The Excellent Lombards by Jane Hamilton Page A

covered our mouths, heads to the table, our laughter coming in snorts through our noses. Were we maybe on Sherwood’s side as well as my father’s? I wasn’t sure. For certain I had never been so happy in the middle of the night, in the moment falling in love with Stephen, although I wouldn’t have called it that. I said, “You should stay here. You shouldn’t ever leave.”
    That idea made him sober up. “I shouldn’t?” he asked, as if I were the one to decide.
    Supposing he had children with Gloria: I suddenly could see that they wouldn’t necessarily have to be our rivals. Because they’d be so much younger they could stay on as our workers. They wouldn’t be owners or partners, but reliable hired girls and boys. It seemed to me that William and I had just made those future children a generous offer. No Lombard should have to leave the farm for any reason.
    Of all the surprising things that Stephen said to me that night, the last question took the prize. He said, “Why do you think May Hill prays to the photograph of her nephew?”
    “What?” I said. My face was at once hot.
    “Are you going to be a writer?” he asked.
    “No.”
    “You aren’t?”
    “I’m going to be a farmer.”
    “A farmer, eh? You should maybe think about writer.”
    I shook my head furiously, saying, “William could put that battery in your clock. It would be so easy, nothing to it, do you want me to wake him?”
    “It’s a tempting offer, but, between you and me, the CIA is testing me with this problem. I’m sure, pretty sure, I’ll be able to solve it.”
    Another wave, such heat, Stephen trusting me with his secret. Plus, it was dawning on me, past my blazing face and into my mind, that he’d somehow read my story about May Hill. Which for one thing was more evidence of his occupation. The interview was information for his files . I felt as if I might faint and in order not to I stared at him. He definitely looked like a Lombard, the long nose and the square chin proof, but he also resembled a Japanese emperor, somewhere along the line an impurity sealing his beauty. He was the most handsome spy in the world.
    I said, “Isn’t Gloria worried about you?” I was still thinking, He read my story .
    He didn’t hear my question because he was saying, “Even though this clock doesn’t work it’s probably safe to say it’s time for us to go to bed. Don’t you turn into something unattractive and impossible if you fail to get eight hours of sleep?”
    “Yes,” I said.
    “Well then, Francie, good night.”
    “But I don’t really want to go to bed.”
    “We can have a standing date, every night at—what time is it?” He squinted at the microwave clock. “Two in the morning! Every night at just this minute I’ll meet you right here.”
    He probably didn’t mean it. He was living with Gloria and he wasn’t. He stayed in our house although it didn’t belong to him. He was soon going to float off into the world, a man who himself hadn’t been able to be a farmer. He was someone who didn’t always know what time it was. Plus the travel alarm clock was too hard for him to understand. I started to wonder, as I got back into my bunk, as I tried to go to sleep—if a place might make you more than you were. Was that possible? The puzzle was like a dread story problem. And then, without that place, say you lost it, or couldn’t get back to it, or couldn’t stay there for long, it could turn out that you really weren’t much of anyone.

9.
    Winner and Loser
    T hose of us who were especially interested in preparing for the Geography Bee stayed after school two afternoons a week for more intense drills, Mrs. Kraselnik having to do little to twist the arms of the smart boys to join in, for they were in love with her, too. Her goal undoubtedly was to try to bring them up to our level, Amanda’s and mine, so we would have serious competition. We knew that Mrs. Kraselnik loved us best not because she obviously had pets