The phone call took Marissa completely by surprise.

"Hi, baby," came the reassuring, crackling voice from the other side of the line. "We've enjoyed your letters, but Momma just kept bugging me to call you. She needed to hear for herself how you were doing."

If she were to be honest, Marissa would say that the phone call came at exactly the right time. Over the last few weeks, Marissa had gone from feeling completely alone to having a close-knit group of friends to feeling completely alone again. Marissa gave herself to those she loved wholeheartedly, and when she felt separated from them, the world seemed askance; life seemed almost unbearable.

She hadn't realized how much she needed to talk to her daddy, but now that she heard his voice, she couldn't deny the hollow pain that had begun to swallow her. Hearing the voice of Jonathan Erinson wrapped Marissa up in the stalwart arms of affection, and they swept away the black cloud that had begun to hover over her. She tried to keep the tears out of her voice.

"Daddy," she let her enthusiasm flow through the phone. "I'm so glad you called!"

Obviously, Marissa didn't succeed in hiding her stress. Mr. Erinson sounded serious when he next spoke. "What's wrong, Sweetheart. Don't lie to your daddy."

"I wouldn't lie to you. I just have some things that I want to talk to you about. It may take a while, so can I talk to Momma first?"

Mr. Erinson chuckled, and Marissa heard him call out to Ella Erinson.

Moments later, the soothing tones of her mother flowed through the phone line, and though the tears managed to bubble over her brimming eyes, Marissa felt happier than she had since she had left home. She was amazed at how easily she could forget the comfort of home and how completely the sense could return with just the sound of a voice.

"Hello, my sweet girl. How are you getting along?"

Withholding a sigh, Marissa smiled at the words. "Not too bad, Momma. You know how hard it is to grow up." Actually, Ella Anderson probably knew little about growing up on her own. Ella had met Jonathan when she was fifteen, and he was seventeen, and they had spent most of their time together since. When Ella turned seventeen, she married her sweetheart and had a child with one on the way by the time she reached the age that Marissa had now reached. In a way, the fact made Ella more grown up than Marissa, but Marissa's mother had never lived on her own, never faced loneliness, never had to make her own way.

The fact did not lessen Marissa's respect for her mother, however. Most women from her generation had married young and seen little of the world. Most of Marissa's generation had done the same. Even though Ella had never lived on her own, it didn't lessen the accomplishment of her character. Her kindness, her genuineness, her intelligence. Many women in their community thought less of Ella Anderson because she didn't spend hours every day fussing over her hair and clothes; she didn't gossip, and therefore was no fun at all; and she raised her daughters to be modest. The fact that she let her husband teach the girls math and science also lowered Mrs. Erinson in the minds of the small, Southern community.

All of these facts made Marissa admire her all the more, but they wouldn't really help Marissa with her current predicament. When Marissa had cooled off over the publication of the list in the paper, she began to realize that she needed to approach her friends' betrayal rationally. The cold green paint had indeed sapped much of Marissa’s fire, and now that the heat of her anger had dissipated, she would have lost any fervor that may have carried her point with Barbara and Mario. As any good coward would do, Marissa had avoided Barbara and Mario for several days. Though she did not feel equal to the task, Marissa needed to convince her friends that their actions had proven harmful, that they had undercut the purpose for the paper, and that in making enemies, they had alienated the very people they wanted to reach.

At the thought, Marissa cringed. She held no skill for diplomacy, too concerned about everyone's feelings to negotiate effectively.

"You sound unhappy," Mrs. Erinson divined correctly, though Marissa had said little.

"Well, I've had a few problems, but nothing too dramatic. I've made some good friends, and we've had a disagreement."

"You've known them less than a month, and you've already had a disagreement? Some friends."

Marissa felt too much the same to trust herself with a response. In her world, friends didn't deceive each other this way, and Marissa felt little doubt that Mario and Barbara had intentionally deceived her. In her heart, though, Marissa felt that they deserved a chance to redeem themselves; she didn't really know why.

"It's complicated, Mother. I kind of want to talk to Daddy about it."

"Your daddy doesn't usually deal much with personal relationships," her mother urged, and Marissa had to laugh. True, in the Erinson family, Mrs. Erinson usually managed the more emotional aspects of family dynamics. The irony amused Marissa, however, since Mr. Erinson owned a medium-sized general store, and he spent most days listening to people talk and helping them solve their problems. Still, if Marissa had needed help, most times she would seek out Momma rather than Daddy.

"This problem is more of a business nature. I think Daddy might have some insight."

At this, Mrs. Erinson herself laughed. She knew well that she had no desire to get involved in any type of business talk. "Well, I love you, little girl. Whatever happens, you know that we will be here if you need us. And though I don't particularly expect you will, you can always come crawling back home, even in the worst of circumstances."

Rather than depress her as it often would have, her mother's statement made Marissa feel significantly better, mostly because she didn't yet feel desperate enough to go home. Maybe she wasn't a complete coward, she reasoned. By the time her daddy's voice came through the phone again, Marissa could speak with a more confident tone.

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"Talk to me baby," he encouraged.

Marissa considered trying to speak in vague generalities, but she remembered that such an exercise almost always proved futile. Instead of avoiding the topic, her avoidance always ended in her daddy's insistence that she spill every detail. He had an annoying sixth sense, and even when it didn't work right, if he sensed her reticence, he would persist in knowing every detail, even ones that didn't exist.

When his intuition did work, it was deadly accurate. When it didn't, it was a harrowing experience. Such being the case, Marissa explained almost everything to him, leaving out only the paint and the trip to Marcel's. No need to worry her mother.

"So, my biggest question is," she summed up once she had finished her relation of events, "how do I do this right? How do I convince them to see things my way?"

"Baby," Mr. Erinson adopted his most sympathetic tone. "The problem here is that you've made a categorical error." Her daddy often fell into the lawyer jargon he had picked up before he changed his college major from law to education during his third year at university.

"You think this is a business situation, but it's really not. You should have just shared this with your momma; she could have handled this as well as I can. If I were to approach this from a purely business point-of-view, I would have said that you made a mistake by entering into this venture without some written terms and conditions. Friends who begin these enterprises often end them as enemies. You don't want to hear that, so I'm not gonna say it. Instead, I'll give you my alternative account of possibilities."

"Please do. I don't like the conventional one."

Mr. Erinson chuckled. "Well, have you ever heard of a marriage license?" he asked cryptically.

"Yes, sir."

"Do you know what they're used for?"

"Yes," Marissa seethed. "They tell people who they can and can't marry."

"True," her daddy allowed, though she could hear a contradiction in his tone. "But that was not their original intention. I won't give you my opinion on whether or not the government should be getting into the marriage business. I think that's the business of the church and the people involved. But they were originally handed out for a good purpose. Not all men are as charming and principled as your daddy."

Marissa rolled her eyes and smirked as though her father could see the display.

"For a long time," her father continued without pause, "unscrupulous men could treat a woman as a wife for a few years, give her a couple of babies, then leave her alone with no way to support herself and little chance of another man's having pity on her. You know your momma was abandoned by her daddy, and if Grandpa Filmore hadn't had compassion on her, Grandma Cora would have had nowhere to turn. Though most women don't yet know how to use it, the marriage license protects them to a certain extent from these heartless men."

"Okay, daddy, but what does this have to do with my friends."

"Do you think that the piece of paper that the state gave me is what keeps me with your momma? Is that why I never left her?

Marissa shrugged, "Of course not."

"Of course not. Why do I keep my word to her?"

"Because you love her?"

"Love is just a word, Baby. I love baked apples. I love Model-Ts."

"Yes, but you're a good man. And you promised."

"I'm a good man, you're momma's a good woman – a saint, actually. And I made a commitment to love your momma, to take care of her, to cherish her. We have not always enjoyed each other's company; I know the thought rocks your little world. But a contract isn't what keeps me with her. Do you get my point?"

"I'm not following you, daddy."

"If these friends are good friends and good people, the contract wouldn't have decided their behavior. Their character would. If you wanted to keep them as friends, the contract wouldn't affect you much either. You both need to compromise and, because these are good people, they'll work with you. You are principled to a fault. You may have to compromise, not your standards, but your ideals. Aren't these relationships more important than being right?"

"Not if it hurts other people," Marissa insisted.

"No," her father reasoned, "but if these people are as kind as you say they are, they won't want to hurt anyone either."

Marissa knew that her father spoke the truth. Even though she felt angry with her friends, she had no doubt that they had good intentions. Not enough to redeem them if they persisted in causing injury, but if they relented? Marissa knew she had to talk to them, and she had to give them a second chance. She didn't know how much she could trust Barbara and Mario after what they had done, but she had to try.

"Thanks, Daddy. That helped me a lot."

"Just a lot of talk," he downplayed his contribution. "You knew what was right. That's why you waited to talk to them until you had a chance to cool down. Your heart stopped you from going the wrong direction."

That, and a bucket of paint, Marissa sighed silently before wishing her father goodnight and hanging up the phone. She did not look forward to tomorrow.

**********************************

The young lady placed the phone back onto its perch, pensively considering what she had heard. She hadn't intended to eavesdrop on someone else's conversation, but party lines worked like that. Usually, if she had inadvertently picked up the phone and heard Mr. Ellenwood, she would have quickly hung up the phone, but tonight the voice she heard had arrested her. She recognized the voice. Miss Plantation.

Gazing into the mirror as she combed her long red hair, the lady pondered the content of the conversation. That naïve little girl, Marissa Erinson, had for some reason captured Sam Lincoln's attention. What he sees in her is beyond explanation, the lady thought dismissively. Really, Red-head thought, the Erinson girl couldn't compare in looks to herself; the young woman either wouldn't or couldn't recognize how jealousy distorted perception. More importantly, the auburn-haired beauty who sat combing her hair could not allow the young newcomer to distract Sam, either from his purpose or from herself.

The woman paused and smiled at the mirror. Thanks to the overheard phone conversation, a way now presented itself to tarnish the new girl in Sam's estimation. Ever opportunistic, the red-head wouldn't pass up such a chance.

So, little Marissa Erinson had written an article for the new newspaper, the one that had the town talking and had the Rats threatening retribution. Up until the phone call, no one had figured out who had dared speak out against the Rats; all those maligned by the paper had engaged in wild speculations, naming everyone from the Baptist minister to a rival gang as the perpetrator. And now Marissa had unwittingly exposed herself as one of the guilty parties. She hadn't mentioned the other participants in her enterprise by name, but it didn't really matter. Now Red-head knew enough to use. If Marissa had a hand in the writing, then she was complicit, and knowing her identity might lead to the source of the paper.

True, according to the candid phone call, Marissa hadn't known about the list, but Red-head didn't have to share that little detail with anyone, especially not Sam, not if that detail didn't serve her purposes. She didn't know who she would give the information to, honestly, but whether she used it to urge Sam away from the girl or sold it to the Rats for a pretty penny, Red-head would find a way to utilize her new-found knowledge.

She smiled at her reflection again and the now shimmering tresses that cascaded from her crown and down her back. As she visualized the possible outcomes of her new revelation, Red-head looked forward to tomorrow.