pounding suddenly. What would she tell him if he asked? How could she say she lied when Aunt Agatha was right there to hear the confession? She couldn’t; she knew she couldn’t.
He’d just have to stay away from her until everyone forgot about that silly story. They couldn’t keep thinking about it forever. As long as they left her alone, it would be all right. She wished she could stay in the house until the story
was
forgotten. She didn’t like people staring at her like that. It was terrible the way people gossiped and talked. All Louisa wanted to do was keep out of everyone’s way until things were back to normal again.
Louisa started suddenly at the footsteps in the doorway and her body tightened apprehensively as she turned to see who it was.
Mrs. Alma Cartwright came waddling to the counter, hurriedly erasing from her plump face the curious look that had crossed it when she saw Louisa standing there.
“How are you, my dear?” she asked.
Louisa smiled faintly. “Well, thank you,” she said.
“And your dear mother?” Mrs. Cartwright asked, sheep eyes looking quizzical.
Louisa swallowed and managed another smile. “Well,” she said, “thank you, Mrs. Cartwright.”
Mrs. Cartwright looked toward the back of the shop with forced casualness. “Oh, there’s your aunt,” she said, obviously disappointed that she wasn’t alone with Louisa. “How
do
, Miss Winston.”
Agatha Winston raised her head, smiled a merchant-to-buyer smile, nodded once, then returned grimly to her figures.
“May I . . . help you?” Louisa asked.
The gaze of her customer stabbed back at her. A smile was arranged on Mrs. Cartwright’s puffy lips.
“I’d like to get a shirtwaist, my dear,” she said. “Silk. For my girl. She’s sixteen next week, you know.”
“Oh,” Louisa said, trying to sound pleasantly surprised.
She could almost feel the portly woman’s eyes on her back as she fingered through the stack of shirtwaists in the drawer. A prickling sensation coursed her back, making her shudder. She drew in a quick breath and turned.
“No silk, Mrs. . . . Cartwright,” she finished weakly as the older woman forced the look of a buying customer on her face again.
“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that,” said Mrs. Cartwright. “Well . . . perhaps . . . cotton?”
Louisa put the shirtwaist on the counter and stood there restively while the woman fingered it distractedly.
“This is the f-inest type sold in the market,” Louisa said without expression. “You’ll . . .”
She stopped as Mrs. Cartwright looked at her. The plump woman couldn’t hide the look in her eyes. Aware of it, she stopped trying. She directed a furtive glance at Miss Winston, then smiled sadly.
“My dear girl,” she said, behind the sympathy a probing inquisitiveness, “I’ve heard about this . . . terrible thing and I’m . . . I’m so shocked.”
Louisa couldn’t speak at first. She felt the heat licking up her cheeks again and had to press her lips together to keep them from shaking. She wanted to turn and run away but she knew she couldn’t so she just stood there staring wordlessly, feeling Mrs. Cartwright’s beady eyes on her, attempting to reflect compassion but conveying only a hungry curiosity.
“I’ll ask my . . . my aunt to ah-show you another kind of—” she faltered, then turned away abruptly.
“But my dear, this is—”
Her skirt rustled noisily as she hurried up the counter, trying vainly to keep the hot tears from spilling any faster across her flushed cheeks.
“Aunt . . . A-Agatha,” she sobbed.
Agatha Winston looked up suddenly, face a blank of consternation.
“What on earth . . .” she started, then stopped, her dark eyes staring at Louisa’s anguished face.
“
Please
,” Louisa begged, “I . . . I . . .” She couldn’t finish.
Agatha Winston glanced up at the customer, then back at her trembling niece. “Go in the back room,” she said. “
Quickly.
”
As
He’d just have to stay away from her until everyone forgot about that silly story. They couldn’t keep thinking about it forever. As long as they left her alone, it would be all right. She wished she could stay in the house until the story
was
forgotten. She didn’t like people staring at her like that. It was terrible the way people gossiped and talked. All Louisa wanted to do was keep out of everyone’s way until things were back to normal again.
Louisa started suddenly at the footsteps in the doorway and her body tightened apprehensively as she turned to see who it was.
Mrs. Alma Cartwright came waddling to the counter, hurriedly erasing from her plump face the curious look that had crossed it when she saw Louisa standing there.
“How are you, my dear?” she asked.
Louisa smiled faintly. “Well, thank you,” she said.
“And your dear mother?” Mrs. Cartwright asked, sheep eyes looking quizzical.
Louisa swallowed and managed another smile. “Well,” she said, “thank you, Mrs. Cartwright.”
Mrs. Cartwright looked toward the back of the shop with forced casualness. “Oh, there’s your aunt,” she said, obviously disappointed that she wasn’t alone with Louisa. “How
do
, Miss Winston.”
Agatha Winston raised her head, smiled a merchant-to-buyer smile, nodded once, then returned grimly to her figures.
“May I . . . help you?” Louisa asked.
The gaze of her customer stabbed back at her. A smile was arranged on Mrs. Cartwright’s puffy lips.
“I’d like to get a shirtwaist, my dear,” she said. “Silk. For my girl. She’s sixteen next week, you know.”
“Oh,” Louisa said, trying to sound pleasantly surprised.
She could almost feel the portly woman’s eyes on her back as she fingered through the stack of shirtwaists in the drawer. A prickling sensation coursed her back, making her shudder. She drew in a quick breath and turned.
“No silk, Mrs. . . . Cartwright,” she finished weakly as the older woman forced the look of a buying customer on her face again.
“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that,” said Mrs. Cartwright. “Well . . . perhaps . . . cotton?”
Louisa put the shirtwaist on the counter and stood there restively while the woman fingered it distractedly.
“This is the f-inest type sold in the market,” Louisa said without expression. “You’ll . . .”
She stopped as Mrs. Cartwright looked at her. The plump woman couldn’t hide the look in her eyes. Aware of it, she stopped trying. She directed a furtive glance at Miss Winston, then smiled sadly.
“My dear girl,” she said, behind the sympathy a probing inquisitiveness, “I’ve heard about this . . . terrible thing and I’m . . . I’m so shocked.”
Louisa couldn’t speak at first. She felt the heat licking up her cheeks again and had to press her lips together to keep them from shaking. She wanted to turn and run away but she knew she couldn’t so she just stood there staring wordlessly, feeling Mrs. Cartwright’s beady eyes on her, attempting to reflect compassion but conveying only a hungry curiosity.
“I’ll ask my . . . my aunt to ah-show you another kind of—” she faltered, then turned away abruptly.
“But my dear, this is—”
Her skirt rustled noisily as she hurried up the counter, trying vainly to keep the hot tears from spilling any faster across her flushed cheeks.
“Aunt . . . A-Agatha,” she sobbed.
Agatha Winston looked up suddenly, face a blank of consternation.
“What on earth . . .” she started, then stopped, her dark eyes staring at Louisa’s anguished face.
“
Please
,” Louisa begged, “I . . . I . . .” She couldn’t finish.
Agatha Winston glanced up at the customer, then back at her trembling niece. “Go in the back room,” she said. “
Quickly.
”
As
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