Unformatted text preview: red hair to the left and the right. "It was worse than the death of Ophelia." "Probably not," Ancient Evelyn had said. For Deirdre had lost her mind years before, and if this California doctor. Rowan Mayfair, had had any gumption at all, she would have come home long before now, demanding answers of those who drugged and hurt her mother. No good could come of that California girl. Ancient Evelyn knew, and that was why they'd never brought her up to Amelia Street, and Ancient Evelyn had therefore seen her only once, at the woman's wedding, when she wasn't a woman at all, but a sacrificial creature for the family, decked out in white with the emerald burning on her neck. She'd gone to that wedding not because Rowan Mayfair, the desig- nee of the legacy, was marrying a young man named Michael Curry in St. Mary's church, but because Mona would be the flower girl, and it had made Mona happy for Ancient Evelyn to come, to sit in the pew and see, and nod as Mona passed. So hard it had been to enter the house after all those years, and see it beautiful on...
View Full Document
This note was uploaded on 02/20/2010 for the course WRITING 220.200 taught by Professor Julie during the Spring '10 term at Johns Hopkins.
- Spring '10