Fallen Beauty by Erika Robuck

room for the rest of the night. I stare openly at Marie, and her dress, and her husband. I learn that he is a rising politician. I hear the townspeople mention Marie’s sister, Laura. They wonder why she is not here, and then their voices drop in speculation. I deduce that Agnes is the head of the town because she is its great benefactress, and that moral order is important to her, and that makes the demon in me wish to shake it up.
    I mention to many people that someday we will host a party on the mountain with actors and music and drink. I stir up the gossip. I touch my fire to their waiting matches. I end the night by telling Marie and Everette that I will be personally offended if they aren’t in my garden in the future, and I see they are greedy to come to me, to see what life is like on the mountain where there are no rules or naysayers, but only the pulsing energy of nature where it may run free.

NINE
    LAURA
    It was cruel to parade my sister at the ball in that dress where I knew he would be, but I gave in to my cruelty. An hour after she’d left, however, I hated myself and the monster I was becoming.
    I thought that severing ties with him and destroying evidence of our love might help my state, so I burned his handkerchief, his letters, and the newspaper from the Follies. The flames bled the ink from his words before consuming them. It was a pity I could not destroy the triple-stranded pearl necklace, or let it go. I hadn’t been able to bring myself to give it to Marie to wear, fearing the questions it would inspire. The necklace lay in a velvet box lined in red satin in the back of my closet, and there it would stay.
    November arrived and, with it, the inevitable discovery of my condition by the town.
    One afternoon, as I put the final touches on the baby’s layette, Agnes entered my shop. Instinct caused me to shove the sewing under the counter as I noted the group of community women with her, including her sister, Lily, and her daughter, Darcy. They’d been making these visits regularly since my father’s funeral. Agnes had started a meal calendar where church ladies could sign up to make dinner for Marie and me a couple of times a week in the months after my father had died and before Marie’s wedding. She had pinned it on the bulletin board in the church lobby, and written across the top: AGNES D., COORDINATOR. I couldn’t help but narrow my eyes every time I saw it. The meals had stopped, but the unannounced visits had continued.
    It was rumored that in her early years Agnes had acted in plays, but that a religious awakening in her twenties—and being jilted by a handsome leading man—had taught her that vanity was the foundation of acting and that she must give up the stage at once. To Agnes, vanity became the root of all evil, and my father had often said that a family of beautiful girls making beautiful clothes irritated her. Rather than give up the stage, however, it would appear that it had expanded to encompass her entire life in town, with her and Darcy as the stars.
    Agnes allowed the door to close behind her group; she was holding a loaf of bread wrapped in a red gingham napkin and made pretty with cinnamon sticks. Marie was supposed to call on me, but she was nowhere in sight, so I would have to stand to accept the bread. I glanced out the window, willing Marie into view, but she did not appear. I reached out my hands but Agnes raised an eyebrow and stood still across the shop, forcing me to rise and meet her.
    I’d known this moment was inevitable, and I was glad the revelation would at least take place in my territory. What pained me most was how it would dishonor my father and mother. I placed my sewing on the table and tried to suck in my stomach as much as possible, but when I stood, a stabbing pain in my lower back caused me to reach behind and apply pressure to it, highlighting the outline of my pregnant stomach.
    Agnes spoke seemingly before thinking. “My, it seems my effort at