Free The Major's Daughter by J. P. Francis Page B

men were pointing rifles at us not long ago. Keep that in mind. Sometimes with the everyday routine of the camp, it’s hard to remember, but keep it in mind.”
    â€œYou don’t have to remind me of that, Papa.”
    â€œYes, but the heart wants what the heart wants. Help him with the poem if you like, but that will be the end of it, all right?”
    â€œYou’re lecturing me like a schoolgirl.”
    â€œI don’t mean to. Sorry, I’m annoyed with this bit of business about the escaped prisoner. The press will slaughter us over it. And I’ll doubtless have to speak to the town fathers. It just makes for more work all the way around.”
    â€œI understand. Let me know if I can help.”
    Major Brennan stared at his daughter. It was rare to see her so uneasy about a young man. She blew air over her top lip and stood. Before she left the room, he sounded her out on something else.
    â€œI’m expecting a call from the Brown Paper Company; they’ve invited us to a party and I didn’t know what to tell them. Would you like to attend? I guess it’s a small birthday celebration for the mother, Eleanor, I think it is. I can beg off without any problem, but I wanted to run it by you.”
    â€œWhen is it?”
    â€œThe day after tomorrow, I think. It’s not particularly formal. No need for fancy dressing.”
    â€œWe should go, shouldn’t we? But I wouldn’t mind dressing up, you know. It would do us both good.”
    â€œProbably,” he said, and then the intercom buzzed. “That’s the old man now. I’ll tell him we’ll attend, if it’s okay with you. Give us a night out, anyway.”
    He watched his daughter leave the room. Then he pushed a button and listened as Sherman Heights’s secretary informed the major that she had Mr. Heights and that she would pass him to the president immediately.
    Â â€¢Â â€¢Â â€¢Â 
    Henry Heights watched his brother, Amos, dance with a girl named Dolly, both of them drunk and vining around each other. Now and then Amos ran his hand up Dolly’s side, trying to touch her breasts, and Dolly, in a gesture like a person pushing up on a wall, moved his hand away and put it back on her waist. She had performed that same act a dozen times during the dance. Amos was too intoxicated to care or take notice, Henry knew. Henry was drunk himself, and he had consumed only half of what Amos had consumed.
    The girl next to him, Charlene, watched Amos and Dolly dance, too. She wore strong lilac perfume and drank a gin fizz. She smoked Camels and constantly dug in her handbag; that seemed to be her chief occupation. Henry could not quite remember her background: she worked in Mexico, Maine, or maybe it was Rumford, and she was up visiting Dolly for the weekend. She had leaned into him twice and put her hand on his thigh. Now, he supposed, she was inattentive because he had not responded. Amos responded instantly to women, staking out territory as if a date were a military campaign, but Henry simply felt uneasy in the haze of hands and drinks. He always had. Besides, he was tired and wanted to turn in, but he imagined Amos was set on having a big night and he doubted they would make it home much before dawn.
    Amos and Dolly returned to the table when the jukebox flipped over onto a new record. Lester Young began singing “Stardust.”
    â€œYou two not dancing?” Amos asked, his voice drunken and tight and watery. “What’s wrong with my brother? Is he being a wet blanket, darling? He sometimes is, but he can’t help himself. Is he being a wet blanket?”
    Amos asked the question of Charlene, but she missed it for digging in her purse. Like a badger or groundhog, Henry thought drunkenly. Like an animal trying to dig into the earth.
    â€œLet’s have another round,” Dolly said, wobbling a little on her feet. “We could use another round.”
    â€œNow