LIGHTS
Aunt Jean’s wide, warm kitchen was full of light and the laughter of red-cheeked boys. Cousin Clem had many handsome chaps as friends, strapping and rugged from playing sports.
Sitting among them, Colette sipped from her iced tea, a new drink she rather adored. In Carmarthenshire they drank hot, bitter tea most of the time, or black coffee, without sugar as it was a scarce luxury during the war.
Each Friday Uncle Fred allowed Clem to host parties after the football match as long as the kids behaved and helped clean up. Although she’d only lived in Heart’s Bend for a month, Colette found these parties wonderful for making new friends.
Because of Clem, she and Peg had been easily accepted at school. The lads greeted Colette as she walked the halls. The girls insisted she dine with them at the lunch hour. Everyone especially adored Peg, so classically lovely with her reddish-brown curls, curious brown eyes, and pouty lips. She’d taken to wearing red lipstick and Aunt Jean said not a word.
Peg also charmed the kids with her mimicking skills. Voices. Drawing. Handwriting. She forged Shakespeare’s script from a photograph on the wall at school and nearly gave the English teacher a heart attack when Peg claimed the piece was original. “It’s been in our family for generations.”
How the kids had laughed at Mr. Bruner’s expense.
Last week Peg wrote a letter for one of the senior boys, Larry, who skipped school to see his girlfriend in another town. He brought his mum’s grocery list for Peg to use as a sample. Peg’s copy was flawless.
Larry exited the principal’s office with a big smile on his face, giving Peg the thumbs-up.
She meant her skill to be a lark. A way to gain favor. But three more kids had asked for her talents in the last week.
Colette had warned her just last night that the habit would be her demise.
“You’ll get caught, mark my words. You think you’re doing good, but you’re causing harm.”
“You’re such a worrywart. Leave me be, I’m having fun. Wait until I write a letter to myself from Princess Elizabeth.”
Her laugh gave Colette chills. “Peg, you can’t—”
“Colette, we’ve already faced the worst thing possible.” Peg pursed her lips, lowering her voice. “After something like that, how in the world can a bit of princess handwriting fakery harm anyone?”
“You said we were not to speak of their death.”
“Did you hear me speak of it? I certainly didn’t.” Peg switched off the light. “Go to sleep.”
“Go to sleep? No. I want to speak of it now that you’ve cracked the door.” Colette switched the light back on.
“Peg . . .” But her sister had gone silent, rolling away from her, leaving her to simmer in her own grief.
Music burst into the kitchen from the living room, bringing Colette into the moment. She spun around to see Clem rolling back the rug and grabbing pretty Sharon Hayes for the jitterbug, twisting her round and round until her skirt billowed and her long blond ponytail bounced about her shoulders.
“Come on, gang, let’s get on the floor.” One of the chaps ran by, tugging a dark-headed girl with round hips behind him. “Can’t let Clem have all the fun.”
The lads scooped up the other girls, and Peg, who’d become quite good at the jitterbug since living in Heart’s Bend, danced with a bloke called Spice.
Colette loved to dance. She practiced in her room before the mirror. But, oh, she’d be too scared to dance with one of these chaps. When Peg caught her practicing the boogie-woogie, she laughed, telling Colette she looked silly.
Clem jumped in front of her, startling her, bowing with a grand sweep of his arm. “My dear English cousin, might I have this dance?”
“Oh no, I don’t know.” She’d feel so self-conscious. “I’ve never really da—”
“Never fear.” Clem grabbed her hand, jerking her to her feet. “I’ll teach you.”
“Go on, sugar, dance.” Aunt Jean took Colette’s iced
Aunt Jean’s wide, warm kitchen was full of light and the laughter of red-cheeked boys. Cousin Clem had many handsome chaps as friends, strapping and rugged from playing sports.
Sitting among them, Colette sipped from her iced tea, a new drink she rather adored. In Carmarthenshire they drank hot, bitter tea most of the time, or black coffee, without sugar as it was a scarce luxury during the war.
Each Friday Uncle Fred allowed Clem to host parties after the football match as long as the kids behaved and helped clean up. Although she’d only lived in Heart’s Bend for a month, Colette found these parties wonderful for making new friends.
Because of Clem, she and Peg had been easily accepted at school. The lads greeted Colette as she walked the halls. The girls insisted she dine with them at the lunch hour. Everyone especially adored Peg, so classically lovely with her reddish-brown curls, curious brown eyes, and pouty lips. She’d taken to wearing red lipstick and Aunt Jean said not a word.
Peg also charmed the kids with her mimicking skills. Voices. Drawing. Handwriting. She forged Shakespeare’s script from a photograph on the wall at school and nearly gave the English teacher a heart attack when Peg claimed the piece was original. “It’s been in our family for generations.”
How the kids had laughed at Mr. Bruner’s expense.
Last week Peg wrote a letter for one of the senior boys, Larry, who skipped school to see his girlfriend in another town. He brought his mum’s grocery list for Peg to use as a sample. Peg’s copy was flawless.
Larry exited the principal’s office with a big smile on his face, giving Peg the thumbs-up.
She meant her skill to be a lark. A way to gain favor. But three more kids had asked for her talents in the last week.
Colette had warned her just last night that the habit would be her demise.
“You’ll get caught, mark my words. You think you’re doing good, but you’re causing harm.”
“You’re such a worrywart. Leave me be, I’m having fun. Wait until I write a letter to myself from Princess Elizabeth.”
Her laugh gave Colette chills. “Peg, you can’t—”
“Colette, we’ve already faced the worst thing possible.” Peg pursed her lips, lowering her voice. “After something like that, how in the world can a bit of princess handwriting fakery harm anyone?”
“You said we were not to speak of their death.”
“Did you hear me speak of it? I certainly didn’t.” Peg switched off the light. “Go to sleep.”
“Go to sleep? No. I want to speak of it now that you’ve cracked the door.” Colette switched the light back on.
“Peg . . .” But her sister had gone silent, rolling away from her, leaving her to simmer in her own grief.
Music burst into the kitchen from the living room, bringing Colette into the moment. She spun around to see Clem rolling back the rug and grabbing pretty Sharon Hayes for the jitterbug, twisting her round and round until her skirt billowed and her long blond ponytail bounced about her shoulders.
“Come on, gang, let’s get on the floor.” One of the chaps ran by, tugging a dark-headed girl with round hips behind him. “Can’t let Clem have all the fun.”
The lads scooped up the other girls, and Peg, who’d become quite good at the jitterbug since living in Heart’s Bend, danced with a bloke called Spice.
Colette loved to dance. She practiced in her room before the mirror. But, oh, she’d be too scared to dance with one of these chaps. When Peg caught her practicing the boogie-woogie, she laughed, telling Colette she looked silly.
Clem jumped in front of her, startling her, bowing with a grand sweep of his arm. “My dear English cousin, might I have this dance?”
“Oh no, I don’t know.” She’d feel so self-conscious. “I’ve never really da—”
“Never fear.” Clem grabbed her hand, jerking her to her feet. “I’ll teach you.”
“Go on, sugar, dance.” Aunt Jean took Colette’s iced
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