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Show in my father's house/ 81 and lemonade and chocolate cake appeared, and everyone hugged and kissed. The other wives, excepting ailing Aunt Rachel, carried overnight bags announcing they would be spending the remainder of the twins' time in jail with them. As they left the City and County Building they were approached by a large broad-faced woman who they recognized as a group sympathizer. "You girls won't spend another night in jail," she proclaimed. "I promise you that." Someone whispered she had mortgaged her property for the bond of the thirty fundamentalists arrested in the "round-up." In a newly light and giddy cell, the women laughed over everything, and talked of going home. At about seven o'clock, a grumpy matron brought keys and papers for their release. My father picked his wives up in front of the jail, and they drove home singing and chattering despite the serious undertone of knowing that they'd soon be going to trial. "You must have faith and put worry out of your minds, my angels," my father told them. They were met at the white house door by -- of all people -- Aunt Sarah's younger sister, who defied her family's prejudice and come to help. She bowed them into a spotless house with a wonderful odor of gingerbread drifting through the rooms. The children, bathed and dressed in nightclothes, squirmed excitedly on the parlor sofa. "It was like heaven," my mother said afterward. "Heaven |