Sylvia had cried, even pleaded, but her older sister said it was time. Sylvia had left, but not in good humor. In fact she had vowed never to speak to her sister again, and Carl and Sandra were met with a stony silence right up to the time Sylvia boarded the stage.

Sandra, terribly guilt-ridden, had written to her the very day she left and every few days in the coming weeks. Sylvia, however, didnt reply. Worried that something had happened to her spoiled sister, Sandra finally received a letter from Sylvia almost a month after her departure.

She had said little, but Sandra began to sense a change in her. What Sandra didnt know was that Sylvia had met an older version of herself: Aunt Velvet. It was enough to send Sylvia into a near state of shock.

Sylvia had never met her Aunt Velvet, and never really believed all the stories she had heard about her. But they were all too true. The older woman had never married, although she must have been a beauty in her day, and Sylvia quickly found out why: There was no living with her. Not a minute passed when she didnt insist on having something her own way.

If it wasnt a fit about Sylvia not taking the teacup with the chip in it, it was the silent treatment because her niece had dared to disagree with her over some trivial matter.

Aunt Velvet had little money, but she tried to live like a queen. She owed people all over town, and Sylvia was mortified when the shopkeepers in town would look at her lovely clothes and pull out an invoice from behind the counter. Can you pay your aunts bill?

Sylvia heard the words so many times that she dreamt about them. In short, her aunt was held in contempt by the community, and to be associated with her was far and away the most humiliating thing Sylvia had ever experienced.

That Sylvia was headed in the same direction occurred to her one morning before her aunt arose. Standing in the living room of Velvets ramshackle house, Sylvia looked at the possessions of a woman who never cared about anyone but herself.

On every wall there was a mirror, sometimes two. Keepsakes from days gone by lined the shelves, little mementos that Aunt Velvet must have received from the men who had courted and tried to woo her.

Tears streamed down Sylvias face when she thought of her bedroom at Sandras home. On the dresser was a dried-up flower that Jeff had given her months ago, and beside it was a torn page that had fallen from his Bible one day in church. Sylvia had taken it without telling him for a keepsake, and now felt ashamed.