Oma’s pleased with that choice, and that of the second unbuttoned button. The tension fades until I feel her fingertips rest upon my third, buttone... button. She leans in close, her soft, musical voice no more than a whisper… “I think the third button as well, my dear.” All I can or need do is nod as she pulls the button free and smooths the fabric open, revealing more cleavage than I had thought I should.Oma kisses the back of my head, her hands gently kneading my shoulders before she. She hardly acknowledged the expressions of sympathy from those aroundher."Do they know who was responsible?" she heard someone ask."They suspect labor agitators," William's father replied. "The verypeople William championed, responsible for his death."She heard her own father's voice: "He should have known better. We shouldall know better. There is only one place for the laborer - under ourthumb! They will kill us any chance they get, and care not whateverefforts we expend on their. More

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