Read Online A Place Apart by Paula Fox - Free Book Online Page B

late-afternoon sunlight, which lay across the garden and the house, was the color of Mrs. Howarth’s dress.
    Beneath a maple tree, Hugh stooped and picked up a small branch from the ground. He began to strip off the bark. “He drinks all the liquor in the house, and he fights with her about the hotels where she makes reservations for them. That’s about all he does,” he said.
    â€œIt must be terrible for her,” I murmured, but I didn’t mean it—Jeremy and Mrs. Howarth seemed like dolls to me, or actors in a movie that isn’t interesting enough to make you forget they’re only photographs of people.
    â€œNot at all,” Hugh said snappishly, hitting the ground with his stick. “She’s crazy about him. But I’ll be leaving in a year, so I keep the peace. Come on. We’ll go through the wood. It takes a little longer to get to your house, but you don’t have an oboe to practice, so you don’t care. Do you?” He didn’t give me a chance to answer but stepped across a thatch of underbrush and in among the trees.
    It was a little, musty, dark forest. There was a strong smell of damp and leaf mold in the air. We came to the edge of a pond. It was still and without reflections.
    â€œBeaver pond,” Hugh said. “See where they’ve gnawed the trees?” I saw the marks of animal teeth on the tree trunks, and I touched the raw wood on a small oak. Hugh thrashed about a few feet away. When I looked at him, I saw he was holding a rotted log. He heaved it out into the center of the pond.
    â€œThat’s rotten Harry,” he said. “I think we ought to teach him a lesson, don’t you?”
    He searched around quickly, found a stone, and flung it at the log.
    â€œTake that, you devil!” he cried. Then he handed me a stick.
    I threw it. “You no-good, disgusting Harry!” I shouted.
    â€œFilthy wild pig!” he yelled, hitting the log with another stick. He made a little heap of missiles, and he moved fast, faster than I had ever seen him move, and his face and hands glimmered in the light that was like dusk there among the trees.
    â€œLoathsome dog!” he suddenly screamed and threw a handful of stones at the log.
    â€œVile viper!” I called.
    â€œWicked, mean, evil Harry!”
    â€œFat, dirty hog!”
    I was spattered with mud and laughing so hard I was staggering as I turned here and there, bending, and scrabbling at the earth to find objects to hurl.
    â€œHideous, horrible—” I began, when I realized, all at once, that mine was the only voice in the wood. I dropped the stones and sticks I was holding and looked behind me.
    Hugh was leaning against a tree, a thoughtful look on his face. There was hardly any mud on him. I was scared. Something bad had happened, and I had been part of the badness. He saw me staring at him. He smiled.
    â€œI got you going, didn’t I?” he said in a light voice.
    I felt something for him, at that moment, that was as close to dislike as a worshipper can get.
    What were we doing in this little stale wood? Why had I jumped into his game without a thought?
    â€œI’m going,” I said roughly. I started off to where I could see the trees thin out. Behind me, I could hear him following, twigs crackling beneath his feet, and my skin prickled and I rushed out into the open. I turned back. He was standing at the edge of the wood, his hands in his pockets, his face as blank as a plate.
    He had already begun to turn away when he said, “Goodbye, Victoria.”
    I ran down the hill to home.
    Ma was shellacking an old kitchen chair when I walked into the living room. She asked me if I’d been trying to dig my way to China.
    â€œRich people are different,” I said to her.
    She laughed and replied, “There was a well-known conversation about that subject between two famous writers. One said, ‘The rich are not like us,’ and the other