Perilous Assurance

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  Mattie tugged the hem of the dark green turtleneck down over her long, A-line, camel-colored wool skirt with its tortoise-shell button front closure. She sat on the edge of the bed, and pulled her brown leather boots on, being careful as she zipped them up on the sides. She stood and checked herself out in the full-length mirror on the back of the closet door, and smoothed back her unruly shoulder-length hair. Having parted it in the middle, she'd braided the long strands on the side, joining them with a stretchy band loosely at the back of her neck, in order to control it somewhat. She didn't want to wear her hair in a pony tail or bun all the time, and appear too austere. She was only thirty-two, for goodness sake. She'd inherited her frizzy hair - there was no other way to describe it - from her mother, who now, for convenience's sake, wore hers pulled up high in a loose topknot. Mattie remembered how she'd hated her hair growing up, and she'd tried numerous ways of straightening it, the most ridiculous being in college, where she succumbed to the practice of having a friend iron her hair as she laid her head across an ironing board. Eventually, in her mid-twenties, she'd decided to just accept her hair, and she wore it in a long, blunt style that accentuated the texture, and now she loved it, and wouldn't change it for anything. She added a little gloss to her wide, prominent cheekbones and full lips, and as she inserted her large, gold hoop earrings, she thought about how surprised she'd been at the college's strict rules when she'd first gotten here. Female students and faculty were not allowed to wear slacks, or, heaven forbid, blue jeans on campus, only in the dorms or private quarters, and most definitely not on a trip into town, where the townfolk might have a heart attack if they should happen upon a woman in pants. She'd been comfortable wearing slacks to her classes back in Virginia, but this was a private institution, and she'd gradually gotten used to the sometimes, in her opinion, antiquated regulations, building up a wardrobe that suited her. Full-length skirts had become her trademark, and she wore lightweight, flowing skirts in the warmer weather, and soft wool or corduroy skirts in cooler weather, both making her feel stylish, and covering up her artificial leg. She smoothed down the fabric over the juncture on her left leg where the wood prosthetic was attached. She wasn't ashamed of her leg in the least. Her students were aware of it, as she still walked with a slight, side-ways limp, even with the many hours of physical therapy, and the aid of her cane. She just preferred that it not be the focus of her students' attention as she lectured them. Instead, she wanted to keep their eyes on the art that she so loved.

  After deciding that she was ready, she grabbed her cane and walked down the stairs, ate a quick breakfast of toast, juice, and black coffee, and deposited the dishes in the double porcelain sink. She walked into the living area and shrugged on her short, brown tweed jacket, then slid the strap of her suede bag over her shoulder, adjusting it diagonally across her chest. She opened the front door and stood at the threshold for a moment, taking in the gorgeous October morning with the cloudless blue sky peeking through the blaze of autumn leaves on the heavily-treed campus. She breathed in the crisp morning air, and headed down the stairs, anxious to begin her first class of the day.