Vicky Banning by Allen McGill Page A

if they themselves were standing naked to the world, being appraised and compared—sized-up, if you will—by women who, they seemed to feel, weren’t supposed to know what a man looked like—cherubim were ok, of course. The ingredients of a bad dream in many men’s eyes.
    The ruckus drew all of the contestants and observers to Vicky’s corner, crowding around to see what the raucous commotion was all about. Vicky appeared innocently unaware of the attention she was attracting, as the male judges tried to shoo the onlookers away. But everyone nearby, men and women, were laughing so hard they paid them no attention.
    Each prize was to be awarded separately, varied-color ribbons presented to the winners by a judging couple.
    “For the most imaginative,” the vicar later announced—trying unsuccessfully to keep his face serious—“the prize goes to Ms. Vicky Banning!”
    More laughter and rousing applause reached Vicky as she stood beside the example of her creative expression. She watched as the vicar and his wife walked toward her, a shiny red ribbon with gold lettering held between the vicar’s hands. With each step they took, their smiles grew and grew, until they stopped across the table from her.
    “There was really no contest when it came to this award,” the vicar said, his smile still widening. He forced himself to keep his eyes focused on Vicky and not Blueboy , which was still unveiled; his dark-browed, gray eyes stared straight ahead. He couldn’t see the glances his wife was darting at the canvas. “You have quite an imagination,” he added.
    “A big one,” his wife added and broke into uncontrolled giggles until the vicar elbowed her gently. She forced them to subside, but continued casting quick looks at the “artwork.”
    Vicky was pleased with the prize, but only as a bonus. They’d never be able to show her canvas at the county fair, of course, and certainly not in the social room of St. Sebastian’s church. But the look of shock, surprise, and amazement on the faces of Jamesville’s elite were sure to win for her at least Honorable Mention in the photo contest. Another addition to her letter.
    It would be wonderful if she won first prize in the contest, though. She could buy dozens of copies of the newspaper in which the article appeared and send them off to…well, some in her family would certainly enjoy seeing her receive the award, especially after explaining how the photo came to be.
    Hmmm. She wondered how she’d look in a black leather jacket and crash helmet, zooming through the quiet streets of Jamesville on a Moped—a crazy celebrity artist.

Chapter 7
    “That exhibition you made of yourself this afternoon was disgraceful!” Sarah said with a sneer and an ugly rasp to her voice.
    Vicky had been engrossed in the local newspaper after dinner, having declined the invitation to watch a re-run of All In The Family , and was sitting alone in the parlor. She was startled by the outburst, the room having been silent except for the intermittent popping from the fireplace. She looked up jerkily from the newspaper to see Sarah standing before her, face stern, body stiffened haughtily. “I beg your pardon, dear,” Vicky said. “Were you speaking to me?”
    “You know very well I was,” Sarah said sharply. “We had a respectable home here, before you came. You and your pernicious influence have dragged our impeccable reputation into the gutter, down to your moral level. My husband was one of the founders of the Sanctuary, and I’m not going to stand by and let you ruin all the good work he did. I think you should pack your things and leave! Go back to where you came from!” She paused for just a moment, then with a wry smirk and lowering of her voice to a threatening level said, “Or we may just have to make you leave.”
    Again the royal ‘we,’ thought Vicky, and continued to smile pleasantly up at her accuser.
    “You should be ashamed of yourself,” Sarah continued. “At