Unwritten Books 3 - The Young City by James Bow Page B

crackled as she passed it through the strands.
    Her hair was not the only thing that had grown; Peter’s commute was one hundred yards longer, as work had progressed up the creek. He’d complained about it at breakfast.
    The breeze from the open window rippled the night-clothes she’d draped over the privacy screens. Leavesscattered up the laneway. Rosemary sighed, set the brush aside, and twisted her hair back with the ease of long practice. She frowned at the way loose strands dangled down the back of her neck.
    “Too long,” she muttered. Then, with a sudden inspiration, she darted out of the apartment and knocked on Faith’s door. “Faith, could you help me?”
    Faith muttered something. Rosemary took that as an invitation and opened the door. She started to see Faith look up in shock and shove a bundle behind her back.
    “I thought you said ‘come in’!”
    “I’m sorry; ’tis nothing. You only startled me. How may I help you?”
    Rosemary turned around and pointed at her unmanageable bun. “Could you help me put my hair up, like the way you do it?”
    Faith got up and loosened Rosemary’s hair, running her fingers through the long strands. She clucked appreciatively and twisted plaits through her fingers. “Long enough at last. Don’t you know how to wear it up?”
    “I know it sounds strange, Faith, but my hair has never been as long as it is now.”
    Faith grunted. “You have strangeness about your very being. I’ve grown used to it.”
    Rosemary chuckled, and Faith began coiling her hair and pinning it into place. After several long minutes of work, she turned Rosemary around. “Is all well, Rosemary?”
    Rosemary blinked. “What?”
    “You seem troubled. Come, now; you have lived under this roof for two months. Did you not think I would notice?”
    Rosemary turned away. She stared out Faith’s window at the bustling crowds on the street below. At last she said, “Back home, this time of year, my family would get together for a thanksgiving feast. My grandparents would visit, the days would be just starting to cool, and the leaves would be turning. You could smell it in the air. I can smell it now, but my family isn’t here.”
    Faith turned Rosemary around again and hugged her. Rosemary cradled her chin on Faith’s shoulder.
    “Shall we have a feast this Sunday?” asked Faith.
    Rosemary laughed and let go. “You don’t have to do that on my account, Faith.”
    “’Tis no account,” said Faith. Then she stopped. “The truth of the matter is, Rosemary, that I’ve grown used to having you and Peter here. Our talks, your strengthening words — you’re like a sister to me.”
    Rosemary smiled hesitantly. “I’ve never had an older sister before.”
    “Well, I have never had a sister.”
    “But a feast? How can we afford that?”
    “I assume we will use the same funds with which Edmund purchased the material for my spoiled surprise.”
    “Huh?”
    “What you caught me at when you came in here.”Faith picked up a bolt of fabric — sturdy, red, and silky. Compared to Faith’s used clothes, it shone. “He surprised me with it today. There is enough for two dresses, so I resolved to make you one.”
    Rosemary stood agape before finally saying, “Thank you!”
    “I had hoped to surprise you, but since you have found out, I may as well measure you properly.” Faith pulled a fabric tape measure from her sewing box. “Arms wide!”
    Rosemary grinned as she stood like a clothier’s dummy and Faith took her measurements. But one thing nagged at her. “Edmund
gave
you this fabric?”
    “Such extravagance is unlike him,” said Faith. “But our clothes were getting a little worn. I shall make the most of it, though. My sewing skills may not be much, but I promise you that you shall have a dress that will last you for years.”
    Faith was so engrossed with her measuring that she didn’t see the colour drain from Rosemary’s cheeks.

     
    In the kitchen, Rosemary knelt over the