Spring 1823 – Flattery is Portable Currency

“Now I know you’re telling tales,” Wilma said. “I wasn’t beautiful before and I ain’t that now.” 

“Your beauty is that of hard fought wisdom and bone deep fierceness,” I ventured.

Wilma brayed, a sound that was probably laughter but sounded like grinding stone. She winked at Father. “You’re teaching her well,” she said.