![]() Short hair didn’t tend to get stuck in the car engines she liked to tinker with. I kept my hair to my shoulders, curled up to be closer to fashionable, while Mira’s dark, slicked-back hair was so short she had the barber take a razor to her neck. She wore trousers, a collared shirt and vest, while I stuck to dresses and stockings rolled at my knees. “And I’ll be ready.” Mira was the bravest of us, the first to adopt the garçonne fashions, the first to bob her hair. “One day they will be.” Mira pulled off my gloves and adjusted her short hair in the rearview mirror. I guess explosions aren’t the answer this time.” I reached over the seat and tapped her knee. Greta didn’t always understand our sense of humor. “There are children in there,” Greta said with genuine concern. “I say we blow the house up and go find a soda fountain.”īea pressed her palms together. I stared at the house beyond the car as if wishing this would go well would make it so. At twenty-two, Greta was the oldest of us Wives-to-be, and we never let her forget it. “Yes, Mother,” Mira, Bea, and I muttered in unison. She stared out the window like she was bored. With her blond curls combed out, she looked like a sunflower or a movie starlet either way she followed the light and the light loved her back. “Watch your slang,” Greta said in the back seat, squashed nearly against the window as though she thought poor was catching. ![]() “I’m glad that milquetoast’s married and minding her own beeswax.” “Ada was just trying to get under your collar,” Mira said. A stray shadow darkened her plump cheeks. With her wide brown eyes she looked younger than she was her brown hair longer than was fashionable, tucked in two braids, freckles across her upturned nose. “Do you think this is a test, Elsie?” Bea asked. Meadow Lark was a reliable plan, but with children in the home … “That could get messy. She was the Spinster assigned for up-close protection for this assignment, and a dear friend whose usual smiling eyes were focused and deadly as she scanned the street. One quick Chat and we’ll be home before supper.” “The advert said the Spinsters and Gossips are watching our backs. There were five of us, and we’d been trained. The Matrons were the leaders of our society, but this was just one car, and one man. We’d done those plenty of times before.īehind me, Bea cleared her throat. The coded message clearly stated it was only supposed to be a Chat, an assessment of the safety of the family who lived at 127 Adams. There wasn’t supposed to be a car in the driveway. In the seat next to mine, Mira clenched the steering wheel so tightly she creased her leather driving gloves. ![]() A storm cloud rumbled above the rooftops, the salted wind tossing a newspaper across an empty street as we parked the Model A two block away from our target-the house at 127 Adams Street.
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