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Authors: Saundra Mitchell
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with the measure, before unfurling it to its full length and trailing it from my hip to my ankle. "Let's see your boots, Zelle van den Broek."
Puzzled, I rucked my skirts in my hands, lifting them and sticking my foot out for her consideration. In my estimation, my boots were quite fine—nearly new kid leather accented with black ribbon, turned out with black glass buttons.
But it seemed she cared less about the fineness of the construction than she did the height of the heel. "Not a full inch," she told herself, then stood. "Undress to the corset.
Je me reviens.
"
I said nothing; I only gaped at her, wide-eyed and openmouthed, as she bustled into the next room again. Though I heard her speaking to Mrs. Stewart, I was too shocked to understand either of them. "To the corset?"
"Quit complaining," Zora said, on her feet again to help me. "I bet she's got a finished dress that might fit."
Fingers numb, I clumsily worked my ties and hooks. "Whose?"
"Yours, if we pay for it. If an order goes unclaimed, she'll sell it off at a discount. I got my cape that way." Zora gave me a pinch and squinted up at me. "Help me, you goose. This could be glorious."
Or it could be a disaster. With wary hands, I bared myself to find out which.
***
On Saturday Zora and I abandoned our aprons for our capes and fled to Druid Hill.
"Cut across the lawn," Zora said, veering off the path and leaving me to follow or not. She wound through a cloud of toddlers in matching pinafores and bonnets. I scattered the darlings like little pink ducks, cutting down the middle and apologizing to their nurse as I passed.
Down a slope toward the lake, Sarah waved at us, as Mattie squinted beneath her gloved hand. Settled on a blanket, they seemed almost at picnic, except for the longbow. A target stood behind them, and Sarah looked wonderfully athletic in a suit cut just for archery.
"I wondered if you were coming," Sarah said, leaning in to press her cheek against Zora's and then mine.
Mattie squeezed my hand, with no more grip than the weight of a butterfly. "How do you do, Amelia?"
"Very well, thank you."
Zora picked up a nude shaft, one encumbered by neither arrowhead nor feathers. With a wink to me, she told Sarah, "This won't do."
"There are four in the quiver all ready," Sarah answered smartly.
"One for each of us?" Zora asked, giving me a nudge as she peered at the fletch works spread out before us.
"Is that how it's going to be? I bid you bring
your
quiver next time."
Sinking down at once, Sarah reached for the brush she'd left in a pot of glue. Mattie offered her a half-finished arrow. Hand steady, Sarah painted a slow, fine thickness of glue, then reached blindly for a feather to lay on it.
Zora took the longbow, hefting it until it curved neatly in her grip. "I'm showing Amelia how it's done. Have You seen anyone?"
"The two of you and no one else. It's been lonely."
Mattie sighed as she reached for another shaft. "I'm dreadfully slow when it comes to proper fletching."
"Oh, is this meant to be proper fletching?" Zora said, before asking Sarah, "Then why aren't you sewing those on?"
Sarah smirked. "If I wanted to sew, I would have stayed at home."
Much like her mother, Zora herded me with a tap—she, however, did it with the yew crook of Sarah's bow. The wood gleamed, an inviting crescent that was nearly as tall as we. Plucking two arrows from the quiver, Zora handed one to me and nocked the other against the bowstring.
"Like so," she said. She expected me to take in the details as she drew the string back. It hummed, the echo of a carillon when she released it, and the arrow gasped as it flew. It pierced the target in the biggest ring, hardly an ideal shot.
"Very good!" Mattie exclaimed anyway, clapping softly.
"Another," Zora said, holding out her hand for my arrow. "I have to get a feel for it."
Hiccupping with laughter, Sarah said, "Is that your newest excuse?"
Zora drew the string back again. "I'll have you know, I was made
Puzzled, I rucked my skirts in my hands, lifting them and sticking my foot out for her consideration. In my estimation, my boots were quite fine—nearly new kid leather accented with black ribbon, turned out with black glass buttons.
But it seemed she cared less about the fineness of the construction than she did the height of the heel. "Not a full inch," she told herself, then stood. "Undress to the corset.
Je me reviens.
"
I said nothing; I only gaped at her, wide-eyed and openmouthed, as she bustled into the next room again. Though I heard her speaking to Mrs. Stewart, I was too shocked to understand either of them. "To the corset?"
"Quit complaining," Zora said, on her feet again to help me. "I bet she's got a finished dress that might fit."
Fingers numb, I clumsily worked my ties and hooks. "Whose?"
"Yours, if we pay for it. If an order goes unclaimed, she'll sell it off at a discount. I got my cape that way." Zora gave me a pinch and squinted up at me. "Help me, you goose. This could be glorious."
Or it could be a disaster. With wary hands, I bared myself to find out which.
***
On Saturday Zora and I abandoned our aprons for our capes and fled to Druid Hill.
"Cut across the lawn," Zora said, veering off the path and leaving me to follow or not. She wound through a cloud of toddlers in matching pinafores and bonnets. I scattered the darlings like little pink ducks, cutting down the middle and apologizing to their nurse as I passed.
Down a slope toward the lake, Sarah waved at us, as Mattie squinted beneath her gloved hand. Settled on a blanket, they seemed almost at picnic, except for the longbow. A target stood behind them, and Sarah looked wonderfully athletic in a suit cut just for archery.
"I wondered if you were coming," Sarah said, leaning in to press her cheek against Zora's and then mine.
Mattie squeezed my hand, with no more grip than the weight of a butterfly. "How do you do, Amelia?"
"Very well, thank you."
Zora picked up a nude shaft, one encumbered by neither arrowhead nor feathers. With a wink to me, she told Sarah, "This won't do."
"There are four in the quiver all ready," Sarah answered smartly.
"One for each of us?" Zora asked, giving me a nudge as she peered at the fletch works spread out before us.
"Is that how it's going to be? I bid you bring
your
quiver next time."
Sinking down at once, Sarah reached for the brush she'd left in a pot of glue. Mattie offered her a half-finished arrow. Hand steady, Sarah painted a slow, fine thickness of glue, then reached blindly for a feather to lay on it.
Zora took the longbow, hefting it until it curved neatly in her grip. "I'm showing Amelia how it's done. Have You seen anyone?"
"The two of you and no one else. It's been lonely."
Mattie sighed as she reached for another shaft. "I'm dreadfully slow when it comes to proper fletching."
"Oh, is this meant to be proper fletching?" Zora said, before asking Sarah, "Then why aren't you sewing those on?"
Sarah smirked. "If I wanted to sew, I would have stayed at home."
Much like her mother, Zora herded me with a tap—she, however, did it with the yew crook of Sarah's bow. The wood gleamed, an inviting crescent that was nearly as tall as we. Plucking two arrows from the quiver, Zora handed one to me and nocked the other against the bowstring.
"Like so," she said. She expected me to take in the details as she drew the string back. It hummed, the echo of a carillon when she released it, and the arrow gasped as it flew. It pierced the target in the biggest ring, hardly an ideal shot.
"Very good!" Mattie exclaimed anyway, clapping softly.
"Another," Zora said, holding out her hand for my arrow. "I have to get a feel for it."
Hiccupping with laughter, Sarah said, "Is that your newest excuse?"
Zora drew the string back again. "I'll have you know, I was made
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