Free Death Train to Boston by Dianne Day Page B

gentleness. In fact, it was very interesting to see how their similar features had been influenced, molded one was tempted to say, by their individual personalities.
    Sarah was just a little taller, a bit thinner. Her hair was the same light brown, and she wore it the same way, parted in the middle and pulled back into a bun shaped like a figure eight turned sideways. Also, from the tiny new hairs she had above her ears as we all do, I could tell that Sarah's hair had that charming tendency to curl—a tendency I always notice and envy in others, on account of mine being so utterly straight. But Sarah's hair was not escaping from its arrangement, no indeed; she had pulled it back so tightly that the corners of her eyes turned up. I winced inwardly to look at her.
    Yet, hard as Sarah seemed (if that hairdo was any indication) to be on herself, she was easy with others. The smile she bestowed on me had the same sweetness as her sister Tabitha's, and that went a long, long way.
    "Carrie," Sarah said, "I'm so glad Tabitha suggested I come along to see you. I've brought some of the things she and I are currently working on. I thought we could talk while we sew. Tabitha and I, I mean; we don't expect you to sew! We have a quota to meet but we can certainly talk at the same time. That is, if you aren't too tired."
    "Not at all," I agreed heartily, "but what is this about a quota? I certainly wouldn't want to distract you from meeting it."
    The two sisters glanced at each other, as if deciding which one of them should answer. Tabitha spoke up: "We sew for the family, of course, but we also make things for sale. These are, well, rather special. We promise delivery times and so on."
    "I cannot wait to see! But before we proceed, either we shall need an additional chair from the next room, or I must get back in bed so that one of you may have this one."
    Sarah put down the large basket she was carrying. "Since there is no 'next room,' I expect we'd best help you back to bed."
    "By all means," I agreed, after a slight hesitation due to the fact that I knew I'd soon need to relieve myself, and so was thinking of asking for their help. But no, I would not; the procedure under my present circumstances was so laborious—and rather humiliating—that I preferred to postpone it as long as I could. I smiled at each of the sisters in turn and said, "I'm ready when you are."
    Tabitha and Sarah each draped one of my arms over their shoulders and linked their hands behind my back. "I'll count three," Tabitha said. "One, two, three!"
    On "three" they lifted me by their linked hands until my toes barely skimmed the floor, and the first thing I knew I was back in bed. I thanked them both, and submitted to a lot of quilt-smoothing and pillow-plumping before they pronounced themselves satisfied that I could be as comfortable as I claimed.
    "Now then," I said, glancing from one to the other of their similar yet different faces, "which one of you will tell me what you meant when you said there was no room next door. For surely in a household this size, there must be more rooms on one side or the other?"
    Sarah did not look up from her unpacking of the basket, which she balanced on one knee while her lap received its contents. I did not pay much attention, being far more interested in this opportunity to learn what, exactly, lay beyond my always-closed door. It was again Tabitha who answered me.
    "I suppose no one has told you. We forget you haven't had the freedom to look around. Um, er—" she darted a sidewise glance at her sister, whose head was studiously bent over the basket, as if she had discovered some new species in there. Not gaining any help from that quarter, Tabitha bit her bottom lip briefly and then said, "Father is the only one who lives in the Big House. And actually, the truth is it really isn't all that big, not compared to some I've seen. In Provo, for instance."
    "Mmm, that's true," Sarah commented. She steadied the basket on her knee