Army Community Theatre continues its Readers Theater season devoted to the plays of Horton Foote with his 2001 "The Carpetbagger's Children."

It's his equivalent of Chekhov's "Three Sisters," filled with longing for a past that has been outlived. But unlike Chekhov's heroines, these women have no dreams for the future — and one of them is already dead.

It is an ideal choice for a reading, as its three characters rotate monologues without sharing dialogue, and none of them leaves the stage.

Their reminiscing spins out an oral family history, both real and imagined, that stretches from the Civil War to World War II. As the narrative advances, each monologue drops back a bit to restate the events from a different point of view, but the basic facts are remarkably consistent.

Their father fought for the Union army and saw enough of Texas to make him return after the war. One of the few Republicans in town, he became a tax collector and gained enough insight into local financial dealings to personally accumulate 20,000 acres of ranchland.

He made his family promise never to sell it. He also wants none of his five children to marry, as prospective spouses would clearly be motivated by greed for the property.

The siblings make good on the first promise but fail on the second.

As the play begins, the father and his favored eldest daughter are dead. The burden of management has shifted to Cornelia (Sylvia Hormann-Alper), because Grace Anne (Jo Pruden) has rebelled by running off with a husband, and Sissie (Kathe James) is content to act out the baby of the family by doing what everybody else wants.

An unseen mother has slipped into senility and an unnamed brother inhabits the periphery.

The sisters sit staunchly in chairs, each busy with needlework and locked in personal memory, with only snatches of country songs and hymns to break up their reverie.

Characters slowly emerge, but despite some domestic calamities, there are no real surprises. The script becomes a meditation on time past, opportunities missed or mangled, and a present that stretches ahead — oblivious to who they once were.

Directed by Vanita Rae Smith, the reading has the quality of a deep sigh — heavy with tears stoically withheld.

It ends with a quiet but revealing chorus from "Eternity" by Ellen Gates.

"Oh, the clanging bells of Time!

Night and day they never cease.

We are wearied with their chime.

For they do not bring us peace."