it seemed likely the gathering dark clouds on the far horizon were the cause of all the fuss.
Annie had stretched out on the shawl on her back and closed her eyes. She remained quiet for so long, Bertha thought she’d fallen asleep, until she spoke.
“Are you afraid to die?”
Bertha rolled toward her. “Mercy! What sort of question is that?”
Annie peeked at her from under her long lashes. “The nosy sort, I’m sure. But, well. . . are you?”
“Um, a little, I guess.”
“Come on. You have to be more than a little. Isn’t everyone?”
Bertha giggled. “Not everyone. My mama says she’s scared of the process, but not what comes after.”
Annie turned to her side and leaned up on her elbow. “But who’s to say what that is?”
Bertha blinked. “You’re joking, right?”
When Annie shook her head, Bertha knew she should proceed with caution. Raised by a Christian family in a Christian community, it seemed impossible to her that a person might not know and believe the Bible.
Before she could respond, Annie pressed her again. “So you’re not absolutely terrified of death?”
Bertha swallowed hard and weighed her words. “I guess I feel the same as Mama. I don’t want to suffer in death, but once it’s over, I’ll suffer no more.”
Annie leaned back and rested her arm over her eyes. “Oh, I see. You’re religious.” The tone of her voice told Bertha that Annie considered “religious” as distasteful as warts.
“If by that you mean someone who believes the Bible, then yes, I am. Very much so.”
Annie sat up and stared at the far bank while her tortured eyes revealed a struggle inside. Without warning, she shot to her feet and began to wrestle with something behind her. When she wiggled all over and then stepped out of her bustle, Bertha recoiled in shock.
“What on earth?”
Annie held the bustle up before Bertha’s disbelieving eyes. “I can’t abide this thing another second,” she cried and then hurled it over the edge of the bluff.
Bertha stared in stunned surprise before she stood up and unfastened hers, as well. With an Indian whoop, she spun it over-head before letting it fly. They raced to the edge and watched the current carry the offending garments out of sight.
“Oh, Annie, I’ve always wanted to do that.”
Annie beamed. “Well, darlin’, now you have. Will you be in trouble when you go home without it?”
“From whom? Mama won’t even notice. She still wears pantalets.” Bertha had a sudden inspiration. “Now these infernal things.” She leaned against the oak, unbuttoned her shoes, and slipped them off. Then she reared back as if about to fling them over.
Annie covered her face and squealed. “You wouldn’t dare!”
Bertha sagged and tossed the pumps on the ground behind her. “You’re right. I don’t dare. As much as I’d love to see them floating downstream.”
They giggled their way back to the shawl and slumped to the ground.
Annie sprawled on her back and sighed. “Now isn’t this better? I have to say, though the bustle’s a nuisance, the Basque bodice is worse. It wasn’t enough to make the contraption so tight a girl can’t breathe, they had to go and sew in rigid bones. I’d swear it was invented by a man.” She laughed and rolled her eyes at Bertha. “Or spawned by the devil himself.”
Bertha dropped her gaze and sat upright.
Behind her, Annie grew silent. Then she sat up, too, and touched Bertha’s shoulder. “Did I say something to offend you?”
Bertha turned. “I’m not offended. Just surprised. We don’t jest about the devil in our house.”
Annie gave an uneasy laugh. “But that’s silly, isn’t it?”
“It’s not silly at all. The devil is nothing to make fun about. We aren’t frightened of him or anything, but we’re sure not on speaking terms.”
Annie laughed again, this time in earnest. “You think he’s real?”
“Sure he’s real.”
Still in a frivolous mood, Annie held up one finger.
Annie had stretched out on the shawl on her back and closed her eyes. She remained quiet for so long, Bertha thought she’d fallen asleep, until she spoke.
“Are you afraid to die?”
Bertha rolled toward her. “Mercy! What sort of question is that?”
Annie peeked at her from under her long lashes. “The nosy sort, I’m sure. But, well. . . are you?”
“Um, a little, I guess.”
“Come on. You have to be more than a little. Isn’t everyone?”
Bertha giggled. “Not everyone. My mama says she’s scared of the process, but not what comes after.”
Annie turned to her side and leaned up on her elbow. “But who’s to say what that is?”
Bertha blinked. “You’re joking, right?”
When Annie shook her head, Bertha knew she should proceed with caution. Raised by a Christian family in a Christian community, it seemed impossible to her that a person might not know and believe the Bible.
Before she could respond, Annie pressed her again. “So you’re not absolutely terrified of death?”
Bertha swallowed hard and weighed her words. “I guess I feel the same as Mama. I don’t want to suffer in death, but once it’s over, I’ll suffer no more.”
Annie leaned back and rested her arm over her eyes. “Oh, I see. You’re religious.” The tone of her voice told Bertha that Annie considered “religious” as distasteful as warts.
“If by that you mean someone who believes the Bible, then yes, I am. Very much so.”
Annie sat up and stared at the far bank while her tortured eyes revealed a struggle inside. Without warning, she shot to her feet and began to wrestle with something behind her. When she wiggled all over and then stepped out of her bustle, Bertha recoiled in shock.
“What on earth?”
Annie held the bustle up before Bertha’s disbelieving eyes. “I can’t abide this thing another second,” she cried and then hurled it over the edge of the bluff.
Bertha stared in stunned surprise before she stood up and unfastened hers, as well. With an Indian whoop, she spun it over-head before letting it fly. They raced to the edge and watched the current carry the offending garments out of sight.
“Oh, Annie, I’ve always wanted to do that.”
Annie beamed. “Well, darlin’, now you have. Will you be in trouble when you go home without it?”
“From whom? Mama won’t even notice. She still wears pantalets.” Bertha had a sudden inspiration. “Now these infernal things.” She leaned against the oak, unbuttoned her shoes, and slipped them off. Then she reared back as if about to fling them over.
Annie covered her face and squealed. “You wouldn’t dare!”
Bertha sagged and tossed the pumps on the ground behind her. “You’re right. I don’t dare. As much as I’d love to see them floating downstream.”
They giggled their way back to the shawl and slumped to the ground.
Annie sprawled on her back and sighed. “Now isn’t this better? I have to say, though the bustle’s a nuisance, the Basque bodice is worse. It wasn’t enough to make the contraption so tight a girl can’t breathe, they had to go and sew in rigid bones. I’d swear it was invented by a man.” She laughed and rolled her eyes at Bertha. “Or spawned by the devil himself.”
Bertha dropped her gaze and sat upright.
Behind her, Annie grew silent. Then she sat up, too, and touched Bertha’s shoulder. “Did I say something to offend you?”
Bertha turned. “I’m not offended. Just surprised. We don’t jest about the devil in our house.”
Annie gave an uneasy laugh. “But that’s silly, isn’t it?”
“It’s not silly at all. The devil is nothing to make fun about. We aren’t frightened of him or anything, but we’re sure not on speaking terms.”
Annie laughed again, this time in earnest. “You think he’s real?”
“Sure he’s real.”
Still in a frivolous mood, Annie held up one finger.
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