It was late. She worked furiously until evening. Then she dressed the bride, as though she were a living doll. Angela on one side, she on the other, the bride standing in between, looking a little pallid and dreamy.

“I don’t like this bow,” Bobò remarked.

“And why, if you don’t mind?”

“Auntie’s right,” said Michelina, “let her do what she wants.”

She needed to be beautiful, her little one. The groom was from Palermo, and he was used to seeing elegant women. Bobò threw herself into the task with passion. In dressing the bride, she revealed certain signs of good taste, a kind of coquettish grace that she herself had never demonstrated.

Then when it was time, she got ready. She parted her hair into two sections like she always did. It was still thick and long and still difficult to manage, but with so many white strands it looked as though it had been dusted. She took the new dress out of the closet. It was cinnamon with black trim, ordered because it suited Angela’s tastes, and it gave off the same acrid odor of newness that you always smelled in the baker’s shop. Because of this, to air the material, she opened the window. But she caught sight of the boys gathered outside the door waiting for the groom to arrive, and she shut it again.

“Hurry up!” called Angela. “We have to get the trays up here!”

“Hurry up! We need that new lamp moved into the living room!”

Hurrying. As always. She dressed hastily, without looking in the mirror, and quickly left the room.

She had the servant bring the lamp into the living room, then raced to the dining room to set out the refreshments: the cookies and special sweets over there, the small glasses on the larger tray.

She passed Angela, who was dressed in raw silk and bustling about.

“When you’ve finished, come in for a minute. It’s necessary.”

She’d said “it’s necessary” in an annoyed tone. She didn’t want people murmuring that she kept her sister-in-law in some corner now that she’d gotten her to hand over all the Licata lands.

Bobò gave a start and suddenly became anxious. She wasn’t used to seeing people, to being in the living room, but Angela ordered her to go in with that tone of hers that didn’t allow for answering back. It was the reason she’d had the special dress made. She had to obey. Like always.

She went down to the living room. Her legs were trembling as though she were the bride with the groom waiting for her. The lights, the chattering, stunned her. She paused for a moment, hesitating in the doorway, hidden behind the heavy flowered curtain; then she moved forward and headed toward the couch where her sister-in-law was sitting in the midst of the guests, like a queen on her throne.