Until Spring by Pamela Browning Page B

of the insurmountable problems that were posed by mysteries in real life; for instance, in her case, the puzzle of who she was. At present, she was content not to worry about that. It was enough to appreciate living in this house and to spend much of her day dreaming about her future. Her past seemed less important now that she was no longer living it.
    After a couple of weeks, Jane realized with a start that she hadn't had one of her crushing headaches since she arrived on the ranch. There were even definable periods every day when she felt an emotion that she cautiously identified as happiness.
    It first manifested itself as a lightness of being, which then transformed itself into joy in being alive. At first she was wary of this feeling that was so unfamiliar. She thought it was a fluke. As the days went on and it didn't go away, she learned to believe in it, much as she was learning to trust that there would always be enough food to eat and a warm place to sleep.
    There are people, she thought, who have always had a place to sleep and plenty of food. Probably they've never contemplated what life would be like without these things that are so necessary. And likewise there are people who have always known this contentment, this—and she was still almost too superstitious to think the word— happiness. Duncan Tate was almost certainly one.
    Although perhaps she was wrong about the happiness. He was unfailingly cheerful, more so every day, she thought. But was he happy? Sometimes a shadow of sadness slipped over his features when he thought she wasn't paying attention, and she wondered about it. She thought that maybe it had something to do with his former marriage. Jane had been told about that by Mary Kate, who had fallen into the habit of dropping by to visit with Jane every afternoon after the school bus dropped her off.
    "I didn't know Duncan's wife very well," Mary Kate said one day as they sat together in Duncan's living room cutting pictures out of magazines for one of her school projects. "But Sigrid was pretty. When she went away, Duncan left to go find her, and after he came back, he never talked about her again."
    "Never said anything at all?" Jane asked curiously. She had found a gift set of bath powder and cologne in the bathroom; it must have belonged to Duncan's ex-wife. It seemed odd to think of Duncan married.
    "Nope, he never mentioned Sigrid again. What food group is chocolate cake in, Jane? Do you know?"
    "I'm afraid not," Jane admitted.
    "Well, anyhow, Sigrid didn't come back after she left even to get the things she didn't take with her. Duncan gave me her scarves and I play dress-up with them. Do you want to play dress-up sometime?"
    "Sure," Jane said, pasting a picture of a stick of butter on a notebook page.
    "Sigrid was a rotten cook," Mary Kate told her. "And she didn't love the llamas like the rest of us do. So I'm glad she left, mostly. Especially because you came. You know, cutting out pictures of all this food makes me hungry. Let's make some banana pudding, Jane. Duncan loves it."
    So they made banana pudding, and Duncan did love it, and that was all Jane found out about the long-departed Sigrid.
    She couldn't imagine a woman lucky enough to have Duncan for a husband leaving for any reason whatsoever. And if Sigrid had stayed, chances were that Jane wouldn't be here at all. She didn't think that Sigrid, or any woman for that matter, would have allowed Duncan to take her into his home the way he had.
    Sigrid's loss. Jane's gain.
    * * *
    It wasn't long before Jane discovered soap operas on TV.
    At first the stories seemed incomprehensible because she didn't know the plot lines, but as she began to feel better, she didn't nap in the afternoon anymore and began to watch TV after lunch. Soon it became clear to her that daytime serials were an educational vehicle that she couldn't ignore.
    Man to woman, woman to woman, man to man—all relationships were covered in detail. Table manners and other