cw.imarriedadeadman-第12部分

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ooking；　and　his　hair　was…　A　camera…shutter　clicked　in　her　mind　and　the　film　rolled　on。
　〃There's　the　young　man！〃　Mother　Hazzard　revelled。　〃There's　the　young　man　himself！　Here；　give　him　to　me。　You　know　who　this　is；　of　course。〃　And　then　she　added；　as　though　it　were　wholly　unnecessary　even　to　qualify　it　by　so　much；　〃Bill。〃
　But　who…？　she　wondered。　They　hadn't　said　anything　until　now。
　He　came　forward；　and　she　didn't　know　what　to　do；　he　was　so　close　to　her　own　age。　She　half…offered　her　hand；　hoping　that　if　it　was　too　formal　the　gesture　would　remain　unnoticed。
　He　took　it；　but　he　didn't　shake　it。　Instead　he　pressed　it　between　both　of　his；　held　it　warmly　buried　like　that　for　a　moment　or　two。
　〃Wele　home；　Patrice；〃　he　said　quietly。　And　there　was　something　about　the　straight；　unwavering　look　in　his　eyes　as　he　said　it　that　made　her　think　she'd　never　heard　anything　said　so　sincerely；　so　simply；　so　loyally；　before。
　And　that　was　all。　Mother　Hazzard　said；　〃You　sit　here；　from　now　on。〃
　Father　Hazzard　said　unassumingly；　〃We're　very　happy；　Patrice；〃　and　sat　down　at　the　head　of　the　table。
　Whoever　Bill　was；　he　sat　down　opposite　her。
　The　colored　housekeeper　peeked　through　the　door　for　a　minute　and　beamed。　〃Now　this　look　right！　This　what　that　table　been　needing。　This　just　finish　off　that　empty　si…〃
　Then　she　quickly　checked　herself；　clapping　a　catastrophic　hand　to　her　mouth；　and　whisked　from　sight　again。
　Mother　Hazzard　glanced　down　at　her　plate　for　a　second；　then　immediately　looked　up　again　smiling；　and　the　hurt　was　gone；　had　not　been　allowed　to　linger。
　They　didn't　say　anything　memorable。　You　don't　say　anything　memorable　across　the　tables　of　home。　Your　heart　speaks；　and　not　your　brain；　to　the　other　hearts　around　you。　She　forgot　after　awhile　to　notice　what　she　was　saying；　to　weigh；　to　reckon　it　That's　what　home　is；　what　home　should　be。　It　flowed　from　her　as　easily　as　it　did　from　them。　She　knew　that　was　what　they　were　trying　to　do　for　her。　And　they　were　succeeding。　Strangeness　was　already　gone　with　the　soup；　never　to　return。　Nothing　could　ever　bring　it　back　again。　Other　things　could　e…she　hoped　they　wouldn't　But　never　strangeness；　the　unease　of　unfamiliarity；　again。　They　had　succeeded。
　〃I　hope　you　don't　mind　the　white　collar　on　that　dress；　Patrice。　I　purposely　saw　to　it　there　was　a　touch　of　color　on　everything　I　picked　out；　I　didn't　want　you　to　be　too…〃
　〃Oh；　some　of　those　things　are　so　lovely。　I　really　hadn't　seen　half　of　them　myself　until　I　unpacked　just　now。〃
　〃The　only　thing　that　I　was　afraid　of　was　the　sizes；　but　that　nurse　of　yours　sent　me　a　plete…〃
　〃She　took　a　tape…measure　all　over　me　one　day；　I　remember　that　now；　but　she　wouldn't　tell　me　what　it　was　for…〃
　〃Which　kind　for　you；　Patrice？　Light　or　dark？〃
　〃It　really　doesn't…〃
　〃No；　tell　him　just　this　once；　dear；　then　after　that　he　won't　have　to　ask　you。〃
　〃Dark；　then；　I　guess。〃
　〃You　and　me　both。〃
　He　spoke　a　little　less　frequently　than　the　remaining　three　of　them。　Just　a　touch　of　shyness；　she　sensed。　Not　that　he　was　strained　or　tonguetied　or　anything。　Perhaps　it　was　just　his　way；　he　had　a　quiet；　unobtrusive　way。
　The　thing　was；　who　exactly　was　he？　She　couldn't　ask　outright　now　any　longer。　She'd　omitted　to　at　the　first　moment；　and　now　it　was　twenty　minutes　too　late　for　that。　No　last　name　had　been　given；　so　he　must　be…
　I'll　find　out　soon；　she　reassured　herself。　I'm　bound　to。　She　was　no　longer　afraid。
　Once　she　found　he'd　just　been　looking　at　her　when　her　eyes　went　to　him；　and　she　wondered　what　he'd　been　thinking　while　doing　so。　And　yet　not　to　have　admitted　that　she　knew；　that　she　could　tell　by　the　lingering　traces　of　his　expression；　would　have　been　to　lie　to　herself。　He'd　been　thinking　that　her　face　was　pleasant；　that　he　liked　it。
　And　then　after　a　little　while　he　said；　〃Dad；　pass　the　bread　over　this　way；　will　you？〃
　And　then　she　knew　who　he　was。
　
　
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　Episcopal　Church　of　St。　Bartholomew；　social　kingpin　among　all　the　churches　of　Caulfield；　on　a　golden　April　Sunday　morning。
　She　stood　there　by　the　font；　child　in　her　arms；　immediate　family　and　their　close　friends　gathered　beside　her。
　They　had　insisted　upon　this。　She　hadn't　wanted　it　Twice　she　had　postponed　it；　for　two　Sundays　in　succession　now；　after　all　the　arrangements　had　been　made。　First；　by　pleading　a　cold　that　she　did　not　really　have。　Secondly；　by　pleading　a　slight　one　that　the　child　actually　did　have。　Today　she　hadn't　been　able　to　postpone　it　any　longer。　They　would　have　finally　sensed　the　deliberation　underlying　her　excuses。
　She　kept　her　head　down；　hearing　the　ceremony　rather　than　seeing　it。　As　though　afraid　to　look　on　openly　at　it　As　though　afraid　of　being　struck　down　momentarily　at　the　feet　of　all　of　them　for　her　blasphemy。
　She　had　on　a　broad…brimmed　hat　of　semi…transparent　horsehair　and　that　helped　her；　veiling　her　eyes　and　the　upper　part　of　her　face　when　she　cast　it　down　like　that。
　Mournful　memories；　they　probably　thought　Grief…stricken。
　Guilty；　in　reality。　Scandalized。　Not　brazen　enough　to　gaze　at　this　mockery　unabashed。
　Arms　reached　out　toward　her；　to　take　the　child　from　her。　The　godmother's　arms。　She　gave　him　over；　trailing　the　long　lace　ceremonial　gown　that…she　had　almost　said　〃his　father〃…that　a　stranger　named　Hugh　Hazzard　had　worn　before　him；　and　that　his　father；　Donald；　had　worn　before　him。
　Her　arms　felt　strangely　empty　after　that　She　wanted　to　cross　them　protectively　over　her　breast；　as　though　she　were　unclad。　She　forced　herself　not　to　with　an　effort。　It　was　not　her　form　that　was　unclad；　it　was　her　conscience。　She　dropped　them　quietly；　clasped　them　before　her；　looked　down。
　〃Hugh　Donald　Hazzard；　I　baptize　thee…〃
　They　had　gone　through　the　parody　of　consulting　her　preferences　in　this。　To　her　it　was　a　parody；　not　to　them。　She　wanted　him　named　after　Hugh；　of　course？　Yes；　she　had　said　demurely；　after　Hugh。　Then　how　about　the　middle　name？　After　her　own　father？　Or　perhaps　two　middle　names；　one　for　each　grandfather？　（She　actually　hadn't　been　able　to　recall　her　own　father's　name　at　the　moment；　it　came　back　to　her　some　time　after；　not　without　difficulty。　Mike：　a　scarcely　remembered　figure　of　a　looming　longshoreman；　killed　in　a　drunken　brawl　on　the　Embarcadero　when　she　was　ten。）
　One　middle　name　would　do。　After　Hugh's　father；　she　had　said　demurely。
　She　could　feel　her　face　burning　now；　knew　it　must　be　flushed　with　shame。　They　mustn't　see　that。　She　kept　it　steadily　down。
　〃…in　the　name　of　the　Father；　and　of　the　Son；　and　of　the　Holy　Ghost。　Amen。〃
　The　minister　sprinkled　water　on　the　child's　head。　She　could　see　a　stray　drop　or　two　fall　upon　the　floor；　darken　into　coin　dots。　A　dime；　a　nickel；　two　pennies。　Seventeen　cents。
　The　infant　began　to　wail　in　protest；　as　numberless　infants　before　it　since　time　immemorial。　The　infant　from　a　New　York　furnished　rooming　house　who　had　bee　heir　to　the　first；　the　wealthiest　family　in　Caulfield；　in　all　the　county；　maybe　even　in　all　that　State。
　〃You　have　nothing　to　cry　about；〃　she　thought　morosely。
　
　
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　There　was　a　cake　for　him；　on　his　first　birthday；　with　a　single　candle　standing　defiantly　in　the　middle　of　it；　its　flame　like　a　yellow　butterfly　hovering　atop　a　fluted　white　column。　They　made　great　to…do　and　ceremony　about　the　little　immemorial　rites　that　went　with　it。　The　first　grandson。　The　first　milestone。
　〃But　if　he　can't　make　the　wish；〃　she　demanded　animatedly；　〃is　it　all　right　if　I　make　it　for　him？　Or　doesn't　that　count？〃
　Aunt　Josie；　the　cake's　creator；　instinctively　deferred　to　in　all　such　matters　of　lore；　nodded　pontifically　from　the　kitchen…doorway。　〃You　make　it　for　him；　honey；　he　git　it　just　the　same；〃　she　promised。
　Patrice　dropped　her　eyes　and　her　face　sobered　for　a　moment。
　Peace；　all　your　life；　Safety；　such　as　this。　Your　own　around　you　always；　such　as　now。　And　for　myself…from　you；　someday…　forgiveness。
　〃You　got　it？　Now　blow。〃
　〃Him　or　me？〃
　〃It　count　just　like　for　him。〃
　She　leaned　down；　pressed　her　cheek　close　to　his；　and　blew　softly。　The　yellow　butterfly　fluttered　agitatedly；　shrivelled　into　nothingness。
　〃Now　cut；〃　coached　the　self…imposed　mistress　of　ceremonies。
　She　closed　his　chubby　little　hand　around　the　knife…handle；　enfolded　it　with　her　own；　and　tenderly　guided　it。　The　mystic　incision　made；　she　touched　her　finger　to　the　sugary　icing；　scraped　off　a　tiny　crumb；　and　then　placed　it　to　his　lips。
　A　great　crowing　and　cooing　went　up；　as　though　they　had　all　just　been　witnesses　to　a　prodigy　of　precocity。
　A　lot　of　people　had　e　in；　they　hadn't　had　so　many　people　all　in　the　house　at　one　time　since　she'd　first　been　there。　And　long　after　the　small　honor…guest　had　been　withdrawn　from　the　scene　and　taken　upstairs　to　bed；　the　festivities　continued　under　their　own　momentum；　even　accelerated　somewhat。　In　that　way　grown…ups　have　of　appropriating　a　child's　party；　given　the　slightest　encouragement。
　She　came　down　again；　afterward；　to　the　lighted；　bustling　rooms；　and　moved　about　among　them；　chatting；　smiling；　happier　tonight　than　she　ever　remembered　being　before。　A　cup　of　punch　in　one　hand；　in　the　other　a　sandwich　with　one　bite　gone；　that　she　never　seemed　to　get　around　to　taking　a　second　bite　out　of。　Every　time　she　raised　it　toward　her　mouth　somebody　said　somethi