THE PARTY DRESS BY LYNDA KAY SWENSON No noise. The close room permitted only the scuff of slow, shuffling feet on worn, faded carpet. The pungent flowers that blanketed the foot of the coffin and camouflaged the dull flowered- paper walls engendered an occasional sneeze, but that was the only other sound. No tears, no sobbing. Silent sorrow and pity embraced the cold, curious faces, and their shallow eyes met those of the woman as they filed past. The woman's face was gray and drawn. Her half-closed eyes stared blankly downward, saw nothing. She had come to the town with her husband as a young woman. Her childhood had been a happy one. She was the fifth of twelve children, and had known only the rich companionship of people who loved her. Her father was a successful farmer from England, full of energy and good-natured mischief; her mother was Norwegian by birth. Her parents did everything together. When a fence needed mending or a new calf was born, the wiry farmer would take his wife with him to help. At night they would walk out along the edge of the field just to be by themselves, together; then when the older children had cleared away the dinner they would return to the huge farm house. There the father would gather as many little ones on his knees as he could hold, sing to them and play-with them, with everyone eating popcorn and molasses candy. They were proud of each other. They had the finest "store-bought" clothes and went to church every Sunday. As a young lady the woman had many friends and beaus. Her life was filled with gala parties, fun, happiness, romance. In her frilly party dresses she flirted and danced at the weekly Saturday-night dances. She was beautiful and charming and alive with a vivaciousness that was some- how delicate and fragile and helpless. All the young men wanted her. She was fun and clever and exciting. They offered candy, flowers, and shallow promises; she sent them away with a curt slap on their all-to-eager lips but they still went on hopelessly loving her. She was perhaps most stunning in the emerald green satin. Whenever she wore it all the young men flocked to greet her as she entered the dance hall. In that gown she dazzled like a crown jewel; the other girls seemed like mere shadows in her presence and were forgotten until she had promised at least one dance to each of the fellows. It was in this gown, on such a happy night, that she met the young man from Peaceful Grove. Theirs was a strange courtship-strange and ecstatically wonderful, full of a frenzied, blissful, sure love. When she married him, she married in faith and in love. The wedding was held in the local church, and the vows were spoken with the sanction of all the townspeople and the beaming approval of the woman's family. The groom was likeable enough, friendly, well-mannered, bashful, and pleasant. His shoulders were powerful, despite their youthful scrawniness, and he walked slightly pigeon-toed. He was an only child, accustomed to love and sacrificial attention. He was raised on a farm in neighboring Peaceful Grove and received a piece of his father's land as a wedding present. He and the woman built a small frame house and moved there. They whitewashed it and painted the shutters red, and planted hollyhocks and sweet peas along a white fence in front. They planned and budgeted, planted and harvested. They worked the land together and were happy. She took him to 17