It was harder to think of not letting anyone cut me down.That was always happening.I’d decided just to get used to it.
She let my shoulder go to put her hand in the pocket of thepretty, flowered dress.
She pulled out a small, dark-blue box with a white bow.
I took in a hard, quick breath.
“And last, Miss Daisy, a good Southern woman always has herpearls,” she said softly.
I looked from the box to Miss Annamae, but she was blurryseeing as I had tears in my eyes.
“Miss Annamae.”My voice was croaky.
She lifted the box to me.
“Daisy, a gift is offered, you take it, you express yourgratitude and later, you write a thank you note,” she instructed.
I nodded, taking the box.
I pulled the bow but held it in my fist as I flipped openthe top.
Inside, on a delicate gold chain, the prettiest, daintiestthing I’d ever seen, hung add-a-pearls.Their creamy gleam made me feeldazzled.The one in the middle was the biggest, getting a little bit smaller asthey went down each side.
“One for every year of your life, child,” Miss Annamae toldme and I counted them.
She was right.
There were thirteen.
And I was thirteen.
That day.
It was my birthday.
“Now, to keep that set the way it should be, you come to mewhen you’re fifteen and I’ll add the next two pearls, balance it out,” sheshared.
My gaze drifted up to hers.“Miss Annamae,” I repeated, myvoice still sounding all choked.
And suddenly, with a swiftness I’d never seen her move, shewas leaned into my face.
“You hide that from your momma.You hear Miss Annamae?”
I nodded, doing it fast.
I heard her.
Oh yes, I did.
“You wear those when the time’s right.They’re yours, Daisy.So you wear them when the time is right.”She drew in a breath so big, I sawher draw it, before her voice got softer but no less strong.“They’re yours,child.However you need them when the time comes, they’re yours.”
I didn’t understand what she meant by that but she was beingso serious I felt it best to nod, and again do it fast.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
The fierce went out of her face and she cocked her head tothe side.Her soft, white hair swept back in the bun filtering with thesunlight coming in her window like she was an angel, she smiled as she lifted ahand and brushed my bangs sideways on my forehead.
“Every girl needs pretty things, every girl needs a littlebit of sparkle however she can get it, but everySoutherngirl needsher pearls,” she whispered back.
