Read Online The Road Through the Wall by Shirley Jackson - Free Book Online Page B

enchanting reverie. “They do have such good times together,” she said.
    Artie smiled again, blankly.
    â€œBrad and that woman,” Miss Tyler said. “My sister.”
    â€œHave you lived here long?” Artie asked idiotically. He had understood that Miss Tyler would be in bed, an invalid, and he was to read quietly until Mr. and Mrs. Ransom-Jones came home, alert only for an emergency that would require the medicine, the doctor, the various phone numbers. But Miss Tyler sat on the couch across from him, looking fragile in a lavender negligee, and he was, atrociously, condemned to polite conversation until Miss Tyler should remember her duty and go obediently to bed.
    â€œHe brought her here when he married her,” Miss Tyler said. She looked up at the ceiling, around the walls. “They’ve always lived here. You can tell by the flowers.” Artie stared, and she said tolerantly, “Flowers grow best when they have always been tended by the same hand. My sister and I planted this whole garden. It was a wilderness.” She nodded her head vehemently. “It was a real wilderness at first.”
    â€œYou’ve certainly made it look good,” Artie congratulated himself; the remark had made sense, it belonged in the conversation, it was complimentary.
    â€œWhen I was
your
age,” Miss Tyler said, and laughed lightly. “It must have been twenty years ago,” she said, “I used to tend an acre of roses all by myself. Lady Hamiltons.” She looked at him vaguely. “You wouldn’t remember that far back,” she said.
    â€œI’m afraid not.” Artie was troubled with thoughts of his responsibility; she ought to be going to bed soon, that was certain; he had a grave burden on him. (“Shall I help you to bed, Miss Tyler?” “Don’t let me keep you up, Miss Tyler,” “You ought to rest now, Miss Tyler.”) “Miss Tyler,” he began, but his voice was weak and he stopped.
    â€œSuch a pretty wedding,” Miss Tyler was saying. “She carried armfuls of my roses.
My
roses.”
    â€œYou have beautiful roses here,” Artie said. It was the same kind of remark as before, the kind he was proud of.
    â€œ
I
never married,” Miss Tyler said. “Young men like you—how old are you, dear? Eighteen? Twenty?”
    Artie cleared his throat. “Miss Tyler,” he said. (“Shall I help you to bed, Miss Tyler?”)
    â€œYoung men like you passed me by,” Miss Tyler said. “Brad was the only one.”
    â€œThat’s too bad,” Artie said. That was the kind of remark he was not proud of.
    â€œWell,” Miss Tyler said soberly, “it’s time I retired. You don’t mind?”
    â€œOf course not,” Artie said. “Can I get you anything?”
    â€œThank you, no,” Miss Tyler said. “You won’t be bored?”
    â€œNo, no,” Artie said. “I have to read this book.”
    He stood up when she did, standing back respectfully to let her pass him. “Will you help me?” she asked suddenly, and swayed a little so that he was frightened when he ran forward and took her arm. “Over there,” she said. “I have my room downstairs now. There’s a bathroom and everything.” He helped her into the hall and she stopped at her doorway. “My sister is so kind,” she said, leaning her head against the closed door. Then she took her arm away from him gently and said, “Thank you very much, Arthur.”
    â€œCan you manage all right now?” Artie said. He felt a very real sympathy, not quite realizing that it was because he could walk perfectly well, could run if he wanted to, could go upstairs fifty times a day. “Please let me help you.”
    â€œI’m perfectly all right now,” Miss Tyler said.
    Artie realized with hideous embarrassment that she was waiting for him to go before she opened the