morning at the bedroom door, smelling of horses and hay, his face sallow and motionless. I hooked my garter belt to my stockings, smoothed my slip down, and took a deep breath. He made no move to get ready for church, just shook his head. Then he turned and left.
The small wave of relief I felt shamed me. I put my hand back under my slip to unfasten the garters and begin undressing. He was right. How could we do this? We were staggering, fresh amputees.
Then I stopped myself. I could not acquiesce to the fear and anger I had seen at the funeral.
I heard the girls rustling down the hall. “Hurry, girls!” I called to them. “Or we’ll be late.”
Sarah, who, like her father, had never cared if any of her clothes matched, wept when she could not find two pink socks. She stood in the hall, screaming and waving a single sock. Before I could get there, Gracie and Rosie ran to her. The three of them rummaged in her bureau drawers and pulled out socks until they found two that matched.
Moments later, I discovered Lil standing next to the closet she and Jennie had shared. She tugged her blue Sunday dress down over her belly. It bunched oddly at the sleeves and in the back. The collar of one of Jennie’s favorite dresses, a purple-and-white cotton, peeked out at the neck. Lil spun quickly to face me. “I can do it. I’ll get it,” she said. She reached back, elbows high, and kept her eyes on me while she finished buttoning her dress. Once buttoned up, she quickly straightened the two collars, tucking the collar of Jennie’s dress neatly under her own. Then she turned around for me to brush her hair.
“You look pretty in that dress, Lil.”
She did not smile. In the mirror, she watched me pull her bright tumble of hair up into an orderly ponytail. We contemplated each other in the same mirror Addie and I had first looked at. There were no twins now.
An hour later, we pulled away from the backyard, the girls all combed, calm, and somber in their Sunday dresses. I glanced in the rearview mirror and saw a feather of dust rise from the dry yard. At the far end of the field, Adam, straight-backed and tall, drove the tractor. The disker cut the earth in a neat line that paralleled the distant trees.
We’d missed Sunday school and were among the last to enter for the sermon. Heads turned as we filed into our pew. I felt the congregation’s eyes boring into my back.
Joe turned in the pew ahead of us and smiled quickly, a flash of genuine warmth and concern in his eyes. Beside him, Mary gave the girls a quick wave. Then both of them swept their eyes past us, obviously relieved to see that Adam was not there. Mary gave a subtle nod of approval and whispered to Joe. I remembered the stricken faces and the smell of vomit the week before. Suddenly, I thought I could smell it again and instinctively looked down at the clean floor.
Sarah pressed up close to me and sucked her thumb through the sermon. Gracie sat ramrod-straight, her arm around Lil, who stared ahead. Rosie fidgeted, rearranging her skirt and scuffing her shoes against the floor. Several times, I had to reach across the other girls and quiet her. I have no idea what the minister said.
After the sermon, people stepped aside as we passed by on our way out. On the church lawn, the girls did not linger, playing with the other children, but stayed near me.
I hadn’t seen any of my family since the funeral. As we went down the church steps, Momma appeared suddenly at my side and touched my arm. “Y’all coming to dinner?”
I had nothing prepared for dinner. But my shoulders burned with exhaustion, my face was a mask. “No, Momma. I need to get the girls home to Adam.”
Something unfamiliar flickered across my mother’s face. She glanced down to make a quick, unnecessary adjustment to her purse.
“Bring them by soon, then,” she squeezed my arm.
I drove the girls home, three of them in the front with me, and Rosie sprawled across the backseat. They sat quietly. As we pulled up into the backyard, I realized that none of them had mentioned their father or asked why he hadn’t come to church with us. I shut the engine off.
“Momma.” Gracie leaned forward so I could