Cookies for Country School Party-Union School

     The tall stout farmwife had taken this one day at home to bake for the school valentine party tomorrow.  She’d volunteered these same cookies every year since baking them for Will, her oldest son’s kindergarten parties. Even Clark’s dire condition wasn’t stopping tradition. Four year old Howie was nibbling on a cookie, crumbs and frosting bits dropping on the floor. Sylvie chuckled, winking at him. Just up from his nap, Howie wanted Celeste to read him a book.

     “Allow me,” Sylvie said, a huge grin bringing out both a twinkle and a bulge in her eyes making her look like Grandma Wolf in Little Red Riding Hood. “Come sit in my lap and we’ll read,” she said, attempting to coax him, Bev intervening.

       “Sylvie, you don’t want to get frosting on your rabbit fur,” Bev warned.

      “Icky sticky fingers,” Elvira said, wrinkling her nose.

      “Yes, you’re right. It wouldn’t hurt rabbit fur, but this... it’s my newest mink.”

      “Can I get anything right?” Bev asked. “Your mink-it’s different than mine.” 

     Ginny was about to remind mother that hers was rabbit but was topped cold when Sylvie came towards her, ready to apply a strangle hug. “You’re Celeste. I meant to get over here first thing to give you a welcome kiss. Then I thought to hold off. She’s at that age...I told myself. Give her a chance to get to know you. Goodness sakes...you are a cutie. You remind me of Bonnie. My sister did have quite the kids-your coloring, it’s from your father.  We’re going to have a ball. You’ll fit right in with my friend’s children. Most are quite fashionable. It won’t take much with you and ...”

      Ginny stood listening- believing the plans had been changed-She, not Celeste, would be going with this woman, an idea she found tempting and intriguing. Would Celeste be joining them or going with Mom?

     “She means me,” Celeste mouthed.

     “Wait! That’s Celeste,” Ginny stammered. This wasn’t going to be good. Sylvie was sold on her, not Celeste. Worried, she knew that Celeste’s hatching would happen but not yet .She was in a terribly awkward stage; before long Ugly Duckling would hatch and find her mother’s beauty and gracefulness. Auntie was after the hatched and matured “chick,” the one who’d be popular with the right girls. Sylvie turned towards Celeste.

     . “Oh yes,” she said, through a forced smile, appraising the eighth grader, a furrow of letdown forming between thick eyebrows. “My! What have we here? You resemble your mother. Well…Of course. I didn’t look closely at you earlier. The other girl, she speaks up- makes herself known. So you’re Celeste?” The sparkle in Sylvie’s eyes waned, waxed, waned. “Yes. Let me look at you. Hum, you have Shirley’s same curly tangles, the longish nose, the taper fingers, feint freckles.”