The McCloud Home for Wayward Girls

June 1965

“It will finish with a simple RSVP.” Ruby enunciated the words with a ping of exasperation in her voice. “Yes, RSVP, the shortened form of ‘respondez silver plate,’ ” she clipped, pulling the receiver back slightly and rolling her eyes in annoyance. “That’s right.” She couldn’t decide if the printer was hard of hearing, a little slow, or intentionally goading her. As the deadline was tight, it had been his idea that she dictate copy over the phone. She suspected that he, like everyone else in town, had yet to warm to the notion of Ruby’s new duties at the home.

Ruby heard a small rap at the door followed by a higharching pip of a cough. Hester’s long horsey nose appeared through the crack of the door and Ruby waved her in. “I will drop the hard copy by your shop later today.” She hung up the phone and smiled wanly at Hester. “How were the roses?” she asked.

Hester had been waiting on Daniel for over thirty minutes. She’d amused herself with an inspection of the kitchen and a tour of the garden, but was getting impatient.

“Lovely as ever.” Hester stepped across the room and leaned against the edge of Ruby’s desk. A strand of her sleek bay-brown hair fell forward and she tucked it behind an ear. “Daniel says you’re a very fast learner.” She ran her finger across the large desktop calendar and let it trail to the top of the page, tracing the five, in 1965, with a loop of her index finger. “But you couldn’t have even finished school,” Hester said. “How old are you?”

“Nineteen.”

“And with all your . . . personal difficulties . . . how far did you get?”

“Tenth grade. Plus half of eleventh.”

“Well, then, you do incredibly well.”

Ruby resented Hester’s tone. It wasn’t like Hester was that much older, four years tops. And who was Hester to talk? What did she do? What good was a fancy degree if all you did was prattle on about art, play tennis, and wait around for a marriage proposal like some spineless Victorian maiden. “I plan on finishing,” Ruby said. “I always liked school, but they wouldn’t let me stay.”

Ruby had been an excellent student. A front-row, hand-in-the-air, shining example of diligence and determination. By second grade, her library card was tattered and worn. The town librarian had taken a shine to Ruby, likely realizing she was left unchaperoned after school. There wasn’t much choice. Ruby’s single mother, Esther, worked the counter at the Chelsey Diner from ten to six, five days a week, plus cleaned houses on the weekend. Poor thing. All those long hours probably contributed to her early death. She was certainly bone tired that night she stepped off a curb at two in the morning outside Jake’s Bar, not paying attention and in a rush to get home to her unattended nine-year-old. Once under the roof of Aunt Mabel, Ruby had realized she’d have to hide her books and take care not to get too showy with her learning. Aunt Mabel complained Ruby was like her mother, a pretty blond head full of useless nonsense, and according to Aunt Mabel, “A fat lot of good it had done Esther. No husband, a kid to support, and slinging hash and mopping floors.” Even throughout those pain-filled years bearing the derision of Aunt Mabel, Ruby had always been top in her class, until that morning when the school principal had called her into his office to discuss “her future.” Aunt Mabel was there with her lips pulled so thin you could see the outline of her chipped front tooth. A counselor had hovered with such a compassionate show of pity and sympathy that Ruby thought the poor thing might sprout wings, and maybe even a halo. Two days later, Ruby found herself on a Greyhound bus headed north and clutching a pamphlet for the McCloud Home for Wayward Girls.

Hester crossed her long legs with an affectation that nettled Ruby’s concentration. Hester was thin, painfully thin. Her clavicle looked like the wishbone Ruby had snapped on Thanksgiving Day. She wore silk stockings, black pointy pumps, and a teal-blue silk dress that darted in and around her skinny frame at impossible angles. Ruby stood. Her sweater was too tight and pulled across her breasts, making her feel large and exposed. She tapped the morning’s files into an orderly group and turned to the file cabinet behind her desk, aware of Hester’s pea-green gaze as she bent down. Hester made her feel all wrong, too busty, too curvy, common, pale, and colorless. As Ruby turned around, she found Hester holding a paper.

“Is this the invitation to the tea?” Hester asked.

Ruby had worked all morning checking—and rechecking—her spelling, grammar, and layout for the invitation to the home’s annual fund-raiser. She felt a stab of mama-bear protectiveness at her labor in Hester’s hands. “Yes.”

“Should I have a look?” Hester asked. “I was a double major at Drake, you know, English and art history. I could proofread it for you.”

Reaching over the desk, Ruby took the paper from Hester. All her life, she’d never liked help from anyone, even when her future looked bleak as tar. “Thank you, but it’s not necessary. It’s been checked. And besides, I’ve already dictated it to the printer over the phone. I just need to give him this copy later today as a formality.” Ruby liked the word formality. It had an air of importance to it.

Hester gave Ruby a long, lingering look. “Suit yourself,” she said. “Just thought you might like a second pair of eyes.” Hester consulted her watch and sighed. “Oh, bother. We won’t have time to stop at Merman’s and look at the new canvases from Chicago.” She stood and paced in front of the window. “I am determined to cultivate a collector’s eye in Daniel, you know.” Ruby wondered how much of an art collector anyone around here could be, but remained expressionless. “Do me a favor, Ruby. Remind him I’m waiting.”

Ruby turned slowly. She was not Hester’s employee, after all. “Of course,” she said.

Daniel was making rounds with Dr. Perry. There were ten girls in the house. Six were in their last trimester and Glenda was on complete bed rest: pale, sickly, and in constant pain. Daniel never liked to be disturbed during Dr. Perry’s weekly visit, certainly not while the ward was so busy. Still, it was Hester. Her family was the home’s largest benefactor, and she was Daniel’s fiancée, no less.

Bounding up the wide front staircase, Ruby found Daniel and Dr. Perry in the corridor, their heads bent in consultation. She resented the position Hester was placing her in. She’d already told Daniel Hester was waiting, and he’d shaken her off with a firm not-now shrug of his head. But Dr. Perry had been here for ages already. Just as her mother had taught her, Ruby straightened her shoulders and advanced toward the two men. She wished she hadn’t worn this old red sweater. It was tighter than some of her others and Dr. Perry’s gaze always strayed. His eyes grew wet and bright when he talked to her, and he had an annoying habit of smacking and slurping his excess saliva.

“Miss Ruby,” Dr. Perry said. “Always my favorite reason for visiting.”

She nodded, avoiding his eyes. “Good afternoon, Dr. Perry.”

“What can we do for you, Ruby?” Daniel asked.

“I’m sorry to bother you, but Hester wanted me to mention she’s still waiting.” Ruby saw a wave of annoyance play across Daniel’s brow.

“Tell her we’ll be done soon,” Daniel replied.

Ruby found Hester on the sofa in the parlor, thumbing through a Better Homes and Gardens magazine. “They’ll be down shortly,” Ruby said, bending to straighten the stack of wholesome, family-oriented periodicals set out for the girls. “Can I interest you in something? Coffee, or tea?”

“You can interest me in something.” Ruby was startled by the male voice. She looked up to find Dr. Perry. Daniel was just behind him.

Ruby straightened, blushing and hoping she hadn’t exposed cleavage. She was never going to wear this red sweater again. Though it was as much Hester’s once-over as Dr. Perry’s that had crimson coloring her cheeks. “Of course, Dr. Perry. What would you like?”

“Now, there’s a question with an easy answer.” Dr. Perry rubbed his hands together. “I’ll take whatever you’re willing to give.” He jabbed his elbow backward, nudging Daniel.

Daniel stepped forward, his face pulled in an awkward frown. “How about I have Cook rustle you up a cup of tea, Dr. Perry.” Daniel, his back now to Dr. Perry, gave Ruby a quick nod, kind and apologetic. “Ruby needs to run to the printers for me.” He looked at his watch. “In fact, you’d better not delay, Ruby.” He encouraged her on her way with an almost imperceptible tilt of his head. “And, Hester, I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to meet you at your parents’ later. I don’t have time this afternoon for the gallery. Dr. Perry, I’ll just pop into the kitchen and let Cook know about tea.”

Ruby excused herself and walked back to the office. A moment later, Daniel entered the room. “Ruby, I’m sorry,” he said. He took a step toward her. “He was inappropriate.”

The office window looked out onto the petunia-lined flagstone pathway and white entrance gate. It was, by far, the prettiest home Ruby had ever inhabited. It even smelled nice with honeysuckle climbing the trellises on either side of the front porch. From her tiny office, wafts of perfumed air folded her into a sense of calm and security. “It’s nothing,” she said.

He moved alongside her and turned her to face him by gently fingering the inside of her wrist. It was a touch so crushingly tender that her eyes welled.

“I want to know,” he said, “has he ever . . .”

Daniel had never, in the two years since she’d come to his home, been in such close proximity to her person. Not even that tragic night he helped deliver Janine, when Dr. Perry’s nurse had been held up by car trouble. Daniel’s distance, his sense of propriety and decorum, was an enigma to Ruby. She’d grown up poked and prodded by the grubby pinching fingers of her uncle since she could first remember filling out her simple cotton dresses. Daniel confused her. For starters, he seemed older than twenty-eight. He carried his tall, thin frame with the hunch of a much older man. Also, he seemed above the caprices of a man in his twenties. This aloof manner had been a delightful novelty. Lately, though, she daydreamed of a happenstance that would throw them together in a confusion of time, space, and conduct. A tumble down the steps, a sprained ankle requiring his shoulder for support, or even a lift into his arms.

“You can tell me,” he said. His gaze was intense, fiery even, and this was the first time Ruby allowed that they could, in fact, be on some sort of a collision course.

“No,” she said quickly. “Please, it’s nothing.” In truth, Ruby had been wary of Dr. Perry for some time. He was forward with many of the girls at the home, the pretty ones anyway. But lately, since she’d become a permanent member of the staff, and no longer a charity case, he’d become more and more of a pest. It had begun following the death of baby Janine, whose cord-wrapped neck had fractured Ruby so completely that for a time a part of her had followed the tiny lifeless body into that black hole. She had no other way to cope with this void than to pull out her hair by the handful, until her eyes pooled with diversionary tears and clumps of blond fell to the ground. Daniel, and the others at the home, had been so worried by Ruby’s strange melancholy that Dr. Perry had been called in regularly. The whole episode seemed to have allowed him some sort of familiarity with Ruby. And now he seemed to be escalating his advances and she feared he saw her as damaged or “as is” goods. And who was she to quibble over an impropriety?

There was a rustle at the door and Ruby looked up to see Hester’s eyes narrowed onto the scene. Her voice was, however, calm and practiced. “Daniel, Cook wants to know if you’ll be joining us for tea?”

Daniel let go of Ruby’s arm.

Hester looked at Daniel, then at Ruby, and again at Daniel. “What should I tell Cook?”

Daniel’s voice was gruff. “No tea. Thank you. As I said, I’m busy this afternoon.”

Hester straightened her dress. “What a shame. And you force me to go to the gallery on my own.” She stepped into the office and her eyes fell to the invitation left prominently at the center of Ruby’s small desk. “The printer is, as you know, just a block away from Merman’s. I can drop the invitation on my way.” She smiled beatifically. “It’s no bother. And this way Ruby doesn’t have to go.” Hester leaned over and carefully lifted the white paper. “It makes sense all the way around. Daniel can get back to work and Ruby can repay Dr. Perry for all his generous, unremunerated hours of community service by joining us for a nice cup of tea and a bit of pleasant company.”

A week later, Ruby was called into Daniel’s office. Hester sat in the chair opposite his desk with her long legs crossed at the ankle and her hands clasped primly in her lap. One step into the room and Ruby knew something was wrong. Daniel’s face was the color of boiled rhubarb and he had pulled his normally crisp side part into a shaggy tumble of reed-brown hair. He motioned toward a stack of crisp white envelopes and square white cards on his desk.

“They’re all ruined,” he said.

“Ruined. How?” Ruby asked.

Daniel lifted a single card from the stack and read with irritation, “ ‘Respondez silver plate.’ Silver plate! Is this some kind of a joke? It’s s’il vous plaît. French for ‘if you please.’ ”

Ruby gulped and took the card from Daniel. Her eyes scanned the bottom of the card in disbelief. “I never wrote ‘silver plate.’ I only wrote the abbreviation, ‘RSVP.’ The printer will tell you.”

“I’ve checked with him,” Daniel said. “He claims you stated ‘silver plate’ on the phone, and that it was written on the hard copy.”

Ruby stammered. “I may have said it to him on the phone. I’m sorry, I guess I did think the phrase was silver plate, but I swear I didn’t write it out. I only wrote the abbreviation.”

Daniel scowled. “There are a hundred invitations here, Ruby. And they’re all useless. We don’t have the time or money to reprint.”

Ruby’s tummy felt a nagging pitch of shame and hurt, the way it had during the first four months she hid Janine under her apron. She had to think fast. Speed and tenacity had gotten her a good ways down the road from that miserable little gas station. She prided herself on escaping one jam after another, pressing a sweet pail of cider out of what another would consider slops and scraps. Ruby fanned the card to her face. Closing her eyes, she relived her labors over every detail of the invitation. She hadn’t written the words out. She knew she hadn’t. And why wouldn’t an experienced printer have caught the error? She remembered their phone conversation and regretted the irritated tone she’d taken with him. She also remembered the way he’d made her repeat the phrase. Still, she simply hadn’t written out ‘silver plate.’ Upon opening her eyes, she found Hester studying her.

“If only you had let me check the invitation like I offered,” Hester said. She turned to Daniel. “All of this could have been avoided.”

Ruby met Hester’s expression of smug pity with an icy resolve. Ruby Jolene Renard might let someone get a head start, but they better watch their tail after that.

Ruby stepped toward the desk and scooped the invitations, envelopes and all, into her arms. “Don’t worry,” she said, “I’ll fix them.”

“Honestly, Ruby,” Hester said with a scold. “There’s nothing you can do . . .”

Ruby turned to Daniel. “I have an idea. If you’ll just trust me . . .”

“Daniel,” Hester said, “you’ll just waste more time. Why don’t you let me . . .”

“Please,” Ruby said, “I can fix this.”

Daniel looked from one to the other. “Hester, why don’t we let Ruby get back to work?”

“But, Daniel . . .” Hester said.

“Everyone deserves a second chance,” he said, and nodded to Ruby as she backed away with her arms full of cards and envelopes. “By God, it’s the very foundation of this place.”

Hester crossed her arms. “Well, then, technically this would be her third.”

Ruby hurried back to her desk, stowed the misprinted invitations in her bottom drawer, retrieved her wallet from the top drawer, and hurried out the door. Winchester’s Stationers closed at five, and Miller’s Hardware at six.

At nine the next morning, Ruby nervously handed Daniel a revised version of the invitation. He took a long time reviewing it, turning the card front to back, and lifting the foil medallion with his finger to test its affixation. She had cut and glued into the corner of each invitation a three-layer decal of aluminum foil, lace doily, and white parchment. Within the parchment disk, she’d scrolled in a handsome script:

Open your calendar,
and mark the date.
We’ll serve you from
a Silver Plate.

In a curve along the bottom of the affixed silver medallion, Ruby had penned “Inaugural Silver Plate Foundation Tea.” And at the bottom of the invitation, she’d inked quotation marks around the infamous “Silver Plate” to make it seem a play on words. She hadn’t matched the ornate brush script perfectly, but she had done a pretty good job, considering hers was handwritten.

Daniel looked up with a curious regard. “A silver-plate theme?”

“Yes. Well, the guests won’t actually eat off the silver plates, there’ll be a decorative holder under our traditional white plate. Jimmy, down at Miller’s, has offered to cut and bevel the disks out of scrap plywood. He’s even going to help me paint them silver. Reverend Havilland has already agreed to let us borrow the large silver offering plates for the scones and tea sandwiches. I’ll line them with white cloths. And I’m going to put little silver doilies between each saucer and cup.” Ruby was talking so fast that she had to exhale with a great final gasp.

Daniel placed the invitation in the center of his leather desk tray. He propped his elbows on the desk and clasped his hands together, bringing his fists to his chin. “All right, Ruby. You’ve redeemed yourself.” He smiled. “Funny enough, I was thinking the event was getting a little stale. Maybe your theme will spark a little renewed interest this year.”

Ruby held her ground. There was a remainder to the solution that could prove messy. “What about Hester?”

“What about her?”

“If she tells her circle of friends it was a botch-and-patch job, then it will fail.”

Daniel nodded. “I see what you mean. But don’t worry, I’ll talk to her. She knows how important this is to me, to the home.”

The next two weeks were so busy that Ruby fell into bed every evening with aching legs, tired eyes, and a sense of purpose and industry she’d never felt before. Mrs. Harris, the head housekeeper, and Cook had been more than happy to hand over the annual chore of coordinating food, drinks, guest lists, florals, seating, and more to the industrious young secretary.

The two stalwart women had been slow to warm to Ruby. Daniel had not previously required a secretary, nor had any girl ever made the leap from home resident to staff member.

Their initial reserve was nothing new to Ruby. She’d been suffering the mincing disdain of adult women ever since she’d had to, humiliatingly, ask her aunt Mabel for a brassiere on her thirteenth birthday. Even Aunt Mabel, Ruby’s dead mother’s own sister, had acted as if Ruby had pushed and pulled the damn things into some sort of freakish swollen mounds. Regrettably, it would only be a few years later that Mabel’s own no-good drunk of a husband would pinch and poke Ruby with a manic insistence and persistence that would eventually precipitate Ruby’s departure. Ruby had learned the hard way that other women would hold her accountable for a pretty face and curves, because it sure wasn’t Mabel’s rooting swine of a husband who was sent away.

If nothing else, the tragedy surrounding poor baby Janine had at least smoothed Ruby’s transition from ward to staff. Open hostility would have clouded the consciences of Mrs. Harris and Cook, good churchgoing women that they were. Distant and reproving, however, were perfectly justifiable to their way of thinking. Ruby had felt a pump of pride when Mrs. Harris had commented that Ruby hadn’t “ruined things, yet.” And even Daniel, who never rushed or wasted words, had already proclaimed it would be their best fund-raising tea ever. They’d presold more tickets, at a hundred dollars apiece, than any other year. Ruby couldn’t wait for the event itself. Daniel would be beholden, positively beholden.

Ruby sat at the side entrance to the rear garden checking that the seating cards were in alphabetical order and neatly aligned. Guests would arrive shortly.

“How do I look?” Daniel asked.

Ruby, startled, looked up to see Daniel in a black tuxedo with tails, a top hat, and a silver cummerbund. “What?” she stammered. “What are you wearing?”

“Hester dropped it off this morning. A surprise. She left a note insisting I wear it and that I’ll understand once our guests arrive.” He smoothed the satin trim of the lapel nervously. “To tell the truth, I feel like a bit of a fool.”

Ruby’s mouth was dry. Her instincts told her Hester was up to something. “You look very handsome,” she said. Indeed, he looked striking. His tall, thin frame suited the long cut of the coat. Wisps of his hair were combed back neatly and his doe-brown eyes sparkled against the crisp white shirt. Ruby stepped out from behind the table. When she’d dressed that morning, knowing she’d be on her feet all day, setting tables and carrying trays of food and drink, she’d opted for her old brown skirt, simple blue cotton blouse, and scuffed loafers. Moreover, Ruby had been working in the heat of the June day for hours. Her hair, pulled back into a simple ponytail, was lank and her bangs clung to her forehead in sweaty, oily clumps. Her underarms were damp and she was conscious of her musky odor.

Ruby heard a familiar ballyhoo and looked up to confirm her suspicions. Hester was walking across the flagstone path in a long silver satin gown that simply dazzled in the glow of the late afternoon. Her hair was swept up in an elaborate twist that must have cost her many dollars and many hours in the chair. She had tucked her beaded silver clutch between the flesh of her skinny forearm and bony chest. Years later, Ruby would catch but a glimpse of a woman stowing a book or tennis racquet or anything in this manner and be instantly transported back to the garden tea.

Ruby heard Daniel whistle low in a frank reaction of awe and appreciation. A roll of pain tumbled from Ruby’s chest and exited her groin with a pinch and a prick. Hester stopped a few paces from them and, holding the evening bag away from her body, twirled with the grace and poise of a runway model.

“You look stunning,” Daniel said.

“Why thank you,” Hester replied. “You look very handsome yourself.”

Daniel straightened his tie nervously. “What are you up to?”

Hester approached the table with two confident steps. “I’ve done what you asked. I have given this event my complete support. And I’ve taken Ruby’s silver-plate theme to the next level. You wait and see. This will be the social event of the year.”

Withering under Hester’s smug look, Ruby tugged at her blouse, prying it away from her clammy skin.

Hester took Daniel by the arm. “May I have a word with you in private?”

A moment later he returned to the table where Ruby sat, expecting to welcome guests and hand them their place cards. “Ruby, Hester has offered to handle the welcome table.” Daniel spoke softly. “Maybe it’s a good idea. She knows everyone, and apparently there are quite a few newcomers this year.” He picked at some small trace of lint on his cuff, averting his eyes from Ruby. “This way you can better manage the kitchen staff and the girls.”

“But,” Ruby said, “that’s all under control.”

“Hester really has gone out of her way,” he said. “I didn’t realize she was responsible for the increased attendance. She rattled off at least twenty of her acquaintances she’s convinced to attend today. She’d like to be the official greeter.” Daniel looked down at Ruby. His eyes registered regret, yet resolve. “I think it’s a good idea.”

Ruby shrugged and nodded. “Of course, whatever you think is best.” She pushed back her chair and stood. “I’ll check on things in the kitchen.”

As she walked across the grass, she saw Hester and Daniel, the illustrious host and hostess of the event, hovering at the welcome table. She kicked at a small weed at the edge of the flower border. Ten minutes ago she would have bent down to remove its offending presence among the bed of peonies and foxgloves. She entered the kitchen in a sour mood. The five girls who had been assigned the first half hour of serving sat around the kitchen table looking worn and weary. There had been a surge in pregnancy-related ailments that morning: cramps and backaches and fatigue. Granted, nobody liked to be put on display as the consequence of promiscuity and immorality, but, still, Ruby had thought they’d understood the importance of the event. If they had, they sure didn’t show it.

“Come on, girls,” Ruby said. “Smile, chins up, bellies out, and it will be done before you know it.” She held the back door for them and walked them to the edge of the party, where the first guests were starting to gather. As she had suspected, they were dressed formally with glints of silver everywhere. Her seam-busting, every-day-garbed servers looked out of place, unseemly even, and she looked down at her own attire with irritation. Had it been last year’s event, or the year before, she could have slipped in and out of the group without much differentiation. Guests had attended in light summer dresses, skirts, and pantsuits: simple and on the slightly casual side. Which, after all, made much more sense for an outdoor afternoon tea. There were still a few of the old guard who were dressed in such a manner, but the majority of the crowd, the younger ones—Hester’s flock—dazzled in their silver finery. The men in waistcoats and jackets with fussy vests and bow ties. The women in long flowy dresses of high sheen and stylish cuts that accentuated their bony backs and long necks. Ruby chided herself for the ambush. She had thought of every other detail. Why hadn’t she treated herself to a new dress, something bright and flashy? She would have gladly parted with some of the savings she’d been hoarding for a rainy day. She knew, now, that inclement weather came in many forms and vowed to be better prepared next time.

Mrs. Harris brushed past her, stopped, and looked at her watch. “What are you doing? You should be up front.”

When Ruby had announced, two days earlier, that she would be greeting the guests herself, Mrs. Harris had objected. “We always have one of the girls at the entrance, not staff.”

Ruby had waved this away with a simple directive: “Daniel has allowed me to make some changes this year.” Ruby had been to the event twice now, once as a house member and once as a staff member. As a house member, she had been the one chosen to welcome the guests. She had bounced through pregnancy easily and, at seven months, still wore her burden high and fairly flat. She knew, herself, that she’d made an impression on many of the guests. She’d been quiet, respectful, and a clean, bright example of the caliber of girl supported by their generous donations. Last year, as a new staff member, she’d been kept in the kitchen making sandwiches and arranging trays of pastries for the girls to pass. She’d watched from the window over the kitchen sink as the area’s social elite had sipped and nibbled and mixed and mingled.

“There’s been a change of plans,” Ruby said to Mrs. Harris with every bit of matter-of-factness she could lace through her voice. “Hester has offered to greet the guests. It’s very nice of her, actually. It frees me up for other things.”

Mrs. Harris tilted her head down and looked at Ruby over her eyeglasses. She then took them off for a proper look out to the garden. “Well, la-di-da,” she said. “What is everyone wearing?”

“Isn’t Hester sneaky? She must have been planning this for some time. And isn’t it a wonderful idea?”

“If you say so,” Mrs. Harris said. “And as long as you’re not busy, could you keep an eye on the lavatory?” She wiped her hands down the front of her apron. “They may look like royalty, but they’re no better than a pen of filthy pigs, the lot of them.” Mrs. Harris bustled off muttering to herself.

Ruby kept to the house and perimeter of the party. She oversaw the girls rotating through their shifts, answered phones, and, from time to time, kept an eye on the lavatory: wiping down the sinks and keeping discarded hand towels off the floor. Toward the end of the party, she lingered at the low stone wall fiddling with the fragrant sweet-pea blossoms that had recently bloomed. She watched the flit of guests as they moved from one small circle to another. There seemed to be a cadence and rhythm that moved them in accord, so that one took the place vacated by another. It reminded her of a hoedown she’d attended once with Aunt Mabel and her lump of a husband. Ruby had never been much of a dancer. To be fair, no one had ever taken the time to teach her. She’d been pushed and pulled and spun and swung by one partner after another over that dirty barn floor until she’d felt like a rag mop. Just once she wanted to feel a part of the machinery of something. She spied Hester and Daniel gliding across the lawn. He had his hand pressed gently against the small of her back and she dipped her head toward him as he spoke into her ear. Ruby scowled and headed back to the kitchen.