There was something more or less interesting about the Brownings. At least, some of their neighbors thought so. In the first place, that they should have bought that house was a matter for thought. Anyone who would buy such a house must be interesting. It had remained vacant for two years, with a red and white for sale sign staked into the front yard. It was commonly referred to on the block as “that crazy house,” and Mrs. Crumby, the owner, had been petitioned for years to have it torn down. Mrs. Crackshot who lived next door to it had even tried to buy it, but Mrs. Crumbly guessed his motives and refused to sell.

Naturally it was a Victorian house, but it had such a striking lack of symmetry that one always expected it to give a little jump, or bow, or burst out laughing. The arrangement of the windows and doors suggested such a merry countenance reinforced with such an abundance of gingerbread that the house seemed to have been created as a monstrous architectural joke. In truth, it was the result of the very rapidly increasing family of its first owner and as rooms and pieces were added on one at a time with no planning or forethought the house acquired a most distinctive character.

It had the further fortune of being number twelve-thirty-four and was always referred to as number one, two, three, four. Montgomery Avenue. The street had been renamed Montgomery in 1946 from Spratt after the last of the Spratt family was convicted of embezzlement in the Wimple Montgomery Savings and Loan.

Mrs. Stifelton who lived across the street was most interested in the Brownings. They were her major source of pleasure. She watched the house unobserved as much as she liked from her upstairs front window and she spent what spare time she had from that occupation conveying tidings of the Brownings to her intimate friends Miss Biggear and Mrs. Chattsome, who either visited each day or used the telephone as long as the other members of their party line could forebear the use of abusive language.

Aside from giving a great deal of pleasure the Brownings also afforded Mr. Crackshot a great deal of pain. For as the Brownings bought “that eyesore,” in lieu of himself, he held them personally responsible for not only the house’s appearance, but every gopher, mouse, fly, and sprig of crabgrass that appeared on the Avenue.

There was nothing wrong with Mrs. Browning in the general opinion of most of the neighborhood. Mrs. Browning was a marvelous person to be sure, “rather a personal friend of mine, in fact,” people were likely to add. Oh no indeed, nothing wrong with her, a very friendly, kindly, nice sort of person.

Mr. Browning himself was somewhat of a good sort too, always with a cheery greeting. Not really anything wrong with him.

And some of the children were nice. The young girls were always nicely dressed and the boys generally well behaved.

Nothing unpleasant was ever said about the family dog however, at least not by anyone over fourteen. For Old Mutt was a mongrel and the Crackchats had a dachshund, registered, that did not get along with Old Mutt at all times.

It was nothing specific about anyone member it was simply the family in general. They were discussed a great deal at cocktail parties from which they had long been excluded, at first by their own choice and finally simply from habit.

Mrs. Vidio always outwardly agreed with whatever was said but she earnestly hoped that the Brownings would not move away until after her only child, John, started first grade for he was at the Brownings from breakfast to supper almost everyday which made her days beautifully uninterrupted and too be sure she encouraged it because she felt Mrs. Browning was very capable and she always felt safe with little John there. Besides he had a wonderful time. He told her all about it in their “time together.” He was in fact hard pressed to recount the whole exciting day in the five minutes or less between “Now I lay me down,” and “lights out, no more drinks.”

The arrangement left no void in little John’s life he simply lived as though he belong to the Brownings and was sent to the neighbors to eat and sleep because he was the youngest and there was no room left and the Browning’s table or in their beds. This did occasionally give him insecure moments, especially the “lights out.” But Mrs. Browning’s affectionate, “Good morning, John” the next morning put all to rights, and as his only bad moments were the ones under his own roof, the arrangement as it was at present was very much the most satisfactory.

Mrs. Browning was glad of one thing, that she had raised her girls to appreciate the right things. She tried her dress again without the neckless and finally decided on wearing it. Madelene Stafford usually wore rather heavy jewelry and she would be at the shower. Little Sally Stillworth may have finally captured Mark Stafford, but at least her girls knew how to dress. She wiped a chip of lipstick from the corner of her mouth with her thumb and wiped her thumb on a bath towel. She hoped she hadn’t spent too much for the gift. Afterall there still was the wedding.

Her youngest daughter Saundra brushed past the door. “Are you ready Mama? Judy went out to the car and Penny can’t find her purse.

Sharon, the oldest came out of her room. “Her purse is in on the couch. Mama did you get the present?”

“Oh where is it, Sandra go see if you can get it.”

“It’s on the table. Are you ready? Judy’s in the car,” Sandra patted her hair.

“Just ready, let’s go,” Mrs. Browning snapped her purse shut. “Sandy do brush off your shoulders, did you use that new shampoo?” She turned to Sharon. “Did you tuck in Jon?” She caught Sharon’s nod then put her head in at the family room door. “Bye-bye-dear. We’ll be late.” She kissed the heel of her hand to her husband then swept out to the garage—“Did someone get the present. What a job to get off. I hate to be late.”

“We won’t be late, here, Penny, hold the box and Sandy watch your coat.” Sharon took her place to drive.

Sharon did not dare really think she was and yet only last night it had taken the greatest restraint on her part to keep from writing to Dick. She leaned against the door. Sally did look happy. In weeks she had never mentioned Dick to Sharon she seemed to have entirely forgotten. In spite of her efforts it excited her to realize that when he returned in September there would be no Sally waiting for him. No one at all in fact. She moved on into the room and joined in the conversation.

It was near the end of July and Sally Stillworth was to marry Mark Stafford on August first. The wedding came as a surprise to the friends of the two parties because everyone expected Sally to marry Dick Hickman, her boyfriend of long standing who was in Europe and would return in September. Further more for the last year Mark had been dating Judy Browning the second oldest of the Browning girls. Sally was considered a good choice for Mark. Her family were respectable quiet people and Sally herself was a quiet pretty girl. Mark’s mother was surprised but rather pleased. She had nothing against Judy, but Mrs. Browning was not so pleased. It had been the delight of her life that Judy was dating the Stafford boy.

Madelene Stafford greeted them at the door and put her arm around Sharon’s waist and walked her into the living room. “How nice you look, Sharon dear. Come and sit by Sally. How nice your mama looks.

Sharon sat down by Sally and they exchanged smiles. “I see you finished it. I like it,” Sharon said.

“Thanks. I had to pin the skirt. I didn’t get the buttonhole done.” She smiled again, “I like your hair.”

Someone came to congratulate Sally and Sharon looked around the room. Her mother sat with Sally’s mother. She could hear what she was saying. “How lovely for Sally.” Sharon stood up and went to the kitchen. Nina Stafford was taking off her apron. “Hi Nina, can I help?”

“No, all done. Are they having a good time?”

“Wonderful. Sally looks happy.”

“She is.”

“I hope so.”

Nina patted Sharon’s arm. “I think she is. Mark is. Oh she really is happy. We had a long talk last night. She’s all full of plans.” She tossed a laugh over her shoulder, “How’s your mother taking it?”

“Nobly, oh very nobly, did you make all the cookies?”

“No mother did. She worked all day. Shall we go play games?”

“I guess so. Let’s go celebrate.”

“Cheer up, its going to be a wedding not a funeral.”

“I know. I’m happy.”

Sharon held her pen poised above the paper for a few moments and then began to fill in the letters on her stationary box. She wrote a heading.

Dear Dick,

Then she put her pen down. She wrote casually to Dick Hickman, but she felt quite differently, and tonight especially there was a great deal that needed saying. It was obvious now that Sally would really marry Mark Stafford. That meant that when Dick returned in September. There would be no one waiting for him. It had been a long time since she had allowed herself to think of Dick in any way except as a brotherly friend. In spite of her real feelings she had always taken the greatest care that he not sense at all how she felt. Now the situation had changed. Sally had changed her mind. She carefully blotted out the heading on the letter and threw the paper away. There was no point in making a fool of herself. After thinking about it she decided not to write to him for another week. At least not until he had answered her letter.