Nonnie was always cranky and out of sorts these days. Her voice was shrill and mean, and she was forever carping at us for tracking in snow or leaving wet shoes under the radiator, which made their toes curl. Poor red-faced, angry Nonnie, who never sang anymore or played with Kerney or helped us zip our jackets up. I could tell that the whole trouble was her disappointment at not being able to go to college, and that the burden of looking after four brothers and a sister, and the house, was beginning to weigh on her.
Because she slammed pots and pans in the sink while we were all doing the washing up, Lew and Harry were glad to escape to the cellar and their newest project: a giant skating sail. While Ag stayed in her room reading magazines or pasting
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movie stars in scrapbooks, they worked in the basement. I was allowed only to watch. They cut the canvas cloth themselves and because Nonnie complained she had too much work to do, they inveigled Ma into stitching it up on her sewing machine after work. The frame was a cross of bamboo, selected for its lightness; when it was assembled, the sail produced a kite shape eight feet across, and there were more than thirty square feet of canvas in it.
It was a grand success. One Saturday right after lunch I trailed along as Lew came bearing it down to the Cove. Naturally, he tried it out first. Holding the center staff against his back, one arm over his head, the other behind him, he turned his body so the sail caught the brisk wind, and off he shot across the ice to the far bank. To make his return he tacked the way a sailboat would.
Harry was next, and finally it came to me, and they both jeered because I couldn't manage it as easily as they. Gradually I found the hang of it, and discovered that when I got going too fast it required only a simple movement to toss the sail over my head, spilling the wind and slowing me down.
Then Lew took the sail away from me, and he and Harry spent the rest of the afternoon with it, in betweentimes selling rides to other kids for a dime. I got one last turn, then reluctantly handed the sail over to Lew. Skating back to shore under my own power, I looked up to Mrs. Harleigh's house on the crest of the hill. At a second-story window I could see that the shade was up and I was able to make out a face behind the glass.
Next day she came out. She wore a long flannel skirt and a little black fur jacket. Her hair was enclosed by the open end of a tasseled wool scarf. She had on dark stockings and, over these, white ankle socks. I watched from a distance as she sat and laced up her skates, white tops with shiny blades, and then -- stepping on the points of the runners, daintily balanced like a ballet dancer -- with graceful strokes she floated out onto the ice. A good skater, she turned easily and her ankles showed no signs of buckling. When she had cut several figures, as though testing her strength, she skated over to me.
"Isn't it glorious!" There was the familiar laugh, but no indication of remembering our last meeting. She looked pale and there were dark places under her eyes. I could feel her hand tremble as she took mine and we skated together, out of the way of the flying hockey puck, toward the opposite side of the Cove.
"You boys are having such fun with that sail," she said when we stopped to catch our breaths. "Where did you get it?" She was surprised when I said Lew and Harry had built it. "I must try it one of these days. First I'll have to get my sea legs back. It's been years since I skated."
She spun off a little way toward a clump of frozen reeds, the scarf twirling behind her head. She held her hands out to me and I skated to her. We clutched arms, laughing together, and as we met I lost my balance and we both sat down. When we struck the ice, there was an ominous crack.
"I remember," she said, helping me scramble up and drawing me away from the spot. "It's always thin there, where the bulrushes grow. It must have
Because she slammed pots and pans in the sink while we were all doing the washing up, Lew and Harry were glad to escape to the cellar and their newest project: a giant skating sail. While Ag stayed in her room reading magazines or pasting
Photoplay
movie stars in scrapbooks, they worked in the basement. I was allowed only to watch. They cut the canvas cloth themselves and because Nonnie complained she had too much work to do, they inveigled Ma into stitching it up on her sewing machine after work. The frame was a cross of bamboo, selected for its lightness; when it was assembled, the sail produced a kite shape eight feet across, and there were more than thirty square feet of canvas in it.
It was a grand success. One Saturday right after lunch I trailed along as Lew came bearing it down to the Cove. Naturally, he tried it out first. Holding the center staff against his back, one arm over his head, the other behind him, he turned his body so the sail caught the brisk wind, and off he shot across the ice to the far bank. To make his return he tacked the way a sailboat would.
Harry was next, and finally it came to me, and they both jeered because I couldn't manage it as easily as they. Gradually I found the hang of it, and discovered that when I got going too fast it required only a simple movement to toss the sail over my head, spilling the wind and slowing me down.
Then Lew took the sail away from me, and he and Harry spent the rest of the afternoon with it, in betweentimes selling rides to other kids for a dime. I got one last turn, then reluctantly handed the sail over to Lew. Skating back to shore under my own power, I looked up to Mrs. Harleigh's house on the crest of the hill. At a second-story window I could see that the shade was up and I was able to make out a face behind the glass.
Next day she came out. She wore a long flannel skirt and a little black fur jacket. Her hair was enclosed by the open end of a tasseled wool scarf. She had on dark stockings and, over these, white ankle socks. I watched from a distance as she sat and laced up her skates, white tops with shiny blades, and then -- stepping on the points of the runners, daintily balanced like a ballet dancer -- with graceful strokes she floated out onto the ice. A good skater, she turned easily and her ankles showed no signs of buckling. When she had cut several figures, as though testing her strength, she skated over to me.
"Isn't it glorious!" There was the familiar laugh, but no indication of remembering our last meeting. She looked pale and there were dark places under her eyes. I could feel her hand tremble as she took mine and we skated together, out of the way of the flying hockey puck, toward the opposite side of the Cove.
"You boys are having such fun with that sail," she said when we stopped to catch our breaths. "Where did you get it?" She was surprised when I said Lew and Harry had built it. "I must try it one of these days. First I'll have to get my sea legs back. It's been years since I skated."
She spun off a little way toward a clump of frozen reeds, the scarf twirling behind her head. She held her hands out to me and I skated to her. We clutched arms, laughing together, and as we met I lost my balance and we both sat down. When we struck the ice, there was an ominous crack.
"I remember," she said, helping me scramble up and drawing me away from the spot. "It's always thin there, where the bulrushes grow. It must have
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