performance. Macbeth is one of my favorites," he added. "Perhaps someday, Mrs. Endfield and I will attend a performance with you playing Lady Macbeth," he said with a wide smile. Then, as if he realized he was being warm and friendly, he reached for his paper, snapped it sharply, and started reading again.
I glanced at my Great-aunt Leonora whose face was frozen in a far-off look as she gazed right through me. Sometimes the two of them gave me the feeling they moved in and out of their own worlds, oblivious to each other and anyone else around them.
When I went into the kitchen, I knew from the way Mrs. Chester looked at me that she had overheard the conversation in the dining room.
"I guess yer doin' pretty nicely 'ere for a Yank," she commented and glanced at Mary Margaret before turning back to me. "No lazy streak in ya, that's for sure. Ya do yer chores as yer told and don't whine and moan about it."
"Thanks, I guess," I said. "Although Yanks aren't lazy. You can't be the greatest country in the world and be lazy."
"Oh, listen to that now, Mary Margaret. All that pride and she ain't got a bloody bean."
"You don't have to be rich to have some selfpride," I remarked.
"Ya listening, Mary Margaret?" Mrs. Chester chimed. She turned back to me. "I been tellin"er not ta be mopin' about with a face down ta 'er feet or she'll never catch a bloke worth a bob, but she don't listen ta me. Maybe she'll take a lesson from the likes of you," Mrs. Chester said.
I glanced at Mary Margaret and saw how nervous Mrs. C
hester was making her.
"Mary Margaret is a very pretty young woman," I said. "Intelligent too. I'm sure she doesn't need advice from me"
Mary Margaret looked at me as if I had just escaped from a nuthouse and went out quickly to clear the breakfast table.
"Never mind what ya think 'bout 'er good looks," Mrs. Chester insisted. "Ya oughta let 'er knock about with ya. All she does is go from 'ere ta home ta be with 'er old sick mum. She thinks she's still a girl, but wager when that one gets toffed up, she'd catch an eye or two," Mrs. Chester predicted. "She's got a sweet face. It almost breaks me heart." She paused for a moment before continuing.
"I just feel sorry fer 'er, is all," she finally said, turning back to her work. "If I could, I'd find 'er a good bloke, meseif. A decent tumble would grow 'er up overnight."
That's one strange prescription for wisdom and maturity, I thought.
Mary Margaret returned with dishes in hand, glanced at me fearfully and went to the sink.
She does act like a girl half her age, I realized, but really, what could I do for her? I had trouble enough finding my own way, and it wasn't as though I hadn't tried to be friendly with her. She avoided personal talk and looked at me as if I was some kind of threat, but I couldn't help but feel sorry for her, too.
"Would you like to go to the play with me tonight, Mary Margaret?" I asked.
She kept rinsing the dishes,
"Well, don't just keep the girl waitin', answer 'er," Mrs. Chester said.
Mary Margaret looked at her and then at me. She hadn't heard a word. She was too deep in her own thoughts, crawling into herself like a snail.
"I have two tickets to a play tonight. Would you like to go with me?"
She shook her head vigorously.
"Oh, I can't," she said. "I got to be with me mum."
"That's stupid and ya know it," Mrs. Chester said.
"No, I can't," she insisted and then, maybe because we made her so nervous, she dropped a dish and it shattered in the sink.
Before anyone could say a word, she burst into tears and rushed from the kitchen.
"See?" Mrs. Chester said. "Ya'd never know that girl was in 'er twenties, the way she acts."
I started to pick up the broken dish when Boggs appeared in the doorway.
"What's gain' on in 'ere?" he demanded.