Sunday? Well, I—"
"My cousin Duane's coming up from Franklin to stay with us while his folks are in New Orleans for the Shriner's convention."
"Duane who?"
"Eggleston. He said he wanted to get together with you, so—"
"Get together?" Rita Sue rocked back and chortled at her expression, which only added to Marjory's confusion. "Does he know me?" She was studying Rita Sue's face closely, aware that this might be the start of something elaborate, and nasty, on her part. "Do I know him from somewhere?"
"Two years ago, at Retreat," Rita Sue said. "He was the kid who was so busy collecting butterflies."
"The lepidopterist?" Marjory said, horrified.
"No, butterflies."
"Oh, hold it, Rita Sue," Marjory said, and looked at Boyce. "Him? He's only about four and a half feet tall! How old is he, twelve?"
"Duane just turned sixteen. He's grown a lot. You wouldn't recognize him. Anyway—"
"Boyce, really, I'm sorry, but Sunday—we're having company. Some—ah—friend of my sister's, and Ted Lufford's coming, too. I have to make dinner."
"Oh. That's okay. Duane's gonna be here for two weeks, until school starts again."
"Fine. We'll all get together. Hey, it looks like the Little Leaguers are through, what d'you say we go warm up."
Rita Sue stepped in next to Boyce, urgently linking pinky fingers and, worshipfully, wagging her tail a little. She'd always been a tease-toucher, coming on, then backing away with the grace of a fencing master. Marjory figured she must have poor Boyce half nuts by now. His Barney Rubble haircut seemed to be standing up a little stiffer, and that probably wasn't the only stiffness he was experiencing.
Rita Sue scampered to fall in beside Marjory on the way to the diamond.
"Could I talk to you seriously about something, Marjory?"
Marjory staggered back a step, a hand clasped over her heart. But the apparent ruthlessness of their vendetta disguised a telemagical empathy. The girls had grown up very near each other on Old Forge Road, until Rita Sue's father removed the family to a gentleman's farm a few miles from Sublimity. This change in Rita Sue's status hadn't altered or done in the relationship: an ongoing cutting contest suited their competitive natures.
"Mama pitched one of her fits and said I better bring this up to you personally," Rita Sue said in a low voice, looking around for eavesdroppers.
"Algebra or Biology?"
"Both. Because you know what'll happen if I don't—"
"Say no more. I'll tutor you."
Rita Sue glanced at her with a hint of suspicion. She'd been prepared for some wheeling and dealing, but Marjory shrugged guilelessly; no, there was nothing she wanted in return. Somebody needed to pitch in and help the long-suffering girl, otherwise Rita Sue was not going to make it out of high school with anything better than an equivalency diploma. Which would spell the end of her ambition to pledge Tri-Delt at the University of Tennessee.
"Well—I do appreciate it, Marjory."
Bursting with good feeling, Marjory took a deep breath, let it out, straightened her face, and said, "How about if I hold your hand when you go pottie, too?"
Rita Sue paused, kneeling in the dust along the partly obliterated third-base line and retied a sneaker with such vehemence she popped the lace. She was smiling her wide, dazzling, vacant smile.
"Honestly," she said, "there are days when I'd just like to feed you to the polecats."
6
Sunday after church Enid Waller drove down to Cumberland State Hospital while Marjory stayed behind to prepare dinner.
With the chicken in the oven and the salad in a covered bowl in the refrigerator, she made a tour of the house, giving a lick here and there with the featherduster, straightening the sturdy old mahogany furniture and repinning the yellowed lace antimacassars on the chairs in the parlor. She had the nervous flits, as her mother used to say. The guest towels, taken from the cedar closet in the hall, looked odd in the newly scrubbed bathroom (Enid had been
"My cousin Duane's coming up from Franklin to stay with us while his folks are in New Orleans for the Shriner's convention."
"Duane who?"
"Eggleston. He said he wanted to get together with you, so—"
"Get together?" Rita Sue rocked back and chortled at her expression, which only added to Marjory's confusion. "Does he know me?" She was studying Rita Sue's face closely, aware that this might be the start of something elaborate, and nasty, on her part. "Do I know him from somewhere?"
"Two years ago, at Retreat," Rita Sue said. "He was the kid who was so busy collecting butterflies."
"The lepidopterist?" Marjory said, horrified.
"No, butterflies."
"Oh, hold it, Rita Sue," Marjory said, and looked at Boyce. "Him? He's only about four and a half feet tall! How old is he, twelve?"
"Duane just turned sixteen. He's grown a lot. You wouldn't recognize him. Anyway—"
"Boyce, really, I'm sorry, but Sunday—we're having company. Some—ah—friend of my sister's, and Ted Lufford's coming, too. I have to make dinner."
"Oh. That's okay. Duane's gonna be here for two weeks, until school starts again."
"Fine. We'll all get together. Hey, it looks like the Little Leaguers are through, what d'you say we go warm up."
Rita Sue stepped in next to Boyce, urgently linking pinky fingers and, worshipfully, wagging her tail a little. She'd always been a tease-toucher, coming on, then backing away with the grace of a fencing master. Marjory figured she must have poor Boyce half nuts by now. His Barney Rubble haircut seemed to be standing up a little stiffer, and that probably wasn't the only stiffness he was experiencing.
Rita Sue scampered to fall in beside Marjory on the way to the diamond.
"Could I talk to you seriously about something, Marjory?"
Marjory staggered back a step, a hand clasped over her heart. But the apparent ruthlessness of their vendetta disguised a telemagical empathy. The girls had grown up very near each other on Old Forge Road, until Rita Sue's father removed the family to a gentleman's farm a few miles from Sublimity. This change in Rita Sue's status hadn't altered or done in the relationship: an ongoing cutting contest suited their competitive natures.
"Mama pitched one of her fits and said I better bring this up to you personally," Rita Sue said in a low voice, looking around for eavesdroppers.
"Algebra or Biology?"
"Both. Because you know what'll happen if I don't—"
"Say no more. I'll tutor you."
Rita Sue glanced at her with a hint of suspicion. She'd been prepared for some wheeling and dealing, but Marjory shrugged guilelessly; no, there was nothing she wanted in return. Somebody needed to pitch in and help the long-suffering girl, otherwise Rita Sue was not going to make it out of high school with anything better than an equivalency diploma. Which would spell the end of her ambition to pledge Tri-Delt at the University of Tennessee.
"Well—I do appreciate it, Marjory."
Bursting with good feeling, Marjory took a deep breath, let it out, straightened her face, and said, "How about if I hold your hand when you go pottie, too?"
Rita Sue paused, kneeling in the dust along the partly obliterated third-base line and retied a sneaker with such vehemence she popped the lace. She was smiling her wide, dazzling, vacant smile.
"Honestly," she said, "there are days when I'd just like to feed you to the polecats."
6
Sunday after church Enid Waller drove down to Cumberland State Hospital while Marjory stayed behind to prepare dinner.
With the chicken in the oven and the salad in a covered bowl in the refrigerator, she made a tour of the house, giving a lick here and there with the featherduster, straightening the sturdy old mahogany furniture and repinning the yellowed lace antimacassars on the chairs in the parlor. She had the nervous flits, as her mother used to say. The guest towels, taken from the cedar closet in the hall, looked odd in the newly scrubbed bathroom (Enid had been
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