scooped up the sail. She threw it in front of her, then lay flat on the ice and slid the bamboo so that by reaching I could grab the tip. Switching to a sitting position, she dug the heels of her skate runners into the ice and held fast to the kite while I pulled myself out. I flopped onto the sail and in another moment she had dragged both it and me to safety.
When we got to the shore, my corduroy knickers were frozen stiff. She helped me take off my skates, working calmly and swiftly to undo the wet knotted laces. She pulled off my soaking windbreaker, substituted her fur jacket, wrapped my head in her scarf, and, leaving the sail behind, hurried me up the hill.
Elthea must have seen my plight, for when we got to the kitchen Jesse was down cellar stoking the furnace, the teakettle was singing on the stove, there were Turkish towels and warm socks and a robe waiting for me. When Jesse came upstairs, Elthea and Mrs. Harleigh bustled around the room, toweling my hair and securing the wool scarf more tightly around my neck, hanging my soaked clothes, and pouring first one cup of tea past my chattering teeth and then another. Elthea said that the river should be posted for "No Skating" and Mrs. Harleigh asked Jesse to bring the Minerva to the kitchen door.
Wrapped in a blanket, my soaked things left with Elthea, I was hustled home to bed in style.
The consequence of this damp adventure was twofold: first on the following day it was discovered I had contracted what was then called the "grippe," and was confined to bed; second, and best, for the term of my illness Mrs. Harleigh became my nurse, saying, "Larks are what this boy needs when he gets well. And larks he shall have." Though in fact they began even before my recovery. Every day, she came across the Green to sit by my bedside while Ma was at the Sunbeam, freeing Nonnie to perform her usual household duties. It was a not unpleasant period for me, and because I did not feel particularly ill my sojourn under the bedcovers was a memorable time. Dosed with Vicks VapoRub and Argyrol drops which stung in my nostrils, with daily visits from Dr. Brainard, and my "nurse" in constant attendance, I recovered gradually. When I was fully up and around again, Ma said I surely must be as spoiled as an apple at the bottom of the barrel.
But during the two weeks I remained in bed my every wish was granted, accepted by Lady as the law of the land. Already I sensed a strong feeling between us, a power which we had over each other. Though I did not know what I could give her, I was selfishly aware of what she could give me, and how easily I could exercise my smallest tyranny on her. My slightest whim might be indulged. I could be read to or played games with, or listened to; my choice of menu was holy writ, and never since have I drunk so much ginger ale or eaten so many sugared crullers or dishes of tapioca.
I loved watching the way she used her hands around my room, as if examining it, the better to know me. The way she puffed up the pillows and smoothed down the sheet, turning the blanket with an exactly measured border, how she leafed the pages of a magazine, or rolled up my rumpled pajamas and dispatched them for Elthea to wash and return ironed -- another first for me -- or precisely aligned my slippers, just within reach if I wanted to go to the bathroom; her slender fingers with their loving touch. How nice it was to know those cool, capable hands feeling my forehead and chest, my pulse, though we both knew it was normal. How nice, and how painful, for -- in my flannels, under the sheets, the thermometer in my mouth -- I was falling in love all over again.
She was such a happy person, and delighted in making me -- all of us -- happy, making us laugh. She could be so comical. Sometimes for my amusement she would use a thick German accent like
The Katzenjammer Kids
-- "Vot's der matter mitt dot?" -- or like Jack Pearl, who did Baron Munchausen on the radio -- "Vas you dere,
When we got to the shore, my corduroy knickers were frozen stiff. She helped me take off my skates, working calmly and swiftly to undo the wet knotted laces. She pulled off my soaking windbreaker, substituted her fur jacket, wrapped my head in her scarf, and, leaving the sail behind, hurried me up the hill.
Elthea must have seen my plight, for when we got to the kitchen Jesse was down cellar stoking the furnace, the teakettle was singing on the stove, there were Turkish towels and warm socks and a robe waiting for me. When Jesse came upstairs, Elthea and Mrs. Harleigh bustled around the room, toweling my hair and securing the wool scarf more tightly around my neck, hanging my soaked clothes, and pouring first one cup of tea past my chattering teeth and then another. Elthea said that the river should be posted for "No Skating" and Mrs. Harleigh asked Jesse to bring the Minerva to the kitchen door.
Wrapped in a blanket, my soaked things left with Elthea, I was hustled home to bed in style.
The consequence of this damp adventure was twofold: first on the following day it was discovered I had contracted what was then called the "grippe," and was confined to bed; second, and best, for the term of my illness Mrs. Harleigh became my nurse, saying, "Larks are what this boy needs when he gets well. And larks he shall have." Though in fact they began even before my recovery. Every day, she came across the Green to sit by my bedside while Ma was at the Sunbeam, freeing Nonnie to perform her usual household duties. It was a not unpleasant period for me, and because I did not feel particularly ill my sojourn under the bedcovers was a memorable time. Dosed with Vicks VapoRub and Argyrol drops which stung in my nostrils, with daily visits from Dr. Brainard, and my "nurse" in constant attendance, I recovered gradually. When I was fully up and around again, Ma said I surely must be as spoiled as an apple at the bottom of the barrel.
But during the two weeks I remained in bed my every wish was granted, accepted by Lady as the law of the land. Already I sensed a strong feeling between us, a power which we had over each other. Though I did not know what I could give her, I was selfishly aware of what she could give me, and how easily I could exercise my smallest tyranny on her. My slightest whim might be indulged. I could be read to or played games with, or listened to; my choice of menu was holy writ, and never since have I drunk so much ginger ale or eaten so many sugared crullers or dishes of tapioca.
I loved watching the way she used her hands around my room, as if examining it, the better to know me. The way she puffed up the pillows and smoothed down the sheet, turning the blanket with an exactly measured border, how she leafed the pages of a magazine, or rolled up my rumpled pajamas and dispatched them for Elthea to wash and return ironed -- another first for me -- or precisely aligned my slippers, just within reach if I wanted to go to the bathroom; her slender fingers with their loving touch. How nice it was to know those cool, capable hands feeling my forehead and chest, my pulse, though we both knew it was normal. How nice, and how painful, for -- in my flannels, under the sheets, the thermometer in my mouth -- I was falling in love all over again.
She was such a happy person, and delighted in making me -- all of us -- happy, making us laugh. She could be so comical. Sometimes for my amusement she would use a thick German accent like
The Katzenjammer Kids
-- "Vot's der matter mitt dot?" -- or like Jack Pearl, who did Baron Munchausen on the radio -- "Vas you dere,
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