Things have been the same around Mineral Town for as long as I can remember. This is a small town, tied into the land so strongly that even our festivals are merely reminders that we need the land to survive. Events don't really happen in a small town. So when strangers come breezing in to assume responsibility, it's a big deal.

The rumor that a relative of the old farmer – his grandson, in fact – is coming to take over the property is causing much bated breath. After all, it isn't every day that a distant relative comes to completely take control of an interest. Saibara's grandson doesn't count in this case; the metalworker barely tolerates his younger charge. Based on their current relationship, leaving his shop in Gray's hands would be entirely out of the question.

I consider these things while eating the cabbage rolls on my plate. They're the only part of the meal that I can completely enjoy apart from dessert. My father, Basil, talks endlessly and cheerfully about plants, horticulture, botany. All he needs is a listening ear, as opposed to a dialogue. My mother, Anna, listlessly stirs the food on her plate. To an outsider, it might appear that she is listening attentively, but I know better. The wandering gaze, the slight pursing of her lips, the fingers that make an endless pattern on the table while my father goes over the properties of wild herbs, these are simple but unmistakable clues that her mind is elsewhere. What she thinks about, I do not know. Surely the gossip sessions that she attends daily aren't all that preoccupying.

"…so what do you think, Maria?"

"Sounds good," is my pat response. He isn't looking for anything deeper; our true conversations only happen while he and I go on a walk by ourselves. And incidentally, those talks rarely revolve around plants. But even though Papa knows that he is ignored while at home, his natural enthusiasm for the subject keeps him rattling on in the face of stony silence. No college professor ever displayed more persistence towards unwilling students than did my father towards Mama and me.

"Great! Well, when you steep the roots in a mild chicken base, you can get…"

"Dear, please." Mama throws her fork down, lips drawn in a tight line. "Let's not talk about that anymore for the day. Besides, I heard some absolutely wonderful news."

Papa pouts. The expression, in my eyes, has always been adorable. Tonight it is no less charming, though predictably enough Mama is not impressed. "What could be more important than making good use of the ecology, dear?"

She turns her gaze onto me, and I feel my heart sinking. If the gossip du jour is pertinent to me, this is a bad sign. "I'm sure that you know the farmer's grandson is coming to town for his father's funeral. And maybe you know that he's planning to take over that old farm, so he'll be here for a while. I think that it would be good if you maybe went over there after the funeral and took him some food, sat with him a while, offered to show him around when he's got time – you know, showed him some hospitality."

It's a desperation pitch, and one that I've heard before, but never in such appalling form. She's all but throwing me at this man! But try as I might, no words of refusal will come, though my face crinkles and I begin to stutter. Not noticing my discomfort, she adds in, "And when you go tomorrow, would it be too much trouble for you to wear a little makeup? You can borrow some of mine if you'd like."

Papa comes to my rescue by saying, "Anna, I'm pretty sure that Thomas will want to walk the young man around himself. There's no need for Maria to put herself out like that."

"There's no reason why she can't take him a little food, is there?" Her tone is mildly raised. "After all, " – she gives me an appraising look to accentuate her meaning – "first impressions are very important, especially with young men."

I cast my eyes downward. Though my mother isn't quite crude enough to tell me out loud how very average I look, she has a way of saying it loud and clear all the same. My cheeks grow hot and my eyes sting, but I still can't answer her.

"I just don't think it's necessary, Anna." My father's voice is becoming uncharacteristically agitated. "For all we know about him, this young man may have a girlfriend already – he might be married, even! Why are you asking our daughter to do something that she clearly hates to do for someone whom we know next to nothing about?"

"She's a girl, isn't she?" Mama asks, jabbing her finger at me viciously as she glares his way. "She should want to be cute once in a while! Isn't it enough that you spend all your waking hours worrying over plants – you want to raise your daughter to be an eccentric old maid too?"

The tears began to flow. Finally finding my voice, I say, "Excuse me," and leave the table, fleeing upstairs.

My worn teddy bear and lovingly stitched quilt are hidden deep in the hall closet, and because they're practically relics and unsuitable for public display, I only dig them out on special occasions. This night, however, warrants the use of both. I clutch them both to my face and cry as my parents' fight grows louder.

I don't know how long I've been crying, but suddenly I wake up with my face buried in the quilt. The tears have glued the fabric to my skin. Grimacing, I peel it off gingerly and rub my eyes with the back of my hand. A quiet knock on the door startles me momentarily, but I already know that it's my father. I attempt to smooth out my skirts and regain composure. "Come in."

A light scent of jasmine fills my nostrils as a white linen skirt sweeps past me. My mother seats herself on my bed, looking down at me. She looks haggard. Perhaps the fight with Papa was more intense than she expected?

"Maria, do you think that I put too much pressure on you to be like the other girls?"

The question catches me off-guard, and before I can think hard enough to formulate an answer, she continues:

"Darling, I want – above all things – for you to be happy. I know that you like to read books, and I know that you like insects and plants that most people would find disgusting. And I like the quirks that you have about you – but I'm your mother. A young man might not see any deeper than the outside and assume that you're just not worth bothering to get to know. And I'd hate to see you take up with any old fool out of desperation, because the right man never came looking for you."

At this point I open my mouth to speak, but she stops me with a look. "Don't even bother to say it. I already know that 'you don't want a man to hunt you down as if you were a piece of meat.' Sweetheart, please try to understand where I'm coming from. If you don't even try to make yourself more attractive towards men, no one will ever 'hunt you down' because no one will think that it's worth doing. And people are a lot more shallow than you think. Looks aren't everything, but they're important."

She looks at me and sighs, her eyes losing the hard edge and becoming liquid. "Maria, you're almost nineteen, and you've never expressed interest in any man. I'm worried about you. Your father's worried about you. I don't want to see you get older and afraid of being alone, and just jump into the arms of the first womanizer who comes through town one day. That would break my heart. Do you understand me?"

Cowed into submission, I nod mutely and she seems satisfied. "Good. Well, that's one problem out of the way…what do you think of this dress?" She opens the door and with a rustle of fabric, pulls a black dress into the room. Apparently she had hidden it on the doorknob before she knocked.

I stare at it, imagining what it might look like on Popuri, or contrasted with Karen's hair. Both images are good, so I immediately realize that this dress is not for me. "What am I supposed to think?"

She glowers at me, exasperated. "I want you to wear this to the funeral tomorrow. You can't go dressed in that jumper, you need to wear something black." My face must show my consternation, because she sighs impatiently. "Maria, stop it, already. It's not immodest and it's not decadent. It is a simple satin sheath, and if it's really going to kill you to show your arms, you're welcome to borrow one of my knit shawls. But you're wearing it, and that's final." She sweeps out of the door and shuts it firmly behind her before I can work up enough nerve to utter a syllable.

Dejected, I turn the covers back on the bed and gather up my pajamas. I might as well just take a bath now, because in the morning the house will be utterly chaotic and I might not have a chance. As I approach the door, Mama swings it open again. "And I want you to wear your hair down, too, so get some of my big rollers out of the bathroom before you go to bed and I'll set your hair."

At 10 a.m. exactly, the church doors close.

The seats are full; the aisles are packed. People have come from five towns away to pay their respect. Mama was right about needing to wear black; every pew is awash in dark-colored clothing. I huddle into the shawl that is more for decoration than warmth, trying to remain inconspicuous. Pastor Carter gestures, and the collective stands. We know exactly which song to sing, so as soon as he begins to conduct, we start 'It is well with my Soul'. The words don't really mean anything to me, because we never sing this song unless someone has died, which doesn't happen very often. Also, it seems to be of a completely different religious nature, so singing 'the trump shall resound and the Lord shall descend' is an exercise in futility for me.

The service and the viewing are tastefully executed, though, and about two hours later we filter back out of the church in the direction of the Inn, where several tables of food are waiting for us. By the time I get there, the other local girls are in a knot, chattering excitedly.

"…I saw him, did you?"

"…he's so cute…"

"…heard he's definitely single…"

"Is he straight?" Karen asks sardonically and everyone laughs. The last overly handsome guy who came through town had such an intense interest in Kano, the town's resident shutterbug, that after he left, tongues wagged for several days about secret meetings in the Inn and forbidden trysts on Mother's Hill. Kano himself has yet to entirely live it down. "He seems too pretty to be the real thing."

"Jealous that he might beat you out for Spring Goddess this year, Karen?"

More giggling. Karen huffs and turns away, nearly bumping into me. "Oh, I'm sorry, ma'am…Maria?"

Then they all turn to look at me, and they all smile. Some of those smiles are coy, one is surprised. "Wow, look at Miss Beautiful!"

I look down, embarrassed. "My mother made me wear this…"

"I figured as much," Ann says, stretching over the pile of biscuits to give me a hug. "But I must say, you look fantastic. Would it kill you to dress like this more often?"

"Like what?" Unconsciously, defensively, my arms fold. I feel like I'm being sized up in their eyes, and whether for good or for ill, I don't like it.

"Like…this." Popuri gestures at me. "Maria, you look really good in clothes that fit you, why don't you wear them?"

"Because I don't like them," I answer, earnestly. My hands are starting to clench together. "I'm really uncomfortable right now anyway, and there's no reason for me to dress like this all the time, so please don't bring it up again."

Karen and Elli look at each other, and I see a sort of mutual shrug pass between the two of them. Then Elli gives me a tight squeeze and says, "Well, in any case, you look great with your hair down." She lets go to announce, "I have to go see about Stu, he's been upset for a while. This funeral happening, and Grandma being old and all, you know."

Ann is called away by her father, and Popuri, Karen and I are left alone. Popuri leans in close and whispers quietly, "Maria, did you get a chance to see the old man's grandson?"

"No," I say, honestly. I spent most of the service staring at my feet, trying to avoid the stares of visitors, and there were so many to avoid, so many strange eyes roaming over my vulnerable skin. Even Gray accosted me before I could get in the church, flattering me as best he could in his own way. Some people just really have no sense of timing.

"He's pretty darn good-looking," Popuri continues, with a significant nod.

I look at Karen for a confirmation, and she nods slowly. "That's a good-looking guy, all right. Kind of soft, though…you think he can handle a farm by himself?"

"Who knows," I answer softly. I'm trying to avoid my mother's eyes as she looks for me frantically. If she sees me, she'll wave me over in the most attention-grabbing fashion possible, because right now the young man is standing very close to my father. Mama, for once show some propriety!

"Trying to hide from your mom?" Popuri asks. Her face is twisted in a grimace, but I can recognize it as a show of sympathy. I affirm by nodding, and she clucks her tongue empathetically. "Stupid Rick's probably got the same ideas. I can't wait until summer so I can talk to Kai. I really don't think that I'm going to stay in this place for another two years and listen to Rick gripe and moan. Karen, you know what he said about you the other night…?" And just like that, the entire conversation was over as they went to a confidential corner.

My mother, finally spotting me, comes bounding over. "Maria! I've been looking for you forever! Where have you been?" Her grip is unshakable as she marches me across the room, to where my father is standing alone. When she realizes that the young man has fled the scene, her face visibly drops. "Basil, where is he?"

"He left," Papa says, shrugging.

"I told you to keep him here and talk to him until I found Maria!"

"I did," he answers petulantly. "But I think that he reserves the right to walk away once a conversation is over, doesn't he? I had nothing else to say to him, so he left."

Mama flings my arm down in a temper as her face grows livid. I can see that she's forgotten that I'm even here, so I take the opportunity to glide away silently. She'll give him a piece of her mind, and he'll all but ignore her as she does so. After all, when it comes to the fine art of listening to a person without hearing him, he's had opportunity to learn from the best, every night over dinner. I take a plate from the gleaming stack and enter the line of people at the buffet.

Brown hair, stiff with gel, catches my attention, primarily because no one in the village wears the stuff except Kano, and his hair is decidedly black. It must be one of the guys from the surrounding villages. I look back, and find myself staring into a pair of light green eyes. Nice color.

"Hi there," says the person attached to the eyes.

I nod, fiddling with my fork.

"You're a resident of this village, I take it?"

I nod again.

"And obviously a talented conversationalist, I can see."

This time I not only smile and nod, but actually make an effort to speak. "I'm not very good at a spontaneous conversation. I usually think for a time before answering anyone, even good friends."

"I think that you made a good job of it just then." He accepted a ladle of mashed potatoes. "What did you think of the service?"

"I didn't realize so many people knew him. It's amazing to see just how many people's lives he touched by growing plants and being good-hearted."

"I think so, too. I didn't know that they were going to sing that hymn for him, did you? I haven't heard it for years. It sounded beautiful." He stopped talking long enough to thank Doug for the spicy fried eggplants.

"They usually sing that one when people die. I don't really feel anything about it, because I don't know what it's about." Ann gives me a biscuit and upon seeing who's behind me, a wink. I'm confused. Does she think that this man is talking to me for any other reason other than to kill time while he gets food?

"Really? It's a song about the Christian faith. The last verse is straight out of the book of Revelations." He takes a glass of water and begins to pass me. "Well, thanks for taking time to talk with me. Hopefully we'll meet under happier circumstances."

"Yeah," I murmur. He vanishes amongst the milling crowds, and I find my parents again. Mama looks moody; Papa is whistling tunelessly under his breath. They've clearly been fighting, but given it up for the time being. It will continue at home, though. I wish that I could go over to a friend's house, but at a time of such financial uncertainty it might be seen as highly presumptuous.

I can't even go talk with one of the girls, as all of them are preoccupied with their own personal crises. Ann is whirling around like a dervish, trying to simultaneously serve guests, bring food from the back and give advice to the cooks. Karen and Rick are outside in a standoff, Elli's trying desperately to comfort her little brother who is on the verge of tears, and Popuri is fuming after getting a good going-over from her mother about prying into her brother's affairs. It looks like I'm on my own for the night.

Absently, I finger the tiny library key that hangs on a gold chain around my neck. Perhaps one extra book missing for the evening won't make that much of a difference.