Snow Apples by Mary Razzell Read Free Book Online Page B

had them.
    One morning Mr. Lawson followed me into the utility room, a cup of coffee in his hand and his freshly shaven face bland and pink above his cardigan sweater. He watched me scrubbing George’s sheets.
    â€œHow is it you’re doing the washing, Sheila?”
    â€œI always do it.”
    â€œMrs. Lawson used to send it to town.”
    â€œI’ve done it ever since I started here.”
    He swirled the coffee back and forth in his cup. “I’ll see that it gets sent into Vancouver from now on. I don’t want to see you doing it.” He reached out as if to pat my shoulder but dropped his hand on my breast instead.
    I moved quickly away. I felt shamed.
    First Robert. Now him.
    After that I kept alert when Mr. Lawson was around. Otherwise I risked feeling his quick hand on me.
    *  *  *
    One late afternoon as I was making a potato salad for supper—or dinner, as Mrs. Lawson called it—I saw, through the window, Helga tying up her boat at the diving float. Mr. Lawson lay spread-eagled on one of the chaise lounges, his eyes closed and his mouth slightly open. Mrs. Lawson’s chair was next to his. She flipped restlessly through the latest
Vogue
. George was sitting alone on the beach, watching the other boys jump and belly-flop from the diving board. “No swimming today, George,” his mother had told him. “I heard you coughing during the night.”
    It was a brassy, hot July day. The sun was too bright, and everywhere lights glanced and bounced off reflecting surfaces. The world shimmered and hurt the eyes. It even smelled hot—sweet and dry.
    Helga looked exhausted when she straightened up from her boat. She dragged her feet along the float and stumbled, almost falling when she reached the beach. I watched her ease herself down off the float and sit on a log.
    Quickly I filled a glass with water to take to her, but I had no sooner got out the door and down the steps when she got up slowly and moved toward George.
    She stared at him for a minute. He did look pathetic, sitting hunched up in a too-warm sweater and long corduroy pants. She put her hand out hesitantly and touched the top of his head lightly.
    He looked up at her.
    â€œWhat’s the matter, boy?” I heard her ask him.
    â€œWhat are you doing? Leave him alone!” It was Mrs. Lawson shouting at Helga. She knocked over the chaise lounge in her hurry to get to George. I felt as though the brittle afternoon had broken into a thousand sharp pieces.
    Helga took one look at Mrs. Lawson’s face and bolted for the trail in the woods.
    By the time Mrs. Lawson had got George into the house, she was almost hysterical. I found myself giving her the glass of water I had brought for Helga.
    â€œThat crazy old woman,” she kept saying over and over. Her husband tried to calm her, but she pushed him aside angrily. “You’ve got to do something about her,” she told him. “I mean it!”
    When I left for the day, she was still going on aboutHelga. I stopped at the store on my way home to tell Mr. Percy about it.
    â€œI’m sure she’s going to make trouble for Helga. She was even talking about going to the other summer people and getting a petition or something. She says Helga’s frightening the children and ruining the place for the cottagers.”
    Mr. Percy shook his head, exasperated.
    â€œThat Mrs. Lawson, she would, too. She’s just the type. And once she gets a notion in her head, there’s no stopping her. If she had her way, all the male dogs in town would be wearing underwear.”
    â€œIs that why—?”
    â€œEh? Why what?” Mr. Percy demanded. “Mr. Lawson. He’s always...he’s got roving hands.”
    Mr. Percy’s eyes chilled. They stared hard into mine.
    â€œOh, has he, now? That’s what I call interesting. Yes, sir, real interesting.”
    When I left, he was looking