Short stories and essays by Faith Andrews Bedford
In the corner of my daughter’s room is a little four-poster bed. On it lies my favorite doll, which I saved for my children to play with. She’s covered with a tiny pink coverlet edged in hand-tied fringe. The coverlet was my first sewing project, made when I was nine. The pleasure of creating lovely …
The queen was slim and elegant as she moved slowly among her attendants. I could not take my eyes off her. But Miss Henderson told us our time at the Nature Center was over; the fifth graders had to return to school. I took one last look at the little beehive with its glass walls …
I always thought of Dad as the Fix-it Man; he could mend anything. His motto was “Use it up. Wear it out. Fix it well or do without.” With three little girls and an old house, he had a lot of fixing to do. In the small town where I grew up, the hardware store …
I am the tailored type, most comfortable in well-worn denim or comfortable tweeds. My sister, Ellen, has been trying to update my look for years with little success. A little while ago, when she became engaged, I told her I had nothing to wear to an evening wedding. Today she’s taking me shopping. At our …
As my sister’s car disappears over the top of the hill, her faint toot in farewell tells me she has turned onto the main road. The dust settles on our lane as I look to the pile of boxes she just left behind. When Mother died last year, Dad gave up the summer house. “Come …