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We Must Always Look Our Best

Kathryn Stewart

Claudine’s mother tightened the ribbon beneath her daughter’s chin, swinging the ruby-colored fabric one last time around one slim finger and yanking it into place. The young girl winced and gulped, wriggling beneath her secured bonnet.

“We must always look our best no matter where we are, Claudine,” the mother said as she regained her posture. Claudine’s eyes shifted to the poppy bloom next to her, following the thin stem down to the ground, and traced back up the black shoe strings of her poorly laced boots. They were ever so restricting, just like her hat.

“Yes, Mother.” This was her quiet answer to the unexplainable rule her elders always seemed to have.

A small blue parasol swung back over the woman’s shoulder, and her impatient stride quickened. At first sign of invisibility, Claudine’s fingers squeezed between the tightly secured bow and her throat to ease the tension of the knot. A small strand of her auburn hair tangled between her fingernail as she pulled her hand back out. She paused, trailing slightly behind her mother for the third time, and smeared her face with her hands to rid it of all the loose, frustrating fly-away curls.

Then a small shriek escaped Claudine and her eyes widened as she checked for her friend behind her.

“Janette! Janette! Do you see it? I think I…” Her voice trailed off as she squinted toward the new neighbor’s house.

Janette stumbled awkwardly alongside her mother a short distance away. Her pale complexion appeared above the vibrant flowers that had lingered around her ears.

“Yes! Oh, oh, Ms. Genieser! We are close!” Claudine looked to her mother to see if she’d heard young Janette’s discovery. Ms. Genieser nodded her head to the girls and Ms. Franc, then pivoted back around in the grass.

The two mother-daughter couples were on their way to introduce themselves to the new neighbor across the meadow. Town gossip had resonated over who was moving into the beautifully restored house on the eastern hills. Ms. Genieser made it her duty to be the first face the new inhabitants were to see. Her networking skills were impeccable, and she knew this wealthy addition to her circle of friends would be most beneficial to her and her daughter.

Claudine’s boots trudged through an interweave of ground brush and overgrown wildflowers. Stems were kinked and bending over from heavy buds and red blooms. They easily swayed from Claudine’s voluminous white dress as she made her way through the grassy wake of her mother.

It was spring and the woman still strategically placed her best black sweater atop her shoulders, mismatched from her finest blue dress. Her body and skin were slouching more with age, and she attempted to cover every part that she could while the weather was still crisp.

Claudine had no intentions of chatting with the old people; they seemed to only care about tea and small talk. She and Janette were only excited because they finally had the chance to explore the once-forbidden grounds.

“This is going to be the best day ever,” Janette shouted as she ran to catch up with Claudine.

“I think so, but Mother has no idea about all the things I’ve heard about that place.” She grinned, and then Claudine looked toward the old gates and crumbling walls that held in the fantastic estate.

Based on Claude Monet's Poppies (Coquelicots), 1873
Musée d'Orsay

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