As calm as both the day and her long hair, Mother waited for Daughter, who had grown cranky on their walk home from church. Mother, offering a drink from a sippy cup, towered over Daughter like a Roman goddess, with bronze shoulders beneath the thin-straps of a long, indigo dress. Daughter began to stomp around in her white, puffy summer dress, becoming nearly as unmanageable as her own head of curls.
As Mother verged on displeasure, a voice from up the grassy embankment said, “Rhubarb with sugar, anyone?”
“Who’s that lady, mommy?”
“Let’s go see,” Mother answered, with a smile and a hand.