Sometimes there are days where you feel like nothing is going right. The roast gets burnt, a sudden downpour soaks the washing just as it was ready to be brought in off the line, it can be any little thing. And it can be that one little thing that makes a woman snap and throw the peg basket, just out of sheer frustration.
Dorothea Puente ran a good boarding home. Despite being in her 50s, she was still sprightly enough to care for the men and women who paid the $350 per month to enjoy her food and custom. The people for whom she cared were recovering from certain socially-awkward afflictions, and there didn’t seem to be anyone in her tenants’ immediate families available to look after them.
None of Theresa’s children escaped her ‘teachings’. However, her attention was centred mostly on her older daughters, Sheila and Suesan. She didn’t like how pretty they were getting. She didn’t like how much attention this beauty might attract. Attention that might be diverted away from her. Theresa didn’t like that. Not one bit.