Visiting the Neighbors

I woke in the early morning, hours before my accustomed time, in response to a tentative tap on my bedroom door. "Come in," I said. Emily pushed the door slightly open and smiled uncertainly around the edge of the door, wavering a moment as with some desperate indecision.

"Come in," I called. "I'm not going to bite you, you know."

"I didn't think you would!" Emily blurted, then clapped her hands over her mouth, blushing deeply as she stepped into the room. "Mrs. Lafontaine sent me to tell you breakfast is ready."

I smiled, thinking Emily was so beautiful and young and fresh. Such a soft, sweet girl! Rather like spun sugar, hair like butter frosting and a hint of strawberries about her lips and lovely cheeks. I would always remember the taste of sugar, butter frosting and strawberries when I thought of Emily years afterward. That was definitely how Emily tasted to me.

"You're not afraid of me, surely not?"

Emily shook her head. A wisp of blonde hair escaped its bounds slid around the left side of her face. For just a moment her expression was so appealing that it quickened my pulse. For just a moment I forgave Mama for making me visit the neighbors: this particular visit might prove enjoyable after all.

Then Emily, with an almost frightened abruptness seized that loose strand of hair that so attracted me, snatched a bobby pin from her pocket and secured it to her bun. Something in that gesture made me feel uneasy and uncertain. There was something about Emily that I just couldn't interpret – I'm very good at reading people or I would never have survived so many visits – but for me she was both disturbingly unreadable and mesmerizingly attractive. The more I looked at her, the more I wanted Emily to like me. We simply stared at each other for several minutes. The silence was swiftly reaching the point of rudeness on Emily's part – she being the hostess – when she finally spoke again.

"I am sorry, Melissa. I don't mean to stare," Emily apologized. "You remind me of someone."

"Who? I hope she was someone you liked!"

"Jemina… I … I liked her." Emily's mouth twisted into a tight line and a glint came into her eyes as if tears lay just below the surface. "But I shouldn't be talking about her. Father would be angry."

"Why? Didn't he like her?"

Emily looked down, hesitated, and sounded evasive. "I'm surprised Father let you stay here … you look so much like her."

"You miss her? Can't you write or call?" Emily never so much as raised her head and I could see by the way her eyes narrowed and her teeth pressed into her lower lip that she had been holding something back until she was ready to explode.

"Father never lets anyone mention her. Promise me you won't say anything to him about my mentioning her? Please!"

I patted her warm, pulsing hand, smiled "Word of honor."

Emily forced an uneasy smile "We're so isolated here. You're the first girl my own age I've spoken to in over a year. Father doesn't cotton to outsiders. People who aren't quite right – not true believers."

That startled me, but I couldn't think of any reply. It was just such an odd thing to say.

Emily settled into the big overstuffed wing-backed chair near the vanity. I pulled out the vanity's stool and we sat for a while without talking. The long silence must have made Emily feel insecure again because the pink returned to her cheeks. I'd never met anyone so innocent and unsophisticated before. But then my experiences with these odd isolationist sects had been limited to seeing them in the grocery and department stores. I wondered if all their daughters were this way. If so I might just go visiting them on my own. The lovely way the blush transformed her face made me laugh delightedly which only made her blush deepen more.

"Will you come down for breakfast?" she asked.

"If you want me to. Though I'm not very hungry. My head aches a little."

GODWAR CENTRAL

Visiting the Neighbors