The next day, about four o'clock in the afternoon, Sarah went to see Emily at the bakery.

Emily asked, “How did the rest of your day go after I left?”

“After you left yesterday, Lynn Watson, her mother and Mrs. Grayson came over to the house. Mrs. Grayson removed Lynn from the State Spelling Bee.”

Emily smiled. “Fantastic! That means you can go, right?”

Sarah shook her head. “No. She removed me as well. Sheridan County will not be represented this year at all.”

“But, you came in second place? If Lynn was removed shouldn’t you go? Hold that thought....” Emily sighed. “I didn’t want to tell you this yesterday; however, I can surmise that Mrs. Grayson saw Lynn trip you?”

Sarah nodded. “She had every right to be mad at me. I take our little rivalry too personally.”

“You do, Sarah. I’m friends with Lynn; she is always kind to me. She doesn’t talk ill of you or anyone else for that matter but all you can say about her is… well, things like you probably said to her as she walked up to get her medal.” Sarah humbly shook her head.

“Mrs. Grayson was mad at me. Lynn’s mother was mad at me. My mother was mad at me. Lynn was mad at me. It was a lovely evening. I thought it was all about me, but, Mrs. Grayson said something about a bigger picture. She spoke to Mrs. Watson and my mother on the front porch for a while. Lynn and I turned away from each other, the silence was deafening. When they came back in they were no longer mad at us.

My mother stood in front of me. Mrs. Watson stood in front of Lynn and they held hands. Mrs. Grayson sat between us and forced Lynn and I to hold hands, it’s strange but that is the first time I have ever touched Lynn.

In two years, I have never given her a pat on the back or even a simple handshake. Lynn has always been to me like a symbol more than a person.

Emily, do you know what a wraith is?”

Emily shook her head, no.

Sarah answered, “A wraith is a portent; a shadowy figure who appears unannounced and foretells your doom, sort of like The Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come in A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens. It’s as if she is always there saying in a spirituous voice, ‘You will never fulfill your potential. You will never get it right.’

I know that sounds crazy because, as you said, she has never really said anything to me. She even apologized last night for tripping me- before, our mothers came back into the room. She said she felt bad about it because she’d lost control of herself. I did not apologize to her until Mrs. Grayson led us in prayer.

When the women returned, I thought for sure I’d be grounded or maybe expelled. No doubt Lynn thought the same thing. When Mrs. Grayson forced us to hold hands, it was as though, in that instant, Lynn became human. She’s a girl just like you and me.

Anyway, when Mrs. Grayson prayed, she asked God to provide Lynn’s mother with more wisdom. Mrs. Grayson said that Lynn’s mother was too concerned about her grades and not enough about her attitude towards people.”

Emily nodded. “Lynn can be naïve but also quietly vindictive at times. She tries to be good, like you, but sometimes she feels like she will permanently be an outsider. You always tell me how you can’t talk to guys; my guess is, Lynn doesn’t try because a boyfriend would not bring her better grades.”

Sarah continued. “Mrs. Grayson also prayed for my mother. My parents got into fight that morning about something incredibly insignificant and it deeply hurt her.”

Emily sighed. “I wish I’d known that; I would have never said what I did to your mother.”

Sarah shrugged. “We’re all inconsiderate sometimes. When I got home from the Spelling Bee, she was just sitting in the kitchen staring at the ice box; lost in her thoughts. I saw her but I was so caught up in my frustrations that I walked right past her pain. I forget that she’s human. I tend to only see her as my mother. She is benevolently authoritarian; the begrudgingly idyllic sprite that washes my clothes, fixes my meals and says, ‘Go clean your room.’ I am so wrapped up in myself that I fail to notice how things might bring her pain or joy. You can identify with me, Em. You said your mother hates you.”

Emily swished her mouth. “Those were my exact words. But, I don’t really think she hates me, it’s just that sometimes I feel like she is too busy with the bakery to be more to me than a mother. We’re not really friends. I mean, it’s ok that you and I are friends; we share secrets and dreams but my mother knows almost nothing about me. She only takes notice of me when I step out of line in some way.”

Emily trilled her lips. “My mother does not know the name of the first boy I kissed. My mother doesn’t act like she cares about my crushes. We never really talk about anything. In a weird way, I wish we could've smoked at the bakery. I would like to be caught so she would have the occasion to tell me about men and how I should think and feel and act.”

Sarah nodded. “I understand. After Lynn, her mother and Mrs. Grayson left, my father came home. He pulled up in the drive way and waved at my mother. She waved back. I guess he was testing the grounds to see if she was still angry with him. I slipped into the house because I wanted to learn a little something about men more than those dumb magazines we read.”

Sarah seemed distant. “My father held up a bouquet of purple tulips, the flowers she carried down the aisle on their wedding day. They kissed. It was so beautiful. I went to my room and went back to reading the magazine. I thought about what you said, I don’t know what to think. I feel sorry for the men. If they can't feel anything, what purpose is there to life?”

“Tommy was feeling happy because I ended up in his arms.”

Sarah rolled her eyes. “And you were subtle too.”

Emily chuckled, “He was so nervous.”

Sarah shrugged. “Yes. It was amusing to watch him squirm and act all jittery around you.”

“He was a puppet on a string for me.”

Sarah giggled.

Emily paused. “But then, after your mother slapped me, I reconsidered the whole matter. She was right; I embarrassed her. In a weird way, I'm a little ashamed of myself.”

“You were taking away his humanity?”

Emily looked ashamed as she nodded.

"Em, Tommy's our friend. He's more than an available suitor. I like spending time with him. He's never acted untoward to you or me. So, he must feel something. He tries to be friendly toward us.

When we have the Sweet Sixteen party, I want to be stunning. I want the boys to look my way. I want to dance cheek to cheek… which reminds me we have to think of some distraction for your mother and my mother so we can get that close to the boys.”

Sarah handed her a photo of the woman from the corset ad in the magazine. Her head was tilted to the right, her hands rested beneath her chin. Both girls examined it closely.

Sarah continued, “I want to be special. I don't want to be just another girlfriend. I want to be a passionate, whole wife. I want the promise of love in my life.”

Emily trilled her lips. “And you think there's more to love than mere appearances?”

Sarah nodded. “Yes."

"You're wrong! Just look at her Sarah. It’s almost as if she is saying, ‘Oopsy, you are not supposed to be in my room, but as long as you are here take a few moment s to admire my ridiculously thin waist.’ That girl with the corset is in Vogue because of her ridiculously thin waist not her heart. She's glamorous, fun loving and, probably, richer than I'll ever be."

Emily opined, “I hate her!”

“Oh Em, stop it. I can have you looking like that easily. Now put on the corset.” They went upstairs to Emily's bedroom.

“You need to just move stuff around. Take a deep breath and hold it. ” Sarah put her arms around Emily’s waist. “See! See! If we strive hard enough it might be possible. Don’t exhale yet. Think shrinking thighs.”

Sarah put the picture of the woman in a crack where the closet doorframe met the wall.

“Focus on that figure Em, we can make it happen.”

Emily grabbed both sides of the door knob.

Sarah took the strings, “Here we go.”

After ten minutes of excruciating pain, the slim Emily seemed like a distant dream. Emily reeled from the discomfort. "Are you even human?"

“I’m a girl, just like you,” replied Sarah to Emily’s sarcastic questioning of her gender.

“You -pant, pant- can’t be. -pant, pant- What girl -pant, pant- would strangle her best friend?” Emily was holding on to the closet door in her bedroom, trying to breathe. Sarah was behind her adjusting the strings.

“Em, tight lacing is a delicate art so hold still! The booklet that came with it said that corsets were just the thing if you want an hourglass figure.”

The harder Sarah pulled the more Emily winced in agony.

“Also,” she reminded Emily, “you are the one who paid for this lacy boa constrictor.”

Sarah finished tying the bow on the bottom of the contraption just above her waist.

“Now turn around.”

“I can’t,” Emily replied speaking through her teeth.

“For Pete’s sake, Em!”

Sarah wrapped her arms around Emily’s belly which felt like cast iron and maneuvered her to the full length mirror. Emily was nervously evaluating her new shape.

Sarah built her up. “You look sensational- svelte voluptuous!”

“I feel like a sausage.”

“Emily, you wanted the corset. You wanted the hourglass figure for your Sweet Sixteen party.”

“I’ve changed my mind. I want my lungs back in my chest instead of behind my liver.”

Sarah was flabbergasted. “What about your slender physique?”

Emily crossed her eyes. “What about my organs?”

Sarah shrugged. “So, you really don’t want to wear it?”

Emily shook her head. “No! Return it Monday with a note saying, ‘No survivors.’”

Sarah surrendered with a smile. “Ok.”

There was a knock on the bedroom door.

“In a minute mother,” Emily was panicked. “Sarah, help me get out of this thing!” Emily’s mother, Jean, walked trough the door.

“Ok, so your side of the cake is chocolate and Sarah’s side is caramel? And white icing for both- ah! Emily Clementine what have you done?”

“It was Sarah’s idea.”

Sarah rolled her eyes. "You’re the one who paid for it.”

Their friendship was eternal but their loyalty was fickled when caught in mischief.

The shocked expression on the face of Emily’s mother gave way to laughter.

“I tried tight lacing once when I was your age. I could not breathe. I hated the silly thing. Child- young lady come tomorrow- remove that ridiculous torture device.” She took over Sarah’s job of undoing the strangling laces. “Just be happy with who you are Emily.”

Sarah sat down on Emily’s bed to observe the exchange.

“Mother, you don’t understand. I want to look like her.”

“Who? Some picture in a magazine? I am your mother. You are never going to resemble anyone but me.”

She undid the final string in the corset and helped her remove it. She put her arms around Emily’s shoulders and walked her to the mirror on her dresser.

“I’m ugly.”

“You’re beautiful.”

Emily’s mother was running her fingers through her daughter’s thick black hair. “So young and so pretty. You have stunning black hair! You have a real woman’s body, like I did three babies ago. Enjoy it now because it never comes again.”

Emily snickered.

Sarah leaned on the bed and propped her forehead on her right palm fondly looking at them.

“Your deep blue eyes could melt a young man’s heart. Your nose...”

“...belongs on a chicken.”

“Young lady your nose is a family trait, be proud of it. Emily,” her mother said, quietly shaking her head with a slight smile, “Emily, you do not need an hourglass figure. Just be your beautiful self.”

“But mom,” Emily whined, still not convinced, “times change.”

Her mother stepped back and pulled a hair from her gorgeous coiffure, it had turned gray. She handed it to Emily. She playfully chided, “Times change? I’ve never noticed. That is a new concept for me.”

Emily rolled her eyes.

“Emily, some things never change. Boys are attracted to beautiful girls. Girls want to be beautiful. That’s nature. One of my primary responsibilities, as your mother, is to make sure your appearance does not define you nor hinder you.”

Emily was sniffing and swallowing tears. “Mom, I don’t feel beautiful.”

Her mother put a hand on Emily’s shoulders.

“You don’t have to feel beautiful; just be beautiful.”

Emily smiled. They embraced.

Sarah, with a tear in her eye too. She wished her mother gave her such compliments and advice.

“Sarah?” Emily’s mother asked politely, “Can you spend the night with us another time?”

“Of course, ma’am; Em, I’ll see you tomorrow at church.”

Emily was still in tears, she nodded. “Ok.”

Sarah closed the door as she left.

Sarah walked down the stairs through the kitchen of the bakery and into the storefront. Mr. Clementine was sweeping.

“I thought you were going to spend the night?”

“I changed my mind, Mr. Clementine,” replied Sarah.

“Well, suit yourself. Is anything amiss?”

Sarah said with great pride, “Actually, sir, everything is exactly where it’s supposed to be.”

“All right then. Tell your parents I said, ‘hello.’ Oh, wait a second.”

He leaned his broom against the counter top and grabbed a small paper bag.

“Here, take a couple of cinnamon rolls.”

Sarah delightfully sniffed the bag, “Thank you, sir.” She gratefully curtseyed. He winked and waved his goodbye as she left.

As Sarah walked out the door, it was like she was seeing her hometown for the first time.

At first glance, Eagle Creek, Montana was not extraordinary. It was a typical, picturesque small town.

The first decade of the 20th century was a time of tremendous change for the United States of America. The land remained mostly unconquered. Great steam trains thundered across the plains which were awash with teeming hordes of buffalo.

The population was booming. Progress, in the form of new inventions like the automobile and the telephone, hurried the pace of life for many. Others, however, enjoyed a simpler, slower tempo. For them there was no need to rush; little could disturb their world. They rode horses and wrote letters.

In Eagle Creek, folks worked hard Monday through Friday. Saturday they stayed home; family meant everything. On Sunday, they went to one of three churches.

Downtown offered a railroad depot, a small park with a band shell, a library, a police station, a branch of Montana Chemical Bank, Clementine’s Bakery, Casey’s Café, Jeremiah’s Dry Goods, Jackson Brothers’ Hardware, Lucille’s Fashions for Women, an apothecary, doctor’s office, post office, school house, livery, blacksmith, gymnasium (rare in those days), and a hotel with a dozen rooms called The Grand. The Baptist and Methodist churches were downtown. Eagle Creek Memorial Church was to the south.

Most businesses were on Main Street, a couple of them were off of Elm. Many of the shop owners lived upstairs in apartments.

A majority of the eight-hundred and forty-five citizens of Eagle Creek lived within the four by five block community. Outside were farms, ranches and a mining camp.

Downtown was well maintained. Flowers were brought in and placed in decorative boxes by volunteers. Gas street lamps provided adequate illumination after dusk. To the east was a tall flag pole. To the west was a memorial listing the names of those who’d made the supreme sacrifice to defend the country. Shaded streets formed a barrier and helped define the town from the surrounding prairie. It was quaint, or, boring, depending on your perspective.

Small towns, like Eagle Creek, were livable because the citizens strove to make them that way. Every adult, regardless of background, was expected to live by the Golden Rule. If they chose not to do so, they were asked to leave. Goodness takes effort; indifference takes a vacation. Each community is a canvas and we are all given brushes. Making it into a masterpiece is everyone’s responsibility.

Sarah thought about her life as she walked down the dusty streets. She felt as though part of her life was changing. Gone was the little girl in pigtails; she was becoming a woman.

Jeremiah’s Dry Goods, one of her first memories was Mr. McCartney giving her a lollipop. He looked good for a man of 64, with his salt and pepper, push broom mustache. He was outside filling a barrel with bright red apples. He briefly looked up from and said “Afternoon Sarah,” he doffed his cap.

She replied, “Those apples look perfect for making cider.”

He chuckled as he agreed with her.

Across the street was the post office. Once she asked the Post Master, Mr. Gower, to address and stamp a letter she’d written to Santa Claus. Well, it wasn’t a letter per se; it was a crude drawing of a doll with curly red hair and a pink dress with blue shoes. He wrote: “To: Santa Claus, the North Pole. From: Sarah Conrad, Eagle Creek, Montana” on the envelope. He drew a smiley face on the right hand corner. “There’s no postage due on dreams.”

Sarah and Emily had their first make over at Lucille’s Fashions for Women. Miss Lucille applied makeup, eye shadow, highlighter, lipstick and painted their nails. They were the most elegant 7 year olds in town. She even paid them a nickel each for being such gracious models.

Casey’s Café was the best restaurant in the state as far as Sarah was concerned. The lemon pie was sheer heaven.

Above the land title company was a gymnasium. Sarah was twelve-years-old when she first saw Darrin Goodwin. She stood behind a door and peered around to watch him as he was lying on the bench, lifting weights. Every muscle in body seemed to vibrate with tension. His bulging biceps left her breathless. Drops of sweat beaded on his forehead and ran down his mighty neck and across to his broad shoulders. He was a magnificent male specimen. She was enthralled, bewitched by his masculinity. It took just thirty seconds of watching him to fall madly in love. She planned out every intimate detail of their future, down to the type of garlands to be used at their wedding.

When Darrin’s wife came in to pick him up, the fantasy was over. Still, a half minute of imagined romance can last a lifetime.

The Eagle Creek Jail was, as usual, empty.

There were so many yesterdays; so many tomorrows to come.