July 25th, 1939, 2:15pm, Manchester, Vermont

"I thought we were having dinner, Mama." I looked up, startled, my book in hand as I stood from my chair. I was in my sun enlightened formal tea parlor. I was about to host an afternoon tea for a few ladies of the neighborhood, and Mother arrived at the door.

"Yes. Did that change?" She asked sharply, arching a plucked eyebrow.

"No, I was simply confused as to why you are here at tea time." I replied, masking a startle.

"I came," she sat in an opposing chair. "To discuss your brother."

"Oh? I saw him yesterday, he seemed-"

"Ill. I know. I had breakfast with him this morning and I thought he would fall out of his chair." She cut me off.

"Yes he seemed rather weak when I saw him. What do you propose is the issue?"

"Those cigars. The Germans claim they harm your lungs." She eyed me.

"He was wheezing when I saw him. Perhaps that's the issue." I eyed her back.

She scoffed. "Quite the new analogy. When has smoking ever hurt anyone?"

"Perhaps speaking with a doctor would help."

"Sure, if the doctors here knew anything."

"Do you think you know more than doctors?" I pressed.

"Well I would say that such wild theories would call for a lack of medical knowledge on their part." She rolled her eyes before retrieving her hand bag and extracting a thin cigarette, which she lit and proceeded to smoke. I was now the one to raise my eyebrows.

Suddenly my housekeeper appeared at the parlor door. "Madame, your first guest has arrived." I nodded and she shuffled out. I have my staff call me "Madame" even though I am not married. I still prefer Madame over Ma'am, and it is my home so I choose.

"Beatrice, darling." My friend, Martha, entered and we exchanged kisses on the cheek. Mother greeted her and offered her a cigarette, which she accepted. As they smoked, the scent hit me like a wave. I did nothing but politely chat, trying to fight my newfound bout of anxiety.

All this talk of smoking is not sitting right with me.