Sharon sat quietly by the young doctor's side as he drove. Five nights and five days, she was thinking. And I feel as if I've known him all my life. She knew with sighing wonder that the past days had been the happiest she had ever known, and she was secretly delighted that their three elders had been content with farewells said at home. She wished Doc would drive slower. Another fifteen minutes and they would be at the airport, and he on a plane for Park City. He had extended his visit, but now on this warm summer evening, with church bells echoing in the distance, it was all but over.
"I've never been on a plane," she remarked. "Imagine, Doc, almost twenty years old and I've never been anywhere."
"I'll be glad when I can stop catching planes and just settle down in dear old Brookings."
He would be back. It was all that saved her from feeling completely maudlin about his departure. They had had such fun. Even the times they had been alone together had been without any constraint. They had gone to a movie one night, and swimming twice. She smiled to remember with what reluctance he had consented to use the pool at the big house. And he had absolutely refused to enter the house itself. She had no idea why this had made her appreciate him more.
"Don't forget to let me know about any luck the real-estate broker has," he remarked.
Her heart gave a small jump. "Don't worry," she said. "I won't forget to write." She bent forward, hugging herself in laughter. "Dear Doc," she recited. "Hurry home. We've bought out the whole block."
He laughed, turning his head to enjoy the sight of her. He was surprised at how much he wanted to kiss her. A little worried, too. His feelings for her were mixed. The passing of days-and nights-had seriously changed his first avuncular attitude toward her, and he took less pleasure than before in regarding her as just a kid. He could not afford to let himself think about her too much. He did not fancy marrying a rich young woman; with Uncle Nate in the background, it was impossible to consider Sharon anything else.
Sharon stole quick looks at him, wondering if he were quiet because he, too, hated the moment of parting ahead. She did not like to think of him going back to that big hospital with all those nurses-she scowled. Doctors always seemed to marry nurses.
"Doc, do you suppose there would be any kind of job for me in the clinic when it's finished?" she asked.
He heard the wistfulness behind her words. "Hard to tell, Sharon. But why should you want a job, honey? You don't need to work."
"Maybe I do. I told Uncle Nate I wasn't just going to let him keep me-I mean, after we get settled in the cottage. John-" She was not aware that she had dropped,the familiar "Doc" at that moment. "You know I've already told you how it is. Uncle Nate's being rich is just an accident. He doesn't like it any better than I do. We're just stuck with it."
Since she was all child for the moment, he found it easy to laugh at her. "Well, we'll see," he comforted her. "It's too bad you've neglected your education."
"I can type. I've worked before. I'm just not college material, Doc," she replied stubbornly. "It seems silly to go to college without some definite aim in mind, and I don't have any aim. I may take some courses this fall-Oh, shoot, I'm just a no-talent flop, I guess."
"What about all that talent for motherhood? "he teased.
It was unexpectedly difficult to laugh. "Oh, that's out," she muttered. "You've got to figure on getting to be a wife before you start the motherhood bit."
"I think you'll make it all right," he said. "I think you'd make some young fellow a very nice wife."
Some young fellow. Sharon stared out at the passing scene, and the silence returned between them. At the airport, he slid from beneath the steering wheel and reached into the back seat for his luggage. "Don't wait, Sharon," he said. "My plane; about due, anyway." He stood watching her as she moved behind the wheel, and he smiled a little crookedly. She looked so solemn, and so darned young. "Goodbye, kid," he said. "Don't forget to write."
"I won't." She stared up at him, her mouth vulnerable.
He found himself staring at it. "Be good," he muttered, and bent forward, kissed the trembling lips briefly. "See you in a few weeks," he added, and hurried away.
She put her fingers against her lips, swallowed hard; then, with a horrible grinding of gears, she put the car in motion and roared away, blind to the indignant glances cast her way by outraged drivers.
She was hardly in a receptive mood when, upon arriving at home, she was confronted with a summons from her mother's room. "Okay, Andrews," she said to the butler, but without interest. She could not help feeling that, John's kiss had been a casual gesture. Goodbye, kid. Be good. Well, she had acted like a silly kid, getting all choked up just because he was leaving. He probably thought of her as a little sister, not a grown woman like those darned nurses who were probably all after him.
"What do you want?" she demanded when she entered her mother's bedroom without knocking. "What's the matter, Mother?" she added. "How come you're in bed? Are you sick?"
"If she is, it's your fault," said Debbie, who was sitting on the edge of the bed.
"Now, Debbie dear," her mother cautioned. "No quarrel, please. Debbie doesn't mean that, Sharon. Come in and sit down."
Sharon moved to the foot of the bed, but remained on her feet. She waited, her face sullen and her eyes on her mother, ignoring Debbie.
Mrs. Parker moved restlessly against her pillows. She was in bed because it had seemed wiser to feign illness for the servants' sake. "I had a talk with Uncle Nate today," she began, frowning faintly at her inability to avoid Sharon's eyes. "We-we wanted to talk to you about him. Debbie called Dwayne and he should be along any minute." She looked toward Debbie a little helplessly. "Perhaps we should wait for him," she said falteringly.
Sharon's eyes had narrowed. A family conference in which she was included was unheard of. So Mother had had a talk with Uncle Nate, had she? Her expression became sardonic. If they had any idea of thwarting her life with Uncle Nate, they'd just better not try. Uncle Nate would never let her down, no matter what.
"I wish you'd sit down, dear," her mother said.
Sharon complied to the extent of resting a hip on the polished carved bar between the bed posters. She remained silent.
"Oh, for heaven's sake!" Debbie exploded. "Get that silly look off your face! If you could see yourself-"
"Debbie, please. Don't antagonize her."
Sharon's eyebrows winged. What is this? she wondered, and broke her silence. "Look," she said brusquely, "if you have something to say to me, say it and get it over with. I'm busy."
"Busy, she says," scoffed Debbie. "Monkey business, that's what she's been up to!"
"Oh, thank goodness you're here-" Mrs. Parker raised herself to extend arms to her son. "Dwayne, you talk to Sharon-you explain-"
"I wish somebody would," Sharon said, shrugging.
Dwayne wasted no words, having been apprised of the situation by telephone. "What's this about you and Uncle Nate being partners?" he demanded of Sharon. "Just what's your game?"
Sharon removed herself from her perch, but her mind was racing. -She took a few steps away from them and turned; studying their faces individually, she saw the fear in their eyes.
"Oh, dear," her mother was saying, "Dwayne, I don't think that's the way to-"
Sharon laughed.
"Now, look here," her brother shouted, but his mother's white face restrained him. "Look here, Sharon," he began again in a more conciliatory tone. "It's just that Uncle Nate could do me a big favor, and it seems you'll have something to do with his decision."
"Yes, yes," his mother approved. "We just wanted to ask you not to-not to do anything-"
"Not to put your oar in and ruin everything," Debbie finished for her mother.
"Shut up, Sis," Dwayne said. "Let me handle this."
Sharon grinned. "Yes, don't antagonize me, Debbie."
"Oh, Sharon, dear, please try to understand. Debbie is just upset for her brother."
It did not escape Sharon's notice that her mother did not think of Dwayne as her brother, too. She felt the old sense of being ouside the magic circle, but the old whimpering pain of it seemed attenuated. For a moment she wondered if it were over. She had a curious sense of power, but no joy in it. Being Uncle Nate's partner had no basis in fact. It was a warm touch of his hand, a wink exchanged, a flash of pride in his trust-a token of his love. She had eschewed influence over the clinic incident to retain her own self-respect, and now, knowing Doc, she did not want to brandish a flaming sword of revenge even in fun.
She watched the three argue among themselves now as though she were not present, but they kept glancing at her, and it was
clear she was very important to the issue. It bothered her that she could not enjoy it. Hadn't she all her life wanted to feel important to these three?
"Look," she said suddenly, and their eyes swung to her. "I take it that Dwayne wants Uncle Nate to give him a pretty large sum of money, and you think I can put the kibosh on the deal. Well, I-" She found herself hesitating on the verge of assuring them she would do nothing to interfere. It was the expression in their eyes, so full of greed and-something else-hate? Hate of her? Yet all she had ever wanted of them was to be loved. "Just go ahead and stew about it!" she said cuttingly. "At the moment, if I don't get out of here, I may throw up all over your lovely carpet, Mother-"
She fled, hardly hearing their cries of protest and anger. And quite to her surprise, when she reached her own room, she was rather violently sick all over the front of the good summer print she had worn for John Harrow's departure.
She stood under the biting sting of a cold shower presently, her eyes squeezed shut against the needles of cold upon her face,and she gritted her teeth against the agony of sobs that ripped through her throat. She wept helplessly, completely, without reason-or knowledge of reason. She wept as only a girl, verging on womanhood, can weep-for everything, for nothing. And even as her body bent beneath the spray, racked by sobs, a part of her stood off and was amazed at the spectacle; so flexible is youth and so enraptured of itself.
And it seemed to her, when the strange experience was over, that part of herself had been washed down the drain, so that she felt lighter and stronger for the loss. She felt subdued and yet curiously more alive. She hummed as she dressed, and before she went to the far end of the balcony to seek out her uncle in his room, she stood for a long time examining her face for evidence of change. The face that looked back at her was very disappointing, it being the same as always except for a redness about her eyelids.
At her uncle's door she tapped lightly, feeling out of breath. And when he called out "Come in," she entered with a new awareness. She had been in his room only once before and then for an unseeing moment. Now she took in the sparseness of furnishings with a new appreciation. Uncle Nate had no such suite of rooms as the Parkers occupied. This one squarish room with bath sufficed him; and his bed, a dresser, a deep armchair, a heavy desk with swivel chair, and a low two-shelved cabinet that held books were all there was to see. He was at his desk now, his back to her, and saying, "Be with you in a minute, my dear. Make yourself at home."
Sharon moved about quietly until she stood over the cabinet, then with frowning curiosity knelt to examine the books. Slowly, her eyes wide and astonished, she turned to stare at his back. "Why, Uncle Nate,'* she said softly. "Poetry-it's all poetry."
"What's that, my dear?" He turned a little in his chair. "Oh, my books. Yes, yes, I'm afraid it's a weakness of mine. I'll be through here in a minute."
She felt she did not know him at all, but here in her hands now was a clue to his being. She counted off the poets to herself, beginning to smile: Housman, Tagore, Omar Khayyam, Frost, Browning (both Robert and Elizabeth Barrett), Whitman, Shakespeare, Ficke- Why, Uncle Nate, she repeated silently.
"Well, now, that's that." He swung around, his blue eyes full of welcome. "Is this just a little visit, or is there something important that brings you to my little den?" he asked.
She set his Bible back on the shelf, but remained kneeling. She supposed she had come to talk to him on a serious matter, but it did not seem important now. "Just a visit," she said.
"Are you catching a cold? You sound thick in the throat."
She cleared her throat impatiently. "I just had a shower. Guess I swallowed some of it. I never catch colds."
His eyes did not fail to note the reddened eyelids, but he was the soul of tact. "Well, did you see our young doctor safely on his way?"
"Oh, yes." She frowned without reason. She did not want to talk about Doc. "Why didn't you tell me you read poetry?" she asked instead, and looked around the room, not waiting for an answer. "I like this room," she told him. "When we move, let's furnish our whole place like this. You know, simply-no unnecessary clutter."
"I'm afraid my tastes are a bit stoical, my dear, but I do intend to take along what I have here for my room. You must suit yourself about the rest of the house."
"I'm stoical, too," she said. "On Tiger Tail Road my room was the plainest in the house."
"I had a call from the real-estate broker just now," he remarked. "Very encouraging. It looks as if we'll be able to give John some good news of your old street before long."
"Really?" Her heart leaped. She could write to Doc this very night! "Gee, that's fast work. Doc will be delighted."
He smiled, "I've just been writing to my banker^ in the East, arranging a transfer of funds. It's going to be a very costly project, Sharon, but well worthwhile."
The mention of money somersaulted Sharon's mind to the family conference she had fled from a short time before. "Uncle Nate," she said, getting to her feet. "There was something I came to talk to you about. I hate to, but I guess I have to." She crossed to his side, propped a hip on his desk. "It's about Dwayne. About something that happened this afternoon."
He thought the evidence of tears had involved John Harrow's departure. Now he wondered as his eyes narrowed slightly. "You saw your brother this afternoon?"
Her throat rasped in clearing. "I saw-" She took a deep breath. "Mother called me in. They all talked to me. Oh, Uncle Nate, we're terrible people!"
He reached out and took one of her hands, squeezed it, and sighed inwardly. "Now, now," he comforted. "No need to tell me, my dear. I think I know. Your mother approached me on the subject earlier."
She bent forward. "You told her we were partners. You let her think your answer depended upon me. Uncle Nate, I don't want anything to do with it. I-I-I got sick just thinking about it."
"Oh, my dear."
"It's all right now. I don't care. But I don't want anything to do with it," she repeated.
His face hardened. "Don't worry yourself about it at all," he said. "I'm having some inquiries made. I'm quite willing to help your brother, if the need is justified. However,, I'd have been better pleased if he had come to me with his proposition himself."
She found herself laughing. "Oh, Uncle Nate, you just don't know him," she cried. "He always gets what he wants by devious methods. He's not really very brave at all. But then," she added, curiously tolerant, "it's not all his fault. Mother had always liked being the one to get things for him. She's a very-very possessive person. At least about the twins."
"So I've noticed." He looked tired for a moment, but brightened. "Well, we won't worry about it. I thought I'd take a walk and see how the work on our cottage is going. Want to come along?"
"Gosh, yes. Another thing. I was thinking Mr. and Mrs. Harrow might be feeling lonesome tonight with Doc gone. Maybe they would like some company."
"I meant to tell you. Beth wants us for dinner."
"Great! All right, let's go." She whirled away, came to a halt by the bookshelves. "Would you mind if I borrowed one?" she asked.
"Help yourself. You like poetry, too?"
"Love it." She chose a volume, held it up. "This Arthur Davison Ficke is new to me. All right?"
"Of course. He's not a new poet, my dear. And not read as much as he deserves. A great favorite of mine. Take it along. I'll just wash up a bit and be right with you."
She carried the slim volume along to her own room, opening it to the flyleaf as she went. To dear Nate,' she read.
With heartfelt gratitude and love. Louise.
Sharon stared at the delicate, spidery handwriting. Who was Louise? The woman Uncle Nate had loved: She turned the pages, was caught by two lines underlined, and read:
My humors and my madness, fierce or cold,
I have told you all: my love I have not told.
A little shiver went^through her. But it was not of Uncle Nate or the stranger, Louise, that she thought. Winging into her mind without warning came a face, star-tlingly clear, squarish, and brown-eyed. She put the book down quickly.
Gosh, Doc, she thought.