comparison.
“Is that it?” Rose asked loudly as we approached the gate. Aunt Martha grabbed hold of Rose’s frock and pulled her into the carriage. I saw the movement out of the corner of my eye and, fearing a tug of my own dress, ducked back into the carriage as well.
“I told you not to shout, Rose,” Aunt Martha said in her Irish brogue. She looked more plain than usual in her simple black dress with patches on the bottom where she’d had to mend it.
Her brown hair, the same shade as mine, was pulled back into a tight bun atop her head and her thin lips were pursed in her usual frown.
“I told you, girls,” she said harshly. “Your grandmother is a fine lady. I won’t have you acting wild in front of her.”
When Aunt Martha said that word, ‘grandmother’, I felt an urge to make a face. This lady, Mrs. Winslow, was hardly a grandmother of any kind.
She and mama had not spoken since mama ran away to marry our Da. And this ‘Grandmother’ didn’t bother coming to Da’s funeral even though Mama had written to tell her the news. She did not even offer any help when mama fell ill.
Indeed, the first time Rose and I had seen her was at Mama’s funeral one week before.
She’d walked up to us as though she had done it a million times before. Carrying herself erect without a hint of tears or sadness on her face. She’d looked down on us over the bridge of her nose.
“So, you’re the girls, are you?” she’d asked. I had been so affronted, so stunned at this woman’s nerve that I hadn’t been able to answer. Rose answered for me.
“Yes Ma’am,” Rose had said prettily. She even performed a little curtsey. At that, Grandmama appraised Rose with an almost approving expression.
“I take it you are the youngest,” the old woman said to my sister.
“That is correct, Ma’am,” Rose said. I could tell she was putting on what she called her ‘posh’ voice. I remembered her practicing at home ‘in case we ever meet a great lady’.
Apparently, Grandmama appreciated this. Indeed, I could almost see a smile creep across her lips as she looked down at Rose. I could not say that I was surprised.
I knew there was a lot to approve of in Rose. Even at the age of six, it was no secret that she was becoming a beauty. Her blonde curls always seemed to fall perfectly around her face. They complimented her full rosy cheeks and dimpled smile.
Combine that with Rose’s inclination for pretty manners, and it was easy to see why our stern Grandmother had given Rose an approving nod.
When she turned to me, there was no approval in her eyes. My hair was dull and always hung limply around my shoulders. My green eyes were small and unremarkable and my face thin and sallow.
“You must be Mary,” she’d said.
I knew I should have answered her. I wanted to give her a cold yet delicate response. Like I’ve heard fine ladies give when they truly do not care for someone.
But, under the old woman’s cold stare, I found that I could do nothing but nod.
Grandmama glared at me once more before gliding away to whisper something to my aunt.
That whisper had brought us here. To the grand house.
We entered the large gate and stared out the window at the mountains of colorful flowers that covered the front lawn. When the carriage stopped, Aunt Martha took Rose by the hand and led her up the tall steps. I followed behind. Aunt Martha pulled a large string that caused a bell to sound inside. A man in a black and white suit answered the door.
“We’re here to see Mrs. Winslow,” Aunt Martha said. “I’ve brought her granddaughters.”
“Yes,” the man said. “She is expecting you.”
The man in the suit led us into a hall, larger by far than any room I had ever been in. Larger, even, then our church building in concord.
“Mrs. Winslow has asked that the girls remain in the hall, Madam,” the man said sparing a glance at Rose and I before turning back to my aunt. “She would like to speak with you