The summer arrived, speeding the Plague and with it the famine in the streets. As she hoisted her skirts near her waist, she thought ruefully of the last time she had worn such an elaborate gown, sometime near 1910 when petticoats were still considered hip everyday garb. ‘Ain’t my place, I know that. Sheila decided to do a little laundry one day, clothes that were in Lucy’s hamper, a dirty clothes bin that Lucy had insisted that she have for herself separate from the family one. I have come to you for sympathy, perhaps for help. “Just forget it, Lucy! Keep your secrets to yourself!” He stomped out, slamming the heavily paneled oak door. I do not wish for you to see me feed. Her heartbeat quickened.
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