Hummingbird Lane by Brown, Carolyn (ebook reader for comics .txt) 📗

present and into the future, I have to figure out the past. That’s what has put me where I am. I wish I’d faced it when it happened.” Be careful what you wish for—you just might get it. She remembered her father saying that when she was a teenager. She tried to think about why he had said it, but nothing came to mind.

She wondered if he was talking about the fact that he had married Victoria for money. Did he ever wish that he had never wanted to live in luxury, or feel that he’d paid too high a price for it? No answers fell out of the cloudless blue sky, but Emma thought that just maybe that’s what he was talking about when he cautioned her about making wishes.

Sophie returned with her damp hair still hanging limp and went straight for a drawer in the kitchen. “Want a rubber band to pull your hair up in a ponytail?” Sophie laid a couple on the bar.

“Sure.” Emma nodded.

“Mother has told me ever since I was twelve years old that grown women don’t wear ponytails, braids, or pigtails.” She combed her hair up on top of her head with her fingers and secured it with a band just like Sophie had done. When she finished, a couple of strands escaped to frame her delicate face. She glanced back in the mirror again. “I like it.”

“Keeps it off our necks,” Sophie said. “Are we ready?”

Emma fought the urge to twist her hands.

“If you get uncomfortable, just say so. This small crowd understands, believe me.” Sophie looped her arm into Emma’s and urged her toward the door.

“Glad to have you with us,” Arty said when Emma sat down beside Sophie.

Filly and Josh sat across from her, and Arty had the place at the end of the table.

“Thank you,” Emma said just barely above a whisper as her heart warmed toward these strangers.

“Tonight, we’ve got smoked brisket,” Arty announced. “I started it this morning at five o’clock, so it’s real tender. I made potato salad and baked beans to go with it.”

“And I brought a relish tray and a blueberry cobbler,” Filly added. “And, darlin’, you look lovely this evening. You remind me of myself when I was your age, but, honey, if you’re going to be a hippie, you need some jewelry. We’ll fix you up with that after supper.”

Before Emma could answer, Arty bowed his head and began to say grace. When the amen was said, she raised her head and, for the first time, noticed that Josh had a short brown ponytail at the nape of his neck. She could feel the chill of Victoria’s disapproval from almost three hundred miles away. Perhaps it was the distance between them, but she shook off the icy feeling, and just that gesture gave her courage.

“It’s good to see you smile,” Sophie whispered.

“Didn’t realize I was,” Emma said out of the corner of her mouth. “I was thinking about how I didn’t really care who disapproved of me tonight.”

“Good for you,” Sophie said. “Arty, as usual, you’ve outdone yourself.”

“I get lots of planning for my projects done when I’m cooking. Today, I decided to make a windmill while I made the potato salad,” he said as he passed the food around.

“What about you, Filly?” Emma asked, surprised that she could open her mouth at all. “Do you plan out jewelry while you bake?”

“No, when I bake, I sing. When I go to bed at night, I think about the jewelry I’m going to make the next day. Sometimes I even dream about it,” Filly answered.

“Me too,” Josh added. “But I get my best ideas when I’m taking a midnight walk. How about you, Sophie?”

“This year, I’m doing a series of landscapes from the back porch of the trailer, and I plan to go into the Big Bend park and sketch out a few places that I didn’t get to last year. I’ve got an idea book that will keep me busy until I die,” she answered.

Emma wanted to belong to this group in more ways than just eating supper with them. Filly made fancy jewelry. Josh did drawings, and Arty worked in metal. Sophie worked in oils. If Emma picked up her brushes, her work might be trash, but at least she would fit in with the rest of the trailer court family.

“You’ll be painting when you’re a hundred years old, won’t you?” Emma ventured another question.

“I can’t imagine life without my paintbrushes, and the smell of oils is like vitamin pills to my soul,” Sophie answered. “When are you going to pick up the brushes again?”

Emma was glad she was chewing so she didn’t have to answer right away. The thought of getting paint under her fingernails and inhaling brush cleaner was calling her name. “I’ve got this idea, but it’s probably crazy.” She held both her hands on her lap to keep from twisting them. Could she really tell this group of people the idea she’d kept buried ever since she saw the first tiny house in a magazine?

“Making jewelry from rocks or bits of wood and leather was called crazy at one time, but I’m making a pretty fine living at it,” Filly told her. “Tell us your idea, and we’ll be honest about what we think of it.”

Emma focused on Sophie’s face. Even as a child, whatever she was thinking was right there on her face, so she would know if her idea was bat-crap crazy by Sophie’s expression.

“I hate big houses. They bewilder me. That’s why I wanted to build myself a tiny house, and why I love the trailer we have right now. So . . .” She paused. Could she really put her idea out there in the universe? It was so much easier to keep it inside her heart. She glanced at Josh, who seemed to be hanging on her words, and suddenly got a burst of courage to go on. “I was thinking maybe I’d like