Bittersweet by Nevada Barr Page B

Sarah a little one way and then the other. “You’ve done your hair into a bun and your mother gave you a dress that goes long to the ground. You have become such a young lady in such a little time.” Imogene’s voice broke and she covered her eyes with her hand.
    “Miss Grelznik, you all right?” Sarah reached up and took away the hand; it was shaking. “You look awful poorly. Maybe you oughtn’t to be in the sun.”
    “I’m a little tired is all. I’ll be fine in a minute.”
    “Your hand is so cold.” Sarah chafed it gently between hers.
    Imogene managed a smile. “You cannot imagine how glad I am to be home.” She looked at the square, weathered box she lived in, and laughed. “It is home now. Come in. I’ve things to show you and lots to tell you.”
    Sarah followed her inside. “Miss Grelznik, I got something to tell you, too.”
    Imogene held her hands out to the girl. “Imogene.”
    Sarah smiled, pleased. “Imogene.”
    “Thank you. Now what have you got to tell me?”
    “I’m going to be married!”
    The schoolteacher’s hands clenched on hers and the girl cried out, her face going pale under her sunburn.
    Imogene dropped Sarah’s hands, pressing her fingertips hard against her temples. “I’ve hurt you, haven’t I?”
    “No, Miss Grelznik.” Sarah sat on her stool beside the rocker as Imogene sank into it. She looked at her hands, working the fingers open and closed. “See. They’re fine. It didn’t really hurt. You looked so strange, I was afraid for you a little.”
    “And I was afraid for you.” Imogene rocked slowly, the murmuring of the summer day and the creaking of the chair on the floor keeping the silence company.
    At length the schoolteacher forced a smile. “We must celebrate. You are to be married.” Imogene pulled Sarah to her feet. “It is too nice a day to be inside, rummaging through old books. I shall take you to the dry goods and buy you something frivolous—ribbons and candy. And I haven’t asked you any of the proper questions. Who is the groom? You didn’t seem sweet on any of the boys.”
    “Mr. Ebbitt. In September.”
    Imogene’s forced calm deserted her. “Sam Ebbitt? Sam Ebbitt is—I don’t doubt that he is a good man in his way—but he is—”
    “Miss Grelznik,” Sarah interrupted her. “Imogene,” she amended carefully, lending the name music, “I don’t mind marrying Mr. Ebbitt. Honest I don’t. I could never teach or do anything, not like you. You know I couldn’t. And I never was sweet on anybody, so I’d just as soon marry Mr. Ebbitt.”
    “You have time, Sarah, you’re only sixteen.”
    “Pa wants me to.”
    Imogene wet her lips and pressed them together, her eyes wandering. Sarah watched her, her brow furrowed with concern. Then Imogene shook herself as though shaking off a bad dream. Sarah’s hairpins had worked out again; Imogene pushed them in securely. “Let’s go get those ribbons.”
    Jenkins’s dry goods store was hot and close with the smell of pickles and warm wood. Sunlight streamed in through the windows, and flies buzzed lazy circles in the shafts of light. Jana, the second of Mr. Jenkins’s daughters, leaned on the counter between two candy jars, fanning herself. She was an amiable-looking girl, her horsey face made interesting by wide-set blue eyes and an abundance of brown hair frizzy with the heat. Along one wall, by the counter, was a rack of sewing notions: thread and buttons and ribbon and trim displayed to their best advantage.
    Imogene held the mirror for Sarah as she tried the ribbonsagainst her hair. They set aside a satin ribbon of rich teal blue and one of soft yellow. Jana measured a yard of each and cut them. “They’re real pretty,” she commented as she wound them carefully around her hand and folded them in a bit of paper. “You got a beau?” Her eyes twinkled at Sarah. “Look at you coloring up!” She laughed and handed the package to Imogene. “That going to do you for