Free And Condors Danced by Zilpha Keatley Snyder Page A

you—”
    “Charles.”
    Father often picked Charles. Perhaps because he was oldest, or perhaps because he never seemed to be prepared. As always, he stumbled and stuttered through the Lord’s Prayer and then the “Bless this food to our use.”
    “Amen,” Father said. The rest of the family echoed, “Amen,” chairs scraped, and everyone sat down.

Chapter 12
    C ARLY SIGHED WITH relief and inhaled a wonderful medley of smells: roast beef, gravy, mashed potatoes, and carrots and peas. She was, she realized suddenly, absolutely famished. The potatoes were next to her plate and she picked them up and sniffed appreciatively. She loved potatoes.
    “Ha-rumm.” The familiar rasping sound that meant that Father was about to speak froze the food-passing process all around the table. Swallowing the hungry juices that were filling her mouth, Carly, like the others, turned to the head of the table. Father was carving the roast beef. “Ha-rumm,” he said again, and then, “Charles. One always rejoices in the familiar beauty of the Lord’s Prayer. But it does seem that piety could be less monotonous. Would it be too much to ask that you favor us with a bit more variety in the future?”
    Without turning her head Carly rolled her eyes toward her oldest brother. Charles’s secrets were never well hidden—a sudden start followed by nervous embarrassment. “Yes, s-s-sir,” he said. “I mean, no, sir. W-w-what prayer do you want me to s-s-say?”
    Father’s smile was dangerously jovial. “That’s one decision I should think you would like to make for yourself, my boy. I should think that would be between you and the Almighty.” The smile disappeared and Father turned to hand the platter of neatly carved beef to Lila. “Here you are, my girl. A fine roast. My compliments to our two lovely cooks.”
    Lila helped herself to the meat, and all around the table the passing process began again. Carly, almost dizzy from hunger, swallowed again and reluctantly passed the potatoes on to Charles, obeying the rule that when you started a dish you did not help yourself first unless it was offered back to you. She was afraid that poor Charles was in no condition to remember such polite niceties. Sure enough, still red-faced and blank-eyed, he simply spooned out a large helping and passed it on. Carly watched wistfully as the bowl started its long journey around the table. The best part, the middle of the white mound enriched by the deep well of yellow butter, would be gone by the time it came back to her.
    “Nellie,” Father said, “how did the shopping go? Were you able to get everything?”
    Nellie’s face was still flushed, either from the heat of the kitchen or from anger. “Yes, Father,” she said quickly. “Everything but the axle grease. Mr. Stone was all out, but he says he’ll be getting some more next month.”
    “Confound the man.” Father’s voice rang with anger, a sound that tightened lips and tensed muscles all around the table. “Shorting himself of grease in the middle of summer. A man as shortsighted as Abner Stone has no business trying to run a merchandising establishment.”
    A possible solution to the axle-grease problem occurred to Carly and she bounced excitedly. “Father,” she said, “Father, I think—”
    “Don’t interrupt, Carly,” Nellie said quickly.
    Father seemed to have heard neither Carly nor Nellie. But his frown seemed even more threatening as he continued, “If I’d thought for a minute that Stone’s would be out of grease, I could have gotten some in Ventura. I wish to God—”
    Lowering her voice Carly stubbornly tried again: “Father.”
    His eyes turned to Carly and all the Abner Stone-axle-grease anger seemed about to break on her head. “What is it?” he asked slowly and distinctly.
    “Woo Ying has lots of grease in the carriage house. For Aunt M.’s surrey. You could borrow some from Woo Ying.”
    Still frowning, Father returned his eyes to the piece of bread he