Word Count: 54,041
Summary of Events:
Parker accompanied Linwood and his family to Frank to spend Easter with the Price family; when he went to greet Della he inadvertently saw the skirts of her wedding dress, but they didn't look like anything to him. Rowynna ate lunch with everyone, but became deeply troubled, fearing that if Della wasn't being allowed to have choices in her wedding she might not even be allowed to choose her own husband. After lunch Parker sat with Della and was confronted by Della's mother about inadvertently seeing the dress; when he likened what he saw to bedsheets she became even more upset . . .
Excerpt of the Day:
Mrs. Price turned her gaze to Della. “What have you done?”
“It was the skirt Mother,” Della replied. “He saw me sewing the skirt, with all that material it would bear a strong resemblance to bedsheets.”
“But why is it being likened to bedsheets?” Mrs. Price demanded.
“Because bedsheets are often white,” Parker replied. “And they are large.”
“I should’ve known,” Mrs. Price hissed.
“Should’ve know what?” Parker demanded.
“You are the sort who would,” Mrs. Price said.
Anger inflamed Parker, who realised what she was getting at. “How dare you.”
“It is the truth, isn’t it boy?” Mrs. Price asked, seeming snide.
“Mother, that’s abhorrent!” Della exclaimed obviously also having realised what her mother was insinuating.
“And to think you would be complicit,” Mrs. Price snapped. “After the rigorous education you’ve been given. Out of all my children you were the last one I suspected.”
Parker saw tears in Della’s eyes.
“What kind of mother are you?” he demanded.
Mrs. Price looked at Parker with consternation.
“Your daughter is as pure as you ever thought her, but you would rather believe the worst of her,” Parker spat. “That is two daughters this day you have rendered to tears, and for what reason? Why do you engage in this cruelty toward people that you are supposed to love and care for?”
“I did not upset Rowynna,” Mrs. Price snapped. “I don’t know what came over her.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if you were the reason for it,” Parker said.
“And just why?” Mrs. Price demanded.
“Rowynna and Della are as close as if they were born on the same day,” Parker replied. “It surely cannot be a light burden on Rowynna’s heart that you are forcing her sister into some grandiose circus of societal preening and absolute nonsense that is in the guise of a wedding. If it were a wedding it would be for the bride, what she wants, what she desires, what pleases her, with her as the centrepiece of it all. But it is a circus and you are the ringmaster, front, centre, and pulling all the strings to make a grand performance that lines your pockets with the currency of praise, laud, honour, and prestige that means more to you than the happiness of your own flesh and blood.”
“You impertinent boy!” Mrs. Price cried. “If it had been up to me you wouldn’t have been given permission to marry my daughter.”
“Yes,” Felicia snapped. “How dare you slander my mother as a narcissist.”
“That is exactly what she is, she is more concerned with herself, her precious social standing in a little, isolated mining town than the happiness of her children,” Parker replied.
“A standard has been set and that standard must be upheld,” Mrs. Price snapped. “Of course it would be some wild, uncivilised Scotsman who would destroy it.”
“I wasn’t even born in Scotland!” Parker cried.
“But you’ve got the blood of those people in you,” Mrs. Price snapped.
“We Scots are not heathens,” Parker spat.
“You might as well be,” Mrs. Price retorted.
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