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Francesca's or Maude's part, however heroic, was going to make their coming together anything but strained.
    My grandmother's eyes naturally lit up whenever she greeted Harry, but this business with her sister conjured up a whole different set of rituals.  
    “Maude, dear,” my grandmother said unconvincingly.
    The two women stood for a moment, stock-still, hesitant, and stiff. Then Maude hugged Francesca, whose arms remained at her sides. There was an air-kiss worthy of a couple of lock-jaw Connecticut debutants, and Maude swept into the house, calling, “Rachael? Rachael, where are you?”
    Right under Francesca's sniffing nose, Maude took Rachael firmly in tow, and my mother’s wardrobe was made over yet again. This time, though, my mother seemed more pleased with the results, which rattled my grandmother.
    Maude was a very sweet person. I thought her a little naive, but she was quite grand in her way and very artistic. In fact, she taught me to draw and broadened my appreciation for painting. I got along with her swimmingly. She sometimes put on airs, of course, but I always found the stories of her travels and lifestyle exciting. She and Harry had wandered a good bit through the years. They’d been to Europe, Canada, Mexico and toured extensively through California. They even had plans underway for a trip around the world.
    Maude’s experience made her very free with advice about what  Rachael and Daddyboys absolutely must see and do during their “sojourn to the continent.”
    My grandmother’s only trip outside Lost Nation had been her honeymoon with Cox to New York, so she had few observations to contribute during the animated exchanges. But Francesca still managed to make her feelings known.
    She sat too quietly, studiously working on a needle-work pillow which read, “Silence is Golden.” It was a pillow I had seldom seen before Maude's arrival and after her return to Des Moines, it vanished for good.
    As Maude continued to expound, my grandmother continued to stitch, accompanied by little sighs.
    On the eve of my parents’ departure, Francesca organized a going-away celebration. She festooned the house with French sayings written on long pieces of butcher paper. She had studied the language in college and was pleased as punch to translate for everyone who would listen.
    It seemed like the whole town turned out to wish Clay and Rachael a Bon Voyage. Uncle Harry even managed to make it over from Des Moines.
    Of taste bud-tingling food, there was plenty, and a number of our friends and neighbors contributed to the feast.
    Rachael made her famous fried chicken and steamed our entire first crop of asparagus. The Tycorns brought hand-churned ice cream; Mrs. Sweeny baked her double devil’s food chocolate cake; and Abraham’s family contributed candied yams that melted on the tongue. The Purdys provided a sugar-cured ham, and the Porters served German potato salad. I think they used dark lager in the dressing.
    As for spirits, Joshua Teems brought a large barrel of hard cider, which the men drank neat and the women softened with lemonade.   
    Of course, no going-away party would be complete without gifts, and Hunny and Greely Clack had a special one to offer. They'd managed to put together a gigantic telegram, on extra-long paper, which was titled: “Lamour Toujours . ”
    I wondered if this was a reference to Dorothy Lamour in the “Road” pictures. But Francesca, lording it over everybody, translated the message with full body movement: “Love Always.” Uncharacteristically, she was snippy about the missing apostrophe in the word, l'amour, and no one dared contradict her.
    There was more company at the door.
    It was Sheriff Daniel Mosley and his wife, Starr, who was Mr. Blackfeather’s eldest daughter. Standing hunched over and hidden behind them was Daniel’s older brother, Matthew, a barnstorming pilot who’d recently moved to Lost Nation to recuperate from a terrible plane crash. The poor man