broke one of Mrs. County’s cinnamon rolls and picked out the raisins. “Collin, suppose we let them have their way, gave up, that is: they’d have to let Catherine go, wouldn’t they?” Her eyes tilted toward the heights of the tree, searching, it seemed, a passage through the braided leaves. “Should I—let myself lose?”
“Mrs. County thinks so: that we should go home.”
“Did she say why?”
“Because—she did run on. Because you always have. Always made your peace, she said.”
Dolly smiled, smoothed her long skirt; sifting rays placed rings of sun upon her fingers. “Was there ever a choice? It’s what I want, a choice. To know I could’ve had another life, all made of my own decisions. That would be making my peace, and truly.” She rested her eyes on the scene below, Riley cracking twigs, the Judge hunched over a steaming pot. “And the Judge, Charlie, if we gave up it would let him down so badly. Yes,” she tangled her fingers with mine, “he is very dear to me,” and an immeasurable pause lengthened the moment, my heart reeled, the tree closed inward like a folding umbrella.
“This morning, while you were away, he asked me to marry him.”
As if he’d heard her, the Judge straightened up, a schoolboy grin reviving the youthfulness of his countrified face. He waved: and it was difficult to disregard the charm of Dolly’s expression as she waved back. It was as though a familiar portrait had been cleaned and, turning to it, one discovered a fleshy luster, clearer,till then unknown colors: whatever else, she could never again be a shadow in the corner.
“And now—don’t be unhappy, Collin,” she said, scolding me, I thought, for what she must have recognized as my resentment.
“But are you …?”
“I’ve never earned the privilege of making up my own mind; when I do, God willing, I’ll know what is right. Who else,” she said, putting me off further, “did you see in town?”
I would have invented someone, a story to retrieve her, for she seemed to be moving forward into the future, while I, unable to follow, was left with my sameness. But as I described Sister Ida, the wagon, the children, told the wherefores of their run-in with the Sheriff and how we’d met them on the road inquiring after the lady in the tree, we flowed together again like a stream that for an instant an island had separated. Though it would have been too bad if Riley had heard me betraying him, I went so far as to repeat what he’d said about a woman of Sister Ida’s sort not being fit company for Dolly. She had a proper laugh over this; then, with sudden soberness: “But it’s wicked—taking the bread out of children’s mouths and using my name to do it. Shame on them!” She straightened her hat determinedly. “Collin, lift yourself; you and I are going for a little walk. I’ll bet those people are right where you left them. Leastways, we’ll see.”
The Judge tried to prevent us, or at any rate maintained that if Dolly wanted a stroll he would have to accompany us. It went a long way toward mollifying my jealous rancor when Dolly told him he’d best tend to his chores: with Collin along she’d be safe enough—it was just to stretch our legs a bit.
As usual, Dolly could not be hurried. It was her habit, even when it rained, to loiter along an ordinary path as though she were dallying in a garden, her eyes primed for the sight of precious medicine flavorings, a sprig of penny-royal, sweet-mary and mint, useful herbs whose odor scented her clothes. She saweverything first, and it was her one real vanity to prefer that she, rather than you, point out certain discoveries: a birdtrack bracelet, an eave of icicles—she was always calling come see the cat-shaped cloud, the ship in the stars, the face of frost. In this slow manner we crossed the grass, Dolly amassing a pocketful of withered dandelions, a pheasant’s quill: I thought it would be sundown before we reached the road.
Fortunately
“Mrs. County thinks so: that we should go home.”
“Did she say why?”
“Because—she did run on. Because you always have. Always made your peace, she said.”
Dolly smiled, smoothed her long skirt; sifting rays placed rings of sun upon her fingers. “Was there ever a choice? It’s what I want, a choice. To know I could’ve had another life, all made of my own decisions. That would be making my peace, and truly.” She rested her eyes on the scene below, Riley cracking twigs, the Judge hunched over a steaming pot. “And the Judge, Charlie, if we gave up it would let him down so badly. Yes,” she tangled her fingers with mine, “he is very dear to me,” and an immeasurable pause lengthened the moment, my heart reeled, the tree closed inward like a folding umbrella.
“This morning, while you were away, he asked me to marry him.”
As if he’d heard her, the Judge straightened up, a schoolboy grin reviving the youthfulness of his countrified face. He waved: and it was difficult to disregard the charm of Dolly’s expression as she waved back. It was as though a familiar portrait had been cleaned and, turning to it, one discovered a fleshy luster, clearer,till then unknown colors: whatever else, she could never again be a shadow in the corner.
“And now—don’t be unhappy, Collin,” she said, scolding me, I thought, for what she must have recognized as my resentment.
“But are you …?”
“I’ve never earned the privilege of making up my own mind; when I do, God willing, I’ll know what is right. Who else,” she said, putting me off further, “did you see in town?”
I would have invented someone, a story to retrieve her, for she seemed to be moving forward into the future, while I, unable to follow, was left with my sameness. But as I described Sister Ida, the wagon, the children, told the wherefores of their run-in with the Sheriff and how we’d met them on the road inquiring after the lady in the tree, we flowed together again like a stream that for an instant an island had separated. Though it would have been too bad if Riley had heard me betraying him, I went so far as to repeat what he’d said about a woman of Sister Ida’s sort not being fit company for Dolly. She had a proper laugh over this; then, with sudden soberness: “But it’s wicked—taking the bread out of children’s mouths and using my name to do it. Shame on them!” She straightened her hat determinedly. “Collin, lift yourself; you and I are going for a little walk. I’ll bet those people are right where you left them. Leastways, we’ll see.”
The Judge tried to prevent us, or at any rate maintained that if Dolly wanted a stroll he would have to accompany us. It went a long way toward mollifying my jealous rancor when Dolly told him he’d best tend to his chores: with Collin along she’d be safe enough—it was just to stretch our legs a bit.
As usual, Dolly could not be hurried. It was her habit, even when it rained, to loiter along an ordinary path as though she were dallying in a garden, her eyes primed for the sight of precious medicine flavorings, a sprig of penny-royal, sweet-mary and mint, useful herbs whose odor scented her clothes. She saweverything first, and it was her one real vanity to prefer that she, rather than you, point out certain discoveries: a birdtrack bracelet, an eave of icicles—she was always calling come see the cat-shaped cloud, the ship in the stars, the face of frost. In this slow manner we crossed the grass, Dolly amassing a pocketful of withered dandelions, a pheasant’s quill: I thought it would be sundown before we reached the road.
Fortunately
Similar Books
