Laird and mother and father had been making some talk about this friend of my brother�s who was going to be invited to dinner that night. I was the last to understand that this young man had been invited on my account. I figured it out the day before when my mother asked me what I was going to wear for dinner the next night; father had brought home a roast two nights before and then I realized what was being expected of me. I felt burned that they hadn�t just come out and said what was happening, so I could�ve prepared better. As it was I barely had enough time to put a good dress through the wash and scrub it down with some of mother�s perfumed oil that she used sometimes on holidays. I didn�t know what to think about meeting this stranger. Laird had talked with father about him at the breakfast table, and I heard him say that he was going to be going to the university. He also said that he could speak French. I�d looked at a few of the boys at school and some of the boys around town, and I thought I liked a few of them. My father seemed to approve of Laird bringing the boy home to dinner.
          The night of the dinner mother and I were in mute anxiety. We�d delayed a few other tasks for the day that we could prepare everything for the dinner. There were five dishes being prepared, and Laird understood that he was to bring this boy in no later than eight, which was the longest the food could be held without it being burnt or soggy. Mother took on most of the responsibilities as the hour approached, so that I could go upstairs and dress and brush my hair thoroughly in the good mirror my father used to shave. I aimed to give my hair two hundred strokes the way my mother had when she�d helped me dress for some things at church. On the few chances I had to be this way, I liked to look at myself in the mirror. The person I saw was not someone I remembered seeing when I was younger. But tonight I was not entirely thinking about how I looked, but how this boy from the city would think that I looked.
         The train whistle could be heard as it sounded from the station. Father was still down in the workshop-what we called the basement-probably sharpening his knives or sorting nuts and bolts. On most nights I would have taken this for granted, but tonight I felt myself getting hot with anger that he would be coming in with the look and smell of the fields on him. Hadn�t he approved this arrangement? I could�ve stomped my feet, but I knew I wasn�t supposed to do that in the heeled shoes I was wearing. I was certain I'd heard mother tell him to bath before dinner was put on.
          Peeking through the curtains I saw the form of my brother and another man approaching the house from the road. Thinking about all the preparation I put into the event, I must�ve been terribly excited, much more than I would�ve let on at the time. I stalked about for a moment so that I wouldn�t be seen waiting at the door. Immediately I realized that Laird had not told this young man the same things he�d told me. I imagined he�d just come from work, or worse the pub. I caught the shine in Laird�s eyes as he introduced us. The boy was handsome enough. His hair was combed, and he did not have a cauliflower ear like one of the boys in the neighborhood that walked after young women.
          I made the most gracious greeting I knew how and asked, �May I take your hand, good sir?�
          �Certainly you may, thank you.� His cheeks were drawn back in a smile, and his teeth were fair. �It is a pleasure to enjoy your hospitality.�
         He had been holding his hat with both hands in front of him. Once I�d put his hat up, he clasped his hands much in the same spot. He looked lost, so I took his hand and led him to the back of the house, if he hadn�t the sense to be sociable. Holding his hand I noticed how smooth they were. My mother�s hands were toughened at the tips from years of sowing, and my father�s were thoroughly calloused. Even after a few years of working alongside him, my brother�s hands had begun to look like my father�s. Holding the boy�s hands, I had the feeling that I was holding a doll�s hand; it was so smooth and white. I had planned to show him the family�s work. My mother had brought me close that day in the parlor and told me that I would have to get our guest alone and be interesting to him.
          As I talked about how our father raised foxes, I could tell he didn�t care in the least. Laird had learned a way of not listening to myself or our mother when he didn�t want to, and by the silence I sensed that Laird�s friend shared that with him. Things seemed to be over already. There were a number of things I knew that women and men could only do when they were married, and one of them was a woman getting a man�s attention even if he didn�t want to listen. I decided I would drag him along if I had to
          �Over here is the barn. My father owns a horse and two cows, and we raise a few chickens,� I informed him. �When Laird was littler than I was I used to help my father a little around.�
          He nodded. �Yes... I thought you were older than your brother. You act it.�
          I was holding on to his arm when it struck me that this man had probably rarely been in the country. Perhaps he had an uncle or a grandfather but grasping his arm I could tell he did no work. His arm was like a pencil, and I could lead him around with my hand as though he were fitted with a halter. I thought that I would really let laird have it the next morning for bringing this man by, and I delighted that as soon as father met this boy and found out what he was about, he would agree with me. Taking him away from the things he didn�t understand, I put my hand on his back to herd him back into the house. Still thinking about how little my father would approve of this man, I sighed to think of his face.
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