Free Gift of the Golden Mountain by Shirley Streshinsky Page A

the same way about her as you do. And I never will. Could we just not talk about it any more?
     I hope I haven't hurt your feelings. I miss you too, Faith, but I am very glad I came to be with Em and Phinney and the twins, and to go to Colworth School. There is this sign in the main hall that says, "Founded: 1837 by Perseus Colworth." Phinney's right about his rock-ribbed ancestors rattling around all over the place.
     I can hear Em and the twins—they went into town for groceries, and they are storming in now, so I'll sign off.
     All my love,
     May
         I called Kit.
         "I've asked myself a thousand times what could have made her turn away from me," she told me. "For a long time I thought there must be a reason. Porter didn't know, either. He said she was 'moody'—but Porter was never much for introspection or trying to understand feelings. He was too intent on action. And in the meantime, May just seemed to drift away from me. I could actually feel her withdrawing. It caused an almost physical pain . . . it still does," she admitted, her tone implying that it was foolish of her, after so long a time.
         Kit continued to try, because she invited May and Karin and Sam to join us for a gala dinner at Trader Vic's before the opening of

my show. Karin had happened to answer the phone, and accepted for all of them on the spot. It was a fatal mistake. Sam and Karin arrived without May, Karin obviously upset and Sam angry.
         "May is being a Class A shit," he said, disgusted. "She threw a fit when Karin said we'd come without checking with her and then she really went into a spin when we said we would go without her."
         "Sam, I really should have . . ."
         "Cut that crap, Karin," he came back, "May is being a bitch and you know it. Somebody needs to tell her that she is way out of line. I elect you, Faith."
         "You do?" I said, with as much sarcasm as I could muster.
         "Yes I do," he came back, "because you're the only one who can get away with it."
         He was right. It was up to me, and suddenly I felt enormously weary. As if I had been told to scale a cliff—I knew it was all but impossible, and I knew I had to do it.
         Kit disappeared into her public persona—superficially charming and distantly correct. At the show she retreated into the background. May finally appeared, late and distracted. She was wearing jeans and a black turtleneck, and looked as if she had just come from the lab. Between trying to be polite to mobs of people I didn't know, I watched her. She studiously made a careful circuit of the exhibit, stopping to read the captions on each photograph, careful not to let her eyes wander over the crowd. Karin and Sam saw her, and kept their distance—Sam, I suppose, waiting for me to set May straight. Suddenly, quite without warning, one of my capes slipped and I would have toppled had not someone caught me. A chair was brought, and the crowd that had gathered around me gradually dispersed. May, her face filled with concern, appeared next to me.
         "I need to talk to you," I said, in a voice that—to my utter chagrin—sounded desperate.
         "You need to get some rest," she cautioned me, "You've overdone. This has been too much for you, Aunt Faith."
         "About Kit and Karin, tonight . . ." I started.
         Anger flashed across her face like heat lightning. Struggling to control it, she closed her eyes for a long moment. When she opened them again, her eyes were empty of emotion. I shivered at it—the stifling of so much anger, pressing it down inside of her like that.
         "May, dear . . ." I tried again, but it was no use. Her face had closed tight to the world and I knew it was no good. I could feel the disappointment well within me. There was no easy resolution, and nothing I could do for the moment, nothing. I had been a silly old fool to suppose I could.
         I asked May to drive me home. I wanted