Free The Sand Castle by Rita Mae Brown Page B

in every war or uprising since the Jamestown Massacre. If they managed, so can he.”
    The Jamestown Massacre occurred in 1622,on Good Friday, along the James River in Virginia.
    â€œThat’s Chessy’s family not ours. Never forget, Julia,” she used Mother’s full name, “We’re Marylanders.”
    â€œStill. There’s always been someone in a war somewhere. There will always be war.” She cut off Louise’s protest. “You know yourself that Americans don’t all follow the word so why would you think someone in the Ukraine will? It’s just the way it is.”
    â€œMakes me sick.” Louise meant it.
    â€œI guess it would make me sick if I had to see it and smell it.” Mother glanced to the left, the east. We were nearing the point of St. Mary’s County and the sun was breaking over where the Chesapeake Bay meets the Potomac River at Point Lookout. Virginia reposed to the west and the other chunk of Maryland to the east. Islands had broken off eastern Maryland and sat in the Bay like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.
    â€œYou tickle me.” Louise smiled.
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œYou’d clap your hands when the sun came up when you were little. Momma would laugh and you’d clap more.” She sighed.
    â€œWhat’s better than a new day?” Mother beamed.
    Their mother, Cora, died in 1947. I was almost three. I remembered everyone crying. That was my first brush with someone leaving Earth. Next came one of my cousins when he was five, and then Ginny. It worried me. If they were going to a better place then why was everyone crying?
    Louise rolled down the window and the still-cool air rushed in, “I know the sun’s coming up in the east but I don’t know what’s coming with it.”
    â€œGood times.” Mother beamed.
    â€œI don’t know.”
    â€œSis, good times.” Mother smiled.
    When Ginny took sick both Mother and Aunt Louise nursed her. Mother bore the full bruntof her sister’s grief and she grieved, too, for Ginny was an exceptionally lovable person.
    A long silence followed, then Louise drew in her breath, finally exhaling in one long stream. “I’m starting to feel old.”
    â€œDon’t be silly. You’re not a day over fifty-two.”
    â€œForty-six,” came the swift, icy reply.
    â€œHa.”
    â€œYou’ll always be my baby sister but don’t make me older than I am.” She shifted in her seat, rolling up the window because the air was brisk even though it was August. “Middle age is tricky. Some days I feel like I’m sixteen and other days, well. . . .” Her voice trailed off.
    â€œI wouldn’t know,” came the saucy reply.
    â€œHa right back at you.” Louise smiled broadly.
    â€œYou’re only as old as you feel. Perk up.”
    â€œI try, Baby Sis, but sometimes things wash over me.”
    A silence followed. “Guess it does.” Another moment passed and Mother added, “We have to fight back. In a way we have to live harder for Ginny. If you tart yourself up you’ll feel better and younger. Really.”
    â€œMaybe, but I don’t care if I bury my face in Pond’s cold cream, the wrinkles are arriving.”
    â€œYou look great.”
    Mother wasn’t lying. Beautiful skin that aged slowly was a family trait. If anything, the men’s skin glowed even fresher than the women’s. Mother said shaving kept their skin smooth.
    â€œYou two look like twins.” I added my two cents.
    Mother, while grateful that I was mollifying her sister, shot me a fleeting glance. She liked being the baby and didn’t want to look like Louise’s twin.
    â€œAren’t you sweet,” Louise cooed.
    The fog raised up enough so we could see thelandscape, flat as a pancake. The point of St. Mary’s County lay right in front of us, what passed for a parking lot was crushed seashells. Beyond that the