“Is that you, Hope?” Her mother walked in from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. “Everything okay, darling? You mad at the door?”

“Sorry, Mama,” Hope replied, setting her books down on a table near the stairs so she’d be sure to take them up later and crossing to kiss her mother’s cheek. “I’m just a little out of sorts.”

Cordia opened her arms and pulled her daughter in close, smoothing down her dark, curly hair as she did so. “You wanna talk about it?” she asked as Hope took a step back.

Looking into hazel eyes the same color as her own, Hope replied, “Jimmy Brooks gave me a ride home from school.”

Her mother’s eyebrows lifted. “Oh? That was nice of him.”

Hope let out a sigh and walked into the kitchen where her sister sat working on her sewing in the corner, keeping her mother company while she started dinner. Faith was two years younger than Hope and had graduated high school in the spring. She was an impeccable seamstress and could sew anything. She looked up from the tiny stitches she was laying on a gown and smiled, but once she saw Hope’s expression, her mood dampened. “You don’t look like you had a good day at all, sister.”

“Thank you for noticing.” Hope set her lunch pail down on the counter, not wanting to think about refilling it just now. Maybe there’d be leftovers she could take with her the next day. From the smell of it, her mother was making something with roast in it, maybe a stew.

“I am confused,” Cordia admitted, opening the lid to the pot on the fire and giving it a good stir. “You said Jimmy gave you a ride home, but I don’t quite understand why you are upset about this. He’s a friend of the family. We see them every Sunday at church. His mama has been my best friend since I was in pigtails.”

“Your curly hair could never be tamed by pigtails,” Faith commented as she picked back up on her sewing.

“True.” Cordia giggled. “At any rate, I suppose I don’t see why you’re upset, Hope.”

Pulling out a chair at the table near Faith, Hope sat down, and once her mother had finished tending the fire, she joined her daughters. In a quiet voice, Hope began to explain. “Jimmy asked if he could call on me.” Her mother’s mouth made an O shape, but she didn’t speak. “I wasn’t sure what to say, so I told him he’d need to speak to Daddy.”

Faith laughed, and Hope turned her head sharply in her sister’s direction. “I don’t know what’s so funny. Maybe if you hadn’t been in love with Frankie Tyler since you were five years old, you’d understand why this is problematic.”

“I’m sorry.” Faith tried to rein in her merriment. “I truly wasn’t laughing at you. I was only thinking of Daddy asking Jimmy a hundred and one questions about why he’s good enough to date his daughter, that’s all.”

Cordia even chuckled at the idea, and it brought a smile to Hope’s face. “Well, maybe that’s why I suggested it.”

“Hope, honey, I understand you wanting to spare Jimmy’s feelings. He’s a nice young man. But if you’re not interested in courting him, all you have to do is say so. You don’t owe him any explanation other than that.”

Hope’s eyebrows arched as she considered her mother’s response. “But, Mama, isn’t that rude?” she finally asked.

Folding her hands in front of her on the table, Cordia shook her head. “I’m sure that response won’t be what he wants to hear, Hope, but as long as you are polite, that’s all that matters. All you need to say the next time he asks is, ‘No, thank you,’ or if you’d like, ‘I value your friendship, but I do not have any romantic inclinations toward you.’ That should be sufficient.”

Hope nodded, but the thought of actually saying that to someone made her stomach churn. It felt like she should at least give Jimmy the chance to prove himself to her, though she was almost certain she wouldn’t ever want to be anything more than friends with the young man, and that only because their families were so close. It would make for an awkward Sunday get together if she told Jimmy she didn’t want to court him, but then, it would whether she gave him a chance or not. And the longer she let things go on and get misconstrued, perhaps the more difficult it would be.

“Did any boy you didn’t like ever ask you to court him, Mama?” Faith asked, laying her project aside for a moment.

Their mother’s eyes went a little wide, and she cleared her throat. “I guess you could say that,” she replied. “A couple of times. You must be hungry, honey. Let me get you a snack. Dinner won’t be ready for another couple of hours, just in time for your daddy to get home from the bank.”

Hope and Faith exchanged glances, realizing their mother was keeping something from them. Cordia went to the ice box and pulled out the milk, pouring a glass before putting the bottle back in, and then opened up the old cookie jar and pulled out a couple of oatmeal raisin cookies, sliding them on a plate and bringing them back to the table.

“Thank you,” Hope said, smelling the goodness of her grandmother’s recipe. She felt like a little girl again. “Mama, do you not want to talk about your suitors? Because, if you do want to talk about them, I’m sure Faith and I would like to hear.”

“We would,” Faith agreed. “And I would also like milk and cookies.” She batted her long eyelashes at her mother, who chuckled at her youngest’s antics as she got up to make a second trip to the ice box.

She set Faith’s plate and glass in front of her, taking the gown her daughter had been working on and moving it away so that it wouldn’t get dirty, just as she might’ve taken a doll away if Faith were still a small child.