Read Online An Independent Woman by Howard Fast - Free Book Online Page B

never have time,” Reba Guthri said, and turned to the small circle around her and their endless questions and needs.
    But Carter found his own answers. Two Sundays later the tall white-haired woman remained standing at one side of the entryway until most of the congregation had drifted away. Then she approached him and said, “Could I talk to you, Mr. Carter—somewhere private?”
    â€œYes, certainly. Come into my office.” He led her into a rather plain book-lined room: a desk, some chairs, and a few portraits and paintings on the walls.
    â€œMy name is Barbara Lavette.”
    He nodded and smiled slightly. She appeared to be ill at ease, and he wondered what he might do to relax her. “Won’t you sit down, please?”—pointing to a chair facing his desk. He was a tall, lean man, long faced, with iron gray hair and dark eyes.
    â€œI’ve been here half a dozen times,” Barbara said. “I’m not a Unitarian—well, in terms of religion, I don’t know exactly what I am. I was baptized at Grace Church, but I haven’t been there for years.” She shook her head and smiled. “I must admit that I came here first on a Sunday when it was raining cats and dogs, and I ducked inside and sat down in the last row. I liked what I heard, and I came back several times. I guess you noticed.”
    He nodded. “Yes, I noticed. As a matter of fact, I asked Reba Guthri about you. She’s my assistant, and she knows everything about everybody, more or less. She holds that I never read the interesting parts of the Chronicle. We keep a file of the paper, so I went back and read the story.”
    Relieved that she wouldn’t have to go through the details, Barbara said somewhat apologetically, “I know you don’t have anything in the way of confession, but I have to talk to someone about it—and I know I have no right to come and beard you about this—”
    â€œYou have every right. Please.”
    â€œThank you. I won’t bore you with all the details. This is what was not in any of the stories.”
    â€œWould you like something to drink, Barbara? May I call you Barbara? No one here calls me Mr. Carter. I’m Phil to everyone.”
    â€œCertainly.”
    â€œI have coffee or Coke or plain water.”
    â€œI’ll have water, if it’s no trouble.”
    He rose from behind his desk and took a cup of water from the cooler. “Please go on.”
    â€œWell, as I said, this was not in the papers. The man—Robert Jones is his name—he’s a black man, a college graduate and a civil engineer who hasn’t worked at his trade since graduation for reasons that are more or less obvious—well, he turned to burglary. He picked the lock of my front door and woke me at two in the morning. No rape or any threat of rape. We talked. I told him where the jewelry was, in my bedside table.”
    She paused, and Carter said, “Why not in a vault?”
    â€œI suppose I don’t care enough about things,” she replied, and Carter reflected that she certainly did care about clothes, dressed as she was in a longish pleated beige skirt and an ivory-colored cashmere sweater. “I always felt that if someone needed the jewelry badly enough to steal it, then let him have it or anything else in the house.”
    She paused again, and Carter waited.
    â€œHe said something.”
    â€œYes?”
    â€œI have to use his words. Please forgive me. He said, ‘You liberal do-gooders give me a pain in the ass. It’s burning out there, and you sit here with your fuckin’ jewels. So thank you for nothing.’”
    Carter did not react at all to this, and Barbara sighed. “I shouldn’t have come here,” she said. “I have no right to lay this on you.”
    â€œYou have every right.” She was silent for a long moment, and then Carter said, “But you didn’t call the