Read Online The Summer House by Jean Stone - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jean Stone
Tags: Contemporary
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not talking about Michael. I know you like him.”
She swallowed her guilt like a wad of gum.
“I need you to promise me you’ll listen to Father because I’m not going to be here for a while.”
Suddenly, his words began to seep in. While she had selfishly been thinking of her own wants and needs, something else had been happening, something …
And then she knew. “Your orders,” she said quickly. “You got your orders.”
Daniel nodded. “Yeah, kid, I did. You’re now talking to First Lieutenant Daniel Adams, battalion commander for Unit 112 of the United States Army.”
She felt a slow numbness start at her toes and work its way to her heart. “Daniel?” she asked, wanting but not wanting to know.
He dropped his hand to her shoulder and pulled her close to him. “Yeah, kid,” he whispered. “I’m going over. Uncle Sam is sending me to Vietnam.”
Chapter 7
The wail that came from outside woke BeBe and had her rushing out the door of her bedroom before she was fully alert. At the top of the stairs she collided with Father.
“What the Sam Hill is that?” he barked, as if the commotion were her fault, her scheme to shake everyone from their beds in the middle of the damn night.
She ignored him and ran down the stairs toward the sound, Father right behind, neither of them acknowledging that the wail sounded an awful lot like Lizzie and that Lizzie might be hurt.
Out on the porch, Lizzie was there, and she was crying into Daniel’s chest.
The adrenaline that had propelled BeBe from her room now slowed to an uneasy crawl.
“She’ll be okay, Dad,” Daniel said quietly.
Father took a deep breath. “It’s for the best, Lizzie. You’ll see.”
Bebe scowled; the screen door banged shut. Roger stood there in his pajamas, his hair askew. Behind him was Mother. “What’s going on?” BeBe asked.
They were all looking at Daniel. Daniel looked at Father. “I think it’s time I made some hot chocolate.”
When they were kids, hot chocolate was the fix-it, the cure-all for scraped knees or neighborhood bullies. Daniel was always the one to make it: Daniel, the eldest, Daniel the comforter, Daniel, who was always there when Father was too brash and Mother too busy.
BeBe looked down at her nightshirt and her bare feet, then around at her family in various stages of dress and undress. “Hot chocolate sounds great,” she replied, since no one else had. “But only if it means someone will tell us what the hell’s going on.”
They sat around the big table—the long trestle table—in the knotty-pine kitchen with the lobster buoys on the walls. It was rare that they gathered here for something other than dinner on evenings when the rain drove them in off the porch. It was not raining now, and it was after midnight, and there was not a full meal but hot chocolate and vanilla wafers.
BeBe shifted uncomfortably on the wooden bench.
“It’s about me,” Daniel spoke at last. “Liz was upset because of me.”
The sink faucet dripped. Mother blew her nose. Roger stirred his hot chocolate too loudly. BeBe wondered if she was the only one here who had no clue what was happening, then she wondered where Michael Barton had gone.
“I got my orders today,” Daniel said. “Looks like I’ll be going to Vietnam.”
BeBe blinked. The faucet dripped again. No one was speaking. Why wasn’t anyone speaking? She tapped her mug on the table.
Father did not answer.
She looked at Father. “You’re going to stop it, right?”
But still no one spoke. No one else even looked at Father; they stared at their mugs or their hands or the top of the long trestle table.
Father looked steadily back at BeBe. “I can’t, Barbara Beth. Some things are beyond my control.”
“Oh, come on, Father. Surely your friend Congressman Carter can do something. Why else did Daniel have to take his hideous granddaughter to the cotillion?”
“Evelyn Carter has nothing to do with this. Besides, her grandfather and I
She swallowed her guilt like a wad of gum.
“I need you to promise me you’ll listen to Father because I’m not going to be here for a while.”
Suddenly, his words began to seep in. While she had selfishly been thinking of her own wants and needs, something else had been happening, something …
And then she knew. “Your orders,” she said quickly. “You got your orders.”
Daniel nodded. “Yeah, kid, I did. You’re now talking to First Lieutenant Daniel Adams, battalion commander for Unit 112 of the United States Army.”
She felt a slow numbness start at her toes and work its way to her heart. “Daniel?” she asked, wanting but not wanting to know.
He dropped his hand to her shoulder and pulled her close to him. “Yeah, kid,” he whispered. “I’m going over. Uncle Sam is sending me to Vietnam.”
Chapter 7
The wail that came from outside woke BeBe and had her rushing out the door of her bedroom before she was fully alert. At the top of the stairs she collided with Father.
“What the Sam Hill is that?” he barked, as if the commotion were her fault, her scheme to shake everyone from their beds in the middle of the damn night.
She ignored him and ran down the stairs toward the sound, Father right behind, neither of them acknowledging that the wail sounded an awful lot like Lizzie and that Lizzie might be hurt.
Out on the porch, Lizzie was there, and she was crying into Daniel’s chest.
The adrenaline that had propelled BeBe from her room now slowed to an uneasy crawl.
“She’ll be okay, Dad,” Daniel said quietly.
Father took a deep breath. “It’s for the best, Lizzie. You’ll see.”
Bebe scowled; the screen door banged shut. Roger stood there in his pajamas, his hair askew. Behind him was Mother. “What’s going on?” BeBe asked.
They were all looking at Daniel. Daniel looked at Father. “I think it’s time I made some hot chocolate.”
When they were kids, hot chocolate was the fix-it, the cure-all for scraped knees or neighborhood bullies. Daniel was always the one to make it: Daniel, the eldest, Daniel the comforter, Daniel, who was always there when Father was too brash and Mother too busy.
BeBe looked down at her nightshirt and her bare feet, then around at her family in various stages of dress and undress. “Hot chocolate sounds great,” she replied, since no one else had. “But only if it means someone will tell us what the hell’s going on.”
They sat around the big table—the long trestle table—in the knotty-pine kitchen with the lobster buoys on the walls. It was rare that they gathered here for something other than dinner on evenings when the rain drove them in off the porch. It was not raining now, and it was after midnight, and there was not a full meal but hot chocolate and vanilla wafers.
BeBe shifted uncomfortably on the wooden bench.
“It’s about me,” Daniel spoke at last. “Liz was upset because of me.”
The sink faucet dripped. Mother blew her nose. Roger stirred his hot chocolate too loudly. BeBe wondered if she was the only one here who had no clue what was happening, then she wondered where Michael Barton had gone.
“I got my orders today,” Daniel said. “Looks like I’ll be going to Vietnam.”
BeBe blinked. The faucet dripped again. No one was speaking. Why wasn’t anyone speaking? She tapped her mug on the table.
Father did not answer.
She looked at Father. “You’re going to stop it, right?”
But still no one spoke. No one else even looked at Father; they stared at their mugs or their hands or the top of the long trestle table.
Father looked steadily back at BeBe. “I can’t, Barbara Beth. Some things are beyond my control.”
“Oh, come on, Father. Surely your friend Congressman Carter can do something. Why else did Daniel have to take his hideous granddaughter to the cotillion?”
“Evelyn Carter has nothing to do with this. Besides, her grandfather and I
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