I gasped in delight as I saw it, for the cheeks and the crack of my butt were clearly delineated by the tightly hugging material. I took the dress off and put my robe back on. Father was in his office. I went into the living room, got a book from the shelf and fell into the wing chair by the fire. I read until it was time for lunch.In the bedroom I put the special dress back on, and picked up the single white rosebud laying on my dressing table. Attached to it was a gold card reading: "Come to the conservatory."In the conservatory I followed a trail of vases filled with white roses to a lawn of grass as smooth as a rug. Tiny white roses trailed from large urns set around a white damask cloth laid out on the sod. Their rich, heady aroma permeated the air around me. Father, dressed in white, reclined at one side of the cloth. After showing how well the dress fit, I took my place at the other side of the cloth.Father moved closer to me. He caressed my face and planted a soft kiss on my. She wetted the paper towels and started cleaning her injuries, wiping away the blood and the dirt that stuck to it. Then she took a clean-looking dishrag and tore it into strips to use as bandages. The bullet that hit her knee, it just winged off the side, grazing her flesh and chipping the bone, but she still had to bite down on one of the rags as she wrapped it. Her whole kneecap felt like a cracked egg shell. She had to make sure both injuries could be hidden so that no one else would see them.She had encountered this group soon after the pyramid was built and decided to help them. They were all too old or too young to survive on their own, and having grown up on the streets, she knew how to find treasure in garbage. The man who stood guard was the youngest of the old people, seventy years old. They had all come from a nursing home, most barely able to get up a set of stairs, let alone fight for their lives. The children had been separated from their parents and didn’t have anyone.
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