Five Brides by Eva Marie Everson

houses.”
    He smiled at her. “You’ve said that already. Better said, ‘These houses are nice.’”
    She blinked and looked out the windshield. “These houses are nice.”
    George reached for her gloved hand, which she willingly gave to him. “Don’t worry, Evelyn. You’ll do fine.”
    Evelyn searched his eyes for what might be going on behind them. For what he meant by his words. “Do you think . . .” She took a deep breath. “Do you think your mama and them will like me?”
    “My mother and father will like you because I like you. They like what I like. I’ve told you that.”
    Evelyn felt the sting in his voice. “And your baby sister will be there too?”
    “Sandra, yes. With her husband and her baby.”
    Evelyn shifted in the seat. “So you’re an uncle.”
    His grin brought a shimmer of love into his eyes. “I am. His name is Martin and he’s everything and then some.”
    “You love him.”
    This time, when he looked at her, she didn’t have to try to read the expression. “Very much so.” He returned his attention to the road. “One day . . . when I marry . . .”
    Evelyn felt the squeeze of his hand. Or had it merely flinched?
    “I want a houseful of children,” he finished. “Mother and Dad only had the two of us, but I think deep down my father always wanted more.”
    Evelyn’s heart pounded; he had just confided something about himself and about his family to her. And for the first time. “But your mama—your mother —didn’t?”
    He seemed to calculate his answer. “Those are not the kinds of things we talk about in my family.” Then he smiled and the dimple returned, sending whatever reprimand Evelyn might have felt into oblivion.
    She glanced out the window again. “And Betty comes from this neighborhood?”
    George nodded. “A couple of streets over.”
    “My goodness,” she whispered, just as he turned the car into a long driveway leading to a box-style, two-story house. “This is it? This is where you come from?”
    George released her hand and shifted the car into park. “No, Evelyn,” he said, turning to face her. “This is not where I ‘come from.’ This is where I grew up.” He touched the tip of her nose with his finger. “Remember what I told you. Try not to sound too much like a hick, okay?”
    Evelyn bristled under the reminder, but only for as long as it took for George to say the words. He brought her hand to his lips and kissed the bend in her finger. “I’ll try,” she said.
    “That’s a good girl.”
    He got out of the car and she waited until he came around for her. After helping her out, he folded the passenger-side seat forward, reached into the back, and produced a large bag full of gifts. “Remember what else I said,” he told her, closing the door. “You and I will exchange gifts later.”
    She nodded happily. “I remember.” She looked toward the house and released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d kept pent up. “I’m ready, George,” she said, peering up at him. “And I promise you won’t be ashamed of me when this day is over.”

    Betty alternated her stares between the opposite ends of the table where her parents sat. Christmas lunch—their version of Christmas dinner—had been served. Eaten. Enjoyed. Conversation had stayed clear of Evelyn and George and the Volbrechts and veered toward topics like work—both hers and her father’s—and some of the social events her mother had ahead of her in January.
    And then . . .
    With dessert nothing more than a memory of banana cream pie and hot, sweet coffee, Betty’s father cleared his throat and announced that they needed to have a talk. “Maybe today is not the day for this,” he said, “but I want to start the New Year off right.”
    “Sounds like an ultimatum is about to be handed down,” Betty said, keeping her voice steady.
    “Call it what you will, but I’m going to say this plain and simple.”
    “Get on with it, Father.”
    “Accept George