Any Minute I Can Split by Judith Rossner Page B

aside from parenthood to continue it (probably not); whether Roger would mind if she were to write him she was going to stay at the farm permanently (probably not). She didn’t actually think of it as staying at the farm so much as she thought of it as staying here with De Witt. This brought up a lot of other questions, like the difference in her bonds to the two men; why she was more relaxed with De Witt than with her own husband (that was an easy one, really—De Witt accepted her as she was while Roger, at best, accepted her in spite of what she was, whatever that was); whether those qualities of hers that Roger detested were about his problems or hers (maybe both; all the things he said about her always sounded terribly right, but why had he married her, then?); whether she could be happy indefinitely without that complicated tension that made life with Roger at once so difficult and interesting (probably not). At this point, where to progress meant to plan or at least to anticipate the future, she always backed away from her thoughts into the present.
    Carol and Starr came back from their investigation with Carol’s friend of the previous year from Rindge and her two children, who’d become so unhappy where they were that they’d decided to help set up the school at the farm. Carol’s ancient Volkswagen had died trying to get out of a snowbank in Maine and they all arrived in Hannah’s jeep, which was pulling a small trailer. Everyone was pleased, not only because Hannah and her children were attractive and likable but because they’d brought their own living quarters with them. Hannah had a snowplow on the front of her jeep which, combined with the tractor plow, made a short job of clearing the snow from enough of one side of the barn so that a long side of Hannah’s trailer could nestleagainst it. Hannah made one request, that they plow in such a way that she could get out at any time. Otherwise, she explained, she would feel claustrophobic.
    â€œI was hoping you’d really settle here,” Carol said, looking very upset.
    Hannah laughed. “Who knows? Maybe you won’t feel that way in two months.”
    â€œI know I will,” Carol said vehemently. “It’s not just you I dig, it’s your kids.”
    H ANNAH’S children were, in truth, delightful to have around. A girl and boy of twelve and nine, respectively, Daisy and Mario both seemed possessed of unusual poise and assurance. Agreeable to each other as well as to the rest of the children, all of whom were younger than they, they seemed to fall into a natural leadership, so that immediately after their first lunch at the farm, for example, instead of the younger kids hanging around while the grownups chatted, they all followed Daisy and Mario out to the barn to set up a basketball hoop that had been transported in the trailer along with the Berksons’ other possessions, which were minimal. Hannah had a thing about ownership and had decided at some point in her life that she would never again own any more than she could fit in her little trailer along with its tiny bathroom, Pullman kitchen and four bunk beds.
    â€œWhen I walked out,” she said as they drank tea, “I didn’t feel as if I was giving up a Park Avenue duplex and the good life. I felt as if I’d been carrying around a sack of fancy silver and china and antiques on my back for ten years and suddenly I’d straightened up and thrown it all off. I have no use for things, only for people.”
    Everyone nodded understanding. Margaret nodded too because she could see what Hannah meant. Hannah’s eyes were beautiful—huge, brown, limpid—and there was about her none of that aggressive piety thatmade you want to disagree with people even when you knew you weren’t wrong. Still . . .
    â€œI know what you mean,” Margaret said slowly, “but it’s not so simple. Things aren’t