Page 100 of Eleanor’s Earrings

They laughed at one another, interrupted, corrected details, accused one another of exaggeration, and told stories Eleanor hadn't thought about in years.

For a few hours their parents were not only losses. Mother was catching the Christmas goose. Father was eating Martha’s terrible pie. He was buying Charlotte her first ledger and receiving Caroline’s furious copy of the mapmaker’s letter.

Their old house existed again in laughter.

Nathaniel’s hand found Eleanor’s beside the log.

He did not say anything.

She squeezed his fingers.

Lydia saw.

Naturally.

She opened her mouth.

Eleanor pointed at her without looking.

“Do not.”

Lydia closed it.

Nathaniel whispered, “Impressive.”

“I have developed authority.”

“You always had authority.”

“Now it occasionally works.”

Mrs. Bell called for one final story.

“Something romantic,” Lucy said.

“Something funny,” Rebecca countered.

“Those are not mutually exclusive,” Lydia said.

Everyone looked at Eleanor and Nathaniel.

“No,” Eleanor said.

Nathaniel said, “Absolutely not.”

Lydia grinned. “Then I will tell the story.”

“There is no story.”

“There is always a story.”

“Lydia.”

“Once upon a time, eight sisters left Missouri—”

Eleanor stood.

Lydia jumped behind Rebecca.