June by Miranda Beverly-Whittemore Read Free Book Online Page B

but she sat on her hands. If she didn’t fasten the dress, June wouldn’t be able to step outside; someone had to save her from flouncing around town looking like some Columbus doctor’s wife.
    June turned, head tipped to the side, like Lindie was a disobedient child to be indulged. She came to Lindie, sat on the bed, and sighed. “I got a letter. From Artie. He comes back this morning.”
    “But the mail hasn’t come yet.”
    June held her breath, then let it out. “I got it yesterday.”
    Lindie flung herself from the bed. They’d wasted a whole day. “You knew he was coming back and you didn’t tell me?” That was why June had been so evasive the night before.
    Lindie swiped her dirty overalls up from the floor and stepped into them as if donning armor for battle. “We have to do something, June.” She hadn’t ever truly believed Artie Danvers would be back in time. He’d been gone for months, first in Louisiana, then Texas, then Mississippi—anywhere his brother, Clyde, had a business interest, anywhere but St. Jude. Sure, he’d been sending June postcards, but they were bland and unromantic—“Tried a chicken-fried steak,” “Went to a tractor pull”—and June couldn’t be serious that she was going to hitch herself to that wagon, not based on a couple of quiet strolls around Center Square before he’d abandoned her for more than half a year.
    “You’ll have to slip out the window,” June said as Lindie untangled herself from the nightdress she’d borrowed. “Mother’s up.”
    The gall, thought Lindie, the gall. Once she’d been welcomed through the Two Oaks front door, but now she had to climb out the window like some common thief, and only because of Cheryl Ann. Cheryl Ann, who had all but banished Eben and Lindie from the house. They weren’t even invited to Sunday dinner anymore! It ached Lindie’s center to remember what Two Oaks had once offered; she grasped the memory of listening to
Queen for a Day
and
The Romance of Helen Trent
on the parlor floor, poking her small fingers into the honeycombed holes of the radio console’s speaker. Well, fat chance she’d ever get to do that again.
    It was obvious (to Lindie at least) that Cheryl Ann blamed Eben for her husband Marvin’s death. As though just because Marvin and Eben had served together in the war, Eben could be held responsible for Marvin’s reenlisting for Korea! Or for getting killed there! Or for secretly losing all his money to gambling! Cheryl Ann certainly didn’t blame Clyde Danvers, who’d also served with Eben and Marvin; in fact, she was marrying her daughter off to Clyde’s brother. It was no coincidence that the Danverses were the second-richest family in town. Cheryl Ann was a social-climbing snob, but Lindie tried to keep her opinions of June’s mother to herself.
    She freed her head from the nightgown. She clipped the overalls over her shoulders with a huff, then spat in her hands and rubbed them across her hair, noticing, with deep satisfaction, how hard June tried not to shudder at the sight.
    “You’re ruining your life, June,” she said sharply.
    June’s face turned red, but, as usual, she didn’t take the bait. “The only thing I’m ruining,” she said evenly, lifting the empty plate that had held Apatha’s cookies, “is breakfast, if I miss it.”
    Lindie stuck out her tongue. “Fine.”
    June reached for the doorknob. “Fine.” She pulled open the door and headed out into the upstairs hall, where she was reduced to the sharp ticking of her heels down the wide oak stairway. Her sweet scent wafted back through the narrow gap as the door began to close.
    Lindie was filled with regret. She suddenly remembered the strawberry dress, the plan for breakfast, the promise of Apatha’s biscuits. She rushed to the door brimming with apology. She caught only the briefest glimpse of the nut brown hallway, streaming with the buttery glow the stained-glass windows cast onto the main landing. But then