Her dress was as blue as the evening sky, with enormous sleeves and an intriguing ruffle of white lace not quite covering the tops of her full breasts. Her curly blonde hair was drawn up into a high knot, her cheeks were a delicate pink, and her brown eyes sparkled. Joseph felt as if his chest would burst with pride when he walked into the crowded church hall with her clinging to his arm. The band, two fiddles and an ancient piano, tuned up and then burst into a spirited polka. Joseph hesitated, aware he wasn’t much of a dancer, and before he could gather his nerve and figure out the steps, Oscar Macky had whirled Emma away. Joseph swallowed hard and tried not to notice her skirts flying high around her shapely legs as she twirled, with Oscar’s hand clutching her narrow waist. She went straight from Oscar’s arms to Lucas Fowler, a pot bellied old patient of Joseph’s, and from there to George Rankin, who in Joseph’s opinion held her much too close. She didn’t seem to object, and then Oscar was whirling her around in a waltz, and her face was tilted up to his, her smile bold and inviting.
