I HEARD THE CLICK of the front door, then the happy, giggly sounds of Amelia and Alice hurrying inside.
This was followed by Meg’s icy voice.
“Say a quick hello to your father, girls. Then wash up for supper.”
Amelia poked her head through the parlor door, a happy little angel of seven in a red-and-white gingham sundress, shortly followed by Alice, another helping of strawberry short-cake in an identical outfit.
Those dresses were the only thing identical about the girls. Although they were twins, they barely looked like sisters.
Amelia was small, with fine, dark, beautiful features exactly like her mother’s. Alice was taller, blond and lanky, and had the misfortune of taking after her father, though I will say that our family looks had settled better on her face than on mine.
“Remind me again which one of you is which,” I said with a stern expression.
“Daddy, you know,” said Amelia. Alice squealed in delight.
“No, I’ve completely forgotten. How am I supposed to be able to tell the difference when you look exactly alike?”
To Amelia, that was a scream.
Meg walked into the front hall. “Come along, girls. You heard what I said.”
I pointed at Alice. “Oh, now I remember. You are… Amelia.” And then, pointing at Amelia, “So that means you must be Alice.”
“And you must be Mommy!” Amelia pointed at me, giggling at her own cleverness. Was there any sweeter sound in the world?
I knelt down and kissed her, then her sister, and gathered them both for a big daddy-hug.
“Where have you two been causing trouble today?”
In a ridiculously loud stage whisper Alice said: “We’re not allowed to say… but we were hiding in church.”
Meg called again, with the business end of her voice: “Girls!”
“Mama says you’re in trouble,” Amelia reported. “She says you’re in the doghouse.”
“And we don’t even have a dog!” Alice crowed with laughter.
“Girls!” That voice brooked no nonsense.
They ran from my arms.