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A Great Catch

By Lorna Leslie Seilstad

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Lake Manawa, Iowa, 1901

Three blind mice.
Three little pigs.
Three days in the belly of a whale.
Emily Graham stifled a moan. Some of the worst things in life came in threes, and she was facing her favorite meddlesome trio right now.
“The right to vote won’t warm your bed at night, dear.” Aunt Millie poured fresh lemonade from a crystal pitcher into four glasses, then blotted her round face with a handkerchief. Even though the table, complete with an heirloom lace tablecloth, sat in the shade of the Grahams’ cabin at Lake Manawa, the late May heat brought a sheen to her aunt’s crinkled brow.
Emily pressed the glass of lemonade to her cheek and watched the sailboats on the lake lazily glide across the rippling surface. “As hot as it is, the last thing I want is a warm bed.”
“Honestly, what are we going to do with you?” Aunt Ethel, rail thin, stiffened in her chair, and Emily imagined her aunt would launch into a tirade concerning Emily’s faults at any minute.
Aunt Ethel turned toward her older silvery-haired sister, Emily’s grandmother. “It’s your fault, Kate. You filled her head with all those ridiculous notions of changing the world, women voting, and all that other nonsense. Now look at her. She’s twenty-three years old, and she’s still not married.”
“I’m twenty-two, Aunt Ethel.”
“But your birthday’s just around the corner.”
Emily rolled her eyes. “It’s six months away.”
“So sad. Almost a spinster.” Aunt Millie shook her head and smoothed her apron. “If we don’t do something soon, no man is going to want a woman that advanced in years.”
“I guess it’s up to us.” Aunt Ethel tsked and patted Emily’s hand. “Even though you’re no great catch, don’t worry, dear. With the three of us on the job, we’ll have a man on your arm in no time.”
“Three?” Emily felt a millstone sink to the pit of her stomach. She turned to her grandmother. “I thought you were on my side.”
Grandma Kate smiled. “I am. That’s why I’m going to help. If I leave it up to your aunts, they’ll have you married off to some spineless simpleton you’d have henpecked in a matter of days, or some bald, solid member of the community that every other bright girl has already discarded.”
“Do I even want to know what these two have in mind?”
The corners of Grandma Kate’s crinkly mouth bowed. “Probably not.”
“Trust us, dear. We have your best interests at heart.” Aunt Millie held out a plate. “Prune cake?”
“No thank you.” Emily checked the watch hanging on the chain around her neck. “I have to go now. I promised to meet some friends to go roller-skating.”
“You’re not going out in that abysmal outfit.” Aunt Ethel’s face pinched. “It’s hardly proper.”
Emily held out the sides of her sporting ensemble, complete with a shorter-length, divided moss-green walking skirt. “I can’t very well skate in a full skirt. I’d kill myself.”
“You probably will anyway,” Aunt Ethel said solemnly.
“Ethel!” Grandma Kate shot her a warning glance. “It’s not Emily’s fault she struggles a bit in the art of gracefulness.”
“A bit?” Aunt Millie chuckled. “That’s like saying I’m a bit old.”
“Aunties, Grandma, we’ll talk about all of this later.”
Aunt Ethel squeezed Emily’s forearm. “No need to thank us, dear. It’s our pleasure to help.”

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