Free Lady by Thomas Tryon Page A

Surely you haven't forgotten?"
    I said I hadn't, but thought she had. Her face clouded; pressing the tips of her fingers to her forehead, she said wonderingly, "Did I? I sometimes do forget." She gave a nervous laugh and continued: "No. I remember. Distinctly. Our little supper of veal cutlets. It had snowed. Jesse and Elthea had gone out. We ate in the dining room, alone."
    She paused, as though to recollect the scene more clearly. "All that snow, and . . ."
    And, I thought she must say, the man with the red hair came to the door. She gave a look of surprise and exclaimed, "I never paid you! Did I? Did I pay you?"
    I confessed she had not. She scrunched up her eyebrows and made a mock-tragic face as though to apologize for her bad manners and, digging into her bag, pressed five dollars into my hand. And though she continued speaking of the evening of the "little veal-cutlet supper," never once did she mention Mr. Ott, or his mysterious errand, or how or why his visit had troubled her so painfully.
    Before leaving, she sat on the side of the bed, while I snuggled down under the sheet, her hand brushing my hair down against my forehead.
    "My hair goes the wrong way," I reflected glumly.
    "It's because you're parting it on the wrong side. See, your crown is
Inere
" -- pointing it out with her finger -- "and I'll show you how to train it properly."
    She left the room, calling to Nonnie for a stocking. Returning, she cut the bottom off, knotted it, and when she'd wet and combed my hair with a left-side part, she put the stocking cap over it to plaster it down.
    "Now you sleep in that every night for a while, and pretty soon -- no more cowlick."
    "Lew'll laugh at me," I said; the cap looked ridiculous.
    "Lew won't laugh," Lady asserted firmly, "and if he does, who cares?" She kissed me, then grew gravely silent. At last, with misty eyes, she said, "You're very good for me, Woody."
    "I know," I answered simply.
    She laughed then, and pulled me to her and held me in her arms. "I guess I'm better for you than Rabbit Hornaday," I ventured to add, nestled against her, and feeling her heart throb against my cheek. She murmured something, and I said, "Do you really like him?"
    "Harold? Mm. Yes, I do. Things have not been easy for him."
    "He killed Colonel Blatchley's rabbits."
    "So he did. And is sorry for having done so. And since the Colonel has forgiven him, I think you all might do likewise. His mother is at Meadowland, you know, and then there's Dora for him to worry about."
    Meadowland was the state women's home at Middlehaven where Rabbit's mother had been sent for rehabilitation. Dora, his sister, had been given into the care of the aged aunt they lived with, and was not permitted to attend school with others of her age. Though today she would have been called an "exceptional child," and helped accordingly, in those days she was left to get about by herself, and spent most of her time sitting on the baggage platform of the depot opposite the Rose Rock soda-pop works, throwing rocks at the freight trains.
    "What d'you talk about with Rabbit?"
    "Oh-h . . . he tells me what he's been doing, or how many trains pass his house during the day. . . ."
    "That's dumb."
    "Not if you like trains as much as Harold does. He's really a bright boy, but he doesn't want anybody to suspect it, so he pretends. Very hard, pretending. You ought to get to know him, all of you. He might just be smarter than you think."
    "You gave Rabbit skates," I muttered in an injured tone. She sat me up with a surprised look.
    "Yes, I did. He didn't have skates. And you do."
    "His are better."
    "Are they? Then perhaps that's why he skates better. You'll have to practice a lot to catch up with him, won't you? But I'm sure Rabbit won't be as ungrateful for his skates as some other people one might mention." There was more than a touch of asperity in her tone, and instantly I regretted my words. Here I sat amid all the wonderful things she'd brought me almost every day,