her.
âItâs all right. Like I said. Weâve got a bit of time to decide.â
He lifts the dog and puts it in the car. The lead is loose in her hand. The dog gives her a quick, startled glance, then lies down, its body heavy and warm against her feet. It tucks its nose into its tail and holds very still.
âLook at that,â Graham says. âSettled already.â
âSheâs terrified,â Mary says.
O UR DOG HATED J AMES D IX. S HE WOULD NOT GO NEAR HIM. She made sure to move out of his way if he came too close, and she would not even eat the scraps we threw to her if James was in the room. If, out of nowhere, you saw her ears flatten and you heard her growl, you could be sure that seconds later his bright, unmistakable head would go bobbing past the window.
When he found me in the darkness of the scullery, she was stretched out asleep on the floor, but as soon as she felt him, she jumped up and ran off.
I would have run off too, but I knew it would just have excited him. Instead, I made a point of staying level and tight and calm.
What is it now? I said. What do you want?
He looked at me.
Oh, Eliza. Do I always have to want something?
I said nothing. He began to smile.
I could buy you some boots, if you want, he said.
What?
Boots. Boots for your pretty little feet.
I looked at him.
I know what boots are.
Well, then?
No, thanks.
You donât want them?
No.
His face went soft and sad.
But look. Look at whatâs on your feet, Eliza. Iâm telling you, you do need some.
I didnât need to look at my feet. I knew what my boots were like. I knew that they were torn and scuffed and muddy and coming apart so they flapped wide-open at the toe and heel.
Theyâre not my Sunday ones, I said.
Still, he said. I could get you some.
I stared at him. The house was empty. Everyone was either at school or else out in the fields. He should have been there too. I knew heâd come back on purpose. There was no sound but the clock ticking.
I wish youâd go away, I said.
I heard him suck his teeth.
Where are your manners, Eliza?
Itâs the truth.
Itâs very rude when here I am offering to get you some boots.
You canât get me boots, I said.
I can. I can get anything I want. Youâll see.
Youâve no money.
Who said anything about money?
I looked at his eager dirty face and I remembered the new boots heâd had on that first night, the night of the storm. Boots that no man had ever walked anywhere in. I looked down at his feet. They were old now, those boots, old and worn as if heâd been wearing them for two years or more.
What? he said. You wonât let me get you some? You wonât do me the honor?
No.
All right, then, Princess Eliza. Have it your way.
I will, I said.
He stuck his hands in his pockets and he didnât say anything and when I didnât either, he turned and walked away.
But a moment later, he was back.
I could take you to the sea, he said. What about that? I bet youâve never seen the sea. Tell me right now, have you ever seen the sea, Eliza?
I have seen it, I said.
I donât believe you.
Three years ago. We went to the sea at Yarmouth. Father took us. We took the kiddies in the cart.
It was true. I remembered it well. The loud excitement of the kiddies and the wild, smashed feeling I got as my father drove the cart around a narrow bend in the road and there it was in front of us, glittering and vast, the boldest, most astounding thing you ever saw.
Well then, said James Dix. How about I take you there again? We can make a proper trip of it this time.
It was a proper trip last time, I said.
All right, but this time we can ride on a donkey and dip our feet in the cold water and walk on the promenade and look at all the fancy tricks on the pier.
We did all of those things last time, I said, even though I knew we hadnât.
What, even the pier? You went on the pier?
I looked at him and I said
âItâs all right. Like I said. Weâve got a bit of time to decide.â
He lifts the dog and puts it in the car. The lead is loose in her hand. The dog gives her a quick, startled glance, then lies down, its body heavy and warm against her feet. It tucks its nose into its tail and holds very still.
âLook at that,â Graham says. âSettled already.â
âSheâs terrified,â Mary says.
O UR DOG HATED J AMES D IX. S HE WOULD NOT GO NEAR HIM. She made sure to move out of his way if he came too close, and she would not even eat the scraps we threw to her if James was in the room. If, out of nowhere, you saw her ears flatten and you heard her growl, you could be sure that seconds later his bright, unmistakable head would go bobbing past the window.
When he found me in the darkness of the scullery, she was stretched out asleep on the floor, but as soon as she felt him, she jumped up and ran off.
I would have run off too, but I knew it would just have excited him. Instead, I made a point of staying level and tight and calm.
What is it now? I said. What do you want?
He looked at me.
Oh, Eliza. Do I always have to want something?
I said nothing. He began to smile.
I could buy you some boots, if you want, he said.
What?
Boots. Boots for your pretty little feet.
I looked at him.
I know what boots are.
Well, then?
No, thanks.
You donât want them?
No.
His face went soft and sad.
But look. Look at whatâs on your feet, Eliza. Iâm telling you, you do need some.
I didnât need to look at my feet. I knew what my boots were like. I knew that they were torn and scuffed and muddy and coming apart so they flapped wide-open at the toe and heel.
Theyâre not my Sunday ones, I said.
Still, he said. I could get you some.
I stared at him. The house was empty. Everyone was either at school or else out in the fields. He should have been there too. I knew heâd come back on purpose. There was no sound but the clock ticking.
I wish youâd go away, I said.
I heard him suck his teeth.
Where are your manners, Eliza?
Itâs the truth.
Itâs very rude when here I am offering to get you some boots.
You canât get me boots, I said.
I can. I can get anything I want. Youâll see.
Youâve no money.
Who said anything about money?
I looked at his eager dirty face and I remembered the new boots heâd had on that first night, the night of the storm. Boots that no man had ever walked anywhere in. I looked down at his feet. They were old now, those boots, old and worn as if heâd been wearing them for two years or more.
What? he said. You wonât let me get you some? You wonât do me the honor?
No.
All right, then, Princess Eliza. Have it your way.
I will, I said.
He stuck his hands in his pockets and he didnât say anything and when I didnât either, he turned and walked away.
But a moment later, he was back.
I could take you to the sea, he said. What about that? I bet youâve never seen the sea. Tell me right now, have you ever seen the sea, Eliza?
I have seen it, I said.
I donât believe you.
Three years ago. We went to the sea at Yarmouth. Father took us. We took the kiddies in the cart.
It was true. I remembered it well. The loud excitement of the kiddies and the wild, smashed feeling I got as my father drove the cart around a narrow bend in the road and there it was in front of us, glittering and vast, the boldest, most astounding thing you ever saw.
Well then, said James Dix. How about I take you there again? We can make a proper trip of it this time.
It was a proper trip last time, I said.
All right, but this time we can ride on a donkey and dip our feet in the cold water and walk on the promenade and look at all the fancy tricks on the pier.
We did all of those things last time, I said, even though I knew we hadnât.
What, even the pier? You went on the pier?
I looked at him and I said
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