“Yes!” Holly did a fist pump. “I just knew Matilda had some balls . . . I mean, guts. Will Jenny be the one that gets women the right to vote?”

“I don’t know,” Lily said. “We’ll have to keep reading to find out.”

“I wonder what her wedding looked like.” Holly’s eyes went all dreamy. “I want a big white dress with a train that reaches all the way to the back of the church, and a cake that’s got calla lilies on the top of it. What did your wedding dress look like, Mama? Do you still have a picture of you in it?”

Lily almost wished that she hadn’t thrown the last remaining picture of her in the dress away. “I got married in my mother’s dress. Her wedding picture is on the mantel in the living room, so take a look at that.”

“But Grandma was tall and you’re short,” Holly said.

“Mama shortened it, removed the sleeves, and cut away that high collar, so use your imagination when you look at it,” Lily said.

She closed the journal. “I’m glad that Matilda was happy and that Jenny is living close to her mama.”

“Me, too.” Holly didn’t look up from her notes.

“Good night.” Lily started to kiss her on the forehead but thought that might be pushing it.

She wandered halfway down the staircase to where Vera’s senior picture from high school still hung. For the first time, she realized the wisdom God had in taking Vera on to heaven to be with her sweet husband when He did. Her mother had been an easygoing woman, but when she was riled, no one, not even the devil himself, would cross her. Had Vera Miller known what Wyatt was doing, the torment that he put Lily through when she was grieving for her mother—well, Vera was a damn good shot with a pistol, and she had taught Lily to shoot when she was just a little girl. Had she been preparing Lily for the future? Had she disappointed her mother when she didn’t shoot Wyatt?

Chapter Twelve

Lily could hardly believe that it was only three days until the first of February that Tuesday afternoon when she looked at the calendar. She was still staring at it, wondering where the time had gone, and thinking about how much happier she was in Comfort, when Holly stomped into the house. She didn’t hang up her coat or drop her backpack on the chair, but stormed right up to her room. Braden hit the kitchen in a run, went right to the refrigerator, and got out a root beer.

“Holly’s being a pain in my”—he hesitated—“in my neck. She’s mad at someone, and she won’t talk. She sat in the back seat of the bus and ignored Rose and Ivy.”

“You don’t have any idea what she’s angry about?” Lily handed him a banana.

He laid it on the table and opened the cookie jar. “Kids were whispering on the bus about how she and Rose and Ivy were yelling at each other at lunch hour. Something about a quincy. What is that, Mama?”

“Where is everyone?” Mack called out from the foyer.

“In the kitchen,” Braden yelled.

Lily rushed into the foyer and met Mack coming her way. “What is a quincy, and why would Rose and Ivy argue with Holly over it?”

“I heard the twins and their friends talking about celebrating their fifteenth birthday in a couple of weeks with a quinceañera. That’s kind of like a debutante party. In the old days, it meant they were old enough for marriage, but these days, it’s changed to a time when they can date. The girls get all dressed up, and there’s something to do with a waltz,” Mack explained. “Didn’t they invite Holly to it?”

“I have no idea,” Lily replied. “I know what those events are but didn’t associate it with the word quincy. Holly’s never been to one.”

“Mama!” Holly’s tone left no doubt that she’d been crying.

“I’ll be right there,” Lily yelled up the staircase. “Thank you,” she mouthed to Mack.

The door to Holly’s room was open. Holly was sitting cross-legged in the middle of her bed. Her arms were wrapped around a teddy bear almost as big as she was, and she was sobbing into his shoulder. Lily’s first instinct was to rush in and gather her weeping child into her arms. Instead, she gave Holly her space and asked, “Need someone to talk to?”

“Oh, Mama!” Holly tossed the stuffed animal aside and opened her arms.

Lily didn’t waste any time getting across the room, sitting down on the bed, and taking Holly in her arms. “What can I do to help?” She patted her daughter’s back.

“I can’t be friends with Rose and Ivy anymore.” Holly continued to sob into her mother’s shoulder.

“Why?” Lily asked.

“Be . . .” Holly hiccuped. “Cause . . .” Another hiccup. “They’ll kill me.”

Fourteen-year-old drama was a bitch on steroids. Holly’s pain was very real to her, even if someday she would look back and realize that what seemed so important now wasn’t even a speed bump in her life.

“Oh, honey, they won’t really kill you.” Lily handed her a box of tissues from the little table beside her bed. “They may not ever like you, but that’s about it.”

Holly pushed back from Lily, pulled three tissues out, and blew her nose. “They might as well kill me. They said they’d tell stuff at school, and everyone will think I’m a slut. But if I did what they wanted me to, I’d really be one.”

Lily felt as if cold water had just been poured down her back. Finally, she asked, “And what do they want you to do?”

“Sneak out of choir practice and get laid tomorrow night so I won’t be a virgin, and we can talk about sex since we’ll all three know what it’s about,” Holly whispered, and then her voice got stronger. “But I told them no, and they said if I didn’t, they wouldn’t invite me to their quinceañera party, and they’d tell the other girls that I had to move here because I was a junkie slut. I asked Faith if she was going to the party, and she said that she wouldn’t be invited because everyone thinks she’s a nerd. She said that when she turned fifteen, she told her parents she didn’t want a party because she wasn’t ready to date. So since she didn’t have one that they could come to, then they wouldn’t invite her even if she was popular. Please don’t tell Rose and Ivy’s mama. That would just make things worse,” Holly begged.

“From what I understand, they aren’t supposed to be dating until they’re fifteen,” Lily said. “Do you think they’re just pulling your leg?”

Holly shook her head. “They don’t ever go to choir practice. They sneak out and go to the river with their boyfriends, who work on a ranch in Sitterdale.”

“You mean Sisterdale?” Lily asked.

“Maybe.” Holly nodded. “They were so mad at me that they started talking to each other in Spanish, and I couldn’t understand it. They aren’t druggies, Mama. They like vodka instead. They said their mama can’t smell that on their breath when they get home.”

“Who else goes with them?” Lily asked. “Someone has to drive them or come get them.”

“A bunch of kids from the school go there on Wednesday and Friday nights. Someone picks Rose and Ivy up around the corner from the church and brings them back two hours later. I’m not ready to have sex, Mama,” Holly sobbed. “And I didn’t even know about the parties until this week. I promise I haven’t been to one.”