February 1978 in the Bible Belt

"I called Reverend Price to see what we ought to do about the blizzard victims," Sandy Barton told her best friend as she pulled the two chickens out of the oven to baste. "They're saying it killed about a hundred people up north!"

"A hundred fewer heathens, huh?" Margie Hansen replied.

"Margie, that's a terrible thing to say!" Sandy forced a smile, but she couldn't help but raise her voice a bit. "They may be heathens, but they were our brothers and sisters."

"I don't like the direction they're taking us in one bit," Margie replied, not looking up from the potatoes she was peeling over the sink. "We voted for President Carter thinking finally we had one of our own in charge, and what's he done for our values?"

"It's still a shame about those people," Sandy said. "They're already calling it 'The great blizzard of '78'."

"Mmm," Margie grumbled. "So what did Reverend Price say?"

"Just that we should pray for them."

"I already do, every night, that they'll see the error of their evil ways up there." She turned to see Sandy putting the tray with the two chickens back in the oven to finish cooking. "Say, Sandy, has someone bought the old Anderson place?"

"Not that I know of," Sandy said, shutting the oven door and setting the potholders down. "Who'd buy a house in the middle of winter, especially that dump?" Essie Anderson's humble ranch house behind the Hansens' and Bartons' majestic homes had been a neighborhood eyesore for as long as either woman could remember, and it had only grown worse since Essie had passed last summer. "Why?"

"There's a car parked in front of it that I don't recognize. Been there all day. See?" Margie pointed out the window over the kitchen sink, and Sandy peered out with her at the snowy landscape; the catastrophic blizzard up in New York had only just brushed them, but it had left its mark. There, parked on the side of neatly plowed Reeder Street, was a green Buick Apollo.

"I've never seen it before," Sandy said. "You sure it's been here all day?" She and Margie had been cooking up a storm for their families' Valentine's Day dinner all afternoon.

"I noticed it when I was washing the breakfast dishes," Margie confirmed. "I'm used to not seeing anything there since they towed away Essie's old car."

"Oh, heavens, don't remind me!" Sandy said, turning her attention back to the bread dough she'd been working on. "Joshua is still upset that she didn't leave it to him."

Margie laughed at the thought of the youngest member of either of their broods driving a car. "Joshua, age five, wants a car already? Typical male."

"Not just a car, an antique car. Just what year was Essie's car, anyway? A '52?"

"Pauline said it was a '53," Margie said. "Something about the taillights being shaped a little different."

"Pauline and her cars," Sandy sighed. "Margie, are you...worried about her?"

"I was hoping she might attract a nice young man, the way she knows so much about cars." Margie stopped peeling the potatoes and rested her hands on the edge of the sink. "But...yes, Sandy, I am worried. Four years of college, that lovely red hair, I thought for sure she'd be married by now. Certainly I never imagined Pete would settle down before she did." Peter Hansen Jr., at 22, was a year younger than his sister and just out of college, and married for just about six months.

"Well, of course Peter was always going to be harder on the girls," Sandy said. "Haven't we always said we want them to find a man whose heart is in living the gospel and honoring what makes women great and --"

"Of course, of course," Margie allowed. "But that's not the problem. The problem is, Pauline hasn't brought anyone home yet!"

"Neither has Florence," Sandy admitted. "I was hoping, as long as we're having this Valentine's Day dinner, one or the other of them might bring a date.

"Isn't that the whole point?" Margie said. "Peter never quite said so, but..."

"Margie, I think we both ought to have a woman-to-woman talk with them," Sandy said. "They don't want to wait until the bloom is off the rose."

"Tomorrow," Margie agreed. "Peter wants this to be a joyous occasion for the little kids."

"I think Florence wants to spend the night over here anyway," Sandy said. "She's been so busy with subbing, and Pauline with her studying --"

"Oh, don't remind me!" Margie whined. "To think I raised my daughter to be a spinster and an accountant?!"

"That's why we've got to have this chat with them, Margie."

"I agree. Tomorrow after breakfast, come over around nine?"

Sandy nodded her agreement, and turned her full attention back to making the bread.

In over a decade as neighbors and best friends, Sandy and Margie had honed their cooking skills down to the minute everything would be ready. So Margie knew just when to call upstairs for Pauline. "Time to set the table, dear!"

Pauline appeared on the stairwell, but as usual she wasn't looking happy about it. "Isn't Jonathan old enough to take over the dishes?" she grumbled. A rhetorical question -- her younger brother was almost nineteen, and Pauline had been tasked with the dishes since she was about twelve.

But Pauline knew the answer, and sure enough, Margie delivered it. "Your brother is in your father's study, praying with him and Mr. Barton, and they are not to be disturbed until dinner is served."

"I don't know why I asked." But Pauline did dutifully open the china hutch and get out a stack of plates. "Is Jill sitting at the adults table this time?"

"She is if she changed out of that hideous short skirt," Margie said. Jill was thirteen and the most rebellious of the kids since Pauline herself had been. Margie was relieved to find Pauline in a long dress, though as usual she didn't look happy about it. "But I'll warn you now, Pauline, if your attitude doesn't improve, you can take her place at the children's table."

"Yes, Mother."

"That's more like it." Margie chose to ignore the sarcasm she was nearly sure she'd detected.

Pauline set the giant dining room table with thirteen place settings, for both sets of parents, Pete and Amanda, herself and Florence, Jonathan, Katherine, Jill, and Florence's sisters Abby and Julia. Poor Patricia, Florence's next sister, was grounded for going to a movie with some friends from school and would be stuck at the children's table, even though she was a year older than Jill. Rounding out the children's table were Florence's two youngest siblings, Rachel and Joshua, and her own youngest sister Jennifer. Pauline could remember when the adults had to use the smaller table, and she also remembered herself and Florence begging and pleading to be admitted to that table for what seemed like years before they were.

Pauline forced herself to stop thinking about that. It made her feel wistful and even misty-eyed, and the last thing she and Florence needed was to arouse any suspicions.

The younger kids of both families had drawn big Valentine's Day cards, drenched in glitter and pink and red construction paper, and Mother had agreed to pin them up around the room. They did lend a nice festive touch, but again they reminded Pauline of her own childhood and the unwelcome thoughts Valentine's Day had brought on even then. Was that how she and Florence first realized what they had in common? It made sense that they'd have noticed each other not enjoying the holiday at all, but Pauline couldn't remember.

More than likely she'd done her best not to remember. But she wasn't even sure of that anymore. She had done her best to block out nearly everything about her childhood, except for Florence.

Just as Pauline was putting the last of the silverware in order on the children's table, the door to Father's study opened. Though she had long since accepted that -- like all the women in the family -- she would never be allowed inside, instinctively she tried for a look in the forbidden room as her father and brother emerged, each of them dressed in a red three-piece suit and accompanied by Mr. Barton in his usual loud sport-coat. Once again she caught only a glimpse at what looked like a bookcase, and once again she hated herself for being so jealous of something so mundane.

But it was the principle of the thing, she'd always known that.

"Hi, Pauline," said Mr. Barton. "Happy Valentine's Day!"

"To you as well, Mr. Barton," she said. Father and Jonathan were deep in conversation by the stereo in the living room; Pauline was only too happy to ignore them.

"Having anyone special over?" Mr. Barton asked.

"I'm afraid not," Pauline said. Though she knew the answer, she couldn't resist asking, "How about Florence?"

"No, it looks like you two ladies will only have each other for company," he said. "I'm sorry neither of you could find a man, but I'll tell you what, I'm sure glad you've got each other."

It was all Pauline could do not to burst out laughing. Then her father turned up the volume of his favorite Anita Bryant 8-track and once again Pauline had no trouble remaining somber.

"Pauline," Father said, approaching her with Jonathan a respectful two steps behind as usual. "Have Pete and Amanda arrived yet?"

"I don't think so," Amanda said. "I just came downstairs and I haven't seen them."

"Nuts," Father said. "I was hoping I might have a word with Pete first about teaching Amanda how to say grace the right way."

"Catholics say grace too, Peter," Mr. Barton said. "We talked about that before."

"Not the point, Robert, and you know it," Father said. "I've made my peace with Pete marrying one of those people, but there are some rules we just can't bend."

Some?! Pauline thought. But she said nothing, as Mother had taught her to from the very beginning when it came to Father's rules.

The doorbell rang, and Pauline didn't need Father or Jonathan to tell her who was going to answer it. She was grateful to get out of the dining room without another word from Father anyway. She was even more grateful when she saw Florence through the window, with her brother and four sisters in tow, and she threw the door open wide despite the bitter chill. "Hi!" she said. "Happy Valentine's Day!"

"I hope it really is for you two ladies," said Mrs. Barton, who had emerged from the kitchen with the bread and salad. "Florence, are you planning on spending the night over here?"

"Yes, Mom," she said, hooking an arm affectionately through Pauline's for a moment before taking her coat off. Abby, the next-to-oldest, helped little Joshua off with his while the other girls took theirs off. Abby ended up with all six coats, and carried them dutifully off to the sewing room.

Sandy Barton watched as they did. "Julia," she said sternly to the middle daughter. "Skirt check."

"Mother!" But Julia dutifully got down on her knees, and her skirt reached the floor, albeit barely.

"I'm lengthening that hem before you wear it again," Sandy declared. "But that'll do for now. Get up."

None of her sisters laughed. Neither did Pauline's sisters, Katherine, Jill and Jennifer, who were just then coming down the stairs. They had all been in Julia's shoes -- Jill that very morning. Pauline wanted badly to cast Florence a knowing look, but they had talked about this already -- there was no room for making anyone suspicious.

They had just gotten the little kids settled around the children's table, where Sandy was serving peanut butter crackers as an appetizer, when the door opened and Pete and Amanda stepped in. "Hi, sorry we're late," Pete said.

"Not at all, son, you're just in time," Father said. "A word in the study, son?"

"Amanda, let me help you with your coat," Pauline said. She couldn't resist a wink at Florence on the way by.

"I'm surprised there's room in the closet!" said Amanda, who was still as amazed at the two big families as she'd been the first time Pete Jr. had brought her home.

"There isn't," Pauline said. "But when the Bartons are over, Mother lets us put some of the coats in the sewing room." She guided her sister-in-law through the living room to the tiny room under the stairs.

"Please at least tell me the men aren't allowed in here," said Amanda, who shared Pauline's opinion of her father's rules about his study.

"We didn't have to ban them," Pauline joked. "You couldn't get any of them near a sewing machine anyway!"

Amanda laughed, and pointed discreetly at the right pocket of her coat as Pauline draped it over Mother's chair. Pauline reached into the pocket and drew out a set of car keys, and looked at them in the dim light. "GM," Pauline whispered. "The Buick out back?"

"Pete warned me, you didn't like Fords," Amanda said.

"You told Pete?" Pauline clutched the keys in a fist of panic.

"No!" Amanda said. "He guessed. He...already knew about you. I don't know how. And he gets it, Pauline. Right now your father's probably giving him another lecture for marrying a Catholic. Really, he's jealous of you. But happy for you."

"You're sure?" Pauline had never seen eye to eye with any of her brothers on much of anything.

"Positive. He told me, no Fords and make sure it's something with a good repair record. It's a '74 with only one owner, and we took it for a tune up."

"Amanda...thank you." Pauline couldn't resist asking. "Do you know if it's got a 350?"

"A what?"

"A 350 cubic inch engine, a V8."

"Sorry, I don't know what that means and I doubt Pete does either."

Pauline laughed and hugged Amanda. "You're right, he doesn't. Never mind. Thank you, Amanda." She stooped down and found Florence's coat in the jumble of coats on the old armchair next to the sewing machine, and slipped the keys into the pocket. Looking up to see Amanda looking misty-eyed, she said, "Hey, none of that! How will we explain it away?"

"I can think of a way or two," Amanda said, wiping her eyes. "But you're right. Chin up. Let's get out there."

Pauline didn't fancy having to keep things under wraps with Pete at dinner. But she was relieved to see Father had steered him to his immediate left at the far end of the table. Florence, meanwhile, had staked out a spot across from Pauline's usual one near Mother's end. So once they'd sat down and the prayer was out of the way (Pauline actually participated for once, for old times' sake), she was free to admire her oldest and best friend in a two-tone red peasant dress that she didn't recall ever seeing before.

Neither had Mother. "I like your dress, Florence. Is that new?"

"Thank you, Mrs. Hansen, and yes," Florence said. "Mother got it for me at Ivey's last week." She dropped her voice so that her parents would hear. "We really had a bit of a shopping spree there! I kept telling her I don't need a new dress."

"I'm sure you didn't, but good for you for wearing something pretty for the occasion," Mother said. "That goes for both of you girls," she added, turning to Pauline. "I only wish you both had someone to dress up for!"

"Hear hear," said Father from the other end of the table; Pauline could only guess how much he'd heard. "Amanda, we're glad our son found love with you, but if you had told me I'd be welcoming a daughter in law to the family before a son in law..."

"Could be worse, Father," said Jonathan. "What if Pauline had brought home a girl?"

"Jonathan!" thundered Father, and both tables were utterly silent. "You think such an abomination is funny, do you, son?" Turning to Mother, he said, "Margie, I trust you've got some new soaps in the kitchen?"

Mother stood up, looking just as stern as Father. "Of course I have. Jonathan?"

"It was only a joke," Jonathan whined, but he did stand up and follow Mother into the kitchen. Once again none of the children said a word, lest they also find themselves sucking on a bar of soap for ten minutes or more.

"As I was saying," Father said, once Mother had returned alone from the kitchen. "Pauline, Florence, may this year find love for you both.

"Remember, both of you," added Robert Barton, "Saint Valentine was martyred for performing Christian marriages when it was illegal. Don't take his sacrifice for granted now that we live in a country where our faith is welcome."

"For now," said Margie. "I was just telling Sandy in the kitchen, I don't like the way the wind is blowing at all."

"Well, it certainly blew hard enough up north last week," said Robert with a wry grin.

"Oh, Robert, don't tell me you're happy about the death and destruction up there too!" said Sandy.

"Of course not," said Robert. "But I hope the liberal heathens up there -- the feminists and abortionists and worse -- I hope they take it for the sign it so clearly was!"

"Amen," said both of Pauline's parents, to her disgust but not at all to her surprise. She gave Florence a sad look, but was pleased to see her looking defiant and proud.

There was plenty more proselytizing before dessert, which was Mrs. Barton's butter pecan layer cake. Pauline savored every bite of that, and couldn't help but give Jonathan -- who'd been allowed back to the table but got no dessert -- a superior look or two as she ate. Then the men were off to the living room to relax and the children escaped upstairs to play, while the women set about clearing the table and washing up. For once, Florence and Pauline were happy to help out.

As soon as Pauline could get a quiet word with Amanda in the kitchen, she said, "Please tell me Pete doesn't make you do all the cleaning up like this at home!"

"He doesn't," Amanda said. "From the day we moved in, he said, 'I'm not my father and I know this is the 1970s, not the 1870s."

"I'm surprised, but that's great," Pauline said.

"He's on your side, I told you!" Amanda whispered, as they both heard the kitchen door opening and Margie came in with a stack of dirty plates.

"Amanda, I hope you're giving her some hints on how to trap someone special!" Margie said.

"Oh, I don't think she needs my help with that, Mother Hansen," Amanda said. "After all, it was Pete who swept me off my feet!"

Pauline was left to wonder just how that had happened, for she didn't get Amanda alone again. This was just as well, for her heart was pounding harder by the minute and it would have been hard to have a calm conversation with anyone right then, even Florence (who was also looking rather wound up).

It took the better part of an hour for the women to have the kitchen and dining room fully tidied up. When Margie finally turned out the kitchen light, she said, "Pauline, Florence, are you going to join us in the living room or do you just have to dive straight into your girl talk upstairs?"

"Oh, so what if they do have to, Margie?" asked Sandy, as the other girls scampered off to join the men and older boys in the living room. "Go ahead, girls, if you want. I know you haven't had much time together lately."

"Thank you," Florence and Pauline said in unison, and without another word they both headed for the stairs without even a look into the living room.

Pauline was silent until she and Florence were shut safely in her room, and she stuffed a towel under the door in case any of the younger kids down the hall listened in. While Florence drew the curtains and sat cross-legged on Pauline's bed, Pauline put a Joni Mitchell record album on her stereo and turned the volume up a bit louder than usual.

Then she helped herself to a seat next to Florence, and they shared a long-awaited kiss. "Oh, I was dying for this all day!" she whispered as Florence embraced her and they fell back on the bed, enjoying the forbidden passion they had both tried so hard to deny for so very long. As Florence's breasts rubbed up against her own, once again Pauline wondered how she ever could have believed she could learn to resist such a thing by praying more.

For that matter, just how much more could she have prayed, anyway?