Free Morning Song by Karen Robards

species. She felt even more awkward around them than she did around the boys.
    The picnic had been uncomfortable enough, with all the young people polite to this near stranger in their midst but gravitating quite naturally to their particular friends. After the initial, politely masked surprise at her presence had died down, Jessie had found herself quite alone. The Misses Edwards had hustled Celia and Stuart off as soon as their carriage had arrived. (Not that Jessie was sorry about that; the ride had been miserable, with Celia fawning all over Stuart while Jessie, in the rear, had maintained a sullen silence.) Once the announcement and laughing toasts were over, the engaged pair had made the rounds of their friends together with Stuart's two proud aunts, accepting congratulations that barely masked the envy the women felt toward Celia for having carried off this matrimonial prize. Watching ladies of every age slaver over Stuart, Jessie had scarcely managed to hide her scorn. What fools they all were, not to see further than a handsome face!
    She'd been quite comfortable lurking behind a bright yellow forsythia bush, observing the festivities while remaining unobserved herself, until Bess Lippman had taken it into her prissy blond head to rescue her. Bess, whom like nearly everyone 62

    else at the party Jessie had known since infancy, was a younger version of Celia: sickly sweet on the outside and hard as steel within. Jessie had never liked her, and Bess's mother had long since forbidden her carefully raised daughter to associate with such a hoyden as Jessie. So she'd been understandably surprised when Bess, rounding the forsythia with a sympathetic "Tch-tch," had scolded her in a playful tone for hiding herself away and, linking their arms with a strength that belied her frail appearance, dragged Jessie out.
    In fact, Jessie would have been flabbergasted had it not been for the admiration in Oscar Kastel's eyes. Of course, Bess was exhibiting her kindness for the benefit of her tall, thin beau, spectacles and incipient bald spot notwithstanding. If Bess's action helped her snare an offer at last, Jessie thought nastily, then she supposed she ought not to begrudge her interference. After all, Bess was twenty, and on the verge of being an old maid despite her pale prettiness and expensive frocks. Perhaps the young men weren't quite the fools the young ladies were, after all. Certainly, if Bess Lippman's single state was any indication, they weren't as easily deceived by outward appearances. Once she was in public view, Jessie could do nothing but grimly endure as Bess pulled her over to the long table set aside for the young folks. Oscar Kastel had beamed in the background when Bess had gaily called everyone's attention to the forlorn one. As the others greeted her, Jessie had no choice but to force a smile and join them. In the end she had sat with them for the uncomfortable, seemingly endless meal, although no one had talked to her except to exchange the merest courtesies. She had felt miserably out of place, but at least she'd been able to occupy herself with eating some of the delicious barbecue and the crumb 63

    cake that was the cook at Tulip Hill's (Jessie thought her name was Clover) specialty. But dancing—or not dancing, while everybody watched, and labeled her a wallflower—was an ordeal she just could not face.
    "She's shy," Miss Laurel said with a twinkle in her eyes that were more gray than her sister's. "Don't worry, Jessica, we'll look after you. Come along, dear."
    "Please, I . . ."
    But protests were useless. Miss Laurel hooked her arm in Jessie's as though they were two young girls together and tugged her toward the opposite side of the house, where the pocket doors separating the two front parlors had been opened and the huge space that resulted cleared for dancing. A musicians' platform screened with vibrant masses of potted flowers had been erected in one corner beside two massive French doors that