longer than could be accounted for by the speech habits of the South.
“She said: ‘You’re a dear, Georgiana, and you know there’s always a place for you in New York with me, if the situations should be reversed.’ Now that’s about as likely as a blizzard in Alabama, but I appreciated the thought. Anyway, she wasn’t looking at Merryfields in a personal way, so I paid the matter no more mind. When Flavia’s here she always goes her own way until teatime, and I was glad she seemed occupied and busy. Mostly when she visits she reads a whole lot, but this time she seemed to spend hours in the town noticing things. I took that as a good sign; lack of interest is bad in the old. I was glad not to have to worry about Flavia on that score. I couldn’t have known, could I, that she would disappear and worry me just when I was easy in my mind?”
Kate nodded her understanding of Georgiana’s worry.
“Do you think I ought to consult the family lawyer, Matthew Finley?” Georgiana asked Kate after a time. “He’s the son of our old family lawyer, and his granddaddy was Papa’s lawyer before that. He’s young, but he understands how to deal with the world and with old folks like me. Maybe he could give us some good advice.”
“We ought to keep him in reserve, anyway,” Kate said. “In case we actually have some facts to deal with. Meantime, I think I’ll just poke around a little on my own. Try not to worry too much; the old saw about no news being good news was invented for situations just like this. Besides, I can’t imagine Flavia doing anything foolish, not really.”
“That’s the difference between us,” Georgiana said. “I can.”
KATE STAYED SEVERAL days with Georgiana, hoping for a sign from Great Aunt Flavia, but there wasn’t the breath ofa sign. Kate called me each day at six from a phone booth as she had promised, but she had nothing to report. The police, egged on by Georgiana’s influential friends and relations, had stepped up their search, but they’d found nothing. Kate was ready to retreat back to the North, since there seemed little anyone could do down there among the magnolias or verbena or whatever it is, when the most extraordinary story appeared in the papers with the sudden force of a powerful explosion. The minister of one of the most successful of the fundamentalist churches, who had collected millions of dollars in the service of God at His explicit direction, was photographed entering a motel in Georgiana’s town with a prostitute. There was no question of the woman’s profession, nor of her understanding of her client’s intentions as they entered the motel. By that evening, the minister himself was on television–most of his congregation were reached in this way–pleading for forgiveness of his sin and promising to reform. Kate, for reasons she could not explain to herself let alone to Georgiana, decided to stay on for a bit.
When she called me that evening, she said she was talking from Georgiana’s phone, since there wasn’t any more anyone could learn by listening in. At Kate’s insistence, Georgiana had called Matthew Finley, the family lawyer, and urged him in her gentle but firm manner to discover from the newspaper that had first printed the picture where they had got it. Georgiana told Finley she would wait by her phone for an answer but could not give a reason. She made it clear, however, that her future legal business depended on prompt action: this disappearance of Flavia had gone on long enough, and if Kate thought this information would hasten Flavia’s return, she, Georgiana, would supply it.
Finley stopped asking questions and went to work. Herang back with the information in a remarkably short time. Kate, listening to Georgiana receive it on the telephone, fought the impulse to grab the receiver from Georgiana’s gentle hands.
“I don’t know what you expected, my dear,” Georgiana said when she had hung up after thanking Finley in her
“She said: ‘You’re a dear, Georgiana, and you know there’s always a place for you in New York with me, if the situations should be reversed.’ Now that’s about as likely as a blizzard in Alabama, but I appreciated the thought. Anyway, she wasn’t looking at Merryfields in a personal way, so I paid the matter no more mind. When Flavia’s here she always goes her own way until teatime, and I was glad she seemed occupied and busy. Mostly when she visits she reads a whole lot, but this time she seemed to spend hours in the town noticing things. I took that as a good sign; lack of interest is bad in the old. I was glad not to have to worry about Flavia on that score. I couldn’t have known, could I, that she would disappear and worry me just when I was easy in my mind?”
Kate nodded her understanding of Georgiana’s worry.
“Do you think I ought to consult the family lawyer, Matthew Finley?” Georgiana asked Kate after a time. “He’s the son of our old family lawyer, and his granddaddy was Papa’s lawyer before that. He’s young, but he understands how to deal with the world and with old folks like me. Maybe he could give us some good advice.”
“We ought to keep him in reserve, anyway,” Kate said. “In case we actually have some facts to deal with. Meantime, I think I’ll just poke around a little on my own. Try not to worry too much; the old saw about no news being good news was invented for situations just like this. Besides, I can’t imagine Flavia doing anything foolish, not really.”
“That’s the difference between us,” Georgiana said. “I can.”
KATE STAYED SEVERAL days with Georgiana, hoping for a sign from Great Aunt Flavia, but there wasn’t the breath ofa sign. Kate called me each day at six from a phone booth as she had promised, but she had nothing to report. The police, egged on by Georgiana’s influential friends and relations, had stepped up their search, but they’d found nothing. Kate was ready to retreat back to the North, since there seemed little anyone could do down there among the magnolias or verbena or whatever it is, when the most extraordinary story appeared in the papers with the sudden force of a powerful explosion. The minister of one of the most successful of the fundamentalist churches, who had collected millions of dollars in the service of God at His explicit direction, was photographed entering a motel in Georgiana’s town with a prostitute. There was no question of the woman’s profession, nor of her understanding of her client’s intentions as they entered the motel. By that evening, the minister himself was on television–most of his congregation were reached in this way–pleading for forgiveness of his sin and promising to reform. Kate, for reasons she could not explain to herself let alone to Georgiana, decided to stay on for a bit.
When she called me that evening, she said she was talking from Georgiana’s phone, since there wasn’t any more anyone could learn by listening in. At Kate’s insistence, Georgiana had called Matthew Finley, the family lawyer, and urged him in her gentle but firm manner to discover from the newspaper that had first printed the picture where they had got it. Georgiana told Finley she would wait by her phone for an answer but could not give a reason. She made it clear, however, that her future legal business depended on prompt action: this disappearance of Flavia had gone on long enough, and if Kate thought this information would hasten Flavia’s return, she, Georgiana, would supply it.
Finley stopped asking questions and went to work. Herang back with the information in a remarkably short time. Kate, listening to Georgiana receive it on the telephone, fought the impulse to grab the receiver from Georgiana’s gentle hands.
“I don’t know what you expected, my dear,” Georgiana said when she had hung up after thanking Finley in her
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