Sharon had difficulty in getting to sleep. It troubled her that she had been so quick to doubt the purity of motives in the Harrows tonight, to have suspected them of ulterior motives in their extension of friendship to her and her uncle. They were not that kind of people, she acknowledged now. No matter how great was their desire to further their son's ambitions, they would not stoop to subterfuge in their dealings with others.
As for their son, she supposed now that there was nothing wrong with his seeking support for his project, and certainly Uncle
Nate had given him every encouragement. It hurt a little to think that her uncle had known of the project even before John Harrow arrived and said nothing to her, although he had more or less apologized for this neglect when they reached home.
"I thought I'd just wait till we had a chance to see him for ourselves. I really had no doubts we would like him. I do, immensely, don't you?" Uncle Nate had said.
"He's all right, I guess," she had replied. "But, really, Uncle Nate, you're not doing what we agreed on at all. I hope you haven't made him any rash promises behind my back."
"Oh, no. It will be a shared decision, but I can think of no reason for objection. A wholly worthwhile project and a good investment. That last part bothers me, though. The idea isn't to make more money but to get rid of what we've got."
"Yes. But you can't just go around giving medical centers away to every young doctor with big ideas!"
"I thought we might make them a present of a well-equipped laboratory," he had said coaxingly.
She could not explain even to herself now, lying sleepless, why she had expressed er-self so strongly against such a gift. She felt miserably confused. It was one thing to talk about giving money away but quite another to do it, she reflected. And it frightened her that being so involved in her uncle's wealth might be changing her, too. It was just possible she was no more unaffected by it than her family, when it came right down to it.
She thrashed about, wishing once again that the Harrows had not had a son. The evening had ended up with him not liking her, which was nothing new in her experience but not very helpful in her present dilemma. She could, of course, just wash her hands of any interest in Uncle Nate's financial dealings. All she wanted was the new cottage and a nice, comfortable life with him, with no John Harrows or any greedy others to be always worrying about.
She still felt angry about the trouble she had gone to, to look her best. Had she started changing in that moment when she saw the dress downtown and let Uncle Nate buy it for her? It was beautiful and expensive. Sally had just raved about it and how she, Sharon, looked in it. All she'd wanted to do, she told herself, was to achieve a sense of well-being to offset the awkwardness that always attended any meeting of young men.
He had, she remembered, looked at her with interest at first. Almost as though he felt awkward-no, not awkward, but nervously aware of her. It had made her feel very adult, almost sophisticated. But not for long. The minute he started the talk about what he wanted, all the looks he had given her had been sharp and almost defiant-antagonistic. Well, she thought, if he had any sense he would not antagonize her! After all, if she were against the investment, young Dr. John might very well find himself out in the cold!
She rolled over on her stomach and buried her face in her arms, shocked at herself. Wave upon wave of sick shame burned through her. Oh, God, she pleaded, thoroughly frightened, don't let me be like that. Don't let the money change me into another Debbie. Let him have his old clinic-anything, just so I can stay free of this awful feeling.
There were unaccustomed tears on her cheeks when sleep claimed her at last, but she had survived her first battle with corrupting power, and was able to look herself in the eye when she awoke to the shrill summons of the alarm clock. For a moment she could not remember why she had set it for such an early hour, and then, remembering swiftly, lay wondering if she should redeem herself for her unworthy thoughts of the night before by letting John Harrow drive off in the wonderful new automobile.
She was repentant, but not that repentant, she decided. And Uncle Nate did need her along for-well, protection. She dressed carelessly to play down the care she had taken the previous night, and to prove to herself that impressing John Harrow was the last thing in her mind. The hair Sally had so beautifully arranged was tied back with a length of red ribbon, and the jeans she donned were old and faded, the shirttail flapping, one she had once swiped from Dwayne. Scuffed loafers completed her outfit. She went downstairs on the run, headed for the kitchen and food.
"Well, all ready, I see," Uncle Nate greeted her from the big kitchen range, where he had breakfast started. The electric percolator made a bright morning sound.
"How would you like your eggs?" he asked.
"Morning." She smiled. "Let me help."
"No, just sit, my dear. First real chance I've had to try out this range. It's a beauty. I told Mrs. Upstead last night we'd be going out early and not to bother Brownie, so we have the kitchen to ourselves."
"Gee, won't it be great when we have our own place?" She straddled a chair, watched his deft movements. "I can hardly wait," she sighed.
"Well, it won't be long. The workmen should start laying the foundation
tomorrow."
"Uncle Nate," she said, scowling, "are you mad at me?"
He swung around, spatula in midair. "Perish the thought! Should I be?"
"I was a pain in the neck last night," she told him. "All mixed up again. You go ahead and do what you want about the lab-about everything. The sooner we quit being rich the better I'll feel."
"Bothers you, does it?"
"Scares me. Power corrupts," she said darkly.
He choked on a bit of bacon he was sampling. "I suppose it does," he managed. He brought their breakfast plates to the table. "It's going to be another lovely day," he remarked. "And there's nothing like fishing to take our minds off material things, so eat up and let's be on our way."
She wished they were going alone, but refrained from saying so. "Whatever you do," she said, "don't forget your hat. You know how easily you burn. And it wouldn't hurt to take along a sweater. It won't really be a lovely day till the sun gets higher."
"A hat and sweater, I'll remember," he said obediently. "You're getting a nice tan already, my dear."
"Oh, I'll be brown as an Indian before summer's over. I always am."
Dr. Harrow took one look at Sharon and decided he must have been just tired the night before. Why, she was nothing but a kid, and a kind of cute one at that! He piled fishing gear and a huge picnic basket onto the back seat and climbed into the front beside Uncle Nate. "I haven't been fishing in years," he told them, and waved to his parents, who watched from the doorway.
"Have a good time," his mother called.
Sharon grinned, waved, and peeled out and away with her usual enjoyment of the noise, laughing when the two men were jerked back in their seat. "Did you bring along any bait?" she yelled at the doctor.
"It's Dad's gear," he answered. "He said there are some flies and a couple of lures in the tackle box."
"No good," she told him. "Salmon eggs are the only thing right now, but don't worry. I brought along a couple of jars."
He smiled at her tone and Uncle Nate gave him a sly wink. Sharon caught it and frowned, then shrugged. She was determined not to let him spoil her day. Kill him with kindness, that's the way, she decided. Uncle Nate frowned slightly at her strange expression.
"Sharon's a real fisherman," he said. "Got me beat hollow."
The praise evoked her generosity. "Oh, you're pretty good, Uncle Nate," she conceded. "It's just that I've had so much experience. I've been fishing the lake ever since I was a kid."
John looked away to conceal his laughter. It was hard to believe she was the same girl he had seen the night before. These young girls nowadays, he thought. Can't tell them from their big sisters when they get all dolled up. "I wish Dad could have come," he said as the city was being left behind for open countryside. "Next to chess, he loves to fish."
"We'll have to have another little jaunt on Thursday, his day off. Or can you stay on through the weekend, John?"
"I shouldn't, Uncle Nate," John replied. "I could get one of the other interns to pinch-hit for me, I suppose, but I am due back Saturday morning."
"Well, we'll plan on Thursday, then."
Sharon frowned briefly, but said nothing. At least he was not going to be around permanently. She hummed softly. The feel of the steering wheel under her hands and the smooth purr of the engine were joys still so new they outweighed less happy thoughts. And young Doctor John was rather pleasant company.
At the lake, she took command, arranging for the rental of a specific motor-boat she favored, and becoming its pilot. Because he was so pleased at every evidence of teenage carelessness in her, John Harrow was merely amused by her bossy little ways. She looked like a careless boy despite the feminine curves of her slim figure, he thought, and decided that pale eyes in a smooth tanned face were a very attractive combination. He began to affect an avuncular attitude, and Sharon responded with ease.
"We'll head for the north end of the lake," she announced. "Thank goodness we got here early," she added. "We ought to get in a good hour's fishing before it gets crowded. You can get out the salmon eggs, Doc," she told him.
He laughed out loud. "Danged sassy kid you've got here, Uncle Nate," he said.
"I don't know how I ever managed to survive seventy-two years without her," responded the old man, a twinkle in his eye.
Her head turned. "That's pretty old, Uncle Nate," she said in a worried tone. "Button up your sweater. That breeze is cold."
"He doesn't look his age, Sharon," John told her. "And I have a hunch he's putting us on. As a medical man, I'd say he's a good ten years younger than that physically."
Sharon flicked him a grateful look. "Are you a good doctor?"
"The best." He grinned. "Just ask my mother, if you don't believe me."
"Okay, Doc," she replied, grinning, and cut the motor. "We'll troll here," she said.
The lake had a metallic sheen and the sudden silence was broken only by the clear, pure call of a bird in one of the trees that lined the banks. For a moment John watched the girl as she moved deftly, checking her reel and digging brown fingers into the salmon-egg jar for bait, her face rapt and concentrated. John glanced at Uncle Nate, who, having already cast out, sat smoking his pipe contentedly. Catching John's eyes, the old man gave a brief nod and smiled, as if to say, "No more chatter out of her now."
And it was true. Sharon became absorbed in fishing, the true fisherman's silence wrapping around her like an invisible shield. What a strong, beautiful profile she had, the young doctor thought, its lines cleanly exposed by the pulled-back hair. He felt an odd sort of tenderness move in him. Just this morning, while frying chicken for the picnic basket, his mother had remarked about a lonely quality she sensed in this girl and told him a little bit about her background. Unable, now, to keep from glancing at her often, John saw what his mother meant. In repose the girl's face was very young and vulnerable. I'd like to help her, was his thought, which struck him as slightly ridiculous, but persisted.
The sun was high when, driven by hunger, Sharon decided to call a halt. Their combined catch was nothing to brag about, but the hours spent were counted no loss. "Gee, I'm glad your mother was so thoughtful," Sharon declared. "I'm famished." And she let John pilot them to shore. Fishing always had the power to subdue her frustrations and rebellions. "I know a dandy picnic spot," she said. "Uncle Nate, why didn't we ever think of bringing along a picnic lunch before? You mother's a darling, Doc."
"Well, I'll tell you, kid," he replied. "I've had her for darned near twenty-eight years and no complaint so far. Of course, she's inclined to be a bit too bossy, like some other people I've noticed around here, but I guess it's just one of those incurable feminine traits we poor men have to put up with. Eh, Uncle Nate?"
Uncle Nate chuckled. "I'm afraid so," he agreed. "But we'd be lost without our little women to nag us into behaving ourselves."
Sharon enjoyed the teasing. "In a way it's a great waste of talent that I've decided not to marry," she told them. "I really think I'd make a great mother."
"Oh? You've got something against marriage?"
"I don't think it's all it's cracked up to be, Doc. I notice you're not wearing any ring on your finger."
"That's right. I just haven't had time to give marriage much thought. I expect I'll end up like you, Uncle Nate, and be none the worse for it."
"I don't know," Sharon said, studying him. "Your mother wants grandchildren. I think he ought to get married, don't you, Uncle Nate?-Doctors that aren't married can get into a lot of trouble with their patients, and then there are all those nurses-" For some reason the thought bothered her. "Well, here we are," she said, dropping the subject abruptly. "I'll go get the picnic basket while you tie up the boat, Doc," she said, and was first out of the boat and away, running.
"She's a nice kid," John told the old man.
"Yeo, I think a lot of her, John. I'm glad you two hit it off so well today. She needs to be with young people more." He let John help him from the boat, stood a moment studying the young man's face. "John, I've decided to build your medical center and won't keep you wondering. There's just one thing I'd like to ask you to do for me. Interest Sharon in the project. It won't make any difference in the long run, but she needs to have other interests than those of an old man. Do you understand.''
The night before, John would not have understood; today he had experienced a protective moment for Sharon. "Does she know you have decided?" he asked.
"She said this morning-" His old eyes were touched for a moment with sadness. "She reminded me that power corrupts, John, and it was a very significant remark to me. She's very young, but almost painfully honest. And just child enough to be jealous of anything I do that does not include her." He laughed. "I'll bring up the subject of the clinic at lunch, John. For the moment, just follow my lead. More than anything in this world I want her happiness."
John was not sure what was expected of him, but the singing joy within him overrode doubts. "I should thank you, Uncle Nate. I'm afraid I can't fi"d words-"
"Not needed, not needed. Here she comes. We'll thrash it all out another time." "Wow, this thing is heavy," Sharon told them, and let John relieve her of the basket's weight. "I peeked," she added. "Lordy, lordy, Uncle Nate. Fried chicken, chocolate cake, and I don't know what all. Even lemonade! Come on, let's hurry, before someone finds my picnic place first!"
The picnic basket was considerably lighter when Uncle Nate lay back on the spread blanket and covered his face with his hat, flushed with a healthy appetite more than appeased. "I don't know about you two," he said, "but I'm half asleep."
Sharon sighed, wiped her mouth, and sat back against a huge log. "God bless Mrs. Harrow," she said. "I'm stuffed."
"I know what you mean," John replied. "Funny thing, I don't feel a bit hungry now."
She laughed. He had been full of fun all during the meal and she liked him, thoroughly liked him.
"Hey, Doc," she began, grinning, "Uncle Nate's going to
build your darned old clinic. Did he tell you?"
"Uncle Nate spoke quickly. "I was just about to when I felt too sleepy to bother," he remarked.
"Why, Uncle Nate! That's a very selfish attitude, when Doc is bound to have been wondering." Her eyes flicked away from the brightness of John's gaze upon her. "I hope you're glad," she said, a little shyly for her.
"I don't know what to say, Sharon. It's a tremendous thing."
"I suppose it is." She got up, found an apple in the basket and bit into it, then came back and straddled the log where he was sit-ting. "It must be nice to have a goal-something that means something," she said wistfully.
"Your uncle tells me you made some very good suggestions about the plans for your cottage," he told her. "Would you like to take a look at the rough sketches I have for the clinic? Maybe you could bring your feminine taste to bear on the reception room. We'd want it to be pleasant, you know, attractively furnished."
Her eyes glistened even as she frowned. "Uncle Nate is going to include a complete laboratory. I don't see why he can't just furnish it throughout. How about it, Uncle Nate?"
"Whatever you think, my dear. Just let me sleep," said Uncle Nate, who had no intention of sleeping at all. Again he adjusted his hat over his eyes; smothering chuckles had dislodged it. "You two work it out between you. You'll want to decide on many things before we turn it all over to an architect."
John eyed the old man covertly. He had dreamed of the medical center with his colleagues too many years not to know almost to the last detail what was needed and desired, but he had no objection to letting Sharon expand her views, which she did now at great length.
"Hold on," he said at last. "Look, kid, this isn't the Taj Mahal we're building. Just an efficient, modest group of doctors' offices with a well-equipped lab. Not a hospital, either."
"Well, you don't want it to be drab."
"No, just a decent medical center in a decent middle-class neighborhood. You see, honey, if it's too grand we're liable to scare patients away."
Her ears picked up the endearment, but her mind ignored it. "You mentioned the south side of town. Just where over there?"
"Well, the street that took my fancy, where I'd like to see it built, has an odd name-Tiger something. What's the matter? You know the one I mean?"
"Tiger Tail Road! Do I know it? I was born on it!"
"Well, now," he declared, "I'd say that's a good omen. Imagine that! It's a nice street, Sharon, if some of those houses could just be bought up."
"The Linquists," she said. "Mr. and Mrs. Linquist-at the corner of Tiger Tail and Sutton Boulevard! Their family is all grown up and gone and Mrs. Linquist was always talking about having a smaller place. Doc, it's a huge corner lot-".
"I bet I know the house you mean. A big, old three-story monstrosity. Say, kid, you're going to be a real help in this."
Her gray eyejs shone. "Did you hear that, Uncle Nate? Doc says-" She broke off to stare at the young doctor. "Does it bother you to be called Doc? I won't, if it does."
"Ordinarily, I don't care much for it, but I don't mind it from you. You're a pretty nice gal, Miss Parker. Almost as nice as old Sleepyhead."
For a moment she was aware of him as a man and felt tongue-tied. To overcome this miserable condition, she usually resorted to sarcasm. Now she just looked away, and the awkwardness evaporated. "I think we'd better start for home," she said. "That ground is kind of damp under that blanket." She hopped off the log, went to her uncle. "Hey you," she said, prodding him with her foot, "time to go home." As he stirred, she turned back to her new friend. "Will you really let me see the sketches you have?"
"Sure thing. If you'll let me drive home. I'd like a shot at that high-powered crate of yours."
"It's not mine, it's Uncle Nate's, but you can drive," she told him, and he read in her eyes that he was accepted.
"Come on, Uncle Nate, get a move on," he urged with exaggerated anxiety, "before my little pal changes her mind!"
Sharon laughed. Her heart gave a ripple of warmth. My little pal! She loved the way it sounded.
"You know something, Doc?" she demanded. "If I get sick, I'll bring my business to you."
He accepted the accolade with a mock bow. And he felt curiously young, almost wishing himself more her age. When she threw back her head that way and laughed, a fellow could hardly resist hugging her!
When they returned to the cottage, Nate politely excused himself, realizing that John and Sharon wanted desperately to be alone. Fortunately for the two young people, John's parents were out, having left a note declaring their plans to be home later that evening.
"Would you like to come in for a while?" John asked Sharon.
"How long is a while?" she asked, smiling at him impishly.
John took the lovely brunette in his arms. "Who cares? Anyway, it's quality, not quantity."
"But I'm all for quantity, too," Sharon whispered, giving him a mischievous grin.