Bittersweet

“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, fa

Imogene held the mirror for Sarah as she tried the ribbons against 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 today?”

Imogene gave Sarah the package, watching her face light up as she opened it immediately, taking the ribbons out and letting them play through her fingers. “They’re so pretty. There was always something we needed more than hair ribbons,” she said. “Thank you, Imogene. Nobody’s ever bought me toys. Even when I was little.”

Imogene fished her black coin purse out of the depths of her skirt pocket and unclasped it. “Some candy sticks too, Jana. We’re celebrating today.”

The bell on the shop door jangled loudly and Jana smiled at someone over Sarah’s shoulder. “ ’Lo, Karen. Haven’t seen you in a while.” Sarah looked around and promptly turned her back again, her eyes on the counter and her mouth pulled tight. Imogene stared.

Karen, always a substantial figure, weighed a good twenty pounds more than she had in May. Her wardrobe had not kept up with the increase, and her dress was stretched tightly across her chest and upper arms, giving her an overblown look. There were food stains on her bodice, and her hair fell frowzily over her shoulders. Under Miss Grelznik’s eye she tried ineffectually to tidy it, then stopped abruptly, thrusting out her chin.

Imogene found voice. “Karen, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude. It took me a moment. You look very different. Hello.”

“Hello. Hello, Sarah.” She threw her greeting at Sarah’s back, like a challenge, and Sarah winced. “Aren’t you going to talk to me?” An edge of loneliness sounded through her surly tone, and Sarah turned around.

“Hello, Karen.”

“We were just leaving. Won’t you walk with us?” Imogene offered her the candy. Karen took a stick and bit the end off. Imogene gave one to Sarah and Jana and kept one for herself.

“I guess,” Karen conceded.

The main street of the town was slow and sleepy in the quiet of the afternoon. Several men sat in front of the blacksmith’s, under a generous maple tree, their backs to the smithy wall. Two were playing checkers, while the third watched. The blacksmith’s hammer was silent and the forge cold. “H’lo, Karen, Miss Grelznik,” Clay Beard called from the shade.

“Good afternoon,” Imogene returned. “You are working hard today.”

Clay laughed good-naturedly. “Mr. Rorvack’s been called up to the mine. A cart broke. I’m watching the place.”

“Watching it do what?” Karen asked.

“Just watching it, I guess.” He gri

“No, I ain’t seen Earl!” Karen snapped.

One of the old men playing checkers, wrinkled and white-haired, one arm ending in a stump above the elbow, cackled. “Question is, has Earl seen you?”

His opponent, some years his senior, spat contemptuously and wiped his rheumy eyes on his sleeve. “Kirby, you playin’ checkers or gabbin’?” The one-armed man returned to his contemplation of the board.

Clay walked over to the women. “If you see him, will you tell him Ma’s looking for him? He ain’t been to the mine more days’n he has been, lately. Ma’s afraid he’s goin’ to get himself fired. You’ll tell him, won’t you?”

“I ain’t seeing him, Clay, I told you.”

“But if you was to?”

Karen rolled her eyes and swished her dress, ignoring him.

“That’s a pretty dress you’re wearing.” Astounded at his own boldness, Clay giggled.

Karen stopped switching her skirt tail. “It’s nothing but an old housedress.”

“Oh.” Clay stood dumbly for a moment. “It’s sure pretty on you, just the same.” He ducked his head several times. “Good seeing you, Miss Grelznik. You too, Sare.” He ducked again, this time into his cap, and went back to the checker game.

Karen took another stick of the wedding candy Imogene had bought for Sarah. “Me and Earl are engaged,” she confided.

Sarah snorted.

“Hush, Sarah,” Imogene said quietly and, chastened, Sarah dropped back half a step as the three of them walked on. Imogene stole glances at Karen, noticing the thickened waist, the high color, the glow of her skin even through the accumulated layers of dirt. Karen was pregnant. Imogene’s heart went out to the girl and she unconsciously touched the jade ring she had taken from Mary Beth’s hand. “Karen,” she began delicately, “it has been a while since you were a student of mine, but if-for any reason-you need someone to talk to-”

“Why would I need to talk to somebody?” Karen interrupted suspiciously.

“Sometimes people need a friend,” Imogene replied. “Just someone to talk with.”

Karen’s eyes narrowed and her hand strayed to her swelling belly.

“For any reason, Karen. Please come.” Imogene laid a hand gently on the girl’s arm.

Karen recoiled at the knowledge she read in the schoolteacher’s eyes. “You keep your mouth shut!” she hissed. “You better keep quiet. No matter what I done, it’s better than what you’re doing. You and Sarah make me sick. Since you come, she’s been mooning around you and now you’re buying Sarah ribbons. Like an old dog suckin’ around the chicken coop ’cause no man’ll look at you.”

Imogene slapped her. The print of her hand stayed white on the girl’s face, then filled with blood until it burned red on the pale cheek. Sarah sucked in her breath, her hand over her mouth. For a moment they stared at one another, their faces frozen; then, with the sudde

Back at the schoolmistress’s house, Imogene brushed Sarah’s long hair and divided it into two parts. When she had plaited the ribbons into the braids, she wound them into a crown around Sarah’s head. The ends of the ribbons fluttered prettily down behind the girl’s right ear. Both made an attempt to be gay.

Imogene looked out the open door as she tied the last bow. “We’re just in time. Your mother and Mr. Ebbitt are here. Run along and show them your ribbons.”

Sarah slipped into the bedroom to put away the brush and the looking glass. “Thank you for the ribbons,” she said. “They’re the nicest present I’ve ever gotten. Almost,” she amended, and smiled at the beautifully framed miniature of Imogene she’d done with the water colors-the schoolteacher’s first gift to her. It was hung in the place of honor over the mantel.