The Green Lace Corset, стр. 43
She wrote, Things People Pray For.
That was the mosaic’s title. Anne loved that she didn’t need to think about titles for her pieces but let her intuition tell her. She studied the piece again. No baby. No baby symbols. Where’s the baby? Don’t people pray for babies? She put her hand on her stomach. She certainly hadn’t. Maybe she wasn’t supposed to have this one. Or maybe she should start praying for a healthy baby.
She searched the tray of objects until she found it. She glued the tiny pink rattle onto the mosaic. With a paintbrush, she spread glue in the crevices between the objects and sprinkled safety glass from a broken windshield for grout.
She looked around her cramped, crowded, messy apartment and thought about having access to half that big museum studio and the giant project she had always dreamed of making. Come on. She was a professional. Even if she had to share the space with a jerk, and pregnant or not, she could do it. She’d show them!
Anne googled “discipline for art teachers.” She followed the list to a blog called Creatubbles and read:
Art Room Discipline
Whether it’s roughhousing, using crayons as missiles, not cleaning up, or general back talk, there’s not a teacher on Earth who doesn’t have issues with discipline. If you’re looking for ways to handle an unruly class, read on. . . .
She felt like the writer knew what she was up against. Anne continued reading:
Don’t take it personally, scold, or raise your voice when the class is misbehaving. Kids have an inherent sense of fairness, and most of your class will welcome your restoring an atmosphere of calm. Develop a plan with rules and consequences.
The students deserved a peaceful atmosphere that was conducive to creativity, and so did she. She continued to read the blog and write down notes, then adapted some into positive affirmations for herself:
I will keep my voice calm.
I will be consistent.
I will stop early enough that students can help clean up.
She copied them onto an index card and put it in her backpack. Editing examples of rules and consequences from the blog, she composed four simple rules and three consequences, from warnings to parental notifications, appropriate for her class. She wrote them down neatly on a poster board with markers and couldn’t wait until Saturday to give it all a try.
30
Another night had passed. Sally Sue had been on pins and needles since Cliff had yelled at her yesterday while honing that knife. She prayed her plan would work. Ma harped that most women could use their womanly wiles to get a man to do anything, like that fallen woman her father had left them for. Maybe if Sally Sue used her own womanly wiles, she could entice Cliff to take her back to the train and let her go.
Her first step was to get him off guard and thinking everything was copacetic. “What are you making in there?”
He sat down at the table, she served him, and he tasted a bite. “This oatmeal is delicious, Sally Sue. What a surprise. I thought you couldn’t cook.”
“I’m full of surprises.” Her aunt had taught her. Sally Sue sat across from him and smiled slyly, with a hint of flirtatiousness.
“I bet you are.” He didn’t seem to notice as he added the honey she handed him and took another bite.
After they finished the oatmeal, he taught her how to make his special apple dish.
“Now you can bake it anytime you want.” He served her some to taste on a spoon, but it dropped on the ground, and he picked it up and wiped the spoon on a cloth. “Aren’t you getting tired of these dirt floors? I’m gonna start splicing that wood to cover them today.”
“You’d do that for me?” She clapped her hands. “You’re so thoughtful.” She shot him that look again.
Before sunset and before he came in, Sally Sue undressed, removed the red dress from the trunk, slipped it on over her head, and looked in the mirror. The dress fit perfectly, showing off her tiny waist. The woman who had lived here must also have been small.
Sally Sue sighed. Mama, if you were stuck out here in the middle of nowhere with a dangerous man, you might put on a red dress and do something shameful too.
Sally Sue tugged the scooped neck down around her shoulders and pulled them back, pretending her breasts were two roses in full bloom. She found the flimflam man’s ribbon, strung it through her hair, and tied it underneath like a forest sprite might have done. The short cut was freeing.
Did Sally Sue have the courage to give this a try? She’d never attempted to use her “womanly wiles” before. She put her hands behind her head and circled her hips. Was that how those saloon women did it?
She climbed a chair, lit the candles Cliff had put in the sparkling chandelier, and got back down, ready to receive him. She heard Cliff stomping snow from his boots, and then the door opened. Heart galloping, she felt her legs go weak, and she quickly sat at the table.
He came in, removed his coat, and hung it on a hook.
She took a deep breath, stood, and strolled toward him.
At the sight of her, his eyes lit up. “Why, Sally Sue, aren’t you just the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen?” His face was handsome in the candlelight.
She batted her eyelashes, wiggled her shoulders, and leaned over, showing him a bit of cleavage, just like the girl in the green corset had done.
She drawled, “You rascal, you. Aren’t you just the complimentinest man I’ve ever known?”
His smile faded, and he looked away.
She sauntered closer to him. “Come on, Cliffie. Don’t you find me appealing?”
His eyes widened, and he backed up, with his palms toward her. “Of course, Sally Sue. You’re a vision of beauty, but . . .”
“Do you really think so?” She continued to sway toward him.
“Of course. Look