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He lingered in the doorway for a moment, as if he wanted to say something else, but then stepped aside and gestured for her to go ahead of him.
Norma Rose didn’t look back as she walked down the hall to the powder room, but she knew Ty watched her. She had a feeling that if she did turn around she’d never be able to make sense out of anything. Especially not what was happening inside her. None of it had anything to do with Ginger, either.
What was happening to her? It was barely four o’clock and yet she was exhausted, as if she’d worked days without rest. She couldn’t blame that on Ginger, either. With her sister missing, she should have been in panic mode, but she wasn’t. Ever since Ty had assured her that Ginger had run away, there was a tiny part of her that was happy. Glad her sister had escaped. That was not something she’d ever have imagined feeling.
Entering the room, Norma Rose removed her gloves and turned on the water, washing away the stickiness of the cotton candy. Her hands were still blue and despite everything, she smiled at that.
Smiled.
She must be exhausted. There was nothing funny about blue hands. There was nothing to be relieved about when it came to Ginger running away, either, and she knew she shouldn’t be standing there thinking about cotton candy and snow globes. But no matter how hard she tried, her mind kept going back to the afternoon. A chill rippled her spine, recalling the stares burning holes in her as she’d walked beside Ty. Unlike Bald Eagle folks, the people of White Bear Lake gossiped. About some things. About her. They had way back when and they would again now.
Norma Rose turned off the water, but let her hands rest on the taps. She was no longer sixteen and poor, carrying water from an outside well to wash remade clothes and darning her socks each night to get one more day out of them.
She’d come a long way since those days, and was never going back. Let them talk. Let them wonder who Ty was. She had far more important things to do, and as her mother once told her, gossips were often narrow-minded people, and narrowed-minded people were often gossips because they were jealous.
Feeling better, but still thinking about cotton candy and snow globes—she’d need more time than washing her hands had given her to work herself out of that barrel—Norma Rose opened the door. The hall was empty. Ty would tell her father all they’d learned, and— Her mind paused right there. When had she started to trust him? He would tell her father all he needed to know. Meaning he wouldn’t say a thing about Twyla’s little adventure. She trusted him to keep that quiet.
Her blue fingers trembled slightly. She’d never trusted anyone, not like this, not with such secrets. One more thing she’d have to add to her list of notions to ponder. Right now, she would grab a new pair of gloves and find Twyla. There wasn’t much more she could do about Ginger, until they found her, but she could put a stop to Twyla’s shenanigans.
Wearing a fresh pair of black gloves, Norma Rose walked down the hall to Twyla’s closed bedroom door. Filling her lungs with fresh air, and holding it in until she couldn’t any longer, she let out the air and knocked on her sister’s door.
“Go away, I’m busy.”
Twisting the knob proved the door was locked. Norma Rose walked back to her room, where she retrieved a master key from the hidden drawer in her jewelry box. Returning to Twyla’s room, she unlocked the door and threw it open.
Her sister, sitting at her vanity table, crying, wasn’t what she’d expected to find.
“What’s wrong now?” Norma Rose asked, sighing.
Twyla’s mascara had streaked black lines down both cheeks. Without a word, her sister simply turned her head around.
“Oh, good heavens,” Norma Rose groaned, at the sight of the darning needle sticking out of Twyla’s earlobe.
“It’s stuck,” Twyla said.
There was no whine or cry in Twyla’s tone, and that’s what struck Norma Rose. Her sister was as disgusted as she was. She closed the door and crossed the room, sitting down on the bed.
“When are you going to grow up, Twyla?”
Twyla turned around to face her. “When are you going to let me?”
“Twyla—”
“Don’t,” her sister interrupted. “Don’t start, Norma Rose. And don’t give me that condescending look, either. You have no idea what it’s like. Yes, you were seventeen when Mother died and you took over her role without an ounce of complaint, but I was fifteen. I could have done more then, and I could do more now if anyone would ever give me the chance.”
Norma Rose had been ready to react, but as Twyla had continued, Ty’s words came to mind, when he’d said that Twyla had a point. She let the point settle. “How can you expect to be given a chance when you act so immaturely?”
“I haven’t always acted like this. For years I’ve tried to show you and father that I’m responsible and mature, but you never acknowledged any of it. I did everything I could and neither of you saw anything but a child. That’s why I decided to act like a child, until one of you was ready to see I was serious.”
“It’s a little difficult to take someone seriously when they have a darning needle sticking out of one ear.”
“See?” Twyla threw her hands in the air.
Norma Rose sighed.
“Father wouldn’t even let any of us go to college,” Twyla said. “What kind of parent does that? We could afford it.”
Understanding Twyla was deadly serious, Norma Rose agreed. “Yes, we could afford it, but you hated school.”
“So? I still would have liked the decision to be mine.”
Ty’s comment wouldn’t leave her mind, and Norma Rose nodded. “I can understand that.” She understood more than anyone might know. There’d been a time when she’d dreamed of going to college herself. There hadn’t been any money then, but she’d dreamed of what else might be out there. “I’m sorry,” she said, for several reasons. “Honestly, I am.”
“I’m sorry, too,” Twyla said. “And I’m tired of it. So tired of it.” She stood and walked to the bed, where she sat down by Norma Rose. “Do you remember how close we were before mother died?”
“Of course I do. All four of us shared a bedroom,” Norma Rose reminded her.
“And it wasn’t so bad,” Twyla said. “Because we shared more than a room, we shared lives. We shared secrets and clothes and laughs.”
A shiver rippled over Norma Rose. “We shared soup, too,” she said. “One kettle full, for all of us, to last the whole day.”
“I remember that, too,” Twyla said. “We all do. I’m not saying I want to live like that again, I don’t want to share a room with any of you, but I do want—oh, never mind, I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“But you did,” Norma Rose said, “so finish it. What is it you do want?” Maybe it was time she was honest about a few things, too. “Because I have to tell you, I’m tired, too.”
She wasn’t exactly sure how she’d expected Twyla to respond, but it certainly wasn’t with empathy.
“As you should be,” Twyla said, laying a hand on Norma Rose’s knee. “You work sixteen hours a day, every day, and there’s no reason you should. You used to let us all help, but since business took off, all you let any of us do is wash sheets and sweep floors.”
Norma Rose opened her mouth, but Twyla lifted her hand. “Let me finish. Yes, the laundry and cleaning has to be done, but there is more all of us could do. Granted, you let Josie help with special party decorations, but why can’t she decorate the dining room every day? Or the ballroom, or even just the entranceway? Have you seen how she folds the towels for guests? They’re practically works of art. And Ginger—”
Norma Rose held her breath. Had Ginger been found while she’d been gone?
“You’re worried about replacing Brock, well, Ginger could do that in a flash. She knows more about music and performing than half the musicians in the area, and I know she’d rather do that than make beds.”
“She’s told you that? When?” Norma Rose asked, hoping Twyla’s answer would tell her that Ginger was home safe and sound.
“She didn’t have to tell me that,” Twyla said. “It’s obvious, just as it’s obvious that she’s as tired of being treated like a child as I am.”
“You’ve talked to her about this today?”
“No, I haven’t seen her today, but that’s not the point,” Twyla said. “Ginger, Josie and I are tired of just being Roger Nightingale’s daughters.”
Norma Rose couldn’t fathom how to respond to that.
Twyla laughed. “Don’t look so shocked. We love Daddy, and we love you, but we are grown women and it’s time both you and Father started treating us as such.”
Still not sure what to say, Norma Rose pointed out the obvious. “This coming from a woman with a darning needle stuck in one ear.”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” Twyla stormed.
“Watch your mouth,” Norma Rose scolded.
Twyla pressed both hands to her forehead and groaned. Leaning closer, she hissed, “It’s the 1920s, women can curse, they can drink, too, and have sex without worrying about getting pregnant.”
