LITMIR.BIZ

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visited the hairdresser to have it cut and shaped every two months, but the rest of the time a few strokes with a brush left her short hair in black soft curls all over her head.

      She applied makeup sparingly. Her fine features and smooth skin, rich and deep in texture, needed little enhancement. She left off eye makeup completely, because her violet eyes fringed by long, up-curling black lashes were naturally distinctive. Violet was above average height and well proportioned. With her graceful form, even inexpensive garments set well on her.

      She knew that Larry would arrive promptly at six o’clock, so she was surprised when the doorbell rang twenty minutes before that. She pulled a lightweight evening jacket from the closet and rushed to the door.

      Her friend, Roger Gibson, stood on the porch. “Oh, hello,” she said. “Come in.”

      He whistled. “Wow! You are really dolled up this evening. If you’re going out, I’ll come back later.”

      “Larry won’t pick me up for fifteen minutes. Come on in.”

      Roger, a lieutenant in the Illinois State Police, and his family attended the same church as Violet, and he had been her friend since she had moved to Maitland. He stepped inside the living room, which seemed to shrink with the presence of his tall, powerful build. Roger was off duty now, and in casual dress, but in his policeman’s uniform, Violet had often thought he looked awesome.

      “Actually, I’m begging,” he said. “The church youth group are sponsoring a garage sale next month, and we’re looking for donations. We’ll take anything that’s salable.”

      “I’m sure I can scrounge up some good items, but you’ll have to wait for it until after the Social Studies Fair is over.”

      Roger was the father of Misty Gibson, one of Violet’s pupils so he knew about the fair. “Oh, yes, I’ll be happy when that event is over, so I can take possession of our dining room table again. Misty has been struggling for several days to make a papier-mâché model of the White House. Perhaps I shouldn’t tell you that.”

      His generous mouth with rather full lips broke into a smile, causing attractive crinkles at the corners of his dark eyes. Roger Gibson had thick dark hair, curled close to his head, with touches of silver at the temples. His dusky skin hinted of a Middle East ancestry far in the past. With his warm, open nature Roger possessed an air of decency and strong character. Violet always felt elevated to a higher spiritual and moral level when she was in his presence.

      “It doesn’t matter, for I won’t be one of the judges. I’ll give them a grade for turning in the project, but I won’t have to decide which is the best one, thank goodness.”

      Roger’s brown eyes resembled deep dark pools when he smiled again. “Artistic ability isn’t one of Misty’s strong points. I’m not concerned about having to escort her to the regional competition in Missouri.” He moved toward the door. “I’ll go now. I see Larry driving down the street. See you at church on Sunday.”

      Rather than observing Larry’s approach, Violet admired Roger’s energetic walk toward his truck. His step was fast and springy, an unusual gait in such a large man. A widower when Violet first met him, he bore well the responsibility of rearing two children by himself.

      She turned to greet Larry when he stepped up on the porch.

      “Ready on time, as usual,” Larry said. Roger waved to them as he drove his pickup down the street.

      “Are you in trouble?” Larry asked, smiling, but with a hint of worry in his eyes.

      Pulling the door shut behind her, and taking Larry’s arm as they left the porch and walked to his car, Violet said, “Oh, you mean Roger. He directs the youth activities at our church, and he was soliciting items for the group’s garage sale. Roger was one of the first people I met when I moved to Maitland. He nearly gave me a ticket for neglecting to signal a right-hand turn.” She laughed at the memory. “And after he let me off with a stern warning, he invited me to attend his church. We’ve been friends ever since.”

      “Not the usual way to make friends, I’d say.”

      “Perhaps not, but I couldn’t ask for a better friend. In fact, he tries to befriend everyone.”

      “Have you ever considered leaving that church, Violet? It’s too conservative and folksy for me. You would be welcome at the church we attend.”

      “But I’m welcome at First Community Church, too. The large church family I’ve gained there makes up for the small natural family I have.”

      Violet tried to keep her voice from reflecting the irritation she felt, for she suspected that Mrs. Holland was behind Larry’s comments. She was ready to take issue with him, but he dropped the subject and looked at her approvingly. “May I say that you’re looking fantastic tonight? Mother will be pleased.”

      “You look pretty sharp, too. Perhaps I’m not the one to say this, but we do make a good-looking couple,” she said, eyeing, with appreciation, his black suit, snow-white shirt, and expensive silk tie, its rich burgundy and gray pattern a perfect contrast to his dark suit.

      One couldn’t help admire Larry Holland. With the family wealth, he wouldn’t have to work at all, yet at thirty, he had already earned his doctorate in education, and had been the principal at Maitland High for five years. His brown hair swept back from his forehead in deep waves, and his eyes were hazel colored. A square, jutted jaw that he’d inherited from his mother, kept him from being handsome, and in Violet’s opinion, the well-trimmed mustache didn’t enhance his appearance a great deal, but overall his looks were certainly worthy of notice. In height, he stood eye-level with Violet, his body slender. He was a man to be admired, and he had earned Violet’s regard both because of his personality and his proficiency as an administrator.

      Despite the heavy traffic, they reached the restaurant at the appointed time. They entered a room filled with celebrating guests, and Larry introduced Violet to his extended family. Larry’s brother, William, was a frequent visitor in Maitland, and she already knew him and his wife.

      As everyone began to eat the first course, Larry devoted his attention to his maternal aunt on his left, and Mrs. Holland chatted graciously with Violet, but eventually the conversation turned to a subject that distressed Violet. Was it by design or only accidental that Mrs. Holland asked, “Are you related to the Kansas City Conleys, Violet?”

      “I don’t know anyone in Kansas City.”

      “That’s too bad, for those Conleys are prominent, both politically and socially.” Mrs. Holland leaned back to let the waiter take her plate, sparing Violet the necessity to comment. She had been born in Kansas, so she could be related to the Conleys Mrs. Holland mentioned, but she didn’t ask whether Mrs. Holland referred to the city in Missouri or Kansas. It wasn’t wise to ask the matriarch of the Holland family too many questions.

      “Where do your relatives live?” the woman persisted, and Violet decided this was Mrs. Holland’s way of checking her eligibility to enter the Holland family. Larry must be getting serious in his attentions to her.

      Choosing her words carefully, Violet said, “I know nothing about my father’s family. He died when I was two years old, and I went to live with my Aunt Ruth in Minnesota. I don’t know any Conleys except myself.”

      “And your mother?”

      “I lost her about the same time, so I’m fortunate that Aunt Ruth wanted me. She gave me a good home.”

      “I would like to meet your Aunt Ruth sometime.”

      “Perhaps you can the next time she comes to Maitland. She visits two or three times each year.”

      Violet’s hands were clammy with cold sweat, and she laid down her fork, slipped her hands under the table and wiped them on the napkin. She was trembling inside, but she hoped it wasn’t obvious to Mrs. Holland. William summoned his mother to cut the birthday cake, and when they returned to the table for dessert and coffee, Mrs. Holland didn’t question her again, but

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