Free Welcome to Paradise by Rosalind James

helped a woman with her underwear before, and he never will again.”
    Mira laughed. “I guess from here on, we just use these hooks at the front. I’m not messing with all these laces another time.”
    They were joined by Zara, looking rueful . “I never realized just how lucky I was to be born in the twentieth century,” she said. “I thought girdles were bad, back in the day. That’s why I became a Flower Child in the first place, just to get out of wearing them. How many things do we have on here?”
    “Chemise, drawers, corset, blouse, skirt, apron,” Mira counted. “Six. Not counting the bonnet thingie .”
    “Well, now that we’re all here,” Cliff said from the front, and they subsided. “I first want to say to the ladies, my, don’t you look lovely.” He grinned at the disgusted groans from his audience.
    “Lovely as a potato sack,” Zara muttered. “I looked up “unflattering” in the dictionary, and they showed me this outfit.”
    “The wardrobe expert asked me to tell you,” Cliff continued, “that to be really authentic, we would have added a petticoat and a corset cover. But that she decided to take pity on you, especially because the weather service says that the next few weeks are going to be extra-warm. We don’t want anyone fainting onto a hot stove.”
    “Considerate of them,” Rachel agreed. “The guys look good, though. Why is it that men always seem to get off easier? They hardly even look different.”
    “Might take them longer to pee than us for once,” Zara pointed out pragmatically, eyeing the men in their work shirts, canvas pants, and suspenders. “They’ve got buttons on those pants, whereas we get the convenient crotchless undergarment. Who knew the nineteenth century was so racy? It feels really drafty down there. Are we supposed to be having quickies behind the outhouse?”
    Mira giggled. “No, I think we’re just supposed to make it out of the outhouse in a reasonable period of time.”
    “That might be what you’re using it for. Hank was pretty interested in the intriguing possibilities.”
    “And now,” Cliff said, “comes the moment you’ve all been waiting for. Especially Scott,” he said to the accompaniment of some laughter. “You’ve been wondering all along why we began this America Alive season with two-person teams. Here’s the big news. You’re not going to be in two-person teams.”
    He held up a hand at the murmuring and rustling in the room. “That’s not quite right, though. I should say that you won’t be in teams as you’ve been thinking of them. Instead, we’ll be splitting each team between the two homesteads. But when you’re voted out, both of you will be leaving.”
    “But how does that work?” Scott objected. He’d been standing with Martin, comparing notes. Both of them were frowning heavily now. “You mean when we’re competing against each other, we’ll be competing against our own teammate?”
    “Exactly. You will be facing period-appropriate challenges every week, in true America Alive fashion. But your partner will be on the opposing homestead. The homestead that wins the challenge gets to decide which team goes home.”
    “Then what’s our incentive to win?” Scott, protesting again.
    “Your incentive,” Cliff answered, “is to keep your homestead from wanting to get rid of you. You personally. To do that, you’ll have to contribute, and you’ll have to endear yourself to the other members, which may be a bigger challenge for some of you.” He glanced at Scott and Martin. “The people who succeeded out here were the ones who had the skills and the fortitude to keep going, but they were also the ones who worked together well and got along with their neighbors, helped each other through the tough times, and were helped in their turn. Sometimes, you know, life really is a popularity contest.”
    “Only four of you, two teams, will make it to the end,” he announced. “To the final balloting, where