that there may be little ones in the way.”
Seth nodded slowly. “Yeah. Well, we can’t help them now.” He sounded embarrassed.
“We can weep for them, as I do. It is a terrible thing, to die as this little one did, with no one to mourn.”
Long put his arm around the blond woman’s shoulders, then drew it away as though afraid she would object.
Seth cleared his throat. “I better move my car. Somebody coming up this road might hit it.”
Long said, “Sure.”
Seth went back to the Olds; Mercedes wanted to go with him, to get into the front seat beside him again and beg him to drive away; but the blond woman was speaking to her. “It is very kind of you to take us. Jim told me. It is not where we wish to go, but perhaps we may get a ride there. If not, we will walk. We shall manage in some way.”
“Okay,” Mercedes told her. “That’s okay.” The blond woman was half a head shorter than she, but Mercedes felt she must be a good deal older—twenty or twenty-five at least. Even so, she seemed far too young for Long. Awkwardly, Mercedes held out her hand. “I’m Mercedes Schindler-Shields.”
The blond woman clasped it briefly; her slender fingers felt hot, almost burning, as though she were running a fever. “Viviane Morgan.”
Her breath held the pensive sweetness of a spring morning; Mercedes found it an effort to speak. “I’m happy to meet you, Ms. Morgan.”
“Call me Viviane, please.”
The hoarse grinding of the Olds’s starter interrupted. The engine sputtered and fell silent. Mercedes walked to the open window. “Won’t it start?”
Hunched over the wheel, Seth shook his head angrily. He twisted the key and pumped the accelerator. The starter motor snarled on and on, but there was no answering sound from the engine.
Long peered over Mercedes’s shoulder. “You oughta turned off your lights.”
Seth told him, “The battery’s good. It just won’t catch.” There was a faint smell of gasoline.
“Oughta turn ’em off anyhow. Won’t do no good to run the battery down.”
“I guess not.” Abruptly, the lights were gone. Darkness
dropped like a snare from the overarching trees, and Mercedes shivered.
The starter snarled again, perhaps a trifle less strongly.
“You got her flooded now,” Long said. The gasoline smell had grown pungent.
Seth’s voice floated out of the night, astonishingly near. “I guess so.”
“I thought that mighta been what was wrong with mine. If that’s what was wrong, she mighta fixed herself by now. They do that—they dry out. Gas dries up pretty fast.”
Mercedes said, “We can wait. I suppose we’ll have to.”
“We oughta push it outa the way, Miss.” Long spoke from some unknown place in the darkness. “There might come a car up this way and slam into it.”
Seth muttered, “That’s right. Mercedes, would you steer? We’ll have to push—Mr. Long and me.”
“Okay,” she said. The dome light came on as Seth got out, a too-brief reminder of the world of day. She got in, shut the door, and switched on the headlights.
“Maybe you ought to leave those off,” Seth suggested.
“What’s the use of having somebody steer if she can’t see where she’s steering?” Although Mercedes had no license, she understood steering well enough, she thought.
Seth and Long got in front of the Olds, bent their backs, and pushed with all their might. “Straighten out the wheels!” Seth shouted.
Mercedes tugged at the steering wheel, finding it extremely hard to turn.
“That’s the way! More!”
Slowly, inch by inch, the Olds crawled back onto the road again. Its lights picked up Ms. Morgan, still standing beside the dead racoons, a slight smile on her face.
“She could do something,” Mercedes whispered to herself. “If she helped them, it would be that much more.”
“Okay!” Seth shouted, and they stopped pushing and stepped
aside. The Oldsmobile crept down the steep slope until Mercedes stamped on the brake pedal.
Seth
Seth nodded slowly. “Yeah. Well, we can’t help them now.” He sounded embarrassed.
“We can weep for them, as I do. It is a terrible thing, to die as this little one did, with no one to mourn.”
Long put his arm around the blond woman’s shoulders, then drew it away as though afraid she would object.
Seth cleared his throat. “I better move my car. Somebody coming up this road might hit it.”
Long said, “Sure.”
Seth went back to the Olds; Mercedes wanted to go with him, to get into the front seat beside him again and beg him to drive away; but the blond woman was speaking to her. “It is very kind of you to take us. Jim told me. It is not where we wish to go, but perhaps we may get a ride there. If not, we will walk. We shall manage in some way.”
“Okay,” Mercedes told her. “That’s okay.” The blond woman was half a head shorter than she, but Mercedes felt she must be a good deal older—twenty or twenty-five at least. Even so, she seemed far too young for Long. Awkwardly, Mercedes held out her hand. “I’m Mercedes Schindler-Shields.”
The blond woman clasped it briefly; her slender fingers felt hot, almost burning, as though she were running a fever. “Viviane Morgan.”
Her breath held the pensive sweetness of a spring morning; Mercedes found it an effort to speak. “I’m happy to meet you, Ms. Morgan.”
“Call me Viviane, please.”
The hoarse grinding of the Olds’s starter interrupted. The engine sputtered and fell silent. Mercedes walked to the open window. “Won’t it start?”
Hunched over the wheel, Seth shook his head angrily. He twisted the key and pumped the accelerator. The starter motor snarled on and on, but there was no answering sound from the engine.
Long peered over Mercedes’s shoulder. “You oughta turned off your lights.”
Seth told him, “The battery’s good. It just won’t catch.” There was a faint smell of gasoline.
“Oughta turn ’em off anyhow. Won’t do no good to run the battery down.”
“I guess not.” Abruptly, the lights were gone. Darkness
dropped like a snare from the overarching trees, and Mercedes shivered.
The starter snarled again, perhaps a trifle less strongly.
“You got her flooded now,” Long said. The gasoline smell had grown pungent.
Seth’s voice floated out of the night, astonishingly near. “I guess so.”
“I thought that mighta been what was wrong with mine. If that’s what was wrong, she mighta fixed herself by now. They do that—they dry out. Gas dries up pretty fast.”
Mercedes said, “We can wait. I suppose we’ll have to.”
“We oughta push it outa the way, Miss.” Long spoke from some unknown place in the darkness. “There might come a car up this way and slam into it.”
Seth muttered, “That’s right. Mercedes, would you steer? We’ll have to push—Mr. Long and me.”
“Okay,” she said. The dome light came on as Seth got out, a too-brief reminder of the world of day. She got in, shut the door, and switched on the headlights.
“Maybe you ought to leave those off,” Seth suggested.
“What’s the use of having somebody steer if she can’t see where she’s steering?” Although Mercedes had no license, she understood steering well enough, she thought.
Seth and Long got in front of the Olds, bent their backs, and pushed with all their might. “Straighten out the wheels!” Seth shouted.
Mercedes tugged at the steering wheel, finding it extremely hard to turn.
“That’s the way! More!”
Slowly, inch by inch, the Olds crawled back onto the road again. Its lights picked up Ms. Morgan, still standing beside the dead racoons, a slight smile on her face.
“She could do something,” Mercedes whispered to herself. “If she helped them, it would be that much more.”
“Okay!” Seth shouted, and they stopped pushing and stepped
aside. The Oldsmobile crept down the steep slope until Mercedes stamped on the brake pedal.
Seth
Similar Books
