I hope you enjoy. The second and final installment will be posted soon. Be sure to check back!
The Courtship of Marjorie Graves
Margie's fingers shook as she spotted the envelope partially buried under the inky advertisements in the waste basket. Her friend, her best friend, had almost bested her after all.
“Lottie?” Marjorie's clear voice rang out into the quiet hallway. She didn't really expect an answer, but one couldn't be too careful. The silence inside the house that greeted her was a relief. The noise of children playing and mothers calling to each other over clotheslines barely made it to her ears. She long ago learned to tune out the unimportant sounds that rumbled past her on a regular basis. She stooped to pick up the envelope from the wire rimmed basket, seeing her name, Margie Graves, written neatly across the front of the envelope. She shoved it into her pocket, saving it until she was behind her locked bedroom door, far from the possibility of her roommate's eyes.
Necessity dictated that the two friends become housemates. Margie was glad for the company at first. Her childhood home, while peaceful for the most part, had become stifling to a young woman who wanted to explore the world around her. The war curtailed those dreams, but it didn't stop her from striking out on her own in a small way, with Charlotte's help, of course. None of her other girlfriends were financially able to move out of their parent's homes. They all stayed until marrying. Margie was grateful to Lottie for her enthusiastic agreement to share a small bungalow.
Until recently, that is. Perhaps their decision, four months into their friendship, had been a hasty one. The two of them didn't share common values nor a similar outlook on life. While shopping trips and volunteer efforts were full of fun, their camaraderie ended when Harlan showed a preference toward Marjorie.
“He danced with me first,” Charlotte reminded her often.
Margie glanced at herself in the oval mirror hanging above the little table that served as a catch-all for mail and phone messages. She saw her face, pale, with lines just beginning to stretch from the corners of her eyes to her temples. At 23, she was too young for crows feet. And yet, there they were.
War will do that to a person, she supposed.
Check back soon for the second installment!