spinsters that you used to point out in such terror when you pleaded with me to get some gumption and get you out of this town;
but there was no bitterness in her face now, and if the resignation that he saw in it was like what she had seen in the faces of older townswomen when she was a girl, it could only be wanton cruelty to point it out to her.
“You’ll stay for dinner.”
“Oh no, I’ll drop back later. I picked Katie up at school and we spent the afternoon together, so I drove her home. But I wouldn’t dream of popping in on you like this at suppertime.”
“Nonsense. You don’t have to be formal. We’re having chicken—I can always fish out an extra wing for you.”
They sat in the kitchen—Roy would have preferred the somewhat less chummy formality of the dining room, if only because the dimensions of the round oak table would have kept him further away from Lisa—and chatted about Kate: her ice skating, her cello instructor, her girl friends, her school marks, the clothing that she was outgrowing. And all through the meal, even afterward, while Kate washed, he wiped, and Lisa put things away, he waited tensely for the questions about himself that would betray her real feelings, the emotions she had never dared to reveal in all her years of businesslike letters.
When they had finished with the last of the dessert dishes (the meal had been substantial and filling, if not particularly tasty, and when he complimented Lisa on it she had smiled, a little grimly, he thought), Lisa glanced about vaguely, rubbed her hands on her apron with seeming nervousness as she folded it and put it down, and said, “Roy…”
He tensed and closed the lighter that he had been about to touch to his cigarette. “Yes?”
“I don’t think we’ve had the chance to write you that Kate has been accepted as a junior counselor at the YW camp, you know, out on the lakeshore. Isn’t that fine?”
Kate was standing in the doorway, looking at him eagerly. “Say,” he said, “that’s perfectly swell. Have you got your lifesaving certificate, Katie?”
“They wouldn’t have taken me otherwise. I wrote you last year when I got it, don’t you remember?”
“It comes back to me now.”
“Your father has more on his mind than your lifesaving tests, Katie.”
Roy glanced sharply at Lisa as they walked into the parlor, but her face was perfectly serene. She means it, he thought to himself in wonder, she really means it.
Seated in the parlor on the same sofa on which he had onceheld his wife on his knees, he leaned back and gazed first at the framed portraits of her long-dead parents staring mildly and eternally back at him from the mantelpiece, and then at Lisa herself, curled up on the slipcovered wing chair across the room from him with her feet tucked beneath her. She looked back at him equably, passed her hand over her hair, and reached for the knitting bag which lay beside her on the rug.
“Kate,” she said, “you ought to go upstairs and get cleaned up. It’s almost time for your club meeting.”
“Oh Mother! Not tonight!” Kate had flung herself down on the floor at his feet and leaned back against the couch with her head just under his hand. “This is a special occasion. I don’t want to go any place while Father is here.”
Roy ran his fingertips lightly over her pale hair. “I’d rather you stayed home too, Kate. But your mother and I might have a few things to talk over alone together.” Her head stirred restlessly under his hand.
Lisa too shifted about uncomfortably; it was almost as if she hadn’t expected, or wanted, to be alone with him. But she said, “It’s up to you if you want to skip the meeting. But you have to do your homework anyway. Go up to your room and do your Latin and your geometry while your father and I talk, and you can come down as soon as you’ve finished.”
“All… right…” Kate arose lingeringly and drifted from the room, waving farewell at the foot of the
but there was no bitterness in her face now, and if the resignation that he saw in it was like what she had seen in the faces of older townswomen when she was a girl, it could only be wanton cruelty to point it out to her.
“You’ll stay for dinner.”
“Oh no, I’ll drop back later. I picked Katie up at school and we spent the afternoon together, so I drove her home. But I wouldn’t dream of popping in on you like this at suppertime.”
“Nonsense. You don’t have to be formal. We’re having chicken—I can always fish out an extra wing for you.”
They sat in the kitchen—Roy would have preferred the somewhat less chummy formality of the dining room, if only because the dimensions of the round oak table would have kept him further away from Lisa—and chatted about Kate: her ice skating, her cello instructor, her girl friends, her school marks, the clothing that she was outgrowing. And all through the meal, even afterward, while Kate washed, he wiped, and Lisa put things away, he waited tensely for the questions about himself that would betray her real feelings, the emotions she had never dared to reveal in all her years of businesslike letters.
When they had finished with the last of the dessert dishes (the meal had been substantial and filling, if not particularly tasty, and when he complimented Lisa on it she had smiled, a little grimly, he thought), Lisa glanced about vaguely, rubbed her hands on her apron with seeming nervousness as she folded it and put it down, and said, “Roy…”
He tensed and closed the lighter that he had been about to touch to his cigarette. “Yes?”
“I don’t think we’ve had the chance to write you that Kate has been accepted as a junior counselor at the YW camp, you know, out on the lakeshore. Isn’t that fine?”
Kate was standing in the doorway, looking at him eagerly. “Say,” he said, “that’s perfectly swell. Have you got your lifesaving certificate, Katie?”
“They wouldn’t have taken me otherwise. I wrote you last year when I got it, don’t you remember?”
“It comes back to me now.”
“Your father has more on his mind than your lifesaving tests, Katie.”
Roy glanced sharply at Lisa as they walked into the parlor, but her face was perfectly serene. She means it, he thought to himself in wonder, she really means it.
Seated in the parlor on the same sofa on which he had onceheld his wife on his knees, he leaned back and gazed first at the framed portraits of her long-dead parents staring mildly and eternally back at him from the mantelpiece, and then at Lisa herself, curled up on the slipcovered wing chair across the room from him with her feet tucked beneath her. She looked back at him equably, passed her hand over her hair, and reached for the knitting bag which lay beside her on the rug.
“Kate,” she said, “you ought to go upstairs and get cleaned up. It’s almost time for your club meeting.”
“Oh Mother! Not tonight!” Kate had flung herself down on the floor at his feet and leaned back against the couch with her head just under his hand. “This is a special occasion. I don’t want to go any place while Father is here.”
Roy ran his fingertips lightly over her pale hair. “I’d rather you stayed home too, Kate. But your mother and I might have a few things to talk over alone together.” Her head stirred restlessly under his hand.
Lisa too shifted about uncomfortably; it was almost as if she hadn’t expected, or wanted, to be alone with him. But she said, “It’s up to you if you want to skip the meeting. But you have to do your homework anyway. Go up to your room and do your Latin and your geometry while your father and I talk, and you can come down as soon as you’ve finished.”
“All… right…” Kate arose lingeringly and drifted from the room, waving farewell at the foot of the
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