always prod me to grab and scratch for the kind of luxuries those rich bastards who ate in the Ringstrasse cafes had, he’ll do whatever he must to push ahead.”
“You’re not ruthless.”
“Face it, Honora, my dominant trait’s ambition. I intend to make it to the top.” Heforced a smile. “Come on, all this talk of starving’s made me ravenous. Let’s scramble some eggs.”
She watched the strong, well-knit body cross the room before she got out of bed.
* * *
Joscelyn lay immobile in the center of the big, soft bed, carefully simulating the deep, modulated breath of sleep. Her ears were alert, though, and her eyes staring into the governing darkness. She was a mess when either of her sisters went out at night; especially when Honora was absent a gamut of terrors prowled. Tonight, with Gideon away too, the flesh of her enforcedly still body was covered with goosebumps. Joscelyn was keenly intelligent, and certainly old enough to understand that her fears were irrational . . . yet, mightn’t that creak herald an intruder, couldn’t that shadow in the corner be a lurking kidnapper, wouldn’t an old house with this much paneling burst into instant conflagration?
Mrs. Ekberg believed that Honora was out with a friend—Vi Knodler, that waitress at Stroud’s she still sometimes saw—but Joscelyn knew that Honora was spending the afternoon and evening with Curt and was with him now. Joscelyn accepted that her sister was sticky in love.
Joscelyn’s prepubescent heart, too, had an icon shrine lit by smoky candles for Curt. He had it all: style, brains, a gorgeous convertible, an impervious, sarcastic smile. The thing she couldn’t understand was why Gideon, whomshe admired, didn’t want Honora going out with this flower of manhood.
The sound of a car grew louder, and Joscelyn, an outspoken agnostic, found her mind teeming with infantile prayers.
Please, God, let it be Honora, I’ll be nice to everyone tomorrow if it’s her.
A light blossomed behind her curtains, abruptly extinguishing when the motor was cut.
Only when the side door opened and closed, and Honora’s light footsteps ran up the staircase, did she roll over and breathe normally.
“Honora,” she called. “That you?”
Honora came in, switching on a light. “You’re still up, Joss?”
“I
was
asleep until you came in.”
“I tried not to make a racket.” Honora came to press her night-cool cheek on Joscelyn’s forehead.
Joscelyn inhaled the unique body fragrance that was dewy and sweet. There was a smell of soap, too, as if she’d recently showered. Another reason to envy both sisters: neither ever had the odor of smelly feet, as Joscelyn was positive she did. “I’ll never get back to sleep.”
“If you were in my bed would it help?” Honora asked.
Was that a trace of hesitancy in the soft voice? Joscelyn’s face burned. Was Honora remembering the first week they were in this house, when every morning this bed had an ignominiously sunken damp splotch? “Your snoring’s hardly the cure for insomnia.”
“Do I snore?” Honora asked in a hurtlittle voice.
Remorse flooded through Joscelyn. Her pride halted her from confessing her lie.
“Sometimes, but not too very loud,” she said, adding aggrievedly, “Oh well, if you insist, I’ll give it a try in your room.”
12
It was an inviolable commitment for the four Sylvanders to spend Sunday together. Gideon had bought a luxurious wood-bodied Chrysler Town and Country (because it had been delivered on Crystal’s birthday, he referred to it with stilted jests as Crystal’s convertible) and enrolled the two older girls at Ace Driving School. In sporty magnificence, the top down, they would pick up their father. Langley had moved from Lombard Street to Stockton Street, a better class of flat, he said, but the exterior of the building was yet more shabby, and they never glimpsed his apartment. He was always waiting on the pavement for them.
The weather had
“You’re not ruthless.”
“Face it, Honora, my dominant trait’s ambition. I intend to make it to the top.” Heforced a smile. “Come on, all this talk of starving’s made me ravenous. Let’s scramble some eggs.”
She watched the strong, well-knit body cross the room before she got out of bed.
* * *
Joscelyn lay immobile in the center of the big, soft bed, carefully simulating the deep, modulated breath of sleep. Her ears were alert, though, and her eyes staring into the governing darkness. She was a mess when either of her sisters went out at night; especially when Honora was absent a gamut of terrors prowled. Tonight, with Gideon away too, the flesh of her enforcedly still body was covered with goosebumps. Joscelyn was keenly intelligent, and certainly old enough to understand that her fears were irrational . . . yet, mightn’t that creak herald an intruder, couldn’t that shadow in the corner be a lurking kidnapper, wouldn’t an old house with this much paneling burst into instant conflagration?
Mrs. Ekberg believed that Honora was out with a friend—Vi Knodler, that waitress at Stroud’s she still sometimes saw—but Joscelyn knew that Honora was spending the afternoon and evening with Curt and was with him now. Joscelyn accepted that her sister was sticky in love.
Joscelyn’s prepubescent heart, too, had an icon shrine lit by smoky candles for Curt. He had it all: style, brains, a gorgeous convertible, an impervious, sarcastic smile. The thing she couldn’t understand was why Gideon, whomshe admired, didn’t want Honora going out with this flower of manhood.
The sound of a car grew louder, and Joscelyn, an outspoken agnostic, found her mind teeming with infantile prayers.
Please, God, let it be Honora, I’ll be nice to everyone tomorrow if it’s her.
A light blossomed behind her curtains, abruptly extinguishing when the motor was cut.
Only when the side door opened and closed, and Honora’s light footsteps ran up the staircase, did she roll over and breathe normally.
“Honora,” she called. “That you?”
Honora came in, switching on a light. “You’re still up, Joss?”
“I
was
asleep until you came in.”
“I tried not to make a racket.” Honora came to press her night-cool cheek on Joscelyn’s forehead.
Joscelyn inhaled the unique body fragrance that was dewy and sweet. There was a smell of soap, too, as if she’d recently showered. Another reason to envy both sisters: neither ever had the odor of smelly feet, as Joscelyn was positive she did. “I’ll never get back to sleep.”
“If you were in my bed would it help?” Honora asked.
Was that a trace of hesitancy in the soft voice? Joscelyn’s face burned. Was Honora remembering the first week they were in this house, when every morning this bed had an ignominiously sunken damp splotch? “Your snoring’s hardly the cure for insomnia.”
“Do I snore?” Honora asked in a hurtlittle voice.
Remorse flooded through Joscelyn. Her pride halted her from confessing her lie.
“Sometimes, but not too very loud,” she said, adding aggrievedly, “Oh well, if you insist, I’ll give it a try in your room.”
12
It was an inviolable commitment for the four Sylvanders to spend Sunday together. Gideon had bought a luxurious wood-bodied Chrysler Town and Country (because it had been delivered on Crystal’s birthday, he referred to it with stilted jests as Crystal’s convertible) and enrolled the two older girls at Ace Driving School. In sporty magnificence, the top down, they would pick up their father. Langley had moved from Lombard Street to Stockton Street, a better class of flat, he said, but the exterior of the building was yet more shabby, and they never glimpsed his apartment. He was always waiting on the pavement for them.
The weather had
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