cw.imarriedadeadman-第11节

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　The　girl　holding　the　baby　put　her　head　down　close　to　his；　almost　as　if　averting　it　from　the　window。　Or　as　if　they　were　muning　together；　exchanging　some　confidence　in　secret；　to　the　exclusion　of　everyone　else。
　She　was。
　〃For　you；〃　she　breathed。　〃For　you。　And　God　forgive　me。〃　Then　she　carried　him　over　to　the　door　with　her；　and　turned　the　latch　to　let　the　harassed　porter　in。
　
　
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　Sometimes　there　is　a　dividing…line　running　across　life。　Sharp；　almost　actual；　like　the　black　stroke　of　a　paintbrush　or　the　white　gash　of　a　chalk…mark。　Sometimes；　but　not　often。
　For　her　there　was。　It　lay　somewhere　along　those　few　yards　of　carpassage；　between　the　partment…window　and　the　car…steps；　where　for　a　moment　or　two　she　was　out　of　sight　of　those　standing　waiting　outside。　One　girl　left　the　window。　Another　girl　came　down　the　steps。　A　world　ended；　and　another　world　began。
　She　wasn't　the　girl　who　had　been　holding　her　baby　by　the　partment…window　just　now。
　Patrice　Hazzard　came　down　those　car…steps。
　Frightened；　tremulous；　very　white　in　the　face；　but　Patrice　Hazzard。
　She　was　aware　of　things；　but　only　indirectly；　she　only　had　eyes　for　those　other　eyes　looking　into　hers　from　a　distance　of　a　few　inches　away。　All　else　was　background。　Behind　her　back　the　train　glided　on。　Bearing　with　it　its　hundreds　of　living　passengers。　And；　all　unknown；　in　an　empty　partment；　a　ghost　。　。　。　Two　ghosts；　a　large　one　and　a　very　small　one。
　Forever　homeless　now；　never　to　be　retrieved。
　The　hazel　eyes　came　in　even　closer　to　hers。　They　were　kind；　they　smiled　around　the　edges；　they　were　gentle；　tender。　They　hurt　a　little。　They　were　trustful。
　She　was　in　her　fifties；　their　owner。　Her　hair　was　softly　graying；　and　only　underneath　had　the　process　been　delayed。　She　was　as　tall　as　Patrice；　and　as　slim；　and　she　shouldn't　have　been；　for　it　wasn't；　the　slimness　of　fashionable　effort　or　artifice；　and　something　about　her　clothes　revealed　it　to　be　recent；　only　the　past　few　months。
　But　even　these　details　about　her　were　background；　and　the　man　of　her　own　age　standing　just　past　her　shoulder　was　background　too。　It　was　only　her　face　that　was　immediate；　and　the　eyes　in　her　face；　so　close　now。　Saying　so　much　without　a　sound。
　She　placed　her　hands　lightly　upon　Patrice's　cheeks；　one　on　each；　framing　her　face　between　them　in　a　sort　of　accolade；　a　sacramental　benison。
　Then　she　kissed　her　on　the　lips；　in　silence；　and　there　was　a　lifetime　in　the　kiss；　the　girl　could　sense　it。　The　lifetime　of　a　man。　The　many　years　it　takes　to　raise　a　man；　from　childhood；　through　boyhood；　into　a　grown　son。　There　was　bitter　loss　in　the　kiss；　the　loss　of　all　that　at　a　single　blow。　The　end　for　a　time　of　all　hope；　and　weeks　of　cruel　grief。　But　then　too　there　was　the　reparation　of　loss；　the　finding　of　a　daughter；　the　starting　over　with　another；　a　smaller　son。　No；　with　the　same　son；　the　same　blood；　the　same　flesh。　Only　going　back　and　starting　again　from　the　beginning；　in　sweeter　sadder　sponsorship　this　time；　forewarned　by　loss。　And　there　was　the　burgeoning　of　hope　anew。
　There　were　all　those　things　in　it。　They　were　spoken　in　it；　they　were　felt　in　it；　and　they　were　meant　to　be　felt　in　it；　they　bad　been　put　into　it　for　that　purpose。
　This　was　not　a　kiss　under　a　railroad…station　shed；　it　was　a　sacrament　of　adoption。
　Then　she　kissed　the　child。　And　smiled　as　you　do　at　your　own。　And　a　little　crystal　drop　that　hadn't　been　there　before　was　resting　on　its　small　pink　cheek。
　The　man　came　forward　and　kissed　her　on　the　forehead。
　〃I'm　Father；　Patrice。〃
　He　stooped　and　straightened；　and　said；　〃I'll　take　your　things　over　to　the　car。〃　A　little　glad　to　escape　from　an　emotional　moment；　as　men　are　apt　to　be。
　The　woman　hadn't　said　a　word。　In　all　the　moments　she'd　been　standing　before　her；　not　a　word　had　passed　her　lips。　She　saw；　perhaps；　the　pallor　in　her　face；　could　read　the　shrinking；　the　uncertainty；　in　her　eyes。
　She　put　her　arms　about　her　and　drew　her　to　her　now；　in　a　warmer；　more　mundane；　more　everyday　greeting　than　the　one　that　had　passed　before。　Drew　the　girl's　head　to　rest　upon　her　own　shoulder　for　a　moment。　And　as　she　did　so；　she　spoke　for　the　first　time；　low　in　her　ear；　to　give　her　courage；　to　give　her　peace。
　〃You're　home；　Patrice。　Wele　home；　dear。〃
　And　in　those　few　words；　so　simply　said；　so　inalterably　meant；　Patrice　Hazzard　knew　she　had　found　at　last　all　the　goodness　there　is　or　ever　can　be　in　this　world。
　
　
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　And　so　this　was　what　it　was　like　to　be　home；　to　be　in　a　home　of　your　own；　in　a　room　of　your　own。
　She　had　another　dress　on　now；　ready　to　go　down　to　table。　She　sat　there　in　a　wing　chair　waiting；　very　straight；　looking　a　little　small　against　its　outspread　back。　Her　back　was　up　against　it　very　straight；　her　legs　dropped　down　to　the　floor　very　straight　and　meticulously　side　by　side。　She　had　her　hand　out　resting　on　the　crib；　the　crib　they'd　bought　for　him　and　that　she'd　found　already　here　waiting　when　she　first　entered　the　room。　He　was　in　it　now。　They'd　even　thought　of　that。
　They'd　left　her　alone；　she　would　have　had　to　be　alone　to　savor　it　as　fully　as　she　was　doing。　Still　drinking　it　in；　hours　after；　basking　in　it；　inhaling　the　essence　of　it；　there　was　no　word　for　what　it　did　to　her。　Hours　after；　and　her　head　every　now　and　then　would　still　give　that　slow；　prehensive；　marvelling　sweep　around　from　side　to　side；　taking　in　all　four　walls　of　it。　And　even　up　overhead；　not　forgetting　the　ceiling。　A　roof　over　your　head。　A　roof　to　keep　out　rain　and　cold　and　loneliness…Not　just　the　anonymous　roof　of　a　rented　building；　no；　the　roof　of　home。　Guarding　you；　sheltering　you；　keeping　you；　watching　over　you。
　And　somewhere　downstairs；　dimly　perceptible　to　her　acutely　attuned　ears；　the　soothing　bustle　of　an　evening　meal　in　preparation。　Carried　to　her　in　faint　snatches　now　and　then　at　the　opening　of　a　door；　stilled　again　at　its　closing。　Footsteps　busily　crossing　an　uncarpeted　strip　of　wooden　floor；　then　ing　back　again。　An　occasional　faint　clash　of　crockery　or　china。　Once　even　the　voice　of　the　colored　housekeeper；　for　an　instant　of　bugle…like　clarity。　〃No；　it　ain't　ready　yet；　Miz'　Hazzard；　need　five　mo'　minutes。〃
　And　the　laughingly　protesting　admonition　that　followed；　miraculously　audible　as　well：　〃Sh；　Aunt　Josie。　We　have　a　baby　in　the　house　now；　he　may　be　napping。〃
　Someone　was　ing　up　the　stairs　now。　They　were　ing　up　the　stairs　now　to　tell　her。　She　shrank　back　a　little　in　the　chair。　Now　she　was　a　little　frightened；　a　little　nervous　again。　Now　there　would　be　no　quick　escape　from　the　moment's　confrontation；　as　at　the　railroad　station。　Now　came　the　real　meeting；　the　real　blending；　the　real　taking　into　the　fold。　Now　was　the　real　test。
　〃Patrice　dear；　supper's　ready　whenever　you　are。〃
　You　take　supper　in　the　evening；　when　you're　home；　in　your　own　home。　When　you　go　out　in　public　or　to　someone　else's　home；　you　may　take　dinner。　But　in　the　evening；　in　your　own　home；　it's　supper　you　take；　and　never　anything　else。　Her　heart　was　as　fiercely　glad　as　though　the　trifling　word　were　a　talisman。　She　remembered　when　she　was　a　little　girl；　those　few　brief　years　that　had　ended　so　quickly…　The　call　to　supper；　only　supper；　never　anything　else。
　She　jumped　from　the　chair　and　ran　over　and　opened　the　door。　〃Shall　I…shall　I　bring　him　down　with　me；　or　leave　him　up　here　in　the　crib　till　I　e　back？〃　she　asked；　half…eagerly；　half…uncertainly。　〃I　fed　him　already　at　five；　you　know。〃
　Mother　Hazzard　slanted　her　head　coaxingly。　〃Ah；　why　don't　you　bring　him　down　with　you　just　tonight；　anyway？　It's　the　first　night。　Don't　hurry；　dear；　take　your　time。〃
　When　she　came　out　of　the　room　holding　him　in　her　arms　moments　later；　she　stopped　a　moment；　fingered　the　edge　of　the　door　lingeringly。　Not　where　the　knob　was；　but　up　and　down　the　unbroken　surface　where　there　was　no　knob。
　Watch　over　my　room　for　me；　she　breathed　unheard。　I'm　ing　right　back。　Take　care　of　it。　Don't　let　anyone…Will　you？
　She　would　e　down　these　same　stairs　many　hundreds　of　times　to　e；　she　knew；　as　she　started　down　them　now。　She　would　e　down　them　fast；　she　would　e　down　them　slowly。　She　would　e　down　them　blithely；　in　gayety。　And　perhaps　she　might　e　down　them　in　fear；　in　trouble。　But　now；　tonight；　this　was　the　very　first　time　of　all　that　she　was　ing　down　them。
　She　held　him　close　to　her　and　felt　her　way；　for　they　were　new　to　her；　she　hadn't　got　the　measure　of　them；　the　feel　of　them；　yet；　and　she　didn't　want　to　miss　her　step。
　They　were　standing　about　in　the　dining…room　waiting　for　her。　Not　rigidly；　formally；　like　drill…sergeants；　but　in　unselfconscious　ease；　as　if　unaware　of　the　small　tribute　of　consideration　they　were　giving　her。　Mother　Hazzard　was　leaning　forward；　giving　a　last…minute　touch　to　the　table；　shifting　something　a　little。　Father　Hazzard　was　looking　up　toward　the　lights　through　the　spectacles　with　which　he'd　just　been　reading；　and　polishing　them　off　before　returning　them　to　their　case。　And　there　was　a　third　person　in　the　room；　somebody　with　his　back　half　to　her　at　the　moment　of　entrance；　surreptitiously　pilfering　a　salted　peanut　from　a　dish　on　the　buffet。
　He　turned　forward　again　and　threw　it　away　when　he　heard　her　e　in。　He　was　young　and　tall　and　friendly…looking；　and　his　hair　was…　A　camera…shutter　clicked　in　her　mind　a