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Authors: William Maxwell
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“sometimes when you do have someone with you and you think they’re going to enjoy things the way you do, it turns out not to be the right person.” Her eyes came to rest on the silver napkin ring. “You and Cousin Austin seem so suited to each other. I woke up thinking about you.”
“And I woke up thinking about you,” Martha said.
“Did you really?” Nora’s eyes opened wide with amazement. “Wasn’t that a coincidence! And yet if we were to try and tell somebody, they probably wouldn’t believe that such a thing could happen. I’m always having strange things happen to me. I don’t know what it is.”
The pantry door swung open and Rachel appeared with a platter of bacon and eggs. “Morning, Miss Nora,” she said glumly.
“Good morning, Rachel. How are you this morning—at least
I
think they’re strange. But what I was about to say is I’m so glad you and Cousin Austin found each other.”
“Do you take cream and sugar in your coffee?” Martha asked.
“Neither,” Nora said. “I just take it black.” Her expression changed and became uncertain. In Mississippi a genuine liking conveyed with candour usually brought a similar protestation in return. Also, there was something about Martha King’s manner—so encouraging one minute and the next so blank, as if she had no idea what Nora was talking about—that made some of Nora’s pleasure in the summer morning dwindle away. At the risk of seeming foolish she added, “And so glad I’ve found you both,” and was partly reassured by the wan smile from across the breakfast table. “I often wonder whypeople marry the people they do marry, and what they find to say to each other, day in and day out. There’s so much that must be difficult——”
“You’re excused, pet,” Martha said to Ab.
“I haven’t finished my milk,” Ab said.
“Never mind. You don’t have to finish your milk this morning. Go in the study and play with your dolls.”
“Do you mind my talking in such a steady stream?” Nora asked, as Ab left the room. “We all talk more than we should, except Randolph. It’s a family failing. The thing is, you don’t have to listen. Not if you don’t feel like it.”
“Oh but I
am
listening,” Martha said. “And with great interest.”
“If people don’t talk,” Nora said, “it’s so hard to know what’s on their minds. Tell me, Cousin Martha, do you ever hear voices?”
The telephone began ringing, and Martha went into the study to answer it.
“Yes,” Nora heard her say. “Well, I’m glad. I hoped everybody was having a good time.… Yes, I’ll tell them. They aren’t up yet. Only Nora …”
At the sound of her own name, Nora felt the cold damp wind of dislike blowing through the dining-room, and wondered what she had said or done to deserve it.
“Oh no!” Martha exclaimed, over the telephone. “What a pity! Perhaps it was the fried chicken … yes … yes, of course.… Well, you tell her I’m terribly sorry.… I can look it up, but I think I remember it … a teaspoonful of baking powder and then you beat it throughly until it’s stiff.… That’s right … yes … yes, Alice … yes, I will. And thank you for calling.”
“I’m so sorry about all these interruptions,” she said, when she came back into the dining-room. “That was Alice Beach calling to say what a nice time they had last night and how much they liked you all.”
“I hope you told her how much we liked them,” Nora said.
“What was it you were saying?” Martha asked. “Here, let me fill your cup.”
Oh, it’s no use, Nora thought. I ought never have tried to make friends with her. She doesn’t want to be friends with anybody.
“I hear these voices,” she began, as she passed her cup across the table, “saying ‘Nora, where are you?’ and I say, sometimes right out loud: ‘On the side porch’ or ‘Upstairs’—depending on where I am at the time. They aren’t real voices——”
Martha
“And I woke up thinking about you,” Martha said.
“Did you really?” Nora’s eyes opened wide with amazement. “Wasn’t that a coincidence! And yet if we were to try and tell somebody, they probably wouldn’t believe that such a thing could happen. I’m always having strange things happen to me. I don’t know what it is.”
The pantry door swung open and Rachel appeared with a platter of bacon and eggs. “Morning, Miss Nora,” she said glumly.
“Good morning, Rachel. How are you this morning—at least
I
think they’re strange. But what I was about to say is I’m so glad you and Cousin Austin found each other.”
“Do you take cream and sugar in your coffee?” Martha asked.
“Neither,” Nora said. “I just take it black.” Her expression changed and became uncertain. In Mississippi a genuine liking conveyed with candour usually brought a similar protestation in return. Also, there was something about Martha King’s manner—so encouraging one minute and the next so blank, as if she had no idea what Nora was talking about—that made some of Nora’s pleasure in the summer morning dwindle away. At the risk of seeming foolish she added, “And so glad I’ve found you both,” and was partly reassured by the wan smile from across the breakfast table. “I often wonder whypeople marry the people they do marry, and what they find to say to each other, day in and day out. There’s so much that must be difficult——”
“You’re excused, pet,” Martha said to Ab.
“I haven’t finished my milk,” Ab said.
“Never mind. You don’t have to finish your milk this morning. Go in the study and play with your dolls.”
“Do you mind my talking in such a steady stream?” Nora asked, as Ab left the room. “We all talk more than we should, except Randolph. It’s a family failing. The thing is, you don’t have to listen. Not if you don’t feel like it.”
“Oh but I
am
listening,” Martha said. “And with great interest.”
“If people don’t talk,” Nora said, “it’s so hard to know what’s on their minds. Tell me, Cousin Martha, do you ever hear voices?”
The telephone began ringing, and Martha went into the study to answer it.
“Yes,” Nora heard her say. “Well, I’m glad. I hoped everybody was having a good time.… Yes, I’ll tell them. They aren’t up yet. Only Nora …”
At the sound of her own name, Nora felt the cold damp wind of dislike blowing through the dining-room, and wondered what she had said or done to deserve it.
“Oh no!” Martha exclaimed, over the telephone. “What a pity! Perhaps it was the fried chicken … yes … yes, of course.… Well, you tell her I’m terribly sorry.… I can look it up, but I think I remember it … a teaspoonful of baking powder and then you beat it throughly until it’s stiff.… That’s right … yes … yes, Alice … yes, I will. And thank you for calling.”
“I’m so sorry about all these interruptions,” she said, when she came back into the dining-room. “That was Alice Beach calling to say what a nice time they had last night and how much they liked you all.”
“I hope you told her how much we liked them,” Nora said.
“What was it you were saying?” Martha asked. “Here, let me fill your cup.”
Oh, it’s no use, Nora thought. I ought never have tried to make friends with her. She doesn’t want to be friends with anybody.
“I hear these voices,” she began, as she passed her cup across the table, “saying ‘Nora, where are you?’ and I say, sometimes right out loud: ‘On the side porch’ or ‘Upstairs’—depending on where I am at the time. They aren’t real voices——”
Martha
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