ACT ONE - Saturday

Let's see...In three parts now instead of two. I have no notion what the tolerance is for my long chapters and, in any case, there's a fair bit of daily life going on in this tiny town - don't want it all getting lost in the shuffle.

I spent an inordinate amount of time trying to sort out what was wrong with the footnotes coding that's not jumping to them when you click before I considered testing it elsewhere. Lo and behold, it does work. Just not here in dreamwidth land. Sorry 'bout that. For now clicking the superscripts will do nothing but possibly reload the page in place. I'm leaving as is, however, just in case I run across a simple tweak that might make it work.

Anywho...More gifs and much silliness. Standard warnings apply, but there are no nekkid folks this time. More references to classic soul and R&B, because that's the vibe. (And Disney. Because.) Like, it's named for the Queen of Soul's most famous song and while not always Daytona's POV, not by a long shot, this here is very much Daytona's show. HBIC...Head Beech in Charge. Remember? Now, on with Day's day after...

It's morning.
(And we slept the night away.)¹

Well, eventually. They did sleep eventually.

A new day did not, however, bring with it a new reality.
They were quite well satisfied with this one as it was.




No sobering reflections. No regrets.

They were both way too grown for all of that. Way too grown not to have known what they were about.

Although perhaps they may not have gamed out every consequence of getting horizontal with the synergy.
And vertical...
Diagonal....
Perpendicular...

Rich rather liked that one.




And while they were lingering at the door, whispering sweet and sultry reminiscences, he did not hesitate to tell her so.

"Ho-ho, are you blushing, Daytona?"




"Demanding and demure. I love it."

Daytona couldn't hide her grin, but she said, "Keep dreaming."

"Oh? So you're saying you're not a perfect lady in the streets? And a w—"

"Watch it."

"What?" he feigned innocent...sort of—he feigned feigning innocence. "A wonderful cook in the kitchen is
how that goes, and what I've yet to experience. We already know you're an absolute s...tar in the boudoir."




"Don't make me hurt you."

"Whatever turns you on, Star."

"Behave yourself," she admonished. "Don't go starting what you can't finish."

"Is that a challenge?"

"No, it isn't. Don't you have to go? It's almost 6."
She started wrapping and tugging his tie into a respectable Windsor knot while he checked his watch.

"So it is."




“Next time we have free reign to wake up together...and shower together,
perhaps before you send me on my way you’ll make me breakfast.”

She laughed.
“You wait on that one if you want to! The rest of these hairs of
yours might go grey, or even go away, before that day comes.”

“I don’t know about that." He leaned in, peering eye to eye. "If I keep making sure this Day comes..."




"... like she did all night last night...and this morning, your own sense of fair play might send you rushing to break my fast
with a proper feast. You need to feed a hungry Mann after you drain him like that. Get his blood pumping again.”


“But then you’d never leave.”





"Indeed," he barely audibly conceded.


“And,” she said, “maybe you don’t mind taking yours out in trade, Mr. Mann, but I want like for like. That’s what’s fair.
You get one...I get three.” Rich laughed. “Don’t worry, the math checks out once you factor in biology. And fair is fair. ”

Still laughing, he said, “Very well then. Let’s say we stipulate for your math-magics, what happens when we exceed your golden ratio²?
What happens should you get, let’s say, five, or better, in one go...how will you compensate me then for the overflow? Might I suggest bacon..."

"...Smoked sausage. Eggs. — Proper eggs, no froufrou frittata, Daytona. And some buttermilk
biscuits, perhaps. Homemade. And don't skimp on the butter and jam. Feed your Mann!”

“You are silly in the mornings, I see."

"Well, you do bring out the Natural Mann in me."

"Uh-huh. You really hungry?”

“No,” he said. “And actually, I really must get going, my sweet. But next time!”




“Next time, you manage five — in one shot, mind, five for me to your one, no
re-ups — you pull that off, Mr. Mann, and I just might think about pouring you a bowl of cereal.”




Rich did so enjoy a challenge!



"Oh, wait, where'd you park? You didn't leave your car at the construction site all night?"




"Certainly not. Fear not, Sweet Beech. No one will know that I was here when we don't want them to. I am nothing if not discreet."




As the cock crows...




Jenny Joy was up long before dawn.

Always was these days. Who needed so much sleep?




Four hours was plenty — she’d sleep proper when she was no more for the wakin' world.




And last night, in the stillness and the dark, her thoughts kep' running away with her.

She didn't quite like thinkin' such thoughts in the bed laid next to her unsuspectin' husband.
So she was eager to get on up to her workroom for some privacy and peace inside her own head.




"Gracious me, looky here —Scat!" If those durn cats wasn't always runnin' off! But Jenny didn't tarry 'bout no rats! "Scat!!"

She stomped about, ready to reach for the stick in her dye vat and go to battle if they didn't scatter and turned the attack on her.


Lordy, how lives do differ. But now, at least, that was one thing she was
sure on —That Mrs. Beech never kicked a rat in the whole o' her existence!

...Though she mighta kissed a couple.




Jenny was far too old to call it a prurient interest that had hold on her. Naw. But then that Mrs. Beech, the main one, wasn't a young woman...

Younger than herself. Naturally. She couldn't no way call her Mrs. Beech the Elder in parallel to how she thought on
Miss Sandy as Mrs. Beech the Younger. But also only lookin' younger than her years to be a grandmaw two times over.

Not that she was like any grandmaw that she'd ever saw.

Jenny couldn’t keep it out of mind for long, it came back, and back again, what all she saw through that other window.

But like she kep' tellin' herself, it ain't a prurient interest at her time o' life. It's a curious interest.
Never in all her time did she have any experiences like that! Picture Norman...!
But she couldn't! She couldn’t picture him ever fixin’ himself to...carry on like that.

The basic mechanics of babby-making, that’s what he stuck by, that’s what he liked. Back in their young years.
Didn’t take too kindly to her mustering no initiative in that side o’ married life neither.
Thought it was downright unwoman-like and she deferred to him. It was only right. For folks like them.

Sure couldn’t pine for the kind o’ life she wasn’t meant to live.



Norman never came near her now...after sundown hours. No siree, those babby-making days were long gone by for them.
‘Sides, they hadn’t been too successful at it no how. Elaine was their one. Only one to their name. And she wasn’t a son.

They kept at the mechanics for some years yet but no son ever came. To his credit, Norman was right fond of their Elaine. In his way.
Didn’t hold it against her for not bein’ a son and didn’t try to make her one. But bein’ her daughter didn’t mean she had to live her life, did it?




Same way she'd ended up livin' the life o' her own maw and her maw before her?

Oh.

Poor gal...




Poor Cinderelly.
Every time she find a minute,
that's the time when they begin it!
Cinderelly! Cinderelly!
CINDERELLA!!




"El'!..."




"...EL'!!"




Now what in tarnation was the gal doin' pitched head first down the well?
Durn rope musta broke again. Guess that was one more thing needed doin' today.
Hope she don't drop the bucket...




♫Cin...de...relly,
Cin - de - relly

Night and day it's Cinderelly♫




♫Make the fire
Fix the breakfast♫




♫Wash the dishes
Do the mopping♫




"How's that, El? Rope broke, eh?"

"Yeah, Paw, it snapped. But I caught it."

"Mm-hm. Right enough. But gon' need to fix that 'fore long. Can't do nothin', not a durn thing, 'round here without fresh water."

"I know."




♫And the sweeping and the dusting
They always keep her hopping♫




"Now how'm I s'posed to milk you if you won't stand up?"




"These wee things are not for milking, Buddy. So you can stop starin' an' nudging
me like you know something I don't because I definitely don't got no milk for ya."




"Good morning, Sweetie.
I see you got the better of our lazy cow in the end."




"No, no, I got this one, Mary. Come on, let's take these in to Mama."




"What did I tell you? Absolutely no milk here. If you was a girl you'd be the one givin' milk for me
once you got grown. As things be, well, not the best of fates, I'll give you that, Buddy. But we're all gonna
be food for somethin' one day. Til then we play our parts and do the best we can with what we are."

*MOO!!*

"Yeah, yeah. If I was Maw you'd be lappin' up these l'il pearls of wisdom just like the rest of 'em do. — Stop that.
I am not your dam. Do I look like her to you? I sure hope I don't smell like her. Not this early in the morning..."




"And there ya go, sulking. Don't you turn your little calf butt to me." He flicked his tail almost like
he understood. The nerve o' you! "Fine. But dunno who you think you're fooling. You're still two
months from bein' weaned. If you're hungry, go find your maw. Go moo where's she can hear ya."

*Moo!*

*Sigh* "Like I got nothin' better to do than talk to the animals. Or to myself,
for that matter. Come on then, Buddy. Let's go find you an udder to suckle."




♫She go around in circles
Till she very, very dizzy
Still they holler
Keep a-busy, Cinderelly!♫




Yeah...Keep-a-busy.

Jenny was just restin' her eyes from the sun comin' up and shinin' straight in on her.

*yawn*

Keep-a-busy. Keep-a-busy.
But her thoughts and dreams—daydreams—still didn't stray too far.

Be nice if El had took to Miss Sandy. That's somebody she could maybe relate to, a woman closer her own age, but
they didn't click the same. And maybe, jus' maybe, after all what she could really use was a well-heeled fairy godmaw?




Hmm. There did not seem to be any Men At Work today. But it was looking pretty good.
She’d seen the floor plans. Things were coming along quite nicely so far as she could tell.

All the same, Daytona made a mental note to talk to Rich about hiring locally.

There wasn’t anyone in Widespot, of course, but casting a wider net around the county
for any positions that needed filling, that could generate some real goodwill.




Now as for this building here, it was a puzzle to her what to do with it.

It was apparently called the Round Barn General Store, but they all opted to use that little shack out along the
main road - where the highway was going soon as she got a foot in with the right committee - that was the general store
everybody used even though this was closer, right in the thick of where they all lived. It made a kind of sense, that shack was
where they did the postal drop-offs and it was an easier point of connection for going to market and trade with folks from the nearest
towns who were willing to make it a profitable pitstop. It could do with a refurbish but, no, that's not something she would change.

But they also had plenty of communal barns and silos dotted 'round in convenient places. Nobody used this anymore. But it was
in good shape - from the outside anyway - and it was taking up space. It should be earning, for somebody. Or maybe converted
back into residential space. It must have been part of the old Hatfield clan's homestead, but the prodigal son surely couldn't
lay claim to it now or he would have. Daytona would have to have a chat with Rich about eminent domain and such things...




Ah, that Homer, he was a pretty hands on kinda guy.

Had to be to eke out a living around here. He was gainfully employed over at the County Police Station
or that'd be a no-brainer recommendation. If Homer needed the work she would insist on Rich taking him on.

In fact...maybe a quiet word with Beulah, just in case. They could probably use a cash injection.

But she wasn't gonna presume. For all she knew that Homer Land had him
a secret stash somewhere. All Daytona could do was ask and suggest.




He was good people. No doubt off to help out the old folks with their farm on his Saturday off.




Yep, there he goes. Heading out to the Joys.
The Lands, the Joys...who could want to interfere with their way of life?

She'd have no business bein' in Widespot if she wanted to change everything about the place, and the people were the place.
But what she could offer...bit of an upgrade on the quality of life her good neighbours enjoyed...yes, indeed-y, that was the point.




"You're not outta wool, Maw, are you? You need any help shearing the sheep?"

"Oh, no, El, I can manage."




Jenny knew her daughter b'lieved she was some kinda natural shepherdess. Maybe unnatural was more like how
her Elaine felt about it. But wasn't nothin' other than natural about it. Some things just come with age. And finesse.

"That's right. Come along. One at a time. That's a good flock. Now...where are my little lamb-kins?"




"Rest of the crop looks good. Blight only took out a bit of the sugar. Ah, there's Land a-comin' with my tractor. Be over yonder
in the barley fields, El. Good thing we didn't lose all the sugar. Tell your maw if she needs me. She not come down yet?"




"O'course, Paw. She's in with her sheep now."




♫Oh...Isn't this amazing
It's my favourite part because...you'll see...
Here's where she meets Prince Charming
But she won't discover that it's him
Til Chapter Three*!♫

*Act Two, actually😉😜 And...we've switched Disney movies for this
song snippet. It's from Beauty & the Beast. You can't actually see it in this
picture but the book cover is for the "original" Story of the Beauty and the
Beast, the one first written by Mme. Gabrielle-Suzanne Barbot de Villeneuve

Daytona was in no hurry. With that brood of hers, Beulah was hardly ever on time. So she strolled along at her leisure, after poking around
a bit at the Round Barn. She didn't go inside. It looked filthy from the windows, but she was no longer so sure that it was abandoned.




Breakfast wasn't long over and Beulah had already started on supper.

Lumpy always accused her of just likin' to cook. He wasn't wrong. But she also always
reminded him how much his growing children liked to eat. And he wasn't no exception himself!




And while Mama was busy and her back was turned...




"Dixie, get your behind down from there and I do mean now."




Stealth was not Dixie's forté. She was more sneaky than stealthy.
She wasn't surprised she got caught. But she did hope it wouldn't be til after she found it.

"Now, I said."

Dang. So close!
"Ohh-kayy."




Whoever said 'eight is enough' wasn't kidding—Five was enough!
Not too many, but she was more than okay to be done with babies at five.

Her five was more than plenty!







Beulah saw her through the window and met Daytona at the door.

And this was her callin' herself dressed down and casual!




"Good morning, Virgie."




"Mornin', Grandma!"




"Good mornin', Miz. Daytona," the little Lands chimed in unison.

That was that good home training, that was. So rare in this day and age everywhere else,
but as different as those two little Lands were from each other that politeness was ingrained.




"Virgie behaved herself, I trust."

"Oh, of course."

"I know you don't play that."

"That, too." Beulah laughed along with Daytona. "But she ain't never no trouble."

Good to hear. Virginia certainly did have her moments, like all children...like all people,
but it was good to know that she also knew when and where to pick her moments.

"I suppose Hamilton told you that the baby needs glasses, too. She was about the same age when we found
out she couldn't see past her hand either. I can't believe there's not an optometrist to be found 'round this
whole county! And the way things are now it takes all day to drive into the city. Didn't make sense not to stay over."




"Hey! What's that you was hiding? That's candy?"




"Mind your own beeswax, Scotty."

"No fair! Where'd you get candy?"

"It's that taffy Dad brought back from work and Mama hid. I found it."




"But...but where's my piece?" Scot whined when Dixie only handed one piece of taffy to Virgie and kept one for herself.

Virgie didn't think he would tattle or nothing, but still...



"Here you go, Scot," she said, pulling off a chunk from her piece of taffy.

Fair is fair.




And she reached over quick and yanked off a piece from Dixie's to even them out before Dix gobbled her whole piece down!




"Hey!"

"Fwair isht fwair," Virgie 'reminded' her friend with a mouth full of sticky taffy.

That bit that she — what was the word...'re-appro-priated' — from Dixie
was all the sweeter mixed with her own piece, she wanted to savour it.

Dixie had swallowed hers down whole, and then protested. Scot was like he was saving his, only
eating little baby pieces...maybe cuz he only had a little piece. But she did try to make 'em mostly even.




"That's what you get for being stingy."

"Oh...be quiet, Scotty," Dixie said. Because saying 'shut up' triggered Mama's super Mama hearing. And she was more stunned
than mad — she didn't know Virgie could move so fast! — so her mama was the last person Dixie wanted to get involved.




"At least they was able to find somebody to see Rocky so they can get him his right prescription. Gettin' all the way
to the city? That wasn't no way possible for us when we needed to see to Mary and Scot bein' able to see. We had to
start her on an old pair o' her dad's glasses cuz she was just a-bumpin' into stuff! Luckily, they wasn't too far off for her.
Their eyes are practically the same, but if a connection through his work didn't come through...I don't know what we
were gon' do, for Scot especially. That boy got the nerve to be far-sighted...can't wear nobody's backup glasses."

"That is exactly what I'm talking about. We need access to the rest of the world. Period. And also we need to
be attracting some necessary folk. Specialists and practitioners that, at some point, every family is going to need.
There's no optometrists around and no orthodontists either. So far it's lookin' okay for Virgie but it's way too early to
say for Rocky. He might get his father's teeth. What? Oh, you thought those perfect pearly whites came from me? I wish!"




"I wish he did inherit my sparklin' smile!" Daytona half-joked. "As it is, his perfect grin came straight
outta my wallet! His original jacked up grill, that he got from his dear deadbeat daddy."

"Oh, you need to stop. Even from what little you told me about him I know deadbeat is not the right word for 'im."

"That's what you think. But you're not the one who ever had to try to beat that dead, dead meat."

"Ooh! You need to quit!"
But Beulah loved being scandalised by her more worldly friend.
The things she said...! And, sometimes, the things she did!




Mary knew better than to get in grown folks' business, but she was also a polite Land child.
So she waited, quiet and unobserved, for a lull in their talking to say her "Good morning" to Miz Day.




"Good morning, Mary. And how are you getting along today?"
Daytona set her bag down and started to get comfortable.

"I'm...I'm doing all right, thank you ma'am."

"Heard y'all stayed up late."

"Oh, yes. But not too, too late. Just late for the kids. Mama 'n Daddy led 'em in a dance party."

"Is that right? Beulah, you were out here shakin' that groove thang last night?"

"I surely was! I still got it, too! Me and Lumpy both." She laughed.
"Oh, Mary, come take Ms. Daytona's coat and hang it up."




"But I can tell I ain't the only one been gettin' my groove on." Beulah tried to look sly and speak low, out of the hearing of nosy children.

"I don't know what you're talking about."




"Mm-hm, my big left toe you don't. You ain't sweat that hair out all by your lonesome. Anyone I know?"




"You have got a vivid imagination, Beulah Land. Just because my hair is in its natural state — "

“Like never since I met you. But okay, okay, g’on and keep your secrets.” Beulah laughed. The kids were still around.
She could try an' pry the real juice outta her later. “Lemme go clear these eggs away. Then we can get started.”




"Oh. You sure you don't want any breakfast? We still got plenty eggs and bacon."

Daytona tried to repress a smile, remembering that sunrise banter at the door.
"No, no thank you. I'm not hungry at all."




Lumpy would probably be hungry again when he got back, so she didn't put away the whole spread.
Left out the bacon and easy finger snacks for little grabby hands whenever any of the kids got peckish.




"How'd you get exact replicas of your barn and that brown tower thing?"

"I don't know." Dixie shrugged. "Somebody made it."

"No duh."

"And it's called a 'silo'," Dixie said...in her best Virgie voice, just havin' a little fun with being the one to explain stuff to her for once.




"You done with your map now? Wanna play with us, Scot?"

"Nah, not dolls."

"It's not dolls, it's farming," Dixie said.

"But we got a farm right outside. Everywhere is farm. We don't have a rocket ship. *Fwoosh!*"

"We been to the moon already. You're not going back to the moon, are you?"

"No. Not our moon, anyways. I'm going to one of the moons o' Jupiter. Going to Gan-y-mede. It's the biggest."

"Oh yeah. That's the one people always write about in books like my mom reads. Grandma says
bigger ain't always better, though. She found that out the hard way.* But guess everybody just likes big."

"It's the gravity."

"Hmm..." He prolly meant that literal...but what Scot said...
It was going to stick with Virgie.
"K. You know Ganymede got farms, too. In the books. So when you get there send us a postcard."

*Yikes. What kids hear is what they repeat. Good thing Little Miss Virginia Beech
had no notion of the context of what she was relaying. More on that in Act Two, too...

"That one looks like a reg'lar cow like we got. Only brown."

"Yeah, but that thing kinda looks like a space pig! — I know it's s'posed to be like a
boar but pretend. — It's big and ugly like a space pig. And it's mad cuz it can't breathe."

Scot didn't wanna play so Dixie didn't wanna include his space stuff in their playing.
"Nah," she said, "It's just mad cuz it don't wanna get turned into bacon."

Virgie snorted. Dixie misunderstood and oinked back at her, but anyway it was funny.
"Who does that anyway? Around here?"

"Does what?"

"You know, makes 'em bacon. And ham and stuff. I know your daddy doesn't do it. He's too nice.
And our food always comes from the store, so I don't know where it really comes from, you know."

"You mean like from the butcher? it's the butcher who does that stuff — you don't
know the butcher? They come by your house and bring the meat food."

"Not ours."

"Oh. I never knew that. So you mean all your stuff comes from the store?"

"Yup."

"Ain't that expensive?"

"I don't know."

Dixie shrugged. "Guess y'all got money to waste. I always play this one like my
sister, Mary. She's always fetchin' the water an' always doin' the laundry, too..."




It might not come amiss if Dixie would sometimes play, in real life, at being like her sister.

But Mary was a long way (a decade or so, by my reckoning) from seriously thinking that herself.
She actually kind of liked doing the laundry. It wasn't just routine for her like the other chores, it was more like a ritual.




And the fresh lemony smell from that soap they got from Mrs. Joy...aahh...She loved breathing that in.





Daytona had opened the bottle when she laid out her manicure stuff, just to
make sure it hadn’t thickened, and that girl scented it out from across the room!

"That for me?"

"You still gonna do my pedi?"

"Yup."



The child might never admit it, but she sure did love playing beautician like her mom. And she was getting better
at it every time. Daytona wouldn’t trust her with her manicure, not yet, but the girl did a good job on the pedi.




Beulah was from the old old school. She didn't have no electric hot comb*.
She stuck her ol' Madame CJ Walker era straightening comb right on the fire. But not for too long!
Daytona would murder her if she burned her precious mane. (Or grazed an ear.)

Fortunately, Beulah knew what she was doing. And Day trusted her.

*And definitely nothing like a flat iron!

Dixie sprawled out by Daytona’s feet to do her pedicure.

She liked makin' people pretty.

"Whatcha doin' over there messin' with feet for?" Scot started teasing.

"Beeswax!" she shouted back, intent on evading a scolding by speaking in kid code.

Any time she get her hands on those paints, it was like...it was like a...a obsession.
"Dixie always playin' with peoples feet."

"C'mon, Dixie, I thought we were playing. We was all still playing! C'mon and leave my grandma's feet alone."

"Not even hands, like people see. Only ever the feet."

"Grandma's wearing sandals. Open-toed."

"Oh." But Scot shrugged. "Still funny-style if you ask me."

"Who asked you? Nobody, that's who. And," Dixie further defended herself,
"Miz Daytona keeps her feet real nice. She don’t even have no bunions like Mama."

“Hey now.”

“Well, she don’t. I wouldn't go nowhere near nobody's crusty toes. I only pedicure Miz Day. And I'd do Mama's, too," she offered up
a sop to her mother. "And Mary, too, if she wanted. Me, o’ course, an’ Virgie. And little Delta’s little toesies — that would be so cute.
Yours is the only feet that stinks in this family, Scotty. And you left your stinky feet socks over there by the couch. Right next to Vir-gin-i-a!"




"Hey. Why you say my name like that?"

"Ask Scotty."

He rolled his eyes and did the pollo loco sign that Virgie taught them.

And Scot kept teasing, but he thought he was only talking to Virgie when he said:
"Don't know about Dixie sometimes. She must got a ‘feet’ fetish or something."




“Excuse me. I don’t know where you heard that word, Scot Land, but you can go right on and forget it, you hear me?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

"Heh-heh."

"Dixie, hush."

Well, fine. But she didn't know what Scot was thinkin' no how, talkin' big in front o' Virgie, like he forgot about
the super mama hearing that don't ever miss... See! She can't even cuss inside o' her own head, just in case.
For a real cuss word like that it might be that her mama's super hearing could already pick up on it, just thinking!

"And before you think about mouthin' off again, tell me, who was it taught us nobody's too good to tend to the feet o' the weary?"

Daytona smirked at that description of herself, but her friend was teaching a life lesson here, so teach on, Sista, preach on.

"Jesus. it was Jesus,"³
Scot answered.

"Just so. Ain't nobody too good for humble service. Bein' of service is what's good. We wash
each other's feet," she said, "John 13:14," she added, determining to make him find that verse and
passage in the bible after company was gone and maybe lead the reading at service tomorrow.

"Yes'm."




"Hey there, Sleepyhead. You and your little brother — I mean, your littlest big
brother don't know how to get up in the mornings and stay up, do ya?"




Oh, Dixie.
"Hold on a minute, Delta."
That girl still never made her bed when she got up. Not even when she had company.




"Oh, she's up, huh. Hey, Delta."

"You not gon' say hi back to Scot?"

Nah. But she held out a little hand and waved. At Scot and at Virgie. Already a miniature Land-in-training.




"Hey, Mama..."

"Hey, Child."

"You're funny. Mama, I could paint Delta’s nails when I finish? She’ll be so cute with colourful little toesies.”

“That ain’t none o’ my nail polish, Dixie. You better ask — ”

“Miz Daytona, I could use your nail polish to paint me and Virgie and Delta’s toes?”

Daytona chuckled at the scope creep of her request when the child expected a yes.
“Sure, I don’t mind.”

Dixie diligently finished Daytona’s pedicure, her tongue sticking out at her mouth — she was concentrating.

But as soon as she was done she jumped up with her bounty in hand.

“Ah-ah, now, don’t make no mess.”

“Mama, please. Miz Daytona wouldn’t let me do her feet if I wasn’t good at it.”

Beulah shook her head again at "that chile of mine."




"Toesies...toesies...Painting Delta's baby toesies..."



"Good morning, Mr. Weiss, Woody. Excuse me," Mary said as she stepped around them.
As she left she raised her pitch more than her voice itself to say "Mama! Company!"




"All I got is the red. It's all your Grandma brung with her."

"It's okay. I like red, too, sometimes. And on my nails and stuff it don't clash with my hair."

"Oh. Is that why you got most o' everything blue?"

"No. I like blue. You like purple."

"That's true."




Skye and his boy were always welcome, of course, but Beulah sprang into action to protect her
friend's female modesty, so to speak — or maybe just feminine mystique — and deflect him at the door.




And, of course, his eyes as always zoomed straight in on Daytona.


“O’t..."




“O’t..."




"Any time is mostly always fine. It's just right now I'm in the middle of doin' hair and, well — "

"Don't worry 'bout me, Beulah, it's fine. It is quite all right. Skye and I are old friends by now.
I don't mind him seeing me in a state of undone. It's only my hair that ain't dressed yet."




“O’t—O’t—O’t!”
Scot chose to believe that his baby sister was saying his name and not just demanding 'Out'
from the nearest big-enough family member that she saw. But it didn’t really matter.




What baby wanted, baby got!




"Hey there, Mary. Right on time, like always."

"Hi, Elaine."




"Hi, Mrs. Joy," Mary said, knowing she wasn't no way loud enough to be heard all that way off when
she caught sight of Elaine's mama watching and waving at her, but she did wave back as well.




There goes Mary Land. Like clockwork.
Another clockwork maiden gal. Sun up, sun down.
Stuck in her mother's shadow...Living her mother's life...

But she was still so young, her time would surely come.
It was El's time now. Now. But...how?




"These will hold in place okay in this spot here, I think. Unless you want me to put 'em somewheres else."

"Oh, no, no, that's just fine. And, and I can do it. You didn't have to—I can do it," Mary said.




We can do it!

♫We can do it, we can do it
We can help our Cinderelly
We can make her dress so pretty
There's nothing to it, really!♫


Jenny was no queen herself—she was just Jenny, always. Probably 'Old Jenny Joy' now, but never ever the dignity
of bein' actually called Jennifer. So, naw, her own Elaine couldn't no way be no fairytale princess trapped in a tower,
waitin' on a rescue prince. But she could durn sure still be her own protagonist! In her own story! Might even hafta
go out an' rescue him. Or rustle one up an' wrangle 'im. When she was young Mary's age, she still had her spark all shiny,
and she was still too young to let it dim. And for a start it couldn't help but help her to go back to lookin' like herself again,
and not like her, Old Jenny. She was Elaine. Bright young woman, sick o' spinnin', ready to stand on 'er own two good legs.




♫Hurry, hurry, hurry, hurry
Gonna help our Cinderelly
Got no time to dilly-dally
We gotta get a-goin'
I'll cut it with these scissors!
And I can do the sewing!♫

"Leave the sewing to the women."

♫You go get some trimmin'
And we'll make a lovely dress for Cinderelly!♫

And some slacks.
She'll like that.

*



And, completely forgot but the footnotes aren't working right anyway so I'm not going to bother fitting another in the main text: The Joys—Jenny, Norman and Elaine—are 3t2 recreations. the Lands were the first of our familiar Widespot families to settle here, but it wasn't barren land when they got here or they never would've stayed and started a family out in the middle of nowhere. I suspect Mary was already in tow or at least well on her way to being born. The Joys gave them hope and a model for eking out a subsistence.

HAPPY SIMMING and HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!


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