He stood in silence a moment, thinking. “It’s like this, Katherine,” he
began again. “There’s my daughter Jane upstairs. I’m going away but I
can’t take her with me any more than you can go live in your brother’s
house out there in Minnesota. I’m thinking that for the next two or
three days or maybe for several weeks Jane is going to have a pretty
hard time.
“There’s no telling what will happen here.” He made a gesture toward
the house. “I’m going away but I suppose I’ve been counting on your
being here until Jane gets on her own feet a little. You know what I
mean, until she gets so she can stand alone.”
* * * * *
On the bed upstairs Jane Webster’s body was becoming more and more
rigid and tense as she lay listening to the undercurrent of noises
in the house. There was a sound of movement in the next room. A door
handle struck against a wall. The boards of the floor creaked. Her
mother had been seated on the floor at the foot of the bed. Now she
was getting up. She had put her hand on the railing of the bed to pull
herself up. The bed moved a little. It moved on its rollers. There was
a low rumbling sound. Would her mother come into her room? Jane Webster
wanted no more words, no further explanations of what had happened to
spoil the marriage between her mother and father. She wanted to be let
alone now, to think her own thoughts. The thought that her mother might
come into her bedroom frightened her. It was odd, she had now a sharp
and distinct sense of the presence of death, in some way connected with
her mother’s figure. To have the older woman come into her room now,
even though no words were said, would be like having a ghost come.
The thought of it happening made little creeping sensations run over
the surface of her body. It was as though little soft hairy-legged
creatures were running up and down her legs, up and down her back. She
moved uneasily in the bed.
Her father had gone downstairs and along the hallway below but she had
not heard the front door open and close. She lay listening for the
sound of that, expecting it.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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