Diann Ducharme Read Online Free PDF Page A

courthouse green. There, the Adamses’ home was a pre-Revolutionary beauty on Water Street, with a view of Edenton Bay, but it was surrounded on three sides by houses owned by Mr. Adams’s contemporaries. I doubted he could even venture outside without encountering a fellow judge or attorney wanting to discuss politics with him. I always thanked my lucky stars that we lived a decent carriage ride from town.
    “Our cottage is like a charming Swiss chalet. It sits right on the sand hills, with the cute curly trees all around for shade, and we’re up so high we have just a perfect view of the ocean
and
the sound. You should come on over after supper, to see what living in Nags Head is
really
like.” She giggled.
    I frowned at her, clearly recalling why we’d always ended up on opposite sides of the nursery.
    Maddie giggled again. “Bless your heart, Abby, don’t have a hissy fit. I’m sure your cottage is just dandy, in its own little way. I already invited Alice Monroe and George Wakefield and Red Taylor over to set on the veranda with me. You’re acquainted with them, aren’t you?” she said sweetly, then winked at me.
    I barely smiled. Her friends were the privileged sons and daughters of Edenton society, the same people Mama and Daddy wanted me to socialize with this summer. I would have to accept the invitation.
    While we dined on freshly made crab cakes, fried oysters, and corn bread, the men discussed in hushed voices the most upsetting business of the year—the election of Republican governor William Holden. The women, not to be outdone, chatted about fabrics for draperies and the newest Edenton millinery.
    I had trouble following along with the men’s agitated whispers, so I was somewhat forced to discuss the elegance of hats that arebedecked with a single egret feather. Apparently they were very expensive, but quite fashionable, and I imagined the women of Edenton wandering the streets looking like a flock of egrets.
    I wasn’t the only one at the table with a glazed expression, however. Mama, whose face had taken on a sickly yellow tinge, looked acutely miserable trying to keep up her end of the conversation with Mrs. Adams and Maddie. She hadn’t the skills for lighthearted conversation, and I noticed that her food remained largely untouched. And she kept beckoning for the harried Negro servant to refill her lemonade glass, to which she subsequently added several large spoonfuls of sugar.
    At one point during dessert Mrs. Adams declared, “Ingrid, I’ve never seen you look so poorly.”
    Mama said with a little shudder, “It’s that ocean air. I slept with the windows open last night … I declare, I’ve never smelled such nastiness. It’s made me quite sick.”
    Mrs. Adams laughed heartily. “That
air
is the reason everyone is here in Nags Head! Oh, you do amuse me.”
    Mama just reached for her glass of lemonade and took several frantic gulps.
    The children’s table broke up first, of course. Martha and Charlie ran out the door of the dining room with the other children, who were all itching to explore the nearby sand hills in the waning daylight.
    Soon young couples rose from the tables to dance to the band, whose horns and cornets were starting to squeak after a break. Red Taylor, the handsome son of a prominent attorney in Edenton, ventured over to ask Maddie to dance with him. I could tell that he was trying hard not to stare at the bubbles of skin squeezing from the top of her gown.
    Maddie took her sweet time in accepting his invitation, battingher eyelashes and looking around the room before rising from the table like a slow-to-bake yeast roll. Then Mr. and Mrs. Adams got up to make a hand-shaking tour of the room, leaving us to ourselves.
    So I lingered with my parents, almost a grown woman, aware of myself in my new dress and hat, aglow in the warm light of the newly lit oil lamps.
    Daddy sat back in his chair with his pipe and port. “Abigail, your mother and I have decided that