Read Duet for Three for Free Online Page B

yet, with well-muscled arms and calves (and there was no dreaming above, to thighs and hips and other mysterious parts). He had no face yet.
    She talked about the wedding dress she would have, and described the rooms of her house. “It’ll be bright, and I’ll have all new dishes.” The old dishes in their house were marked by tiny, intricate surface cracks. “I’ll have everything my own way, in my own house,” she boasted.
    â€œYou know, Aggie,” her mother said, “sometimes I wonder if you’ll be satisfied.” She did not, however, explain what she meant, or what alternatives there might be.
    Her mother’s knack was to praise different aspects of her different children. Edith was the best cook, and Sylvia the best at sewing. One son was a hard worker, the other the most practical, and the oldest was a martyr to his country, a hero and a memory. His attributes and Aggie’s were the hardest to pin down. “It’s a good thing to have spunk,” her mother warned, “but don’t always expect things your own way.” Aggie could see no reason not to. She only expected what everyone had.
    Almost everyone. Because there was an alternative of sorts, although it was more something unfortunate that might happen, or fail to happen, than a choice. It was to cross that line between being an unmarried girl and spinsterhood; the difference between having a future and not. If marrying was to recreate and have purpose, spinsterhood was to be at the mercy of other people’s creations and purposes. A spinster was the aunt, the dependant who would look after aging parents, or live at various times with various sisters and brothers, scrubbing floors, doing laundry, changing diapers — perhaps loving the babies but having none of her own, and knowing there was no amount of work that could pay off the debt of being unwanted, unloved, unlovable, and unattractive. A spinster thinned and dried, and her mouth grew little disapproving lines. As if marriage were a skin cream, and she aged too fast without it.
    â€œYou’re getting a bit long in the tooth, my girl,” Aggie’s father teased, but he was a little serious. She had turned nineteen.
    â€œReally, Aggie,” her mother said impatiently, “I don’t know what you want. Nobody’s going to come along on a white horse and sweep you off your feet, you know.”
    Aggie didn’t think she was waiting for any white horse. It was just that in her bed she pictured things. There was something she wanted, if she could pin it down, and, having pinned it down, could pick it out from among the round boyish faces with their tanned, toughened skin.
    In the event, it was no knight on a white horse who appeared, but certainly something different.
    His name was Neil Hendricks, he was from England, and it was his first year of teaching in Canada. It was the custom for unmarried teachers in the one-room country school to board in the homes of pupils, and Aggie’s smallest brother was still in public school.
    Aggie’s mother, who had met him at a school concert, said he seemed a nice smart young fellow, if a bit different, probably due to being English. “Oh boy, he’s really strict,” said her little brother. Aggie and Edith speculated about his character and appearance. He was to be with them for the winter and spring terms, arriving in the new year. They thought at least it would make a change.
    He came during a storm, after dark, carrying a suitcase in each hand, cold and wet, red-faced, and bundled up in coat and scarf and hat and heavy boots. To be honest, right off the bat Aggie thought he was a pretty miserable sight, and then wondered why she was disappointed.
    â€œYou poor boy,” said her mother, “you must be perished.”
    He wore tiny gold-rimmed glasses that steamed in the heat of the kitchen. Once the cold wore off, the flush went with it and he turned out to