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advantageous match
while we still have bargaining power.”
    “Another problem, what about Charles?”—
Mother’s voice rises—
“He is on his way here
this very minute.”
“Well then, Estrella can marry him. Quickly!
Before her figure swells like a dirigible!”—
Father’s tone brightens—
“We’ll have a wedding
instead of a disaster.”
“No, it is too late.
He will see with his own eyes before long.
And what incentive would he have
not to leave her flat once he realizes?”
    Father sounds as if his teeth are clenched:
“Then we must force the hand
of the one responsible,
make his family feel the threat of this shame.”
    “Good, whatever it takes to keep our daughter.”
    “Who is he?
That moon-eyed fop always at her elbow?
Blond fellow?”—Father speaks quickly—
“A good bit fancier than I would have pictured for a son-in-law,
but beggars cannot be choosers.”
“That choosing has already passed, but—” Mother tries to interject.
    “What is his name again?” Father must be shuffling papers.
Mother hurries to get the words out: “You are thinking
of young Frederick, but—”
“I will make it happen. I could shut down
Fred Senior’s whole Pittsburgh operation
with one stroke of a pen, and everyone knows it.”
    Mother’s voice strains slightly: “Bertram, darling!”
“Hmm?”
“Frederick is not the one.”
“No? Then…who?”
My mother utters a sound so low,
I cannot make out the name.
A chair scratches against the floor.
    “Grayson? That lecher!”
“Hush! Bertram!”
“For the love of God, Mildred,
what was she thinking?”
A pounding comes next,
like a fist on a table,
and something smashes.
“Thinking did not rule the day, apparently.” Mother sniffs.
    My father’s whisper is hoarse,
as if the air has all gone out of him:
“He can destroy us, Mildred.
Everything we have built.
We have no recourse
against a man like that.”
“But, Bertram—”
“Mildred…you know what we have to do.”
Mother’s response is a fresh wave of sobs.
    Apparently, she knows the rules of shunning
as well as Mimsy:
they will deny Estrella’s existence
to protect the family
and its position in society.
How could they do this?
Are money
and rich friends
more important
than their daughter?
    Or daughters.
    I imagine myself lying across the threshold
waiting to be found,
to be comforted
like an old dog.
Huddled with my arms around my knees,
I give in to loss and frustration,
to consuming grief.
Hot tears soak through my cold, wet dress.
My sobs turn to shivers.
I suddenly feel so tired.
My head rests on the warm dark door.
    I must stop this somehow …
by helping Mimsy …
by preventing
the disowning from becoming public,
or worse,
the suspicions regarding Estrella’s virtue
from becoming fodder
for nosy society crones.
    I must save my sister.

    A warm towel,
dry clothes,
eyes cried empty and swollen,
I cannot stop myself from crawling under the covers
and succumbing to sleep, however fitful.
    When I rise from the overheated nap,
it is already dark
and my stomach tells me I missed tea
and maybe dinner.
Yawning, I start for the stairs,
toward the smell of roast chicken,
creamed pearl onions,
maybe a fruit pie….
The heavy door of the front room opens
and Charles exits in a band of light.
Estrella’s fiancé!
    It all rushes back to me:
I might never see my sister again.
I stifle a gasp.
I want to hear what Charles is saying.
    “I should have known
it was too good to be true.” His thin shoulders slump
more than usual.
A low voice responds from inside the room.
I recognize the cadence of my father’s speech.
The light goes out.
    Father exits,
closing the door behind him.
The two men are shadows
amid the moonlight’s reflection
off polished wood.
    “That’s just how women are—changeable,
like the weather,” Father says.
Charles nods
and coughs, then says, “I was a fool
to think someone like Estrella
could ever grow to love me.”
“Your father and I will work out the details
of