Read Online The Western Light by Susan Swan - Free Book Online Page A

John Pilkie who breaks the rules. They are living large, as people say now. I wasn’t making a mountain out of a molehill, as Sal often told me. I was recognizing that mountains exist, and if we go up them and down the other side, we are never the same again.

10
    SAL WAS WAITING FOR ME WITH THE TRICYCLE THAT MORLEY had ordered from a New York department store. Its two back wheels were larger than the single front wheel, and it was chain-driven, so the rider was obliged to pedal in a downward motion. As soon as we climbed out of the station wagon, she wheeled it towards us, tossing her thick hair and fixing me with her round Irish eyes. “Sal, you know how I feel about that thing,” my grandmother said and looked over at Little Louie for help. My aunt frowned. “Mom thinks too much exercise is bad for Mary,” Little Louie replied.
    Sal ignored them. She pulled two long linen scarves out of her pocket and waved them authoritatively as if only she, the ex-nurse, knew what was good for me. I glanced apprehensively at the bike and then down our long, sloping driveway. The snow had melted from the asphalt, although the breeze from the Bay still felt wintry. “Mary, you promised Doc Bradford,” Sal said in her sternest shaming voice, and when I went over and stood beside Sal, Big Louie didn’t protest. She muttered while Sal helped me take off my Boston brace and tied my feet to the pedals using a method from one of Morley’s medical textbooks: start with ascending turns at the upper end of the scarf and descending turns at the lower end and then tie both ends with a square knot. When she was done, Sal let out a holler because Morley’s green convertible was coming along Whitefish Road. He had put down the top, and the wind was blowing his iron-grey hair back from his handsome head. “Doc Bradford! Watch Mary!” Sal yelled and gave me a hefty push. Usually, she let me start down the incline myself, but Sal was showing off for Morley. She pushed too hard.
    My legs started going round faster and faster. My feet were tied to the pedals. I couldn’t stop if I tried. Out on the road, Morley waved from behind the windshield of his car. I didn’t dare wave myself. My legs were already aching, and it took all my strength to hold onto the handlebars. Halfway down the incline, the bike began to wobble. Closing my eyes, I whispered, “One for the mouse, one for the crow, one to rot, one to grow.” It’s what Old Man Beaudry chanted as he threw his corn seeds. I only said it when I was scared, because Sal claimed it worked for the Beaudry corn. When I opened my eyes again, Morley was getting out of the car with our springer spaniels. “Stop pedalling, Mary!” he yelled as Joe and Mairzy charged my bike. As if I had a choice. I turned the handlebars to avoid the spaniels, but the bike’s front wheel lifted up on a ridge where the driveway met the sidewalk. My feet came free of Sal’s scarves and I fell so hard the icy pavement scraped my knees. My aunt and my grandmother rushed over while Sal stood back, gawking. Pushing away the spaniels, Morley crouched down to examine my legs. “Nothing broken.” He pulled down my skirt. “It’s not that it doesn’t hurt, Mary. It’s that you don’t mind if it hurts. Pretend you’re tossing the pain away.” He reached towards his own knee and made a fumbling gesture as if he was tossing something into the air. “Like this. You’ll see. The pain will stop.”
    â€œMorley, for heaven’s sake,” my grandmother exclaimed.
    â€œMary needs to exercise.” Morley stood up slowly. “She could be in an iron lung like hundreds of other polio victims.”
    The phone rang in our kitchen. “Morley, that’ll be for you,” Sal said. Morley yawned and trudged up the driveway, Joe and Mairzy rushing after him.
    â€œAre you all right, Mary?” My aunt gently