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Somansons' there was a car parked in front.
"The McVey!" Anna sizzled in my ear. "Ah ha! Methinks I smell trouble."
I didn't even have time to take my coat off in the smothery warmth of the
front room before I was confronted by the monumental violence of Mrs. McVey's
wrath.
"Dress him!" she hissed, her chin thrust out as she lunged forward in the
chair. "'Dress him so's he'll feel equal to the others!" Her hands flashed
out, and I dodged instinctively and blinked as a bunch of white rags fluttered
to my feet. "His new shirt!" she half screamed. Another shower of tatters,
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dark ones this time. "His new suit! Not a piece in it as big as your hand!"
There was a spatter like muffled hail. "His shoes!" Her voice caught on the
edge of her violence, and she repeated raggedly, "His shoes!" Fear was
battling with anger now. "Look at those pieces-as big as stamps-shoes!" Her
voice broke. "Anybody who can tear up shoes!"
She sank back in her chair, spent and breathless, fishing for a crumpled
Kleenex to wipe the spittle from her chin. I eased into a chair after Anna
helped me shrug out of my coat. Twyla huddled, frightened, near the door, her
eyes big with fascinated terror.
"Let him be like the others," McVey half whispered. "That limb of Satan ever
be like anyone decent?"
"But why?" My voice sounded thin and high in the calm after the hurricane.
"For no reason at all," she gasped, pressing her hand to her panting ribs. "I
gave all them brand-new clothes to him to try on, thinking he'd be pleased.
Thinking-" her voice slipped to a whining tremulo, "thinking he'd see bow I
had his best interest at heart." She paused and sniffed lugubriously. No ready
sympathy for her poured into the hiatus so she went on, angrily aggrieved.
"And he took them and went into his room and came out with them like that!"
Her finger jabbed at the pile of rags. "He-he threw them at me! You and your
big ideas about him wanting to be like other kids!" Her lips curled away from
the venomous spate of words. "He don't want to be like nobody 'cepting
hisself. And he's a devil!" Her voice sank to a whisper and her breath drew in
on the last word, her eyes wide.
"'But why did he do it?" I asked. "He must have said something."
Mrs. McVey folded her hands across her ample middle and pinched her lips
together. "There are some things a lady don't repeat," she said prissily,
tossing her head.
"Oh, cut it out!" I was suddenly dreadfully weary of trying to be polite to
the McVeys of this world.
"Stop tying on that kind of an act. You could teach a stevedore-" I bit my
lips and swallowed hard. "I'm sorry, Mrs. McVey, but this is no time to hold
back. What did he say? What excuse did he give?"
"He didn't give any excuse," she snapped. "He just-just-" Her heavy cheeks
mottled with color. "He
called names."
"Oh." Anna and I exchanged glances.
"But what on earth got into him?" I asked. "There must be some reason-"
"Well," Anna squirmed a little. "After all what can you expect-?"
"From a background like that?" I snapped. "Well, Anna, I certainly expected
something different from a background like yours!"
Anna's face hardened and she gathered up her things. "I've known him longer
than you have," she said quietly.
"Longer," I admitted, "but not better. Anna," I pleaded, leaning toward her,
"don't condemn him unheard."
"Condemn?" She looked up brightly. "I didn't know he was on trial."
"Oh, Anna." I sank back in my chair. "The poor kid's been on trial, presumed
guilty of anything and everything, ever since he arrived in town, and you know
it."
"I don't want to quarrel with you," Anna said. "I'd better say good night."
The door clicked behind her. Mrs. McVey and I measured each other with our
eyes. I had opened my mouth to say something when I felt a whisper of a motion
at my elbow. Twyla stood under the naked flood of the overhead light, her
hands clasped in front of her, her eyes shadowed by the droop of her lashes as
she narrowed her glance against the glare.
"What did you buy his clothes with?" Her voice was very quiet.
"None of your business, young lady," Mrs. McVey snapped, reddening.
"This is almost the end of the month," Twyla said. "Your check doesn't come
till the first. Where did you get the money?"
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"Well!" Mrs. McVey began to hoist her bulk out of the chair.
"I don't have to stay here and have a sassy snip like this-"
Twyla swept in closer-so close that Mrs. McVey shrank back, her hands gripping
the dusty overstuffed arms of the chair.
"You never have any of the check left after the first week," Twyla said. "And
you bought a purple nylon nightgown this month. It took a week's pay-"
Mrs. McVey lunged forward again, her mouth agape with horrified outrage.
"You took his money," Twyla said, her eyes steely in her tight young face.
"You stole the money he was saving!" She whirled away from the chair, her
skirts and hair flaring. "Someday-" she said with clenched teeth, "someday
I'll probably be old and fat and ugly, but heaven save me from being old and
fat and ugly and a thief!"
"Twyla!" I warned, truly afraid that Mrs. McVey would have a stroke then and
there.
"Well, she is a thief!" Twyla cried. "The Francher kid has been working and [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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