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clashes.
    “Mama, the newspaper wants an article from me, a series of them, about redoing Julianne’s old house.”
    “But you’ll have to tell them who lived in it and why. What will the neighbors think?” She’d pressed one hand against her forehead and the other against her breast. It was clear she was in no state of mind to be reasonable, so I turned from her and looked at my father.
    My father, Paul Crouse, was like his father, my Grandpa Samuel, pensive, careful, and extraordinarily quiet. His head had a permanent white cap, his tan stopping halfway up his forehead where his straw hat always sat when he was outdoors. His head looked like a round red-and-white fishing bobber in still water, barely moving until something forced it.
    “Daddy,” I began, but Paul Junior jumped in, not enough sense to keep from interrupting. I fixed him with a glare as he spilled his opinions all over the table.
    “I say we tear the house down before she embarrasses us. The last thing we need is another woman in the family doing something that makes us look like fools. Why don’t you go on back to Cincinnati and get married? Stay there and do what wives are supposed to do, not come here and pretend you know anything about hammers and nails.” He slammed a forkful of eggs into his mouth and chewed vigorously, his brown eyes on me, his ears attuned for hearty approval from our parents.
    I set my fork on the table, carefully aligning it with the edge of my plate while the fury inside of me burned. I looked up at him, his years of petty competition and disrespect for all women creating a ferocity I could no longer bear. “So it’s not embarrassing for our family when you talk the way you do about Julianne? When you laugh and make jokes about her to everyone? Why is it okay for you to keep the rumors and insults alive and not okay for me to improve her reputation and ours by restoring that house and taking some pride in who we are rather than cutting us off at the knees like you do?”
    Paul Junior gulped, nearly choking on his mouthful of mushy eggs. Silence took over the table as he tried to swallow, every eye on him and the mass he was struggling to get down. My mother’s gasp could be heard from behind her napkin, and my father’s gaze turned cloudy. We stared at Paul Junior, we stared at each other, and we stared at the doorway when the kitchen door opened and Grandpa Samuel stepped into the room.
    Paul Junior heaved upward as he yanked to his feet, one fist slamming his napkin next to his plate. The clatter of his chair flipping backwards echoed in the stillness. “Men know good women from bad. That’s why we have to laugh at some of you. You’re a bad one. You’re just like her. And you’d better not mess up marrying Trevor. He’s my friend!”
    His large finger had pointed at me in front of the piercing fire in his eyes. Then he’d pivoted away like an overly large top, nearly knocking Grandpa Samuel over as he blustered through the door. He’d done this many times before when he thought I was getting something I didn’t deserve. But this time he didn’t look so wrong, I did. I had sided with Julianne, the bane of our existence.
    As I stood in Julianne’s doorway I felt Paul Junior’s condemnation all over again. If I could have spoken to my parents alone, had the chance to explain things better without him there, maybe I wouldn’t feel so much like the bad girl he’d always portrayed me to be. The bad woman they all thought I was. I gazed into the dimness of her main room and drew in a deep breath of stagnant air while repressing the angst this morning’s battle had caused. Julianne had stood here over fifty years ago, stood here feeling maybe much like I did now. Alone, no family to back her. Saying goodbye to the few remnants Isaac had let her keep, looking down a long tunnel of…of what? I didn’t know. But I was certain it hurt.
    In the stillness, Mama’s worries returned to my thoughts. They were like