Free The Sundial by Shirley Jackson Page B

should,” Aunt Fanny said. “I was not brought up to make friends out of my own class, Mrs. Willow.”
    â€œBut there are to be no more differing classes, are there?”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œMiss Ogilvie told us last night of the joyful message you had from your father; Aunt Fanny, you have been very much favored.”
    â€œGood heavens,” said Aunt Fanny. “She actually
told
you?”
    â€œI thought your father instructed specifically that all within the house were among the . . . ah . . . blessed. We have come, my daughters and I, in very good time.”
    â€œGood heavens,” Aunt Fanny said again. “Good heavens.”
    â€œYes,” Maryjane said, “it is quite true. I am to have no more asthma. Aunt Fanny’s father said clearly that sickness, like my asthma, would vanish from the earth. I will never have asthma again, after the world has been cleansed.”
    After a minute Aunt Fanny spoke faintly. “I have never disobeyed my father,” she said. “His instructions were quite clear; perhaps I was wrong in not telling you myself. Mrs. Willow, you and your daughters are—” Aunt Fanny gasped, and nearly choked “—welcome here,” she finished at last.
    â€œThank you,” Mrs. Willow said gravely. “We will try to deserve your kindness. And now,” she said, “I think I will dig up a little breakfast, and then drop in on old Orianna and pass the time of day.”
    _____
    Mrs. Willow settled herself dubiously into a delicate flowered armchair and relaxed slowly, listening for cracks in the wood. “Orianna,” she said, “you know perfectly well you ought to do something for me, me and my gels.”
    â€œGirls,” Mrs. Halloran said. She had been working at the household accounts when Mrs. Willow interrupted her, and she kept one hand protectively on her pen, but without optimism. “Girls, if you please.”
    â€œMy little affectations,” Mrs. Willow said. “You know
perfectly
well you will have to do something for me.”
    â€œAnd your daughters. Gels.”
    â€œMy big hope is getting rid of them, naturally. I always thought that bringing up children was a matter of telling them what to do, but they certainly make it hard for me. There’s no denying, for instance, that my clever Julia is a fool and my lovely Arabella is a—”
    â€œFlirt,” Mrs. Halloran said.
    â€œWell, I was going to say tart, but it’s your house, after all. Anyway, it’s money we need, as if there was ever anything else. I don’t figure there’s any way you can come right out and
give
us some, but people as rich as you are must know other people as rich as you are and somewhere along the line there must be someone you can help us get a dime out of. Marriage would be best, of course; we might as well aim high while we’re about it. It better be Belle, though; she’s prettier and if you tell her anything enough times she’ll do it eventually. Besides if Belle married money the chances are good I could ease a little of it out of her; with Julia, I could whistle. Who’s this young character with the little kid?”
    â€œShe’s what my son Lionel married.”
    â€œGod almighty.” Mrs. Willow was wistful. “All his money. Even so, though, I don’t think I would have wished it on either of my girls, even Julia. On account of you, I mean; there’s no sense taking
you
on just to get our hands on enough money to try and live. I think,” Mrs. Willow said, “I’d rather die, actually. No offense intended, of course. She talks a lot, doesn’t she?”
    â€œMaryjane?”
    â€œHaven’t you heard the kind of things she says?”
    Mrs. Halloran laughed, and Mrs. Willow nodded, and sighed. “Now
that
’s no way to go about it,” she said sadly, “you imagine
me
in a soft spot like