clubs. As a woman who’d advocated female dress reform on several occasions, Grace didn’t feel right abandoning her views for the sake of looking pretty—or dodging her specious “beaux” either.
Despite the absence of fresh marriage proposals though, Grace noted plenty of frivolity in the air. All around her, the wedding reception proceeded in merry fashion. The Stotts had opened their home to most of Morrow Creek, it seemed, and their small living room and parlor were packed with well-wishers.
A trio of musicians played in the corner, competing with the hum of conversation and laughter. People milled to all sides of Grace, enjoying the refreshments the bride’s family had provided—some of them baked by Molly herself.
Reminded of her sister, Grace glanced up. Molly still chattered about lace trim and embroidery, fascinated by both. Feeling much less comfortable with the subject matter, Grace excused herself. She made her way through the parlor and arrived in a safe corner, clutching her cup of cider. She watched the partygoers, fervently wishing she had something useful to do. She should have volunteered to take charge of…something.
Grace was not good at leisure. Possibly because she’d deliberately avoided it, preferring activity to feeling alone. Unlike the rest of her family, she was far from adept at social occasions, unless they involved picketing, and heartily preferred a nice protest march to a frivolous dance.
Usually, Sarah kept her company at such events, the two of them identical wallflowers. But today Sarah was smiling on the arm of her new husband, Daniel. She wouldn’t be joining Grace to discuss a novel or decipher a metagram or meet a poetry recitation challenge—to name just a few of their favorite pastimes. Sarah wouldn’t be helping Grace hide her awkwardness.
Several moments ticked past, fraught with merriness Grace didn’t know how to take part in. From across the room, she spied her papa, having no such trouble at all. Clad in his best suit, Adam Crabtree beamed with joviality. He and Grace had spoken again about the newspaper’s editorship and had reached an understanding of late. Grace still felt less than elated about Thomas Walsh coming, but she understood the reasoning behind it.
As she watched, her papa caught her mama’s hand. The two of them danced to the fiddle music, Fiona laughing as they dodged parlor furniture and other partygoers. It was so like her parents, Grace considered with a fond smile, to be the first ones to dance. Doubtless they’d be the last to quit as well.
Scratching the back of her neck—an impulse spurred by her itchy gown—Grace craned to see Lizzie again. The new bride conferred excitedly with her husband, rising on tiptoes. She blushed as he whispered something in her ear. Their faces shone with joy, bringing a pang to Grace’s heart. As happy as she was for her friend, she still felt…a little left behind.
Which was nonsense, Grace assured herself. Honestly. Ifshe’d wanted a husband, she’d had plenty of offers to choose from lately! She was alone of her own choice. An unmarried woman of her own volition. Independent and proud and indisputably busy—especially with her plan to civilize Jack Murphy added to her already-burgeoning list of duties. No woman truly required more. The speeches and writings of Grace’s own personal suffragist heroine, Heddy Neibermayer, assured her of that.
With that recollection in mind, Grace put down her cider and made herself stroll the perimeter of the party, determined to make the best of things. She still felt lonely. But considering Heddy’s example, she decided that the very best remedy would be useful activity.
Perhaps she could seek out a few of her fellow ornithologists or women’s baseball league members and discuss their springtime fund-raisers. Or buttonhole Sheriff Caffey and engage him in a debate about appointing female officers to the town government. Or track down Jack Murphy and pair
Despite the absence of fresh marriage proposals though, Grace noted plenty of frivolity in the air. All around her, the wedding reception proceeded in merry fashion. The Stotts had opened their home to most of Morrow Creek, it seemed, and their small living room and parlor were packed with well-wishers.
A trio of musicians played in the corner, competing with the hum of conversation and laughter. People milled to all sides of Grace, enjoying the refreshments the bride’s family had provided—some of them baked by Molly herself.
Reminded of her sister, Grace glanced up. Molly still chattered about lace trim and embroidery, fascinated by both. Feeling much less comfortable with the subject matter, Grace excused herself. She made her way through the parlor and arrived in a safe corner, clutching her cup of cider. She watched the partygoers, fervently wishing she had something useful to do. She should have volunteered to take charge of…something.
Grace was not good at leisure. Possibly because she’d deliberately avoided it, preferring activity to feeling alone. Unlike the rest of her family, she was far from adept at social occasions, unless they involved picketing, and heartily preferred a nice protest march to a frivolous dance.
Usually, Sarah kept her company at such events, the two of them identical wallflowers. But today Sarah was smiling on the arm of her new husband, Daniel. She wouldn’t be joining Grace to discuss a novel or decipher a metagram or meet a poetry recitation challenge—to name just a few of their favorite pastimes. Sarah wouldn’t be helping Grace hide her awkwardness.
Several moments ticked past, fraught with merriness Grace didn’t know how to take part in. From across the room, she spied her papa, having no such trouble at all. Clad in his best suit, Adam Crabtree beamed with joviality. He and Grace had spoken again about the newspaper’s editorship and had reached an understanding of late. Grace still felt less than elated about Thomas Walsh coming, but she understood the reasoning behind it.
As she watched, her papa caught her mama’s hand. The two of them danced to the fiddle music, Fiona laughing as they dodged parlor furniture and other partygoers. It was so like her parents, Grace considered with a fond smile, to be the first ones to dance. Doubtless they’d be the last to quit as well.
Scratching the back of her neck—an impulse spurred by her itchy gown—Grace craned to see Lizzie again. The new bride conferred excitedly with her husband, rising on tiptoes. She blushed as he whispered something in her ear. Their faces shone with joy, bringing a pang to Grace’s heart. As happy as she was for her friend, she still felt…a little left behind.
Which was nonsense, Grace assured herself. Honestly. Ifshe’d wanted a husband, she’d had plenty of offers to choose from lately! She was alone of her own choice. An unmarried woman of her own volition. Independent and proud and indisputably busy—especially with her plan to civilize Jack Murphy added to her already-burgeoning list of duties. No woman truly required more. The speeches and writings of Grace’s own personal suffragist heroine, Heddy Neibermayer, assured her of that.
With that recollection in mind, Grace put down her cider and made herself stroll the perimeter of the party, determined to make the best of things. She still felt lonely. But considering Heddy’s example, she decided that the very best remedy would be useful activity.
Perhaps she could seek out a few of her fellow ornithologists or women’s baseball league members and discuss their springtime fund-raisers. Or buttonhole Sheriff Caffey and engage him in a debate about appointing female officers to the town government. Or track down Jack Murphy and pair
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