Engineering.”
Henry released Calla’s arm and raised himself to a standing position with deliberate slowness.
“And I played hockey.” He turned and walked calmly to the door. “Not tennis. There’s blood in hockey. That’s what I liked about it. Remember that, Dartmouth, the next time you try to jerk me around.” He nodded at the older couple. “Thanks for dinner, Helen, Jackson.” Henry didn’t look at Calla. He walked out the door and closed it gently behind him. Calla could hear the crunch of gravel under his feet as Henry strode deliberately out toward the bunkhouse.
For several seconds, no one in the shadowy kitchen spoke. Even Jackson and Helen had been alarmed when Henry had accepted Clark’s baiting. At least they’d had enough sense for that, Calla thought breathlessly. Maybe next time they wouldn’t be so free with the Wild Turkey.
“That guy’s a menace,” Clark said after a moment, wiping a sheen of sweat from his upper lip with the back of his hand. He picked up his wineglass with a forced flourish. “And, good God, what a story. Can you believe he thought we’d buy that? Where did you find this guy, Calla? I thought he was pretty uncivilized when I first met him, but this is ridiculous. If he can make up a wild tale like that, I wonder what else he’s capable of? I hope you checked his references. More than that, I hope you lock the house at night.” He was babbling.
“What makes you think he made it up?” Jackson asked quietly.
“Please,” Clark snorted. “I’ve been around the academic world all my life. I would certainly know a doctor if I saw one. In chemical engineering, no less. What a laugh.” As if to prove his point, Clark chuckled mirthlessly into his glass. His hands were shaking, Calla noticed. “If he has a degree, it’s in ditch-digging. I’d bet my Beta Theta Pi colors on it.”
Jackson rose from the kitchen table.
“Well,” he announced mildly, “I think I’ll hit the sack.”
Helen could hardly get up from her chair fast enough. “Me, too,” she chirped. “Night.”
“My,” Clark said after Jackson and Helen disappeared down the long hallway, “that was fun.”
He tipped his chair back and boldly planted his feet on the kitchen table and crossed his arms across his chest. Calla looked at his long, aristocratic feet sheathed in expensive penny loafers and fought a sudden urge to deck him. Then she had to fight an equally sudden urge to laugh. She put her head heavily into her hands. What was happening to her?
“I’m a little upset, Clark,” she said through her fingers.
“I don’t blame you. That man would upset anyone. What a jerk.” He patted her comfortingly.
“You weren’t exactly innocent, Clark. You baited him. He really didn’t have any choice but to make that stuff up.”
What was she doing? Defending Henry? He was rude and he was a liar. If she could blot out the image of him kneeling at her feet in the stack yard today, his mouth hot and hungry on her breast, she’d have a better chance of remembering that.
“Now, Calla. He made that stuff up because of you, not me. He must know how impressed you are with the whole idea of college. It’s because you never finished, sugarplum, and you don’t know what a real grind it can be. He’s playing on your obvious fascination. A doctorate in Chemical Engineering, indeed.” Clark grunted uncharacteristically.
Calla slowly raised her head from her hands.
“Sugarplum?” she said. “Sugarplum?”
Clark looked at her, shocked by the tone in her voice. “I thought you liked those kind of endearments, Calla. Your father calls you darling and honey all the time.”
“My father—” Calla stressed each word “—calls me those things because he loves me. Not because he wants to start something with my hired man.”
Clark played idly with his empty wineglass. Grease from the steak he’d eaten earlier was imprinted in fingerprints around the bowl.
“Now, how would my
Henry released Calla’s arm and raised himself to a standing position with deliberate slowness.
“And I played hockey.” He turned and walked calmly to the door. “Not tennis. There’s blood in hockey. That’s what I liked about it. Remember that, Dartmouth, the next time you try to jerk me around.” He nodded at the older couple. “Thanks for dinner, Helen, Jackson.” Henry didn’t look at Calla. He walked out the door and closed it gently behind him. Calla could hear the crunch of gravel under his feet as Henry strode deliberately out toward the bunkhouse.
For several seconds, no one in the shadowy kitchen spoke. Even Jackson and Helen had been alarmed when Henry had accepted Clark’s baiting. At least they’d had enough sense for that, Calla thought breathlessly. Maybe next time they wouldn’t be so free with the Wild Turkey.
“That guy’s a menace,” Clark said after a moment, wiping a sheen of sweat from his upper lip with the back of his hand. He picked up his wineglass with a forced flourish. “And, good God, what a story. Can you believe he thought we’d buy that? Where did you find this guy, Calla? I thought he was pretty uncivilized when I first met him, but this is ridiculous. If he can make up a wild tale like that, I wonder what else he’s capable of? I hope you checked his references. More than that, I hope you lock the house at night.” He was babbling.
“What makes you think he made it up?” Jackson asked quietly.
“Please,” Clark snorted. “I’ve been around the academic world all my life. I would certainly know a doctor if I saw one. In chemical engineering, no less. What a laugh.” As if to prove his point, Clark chuckled mirthlessly into his glass. His hands were shaking, Calla noticed. “If he has a degree, it’s in ditch-digging. I’d bet my Beta Theta Pi colors on it.”
Jackson rose from the kitchen table.
“Well,” he announced mildly, “I think I’ll hit the sack.”
Helen could hardly get up from her chair fast enough. “Me, too,” she chirped. “Night.”
“My,” Clark said after Jackson and Helen disappeared down the long hallway, “that was fun.”
He tipped his chair back and boldly planted his feet on the kitchen table and crossed his arms across his chest. Calla looked at his long, aristocratic feet sheathed in expensive penny loafers and fought a sudden urge to deck him. Then she had to fight an equally sudden urge to laugh. She put her head heavily into her hands. What was happening to her?
“I’m a little upset, Clark,” she said through her fingers.
“I don’t blame you. That man would upset anyone. What a jerk.” He patted her comfortingly.
“You weren’t exactly innocent, Clark. You baited him. He really didn’t have any choice but to make that stuff up.”
What was she doing? Defending Henry? He was rude and he was a liar. If she could blot out the image of him kneeling at her feet in the stack yard today, his mouth hot and hungry on her breast, she’d have a better chance of remembering that.
“Now, Calla. He made that stuff up because of you, not me. He must know how impressed you are with the whole idea of college. It’s because you never finished, sugarplum, and you don’t know what a real grind it can be. He’s playing on your obvious fascination. A doctorate in Chemical Engineering, indeed.” Clark grunted uncharacteristically.
Calla slowly raised her head from her hands.
“Sugarplum?” she said. “Sugarplum?”
Clark looked at her, shocked by the tone in her voice. “I thought you liked those kind of endearments, Calla. Your father calls you darling and honey all the time.”
“My father—” Calla stressed each word “—calls me those things because he loves me. Not because he wants to start something with my hired man.”
Clark played idly with his empty wineglass. Grease from the steak he’d eaten earlier was imprinted in fingerprints around the bowl.
“Now, how would my
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