“What is it, Jena?” Paula had noticed me staring at her. The heat from the stove had flushed her cheeks pink. Her dark eyes were fixed on me with an assessing look. Tonight she was wearing dove-gray, with her spectacles on a chain around her neck, and her brown curls disciplined into a neat plait.
“You look pretty tonight,” I said. “So do you, Stela.” Stela, our baby, was rosy-cheeked and small, like a little bird, maybe 7
a robin. Her hair, the same ebony as Tati’s, was wispy and soft, and tonight it was tied back with rose-pink ribbons to match the gown Tati had made for her. She was standing by the oak chest, jiggling up and down in excitement.
“What about your hair, Jena?” asked Tati, doing up my last hook. “It’s all over the place.”
“Never mind,” I told her, knowing nobody would be looking at me while she was anywhere near. My elder sister’s gown was a simple one of violet-blue that matched her eyes. Her hair rippled down her back like black silk. Tati didn’t need jewelry or ribbons or any sort of finery. She was as lovely as a perfect wildflower. It always seemed to me a generous fairy must have presided over her christening, for Tati was blessed with the kind of beauty that draws folk’s eyes and opens their minds to dreams.
I didn’t make a big effort with my appearance. When people commented on our family of sisters, Tati was always the beautiful one. If they noticed me at all, they called me sensible or practical. I had bushy hair, brown like Paula’s, which refused to do what I wanted it to, and eyes of a color somewhere between mud and leaf. My figure was a lot more straight-up-and-down than Iulia’s, even though I was two years her elder. The one special thing about my green gown was the pocket I had sewn into it for Gogu, since he needed a safe retreat if he got tired or upset. Tonight the only ornament I carried was the frog himself, sitting on my shoulder. You look lovely, Jena. Like a forest pool on a summer’s day.