Private Life by Jane Smiley Read Free Book Online Page A

exhausting herself.
    Fortunately, the third dip was quite long and shallow--pleasantly relaxing. Though her
    cheeks burned in the cold, she was warm with the exertion. Though her arms trembled
    with the effort, her legs felt strong. The seat of the bicycle was springy and comfortable.
    She had heard of bicycle clubs traveling vast distances--the Columbia cyclists had
    traveled to Kansas City and to St. Louis in a contest of some sort. She came over the rise
    at the top of the third hill, and the town lay before her, bright in the winter sunshine. She
    sat up straighter and began pedaling in what she considered to be her most dignified
    manner. And just then her skirt caught in the back wheel and brought her to a halt. She
    put her foot down as the bicycle tipped.

    She dismounted carefully to the left, turning about and holding on to the seat of
    the bicycle. The lower hem of her skirt was well entangled; she squatted down, still
    holding the bicycle, and began to work the stuff out of the spokes. Her leg wrappings
    were collapsing all about her, and she saw that she had to pick those up, too. She was
    breathing harder than she had ever done.

    A voice nearby, a male voice, said, "I haven't seen a bicycle in this town before,"
    and she started violently, though she didn't jump up for fear of rending her skirt. There
    was a man, quite close by the side of the road, leaning against a leafless maple tree and
    peeling a staff. He stood up, and then bowed slightly. Margaret nodded, surprised--she
    hadn't noticed him on her way up the hill. He was tall and handsomely dressed, in a gray
    suit of clothes, with a soft gray hat sitting squarely on his head. Every man she knew
    wore a hat, and you could tell quite a bit about a man by the way he wore his hat-slouched forward, pushed back, rakishly tilted to the right or to the left. This hat was like
    the roof on a steeple--as square as if it had been positioned with instruments. With this
    thought, she recognized him as the young man in the paper, at the parade, who had
    changed the universe. Unfortunately, though, her skirt was still jammed between the
    spokes, and her fingers were too clumsy in her gloves to pull it out. She said (politely,
    thinking of how often Lavinia had criticized her manner with strangers), "I believe this is
    the first, but it won't be around much longer, as we must return it to its owner in St.
    Louis."

    He seemed to peer at her, but did not lean forward. He looked as if leaning in any
    direction whatsoever was impossible for him.

    He said, "We haven't been introduced, but may I be of assistance?"

    Her skirt slipped from between the spokes, not terribly blackened after all. She
    stood up, then had to bend down and gather up the strips of flannel she had wrapped her
    legs with. She said, "No, we haven't been introduced, but I recognize you from the paper,
    Mr. Early. I'm Margaret Mayfield. Have you ridden a bicycle?"

    "When I was studying in Berlin, I rode a bicycle quite often, but it was not nearly
    as nice as this one. I haven't had occasion to ride one, though, in some years."

    "I understand it's the latest model." She looked around for a spot to sit down, a
    rock or a stump, so that she could rewrap her legs, but it appeared she would have to walk
    the bicycle to Mrs. Larimer's, at least half a mile, and reorganize her outfit there. Mr.
    Early said, "My bicycle in Germany had a roomy basket attached to the handlebars. Most
    convenient."

    "That would be," she said. She paired her flannels and draped them over her
    shoulder, then wrapped them around her waist so they would be out of the way. She
    wheeled the bicycle forward, and he fell into step beside her. Though the bicycle was
    between them, she felt how tall he was, at least a head taller than she was, and on top of
    that there was the hat.

    Margaret detested most company other than the company of books; however, she
    adjusted her own hat and walked on in as congenial a manner as she could. Mr.