Chapter 3

Bobby had been to see Prudence, earlier in the day. She was almost bursting and was miserable, but making the best of it. Her due date was still a week away, in the first week of October. Mamma had seen Ted today, and had come home glowing. Her hug had been sensual, an after-effect of the loving he knew Ted had given her.

“You feeling better these days?” he’d asked, pressing her loins with his gently.

“Yes, I am, young man,” she said firmly, pressing back. “And I’ll thank you not to push that thing against me.”

He could tell she didn’t mean it, and had kissed her again. She hadn’t pushed him away.

“I’m glad I met him,” she said, when he pulled back. “He makes it much easier to resist you.”

Bobby smiled. “It doesn’t make it any easier for me to resist you,” he countered.

“You just behave yourself,” she said, still clasping him to her. “I said it was easier, not easy.”

“A boy can dream,” sighed Bobby.

“A boy shouldn’t dream about his mother,” she said.

“A boy dreams about every beautiful, sexy woman he sees,” grinned Bobby. “Whether she’s his mother or not.”

She did push him away then, but he could see that she wanted to kiss him again. That was enough. He didn’t really want, in one sense, to make love with his mother. On the other hand, the idea didn’t bother him at all. He had no idea if it would ever happen or not, but that was the same as with many other women he knew. To Bobby, Mirriam Dalton was two women ... his mother ... and Mirriam Dalton.

“It’s late,” she said, even though it was only eight-thirty. “I’m going to bed.”

“Again?” he teased.

She shot him a look, frowned, and then stuck her tongue out at him.

The windows were open, and a cool breeze was blowing through them. Bobby lay on his bed, reading. He expected the door to open, and for three sisters to come in.

He wasn’t disappointed.

On the last day of September, Bobby was sharpening an axe when he saw Christy’s car drive up to the house. She got out, carrying a case, and a tripod. He walked out to meet her.

“Hey,” he said, smiling.

She smiled back. That his simple greeting sent a thrill through her belly was neither unexpected, anymore, nor disconcerting.

“Hi, handsome,” she flirted. “Are they all ready?”

“Are who ready?” he asked.

“Your mother and sisters!” she said. “I’m here to make the portraits.”

“You are?”

“Didn’t they tell you?” she asked, surprised. “I talked to your mother on the phone.”

“Nobody said a word,” he said. “Let’s go find out.”

In fact, the girls had been excited all day, and Bobby had noticed that, but he hadn’t explored it. One or the other of them was always excited about something or other. He’d been busy all day getting things ready for winter. He’d tuned up the tractor, which, while it wasn’t used for farming any longer, was still critical when the snows fell deep, or a dead tree needed being hauled where it could be transformed into fire wood. He hadn’t been in the house since lunch.

As it turned out, the girls were ready. Mirriam was too. They had spent all afternoon getting ready too, and the transformation from regular sister, and same old Mamma, to women who wanted to be beautiful for a portrait was almost alarming. The house was full of gorgeous women, in their best dresses, wearing makeup, and with their hair done up.

Bobby was ignored, for the most part, once he’d made the introductions, and Christy started scurrying around, setting up a place for the portraits to be taken. She apologized for not having good lights, and then commenced to make her own, out of theirs, using cardboard and tin foil, assisted by tape and other things they expected Bobby to produce instantly. The most interesting thing to Bobby was that she wanted a light of some kind to hang from the ceiling. After she explained it was to highlight the hair, he wired a light socket to an extension cord and made a shade for it out of cardboard and tin foil.

Finally the posing area was ready, and the camera was set up and ready.

Matilda and Betty were first, both because they were the youngest, at fourteen, and because they were twins. Each sat separately, and then together. They had, for once, dressed in identical outfits, and their long blond hair was done in big hanging curls. The only difference was the color of the ribbon in their hair. Matilda’s was dark purple, and Betty’s was forest green.

Then Susie went, followed up the chain by Linda and Beverly. When Bev was done, Florence stepped up and sat down.

Bobby had been watching all of them, and was astonished at how beautiful each one had looked. He reacted to them as females, because they just didn’t look like the sisters he was used to seeing every day. He had one moment of ironic thought that this was being done because he had wanted to have something to remember them by, later in life, and the product would end up being something he had seen only once, in real life.

When Flo sat down, Bobby almost sighed. Flo was the tomboy, who almost never had her hair out of a pony tail. She had begged Mamma to let her hack it all off when she was fourteen. Mamma had simply forbidden it, and that was that. Now that auburn hair was swept into whorls that seemed to defy gravity. He’d find out later that Mamma had helped her with it, and that, as wonderful as it looked, it felt hard, and brittle to the touch, because of all the hair spray that had been put on it. The dress she was wearing, which, in itself was startling, came a few inches above her knees, and dipped low enough in the front to show the swells of her modest breasts. She was tanned from all the time she spent outside, and somehow, they had made it look as if the exposed skin of her upper chest was also tanned. She was wearing lipstick, something Bobby had never seen on her lips, and makeup, which just blew him away. Her eyelashes looked longer, somehow and, as she sat, she looked at everyone through lowered lashes.

“I feel stupid,” came Flo’s completely recognizable voice. It was almost jarring, hearing her normal voice from this vision of loveliness.

“You’re gorgeous,” sighed Bobby.

She pinked up. It could be seen even through her makeup, and Christy immediately triggered the camera.

“I wasn’t ready!” said Flo.

“We’ll take more,” said Christy.

She did take more, but, later, when Bobby saw the photographs, the one he fell in love with was the one of Flo, looking through lowered lashes, blushing faintly, her lips parted and wet looking. He thought it was the sexiest picture he’d ever seen in his life.

Mirriam was next. She’d pulled her hair into a thick braid, which pulled at the skin of her face, making her cheekbones prominent. She sat, regally, in a maroon velvet dress that Bobby hadn’t even known she owned. The girls had worked on her makeup as a group, and had somehow come up with eye shadow that went with the color of the dress perfectly, and a pale lipstick that made her lips look larger and more full than usual.

Bobby realized he was fully erect, almost painfully so, and turned around to adjust his penis in his jeans. Everyone, except Flo was looking at Mamma, and only she noticed. His eyes came up to see hers pinned on him. All he could do was smile and shrug his shoulders slightly. Her face was unreadable.

After Mirriam’s photos were done, though, it was Flo who said: “What about Bobby?”

“We’ll get to him later,” said Christy, her voice businesslike.

Then there were the group pictures. Christy let them decide what groups to form. Bev and Linda wanted a portrait of them. They had lived together in the same room for as long as either of them could remember. It was the same with Suzie and the twins, who were in the same room. The twins had bunk beds, and Suzie had a twin bed. Suzie had been given the option of moving in with Flo when Mary got married and left, but had turned it down, much to Flo’s delight. It wasn’t that she didn’t love her little sister. She just enjoyed the novelty and freedom of being able to be alone, once in a while.

Christy sat Mirriam on the bench, and then surrounded her with her daughters. In one shot, they were arranged by age, from left to right. In another, they were all mixed up. She took pictures with different daughters sitting on either side of their mother, and of the girls all crammed onto the bench, and kneeling beside it, with Mirriam standing behind them.

Finally she stopped. “I guess that’s all we can do until Mary gets here,” she said. She started to turn, and then said “Wait!”

Everybody froze.

“I want to try something,” she said. “I want to put Bobby in some pictures with you ... just like he is.”

Everyone looked at Bobby, who was wearing a faded checkered shirt, and jeans, with streaks of brown, dusty dirt on them. His hair was askew, and there were smudges of dirt on his cheek and forehead, where he had wiped his brow with the back of his hand.

There were murmurs of doubt, but they let Christy explore the idea she’d had.

First, again, were the twins. Christy put Bobby on the bench, sitting up ramrod straight, and looking serious. She put the twins behind him, with one of their hands on either shoulder, and told them to smile.

“Wow,” said Linda, from behind Christy.

Christy turned around.

“It just looks so ... cool!” said Linda. “I mean the contrast is just amazing.”

“That’s what I was going for,” said Christy, smiling. She turned around and took the picture. She took one with Matilda standing behind him, and to one side, and Betty sitting primly on one of his knees, with her feet between his legs, and then reversed them. She tried one with both girls sitting, one on either knee, but didn’t like the composition. She took more, some with him smiling, with the girls in various positions.