what Alexander had been up to during her absence. Mrs. MacDougal let him roam freely among her treasures, and even Rachel admitted grudgingly that he was not destructive; but it was impossible to predict what he might do in a new environment, particularly if he resented the change.
Karen's steps quickened, even though she knew it was silly to hurry now. Alexander had had all afternoon to work his will.
He was not on the hearthrug, nor was that precious article damaged except for the inevitable accumulation of dog hair. Karen called. There was no answer.
She found Alexander in the kitchen standing by the back door. It wasn't difficult to deduce what he wanted, and she praised him effusively as she let him out. By a simple twitch of his shoulders Alexander expressed his contempt for this transparent attempt to win his approval.
He seemed content to stay outside, so Karen thankfully removed her elaborate and uncomfortable dress and settled down at the kitchen table with a glass of iced tea and the mail. Most of it was for Pat-professional journals, appeals for money from various causes worthy and unworthy, and a few bills. Karen put these aside to be dealt with later; her aunt and uncle had set up an account in her name so that she could pay the household expenses. She drew on it for her own needs, because she had to- the wages Julie gave her barely covered expenses-but she was keeping track of everything she spent on herself, with the intention of paying it back as soon as she could.
The only thing for her was a letter from a lawyer in Dubuque. It was the fourth such epistle she had received. She had not opened any of them, and after hesitating for a moment, she laid this one aside. Her headache was subsiding, but she was in no mood to cope with the painful emotions the letter would undoubtedly arouse. Except for the brief note in the box of her clothes, Jack had not communicated directly with her. Perhaps it was unfair to blame him. She hadn't written or called him either.
I suppose I ought to find a lawyer, she thought listlessly. Another unpleasant duty she had put off--Well, she couldn't do anything about it until Monday. Offices were closed on the weekend and office workers, including lawyers, were relaxing at home, picnicking, entertaining friends. Enjoying themselves. Unlike some people, who had nothing to look forward to except the company of a homely, malevolent dog, and a pile of old clothes to mend.
At least she could get out of the house that evening. She had an appointment with another of Mrs. MacDougal's friends, who had old laces and linens and a few pieces of clothing she might be willing to sell. Such visits had all the fascination of a voyage of exploration into unknown lands; one never knew what would turn up, junk or jewels, treasure or trash. In this case Karen's anticipation was tempered with mild trepidation, for Mrs. Mac had warned her that Mrs. Ferris was a very old friend indeed-"practically gaga" had been her appraisal.
Karen had protested. "I can't take advantage of someone who is senile. And suppose she changes her mind later, and accuses me of cheating or robbing her?"
"Oh, she has her lucid moments. Just make sure she signs a receipt and get the housekeeper to witness it. Betsy is a good soul, she's been with Joan Ferris for years."
Alexander demanded entry, so Karen let him in and fed him. He was only supposed to eat once a day, but she had no intention of trying to enforce rules Alexander didn't choose to obey. It was far too late in the game to turn him into a well-behaved, well-trained dog, even if she had felt strong enough to make the attempt. He deserved a little extra treat anyway. He must be missing his owner; he hadn't lunged at her ankles yet.
There was nothing wrong with his appetite. He polished off his food to the last crumb, belched, and then headed for the parlor, where he lay down on the rug before Karen could stop him. I'll do something about the rug later, she told
Karen's steps quickened, even though she knew it was silly to hurry now. Alexander had had all afternoon to work his will.
He was not on the hearthrug, nor was that precious article damaged except for the inevitable accumulation of dog hair. Karen called. There was no answer.
She found Alexander in the kitchen standing by the back door. It wasn't difficult to deduce what he wanted, and she praised him effusively as she let him out. By a simple twitch of his shoulders Alexander expressed his contempt for this transparent attempt to win his approval.
He seemed content to stay outside, so Karen thankfully removed her elaborate and uncomfortable dress and settled down at the kitchen table with a glass of iced tea and the mail. Most of it was for Pat-professional journals, appeals for money from various causes worthy and unworthy, and a few bills. Karen put these aside to be dealt with later; her aunt and uncle had set up an account in her name so that she could pay the household expenses. She drew on it for her own needs, because she had to- the wages Julie gave her barely covered expenses-but she was keeping track of everything she spent on herself, with the intention of paying it back as soon as she could.
The only thing for her was a letter from a lawyer in Dubuque. It was the fourth such epistle she had received. She had not opened any of them, and after hesitating for a moment, she laid this one aside. Her headache was subsiding, but she was in no mood to cope with the painful emotions the letter would undoubtedly arouse. Except for the brief note in the box of her clothes, Jack had not communicated directly with her. Perhaps it was unfair to blame him. She hadn't written or called him either.
I suppose I ought to find a lawyer, she thought listlessly. Another unpleasant duty she had put off--Well, she couldn't do anything about it until Monday. Offices were closed on the weekend and office workers, including lawyers, were relaxing at home, picnicking, entertaining friends. Enjoying themselves. Unlike some people, who had nothing to look forward to except the company of a homely, malevolent dog, and a pile of old clothes to mend.
At least she could get out of the house that evening. She had an appointment with another of Mrs. MacDougal's friends, who had old laces and linens and a few pieces of clothing she might be willing to sell. Such visits had all the fascination of a voyage of exploration into unknown lands; one never knew what would turn up, junk or jewels, treasure or trash. In this case Karen's anticipation was tempered with mild trepidation, for Mrs. Mac had warned her that Mrs. Ferris was a very old friend indeed-"practically gaga" had been her appraisal.
Karen had protested. "I can't take advantage of someone who is senile. And suppose she changes her mind later, and accuses me of cheating or robbing her?"
"Oh, she has her lucid moments. Just make sure she signs a receipt and get the housekeeper to witness it. Betsy is a good soul, she's been with Joan Ferris for years."
Alexander demanded entry, so Karen let him in and fed him. He was only supposed to eat once a day, but she had no intention of trying to enforce rules Alexander didn't choose to obey. It was far too late in the game to turn him into a well-behaved, well-trained dog, even if she had felt strong enough to make the attempt. He deserved a little extra treat anyway. He must be missing his owner; he hadn't lunged at her ankles yet.
There was nothing wrong with his appetite. He polished off his food to the last crumb, belched, and then headed for the parlor, where he lay down on the rug before Karen could stop him. I'll do something about the rug later, she told
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