“What’s that?” With a cry, Farrie bent over a cardboard box to drag out a dress. When she held it up they could see it was a gown in a peach rayon satin, old, not in good condition. The sweetheart neckline was raveled and the taffeta flowers that decorated the skirt were so flattened that it was hard to tell at first what they were.
Scarlett frowned. “You don’t need that. It looks like something yore grandma would wear.”
Farrie pulled the dress over her head. The back gaped open where there were buttons she could not reach, and the squashed roses hung limply. As did the puffed sleeves. “Did you ever know my grandma?” She found a wide-brimmed straw hat with matching peach satin flowers and a huge bow in front with a rhinestone pin.
Farrie jammed it down over her ears. When she turned, arms held out, the ridiculous hat teetering, Scarlett had to smile.
“No, I never saw her.” Scarlett had always wondered about the woman who’d been foolhardy enough to marry Devil Anse, but their grandma had died long ago and now no one ever spoke of her. “You better take that thing off. I don’t know what it’s supposed to be, probably somebody’s old bridesmaid’s dress.”
Farrie came to stand in front of her. “What’s a bridesmaid’s dress?”
“You know what it is, we’ve seen ’em on TV.” She cupped one of the fabric roses in her hand. It must have been pretty once: the inside was just like a real flower with little imitation white and green stalks. “Rich people have big weddings where all the bride’s girlfriends dress up to be in the church with her when she gets married.”
Farrie flopped down on the floor beside her. “Oh Scarlett, you could have that, a big wedding with bridesmaids and all, if you married the sheriff.” She stroked a small hand down Scarlett’s sleeve coaxingly. “You’re so pretty, you’d make the best-looking bride.”
Scarlett pulled Farrie’s hand away. “I thought I told you to stop talking like that.” Scarlett was wearing a black cotton shirt that Judy Heamstead had cinched with a leather belt with a big brass buckle, and a pair of tight but becoming jeans she’d found in the clothing boxes. The minister’s daughter and Farrie hadn’t stopped talking about how good she looked.
“Go help yourself to more clothes,” Farrie urged. “There’s lots left. Look at all the things I found.”
Scarlett shook her head. She wasn’t going to go hog-wild. Jeans and a couple of shirts and sweaters were enough. She didn’t want to say it in front of Farrie, but she’d never liked wearing other people’s clothes. Everyone had their dream; for Farrie, it was to live in a big house with a bed with a ruffled tester, and have a real family. For Scarlett, who had worn used clothing most of her life, it was to have her own clothes. Just a few. But all new.
Judy Heamstead came in carrying two cardboard boxes stacked on top of each other. “Here,” she said, trying to see over them, “I hope these have got some shoes. These are sure heavy enough.”
Seeing no place to put them, Judy opened her arms and let the boxes drop to the floor. The minister’s daughter was seventeen and wore jeans with a huge oversized red sweater, a down jacket, and cowboy boots.
“Are you going to wear that?” She stared at Farrie openly. “My cousin Ina was a flower girl in that for my mamma’s wedding years ago. The hat, too.”
“A flower girl?” Farrie’s eyes were big. “In a real wedding?”
“Take it off,” Scarlett told her. Weddings were not a good subject. There was no need to encourage her sister. She got to her knees and pulled the boxes to her. “What I need for Farrie is a warm coat. What’s in these?”
“I hope it’s shoes.” Judy sat down on the floor beside them. “You need shoes. You can’t keep on those rubber sandals, it’s too cold.”
The minister’s daughter stopped, her cheeks reddening. The reasons why the two Scraggs girls were at the sheriff’s house were, her mother had warned, none of Judy’s business. But since she’d brought in the boxes from the church, Judy had been dying to find out. “If these boxes don’t have any shoes in them maybe we can find some of Sheila’s old ones upstairs.”
Scarlett was silent for a moment. “Do you know them? The sheriff? And his family here?”
The other girl nodded. “My mother and Alicia Grissom went to school together.” She looked around the big room. “Mamma remembers when the first sheriff gave Buck’s mother this house. It used to be in Mrs. Grissom’s family but they ran out of money and lost it years ago. It was almost falling down. Hey, will you look here?” She seized something and held it up. “No wonder the box was so heavy! I thought there were shoes in it.”
“Books.” Scarlett picked one up, curious. “A cookbook?”
“It’s stuff left over from the last rummage sale,” Judy murmured. “Goodness, haven’t you ever seen a cookbook?”
“No,” Scarlett said. “We’re Scraggses.” Farrie lifted her head, listening. “If you don’t know by now I better tell you. My little sister’n I are running away to Atlanta.”
The look on Judy Heamstead’s face was indescribable. “You’re running away?”
Farrie opened her mouth to say something but Scarlett gave her a quick look. “There’s nothing here in this town for us. Not for Scraggses.”
“Oh, don’t say that.” Poor Judy looked nonplussed. “I’m sure there’s -”
“Never mind, we’re used to it, Farrie and me. That’s why we’re going to Atlanta. Can I” – Scarlett reached into the box again – “have some of these books?” She held one up. “‘Five Hundred of the World’s Best Potato Recipes.’ Can you learn to cook if you read it in a book?”
“Oh yes, that’s what they’re for. I don’t really know what else is in there, people donated them.” Judy’s face was still crimson. “I don’t like to cook much, myself.”
“I love to cook. I just never saw any books that showed you how.” Scarlett inspected a volume entitled How to Have Fun with Your Wok, and put it back. But she set aside an ancient copy of The Fanny Farmer Boston Cookbook, and Prize-Winning Cakes and Other Desserts from Better Homes and Gardens. “They got a real nice kitchen here,” she said thoughtfully. “I saw it last night.”
Judy jumped up with an expression of relief.
“Would you like to see the rest of the house? There’s a tower room that’s really neat. When my brothers and I used to visit Mrs. Grissom she let us play in it and make believe we were beautiful princesses waiting for a knight to come rescue us. Well, actually, the boys wanted it to be World War Two and we were being attacked by Nazis.”
“A tower?” Farrie said eagerly.
Scarlett frowned. “We better not.”
Farrie was already on her feet. The two girls started for the hall, Judy explaining to Farrie about the original Blankenship house that had stood there, and the Union cavalry raid that had swept down out of Chattanooga in 1863 and into the Nancyville valley.
“The Yankees burned the front part of the house,” she was saying enthusiastically. “So when the war was over Mr. Blankenship opened the cotton mill and made a lot of money and had the house rebuilt the way you see it now. That’s when the front porch was put on, and the tower.”
Upstairs, Judy threw open the door to their room.
“This was Sheila’s.” She gestured as though they hadn’t already slept there. “Don’t you just love that bed? I always wanted one like it. Sheila’s daddy the old sheriff gave it to her on her twelfth birthday.” She turned and started down the hall again. “Mrs. Blankenship used to sew a lot when Sheila went away to college. She used the tower for a sewing room. It has the neatest window where you can look down the side of the mountain and see all of Nancyville.”