A Woman so Bold by L.S. Young

mouth. On a woman, it would have been called a beauty mark; on him it was enticing, out of the ordinary.
    In contrast to what I had seen him wearing at the ball, he was clad in simple farm attire: khaki chinos, a cotton shirt, and suspenders. His pale blond hair and beard were neatly groomed, and the thin shirt did not belie the strength of his arms. A fine looking man , I thought. I had thought so every time we met, and the way Lily and Colleen’s eyes strayed to him, I thought they saw it too.
    Colleen was five months pregnant by then, and I knew she would not wish to get up and reveal her swollen belly to Mr. Cavendish, so once he was seated at the table, I poured him a cup of coffee and placed a tin plate with a stack of the last few flapjacks on it. He tried to protest, but I silenced him with a shake of my head.
    “Finish them. We’ve all had a plenty.”
    He slathered them with a pat of butter and a few slow drizzles of cane syrup then took a bite, his eyes widening with pleasure.
    “Ain’t words for it, are there?” said Daddy. “Wait ‘til you taste her ten-layer cake.” I looked at him in surprise. He was not one for compliments, especially not to me.
    The morning of William’s Sunday visit, I went to the coop and wrung our second fattest chicken’s neck, plucked its feathers, and scalded it in a saltwater bath. Colleen basted it with butter and herbs and put it in the oven to roast. Lily peeled a bushel of potatoes from the cellar and set them boiling. After church, I changed into my old brown calico and set to work frying bacon to season the collard greens, then fried hoecakes in the grease. I had baked a ten-layer cake and frosted it with white sugar icing the day before. It was in the pantry on Mama’s best cake plate, waiting to be served with coffee and orange slices for dessert.
    Mr. Cavendish came to the front door, and Esther ran to let him in. He sniffed the air appreciatively. “I haven’t had a home-cooked meal in weeks,” he said happily, “unless you count scrambled eggs and oatmeal, which I do not.”
    Just before dinner, Lily and I changed out of our aprons and old dresses and back into our Sunday best. Edith set the table, and I placed a pitcher of fresh sweet tea on the table made with cold water from the spring, with lemon slices and mint leaves floating on its surface. The sun from the window winked at me through the glass pitcher.
    Everyone sat down, and I presided over the table as hostess in Colleen’s place. After Daddy had said grace, we commenced eating. The skin on the roast chicken was browned to a nice crunch on the outside; the meat underneath, tender and juicy. We ate the boiled potatoes with gravy and dipped the crisp hoecake in the fragrant pot liquor, savoring every bite. Daddy preferred his collards with a spicy sauce of hot peppers soaked in vinegar, and so did I, but I refrained from dousing my vegetables in such a way in the presence of company. Instead, I offered everyone seconds and made sure I was next to last to begin my food, to keep Colleen from complaining.
    “Where is Emmett?” I asked Lily. He was usually present for Sunday dinner and on holidays. I would have noticed his absence sooner, had I not been distracted by the presence of William.
    “I broke it off with Emmett.”
    She said this resolutely, but her eyes had a lackluster appearance, and she had barely touched her food. I stared at her, uncomprehending. Emmett had started coming around when she was only thirteen. In the beginning, it had been little more than puppy love, wildflower bouquets and hand-holding on the porch, but I had sensed in the last several months that something lasting and serious had grown between them and expected them to be married when they were old enough.
    “Why?” I asked. “You’ve been courting for years. I thought you loved him!”
    “I don’t know, sissy. I used to be crazy about him, but I’m used to him now. Besides, Daddy never liked him.”
    “Damn