no one wanted to be Hazel.

The photographer came out from under the scratchy woolen cover and announced that he was finished. He handed his business card to the principal, a corpulent, sweating man who had been waiting to his left while the students fussed and fluttered. “The sample photograph will be ready in a week. I will take orders then. The copies are generally a dollar per, if the students or their parents are interested.” The principal nodded, thanked him, and began the process of shooing the students into the building. He did not have to work hard at it, for which he was truly grateful. The warming sun in which picture had been taken for maximum clarity had driven them all back in much more quickly than he could have anticipated. He spared not a glance for the photographer, who was busily putting away his equipment. He walked in the cool but slightly odiferous halls of Gall High School.

Once inside the building, Hiram stopped beside Genevieve and silently held out his hand. Millie hurriedly placed a hat into it and Hiram passed it on to Eldred who took it and walked on to his class in geometry. “Miss Lodge, if I may?” he quietly asked. Genevieve raised one delicate eyebrow, then plucked the object from her mounds of fair hair and dropped it into his hand from about six inches, as if the object as well as Hiram himself were beneath her ability to acknowledge. She turned with a swish of her skirts. Hiram glared toward her retreating form. Genevieve walked, back straight, almost saucily compared to the other girls, particularly long-suffering Millie who looked as though the starch had been removed from her bones long ago. Clapping the hat to his head, Hiram stalked heavily toward the staircase which would transport him to his ancient history class. His figure attracted the attention of Principal Harriman, who whipped the hat from his head and gave him a punishment of five demerits for wearing a hat inside the building. Hiram nodded swiftly, acknowledging the reprimand and silently swearing an oath that would have earned him ten more had it been heard by Mr. Harriman. Now he would have to miss practice this afternoon and do some inane bit of work for the office staff. Genevieve Lodge was a thorn in his side, to be sure.