"Yes, Dan, I'm okay." "Goodby, Shauna." He turned away and squared the glistening, bronze shoulders. His strides were long and light across the sand, his hair white as the moon. Shauna called to him once more. He stopped and turned. "Good luck!" She lifted her hand, and he waved back, stretching his hand high. Shauna climbed silently for a long time with only the sound of her breathing. At last, numb and exhausted, she reached the little bend at the top of the road. It was only a few yards now to the side door. Shauna wanted Bryce. She wanted to open the door and have him be there. It wouldn't matter that she was all wet and bedraggled. He'd put his arms around her, and everything would be all right. She stumbled weakly to the door and opened it, her heart and head pounding. Her bare feet stepped onto the warm tile floor. Only the bedroom light still glared. Shauna walked numbly into the bedroom and stood squinting and blinking at the smooth, yellow bedspread. She wanted to cry and break the loud, empty silence. At length she took a collapsing step and sank down onto the bed. Bryce must have gone looking for her, but where could he go other than the beach? Oh, why wasn't he just there! Shauna raised her head and looked into the dressing table mirror. She certainly didn't look like the saucy, irresistible creature she had been at the start of her little plan. The thick, curved hair now clung to her head and shoulders in long, wet strings. Her face was salt-washed and dry, and her eyes squinted with redness. The pink, smooth lips were trembling and very white. A wrinkled robe circled her shoulders. As she sat there, looking in the mirror, a clear consciousness seemed to hit her suddenly as if she'd been dreaming.She pulled the robe close around her and stood up. Then she went to the window, flung the curtains open, and stared out at the driveway. It was empty! Bryce hadn't even come home yet! Shauna threw the beach robe onto the bed. Exhaustion disappeared. She marched across the room, flipping the wet hair behind her shoulders, and headed for a warm shower. As she closed the bathroom door, a car gunned into the drive and stopped. Shauna's bare foot stamped hard against the bathroom tile. by Claudia Turner 38 The Red, Red Ribbon Molly Southland was plain. Molly knew she was plain; her mirror confirmed this knowledge every morning as she stood before it combing her blonde hair, straight and streaked with brown, with her flat, round face reflecting her sense of despair and her eyes filling with unshed tears. Today was even worse than usual. Today was Molly's nineteenth birthday. "Nineteen years of hopelessness," thought Molly "nineteen years of working, slaving, sweating -- and all for what? What's the use? I've been on this farm all my life, and I'll never leave here." "Breakfast ready, Molly?" Mr. Southland asked, as he strode briskly into the kitchen. "You're late this morning, gal. Might be your birthday but there's still chores to be done and the farm to run. The world don't stop 'cause you got a birthday." "I'm sorry, Pa. I reckon I overslept about five minutes." The kitchen door opened, and Molly's two brothers filed in, Matthew leading, his overalls hanging loosely on a rawboned frame, his ruddy face looking even redder above the faded-blue shirt. Mark followed, his small body held straight with dignity and self-respect. The air was permeated with the smell of the barn; the odor of manure seemed to fill the small kitchen. "Morning, Molly," Mark said quietly as he entered. "Happy birthday." "Morning, Mark," Molly smiled. Mark was her favorite brother. "He must be like Ma was," Molly always thought. "People who knew Ma always said she should never have married Pa, that he just wasn't her kind and didn't have her gentle ways, but Ma never did put much stock in what other people said." "Well now, gal," Matthew boomed, "reckon you did tell us yesterday it would be your birthday. When you gonna get yo'self a beau, Molly? Appears to me you're more'n old enough to have some young buck come courtin'." "I reckon that's none of your business, Matthew Southland!" Molly-cried indignantly, her chin beginning to quiver. No matter how much Matt teased Molly, she never could get used to never having had a beau. It wasn't that Molly was really ashamed of never having had a beau; it was mostly the hopelessness of knowing that she probably never would have. 39