Sugar in the Morning

by Isobel Chace

  She glared at him and then at me, her mouth screwed into a pugnacious line. “Jest you keep me away!” she threatened. “Jest you try it, either one of you, jest you try!”

  It was my uncle who restored peace to the table. “It’s only fitting,” he said calmly. He filled his glass to the brim with rum and turned to face us.

  “To the future Mrs. Hendrycks,” he said. He drank deeply. “And the Ironsides,” he added with rather greater enthusiasm. “The Ironsides, every one of them!”

  Daniel winked at me. “To the Ironsides,” he repeated meekly. He tipped his glass against mine and smiled. “To the one I love,” he said.