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him about McDonalds being a teenage hangout. Being new in town, he must not have known that.
     

Flatterers look like friends as wolves like dogs.
    -George Chapman-
     
     
    CHAPTER FIVE
     
    “Are you wearing those clothes to the rectory?”
    Mary Margaret rolled her eyes at her mother and put her hand on her hip. “I’m out of school today. What’s wrong with what I have on?”
    “Attitude again, young lady,” Mary Margaret’s mother said, shaking a finger at her. “When I was your age, if I’d spoken to my mother like that she’d have given me the back of her hand.”
    “Spoken to her like what? All I did was ask you what was wrong with what I’m wearing.”
    “And where did you get those tight pants?” Mrs. Riley asked, glowering at her.
    Looking down at her brand new light blue capris, Mary Margaret said, “I bought them with my money from my job at the rectory. And besides, everyone is wearing them.”
    “Would you jump off a cliff if everyone else did?”
    “Oh, Mom. It isn’t the same thing. These are the latest style.”
    Mary Margaret noticed her mother was wearing the same style shirtwaist dress that she wore every day. Only the color changed. She always wore a strand of pearls, too. Just like June Cleaver.
    “You know, Mom. It wouldn’t hurt you to put on a pair of slacks now and again. The fifties are over. It’s a new era. Besides, you have a great figure. Capris would look boss on you,” she said while she stepped closer to her mother and reached a tentative hand up to touch her hair. “You should try ratting your hair, too. Get rid of the pin curl look and poof it up a little bit. I could help you.”
    Ellen reached up and took hold of Mary Margaret’s hand. “You’re growing up too fast. You’re turning into a young woman, right in front of my eyes.”
    “We’re not talking about me, Mom,” she said, taking hold of her mother’s other hand and bringing them both together, clasping them in hers at waist level. “You’re so pretty, but you aren’t staying up with the times. Maybe we could go shopping together sometime.”
    “That’s just vanity, and I’m not a vain woman.”
    “Okay, Mom. Just a suggestion,” Mary Margaret said, disappointed that the brief moment of tenderness had passed. “We’ve got to get going. I don’t want to be late. What about my clothes?”
    “Well, Mrs. Hunter is the only one that is going to be there tonight, so I guess you can wear those. Both of the priests are out for the evening.”
    “I need to grab my homework,” Mary Margaret said, running to her bedroom.
    Mrs. Riley was waiting in the car and had the motor running. “Do you have all of your school books?” she asked as Mary Margaret opened the car door and slid in.
    “I do. I don’t really have much homework tonight, mostly reading for my English Literature class.”
    “What are you assigned?”
    “We’re reading The Scarlett Letter by Nathaniel Hawthorne. Our teacher, Miss Bixby, says it’s a romance, but I’m not sure about that. It seems more like a book about adultery and sin to me.”
    “That’s the opinion I had when I read it, too. I don’t understand how they justify having Catholic school children read such trash.”
    “I just started it, so maybe my opinion will change. Miss Bixby says it will.”
    “Is she that new young teacher that just started this year?”
    “Yeah. She’s really pretty cool. We all like her a lot.”
    “Whatever happened to all the nuns?”
    “I don’t know, Mom. I guess there aren’t as many nowadays. Anyway, we’re here. You don’t have to come in with me. Just drop me off.”
    “Call me when you’re ready to be picked up, and don’t go outside the rectory until you see the car. Okay?”
    “Okay, Mom. See you later.”
    Mary Margaret waved goodbye to her mother and opened the back door to the rectory. It was quiet inside and she locked the door behind her, not sure that anyone else was there and not wanting it left open to