White Daisies

Chapter 2

February 26, 1940

I wake up early on Monday morning not feeling ready for another week of school. I blink sleepily at the textured ceiling for a few minutes before looking at the clock across the room. Pushing myself out from underneath the warm covers of the bed, my feet meet the chilly hardwood floor of the house. I stretch my arms out as I walk down the hall to the bathroom. 

Turning the faucet on, I try to make myself wake up a little bit more by splashing myself with cold water. My hands go behind my head to shake my hair loose from the braids that I slept in. Waves tumble down my shoulders, and I pick up the hairbrush sitting on the sink to begin taming them. Once I'm finished, I twist and pin the sides of my hair away from my face.

In my room, I slip off my nightgown and change into my school uniform. Yanking a white blouse off its hanger in the armoire, I slip my arms through its sleeves and button it up. A plaid skirt sits at my waist and flares out towards my knees. I then pull a wool sweater over my head to make the outfit warmer. Finishing off with a pair of knee-high socks and Oxford shoes, I'm about to grab my books from the desk that sits in front of my window and head downstairs when Macy comes into my room.

"Can you braid my hair?" she pouts. 

My eyes narrow at her. "I thought you hated getting your hair braided."

"No, I hate it when mama does it. That woman has a grip of steel. Someone should lock her up the next time she tortures a child like that."

I smirk and motion for her to sit in front of my vanity. Pulling a couple of red ribbons from a box on my tall dresser, I start brushing her thick brown hair. We share the same heart-shaped face, long eyelashes, and gray eyes, but she shows a lot more of our father. A splash of freckles coats her upturned nose and her eyebrows are much fuller than mine. When she grows up, she'll be a knockout for sure. 

"Can I borrow some of your perfume tomorrow?"

"You're thirteen; why do you need to wear perfume?"

She picks up a ribbon and starts playing with it as I gather three thick stands of hair in my fingers. 

"Because we're going on a field trip to the park tomorrow. And Hans Morgensen is going to be there."

"Oh boy, here we go."

"What? He is super cute and smart! And he smells like oranges!"

"Yeah, but his name is Hans."

"What is wrong with that?"

"I don't know, that just sounds like a pretentious name to me."

"He's not pretentious."

"Something about the name makes me want to punch anybody named Hans in the face." At that, I finish plaiting her hair into two French braids that trail behind her back. Our mother calls from downstairs that breakfast is ready.

"Please do not punch Hans in the face. I really like him."

"I'll try not to. But take a bath tonight, and I think you'll smell just fine tomorrow without my perfume."

She mumbles something about me being a bitter soul because I don't have a boy yet as we walk down the stairs. Entering the kitchen, I pour myself a cup of coffee and spread clementine jam on my piece of bread before I sit down at the table.

"I don't understand how you drink that stuff. It's disgusting," Macy grouses.

"It's bitter. Just like my soul, apparently."

My father groans and lowers his newspaper. Looking at me through his glasses, he says, "First off, it is no wonder why you are so jittery all of the time. Second of all, leave some for the professor. Lord knows that I need it."