Read Online Loving Daughters by Olga Masters - Free Book Online

room. The tablecloth was askew with Violet turning so often to look at Small Henry, the blind was down nearly to the window sill above his head when it was usually thrown high to let in what winter sun was about and the sight of a passing rider on horseback, buggy or car. There was only a small glow from the fire. He should put more wood on, but lifting his head he saw as much as felt the quiet. Small Henry had fallen asleep again. He dare not make a noise with the dropping of a log, and putting out a foot gingerly put some ends together, sweating gently and catching a heavy frown from Una.
    Blast Henry to bring them to this! Look what he left behind this time! Usually it was a big bill for tobacco at Grant’s store, and heaven knows there was plenty said about that for weeks afterwards.
    Even Violet was still thoughtfully marking the tablecloth with the handle of her teaspoon. Enid was now pulling the cloth from under the cruet and the few odd things left on the table without even a tinkle of silver and Una moved up silently to help. Violet took the cue and raised her cup from her saucer so there wasn’t even the tiniest grind of china.
    He couldn’t stay here, his joints would creak, his stomach would rumble, he would be responsible for a noise that would waken that small ruling king with his purple face faded now to the beauty of a pale mauve plover’s egg. He had seen one in a nest once and stared barely believing the life inside it. Small Henry was a living thing, no doubt about that.
    George would get outside, escape this oppressive atmos­phere, it was a woman’s world, in spite of Small Henry, no place for him just now! He took large jerking steps to the front door, but Violet turned on her chair when he cupped the knob in his hands only inches from Small Henry’s head. She frowned on his hands so he dropped them and resumed his giant jerking footsteps, walking with heels raised, fearful of a squeak from the linoleum, to the door leading to the hall past the bedrooms – left open by Jack and Alex thank heavens! – and outside into the back yard.
    There the cold hit him and he shivered against a verandah post while the wind laid flat the short pale grass around Enid’s roses, for she had a new planting in beds adjacent to the back verandah in addition to those in the big side garden, and would, he sometimes felt, extend it all to the dairy half a mile away if given a chance.
    He took a spade from the garden shed to warm himself with some digging of the vegetable patch. Looking up he saw through the window Una in the kitchen mincing about mocking him with his tweed cap on, imitating his gait.
    George put his head down and rubbed the dirt from a carrot he had sliced through.
    â€˜Eat it up, George,’ Una called. ‘Never mind the dirt since you must be starving!’
    Enid came past her and put her head out the window. ‘You can drive Violet home if you like, George!’
    Well that was more like it! He swung wildly into the digging, hiding his joyful face from them, not allowing them to see his great wide grin, although it almost set his ears twitching and sent sparks of delight from the back of his neck.
    Una threw George’s cap to land expertly on a peg in the hall, then sauntered to the other window to beat her knuckles on the edge of the table below and stare onto the garden, or more likely the empty road. Enid, not sure why, wanted to cut across her thoughts, whatever they were.
    â€˜You can bring in some of the clothes,’ she said. ‘The sheets were quite dry when I felt them earlier.’
    The washing was not done on Monday as usual, but a day late because of the funeral. It threw the week’s routine out and Enid would not feel totally comfortable until things were right back to normal. Una slipped into the hall and taking an old coat from a peg shrugged herself into it. She was moving fast for a change.
    â€˜Take the basket and