"That's _my_ story. Marcia will have a lot harder time; she doesn't even know what a clan is. She's not only never been a part of one, but the people she has been with have sneered at them, and made no effort to understand. She hasn't even been able to get along with one husband; she's going to have a hard time learning to get along with seven. Not to mention six co-wives. Chances are she's been spoiled, made the center of things without due cause. She was an only child, wasn't she? She's going to have it awfully tough." "Do you think she can take it?" Tom asked. "Not knowing the lady, that's guessing too hard," Betsy answered. "I think it's possible that she can learn. And maybe it's not entirely against her that she doesn't know anything about the clans except what's wrong. She'll soon find out she doesn't know a thing, and then she can start from scratch--learn like the kids do. Maybe that's easier than the unlearning of the 'almost-right' that people like me have to do. At least she's got no preconceived ideas that will stand more than a day or two of actual experience." She shrugged. "The thing that I'm worried about," Tom said, "is that she may be able to split us--divide us up into factions and set us against each other. I hope she can't, but what happens if she does?" "Then we split," Betsy answered. "But so what? I don't think she can do it; but even if she can, so what? I wouldn't want it to happen but it wouldn't be a disaster. We'd all land on our feet somewhere. I know I'd head out for the nearest clan and I'd get into that clan just as soon as I could. When I got into it, and got accepted as a real part of it, then I'd think of the rest of this as just an unhappy incident. A tragedy, but not the end of life. But as far as I'm concerned, this is too remote a possibility to worry about." "You are quite unafraid, aren't you?" Tom said. "Yes," she answered simply, her voice calm and cool. "I'm not afraid of Marcia--not of what she can do to the kids or to myself. I think the kids are strong enough emotionally to stand anything. And I think I am, too." There was a quiet confidence in her voice. She reached out and patted his hand. Then, getting up, she started to get out the food for the evening meal while Tom continued to sit there, thinking. And when Tom got up and walked out, she still said nothing but looked after him with a look that had something warm and tender in it. As he walked through the livingroom, he saw Rita stretched out on the couch. He looked questioningly at her wondering if the day had been too hard for her, being, as she was, six months along towards the twelfth child of the clan. But she smiled at him and shook her head. "Don't be worried," she said; "I'm just a little tired but not too much." "Anything I can get you?" he asked. "No, thanks," she said, her voice cheerful. "I just need to get off my feet."