"Eva is late, isn't she?" Serena sang as she peeked through the curtain's gap, brown eyes narrowing at the horizon where the sun was beginning to sink.
"She has always been a slow one. But with enough shawls to sell, she should come home with money," Mrs. Crestmont replied without glancing up, folding her newspaper with a sigh and laying it on the table.
"But I'm hungry." Serena puffed her cheeks, curls bouncing about her flushed face. She looked almost cherubic, and as always, Mrs. Crestmont's sternness softened at once. Serena was her jewel, her flawless child.
Her mother's tone gentled. "Evangeline knows the curfew. She knows better than to make us wait."
"Of course, Eve wouldn't let me starve," Serena declared, hopping with excitement. As if on cue, the gate rattled and hurried footsteps crossed the walk.
