The Callender Papers by Cynthia Voigt Read Free Book Online Page B

long, but the short barks of sound were clearly laughter.
    â€œAccepted,” he said, and just as I recognized that his smile occupied his face fully, it disappeared. He resumed his natural expression. “Probably, you would say I owe you an apology myself.”
    â€œAccepted,” I said.
    â€œNow, tell me something. You spoke rudely, yes, but did you speak untruthfully?”
    He might have been teasing me. I tried to study his face. The face was severe and craggy, his dark glance sharp under forbidding eyebrows.
    â€œUntruthfully? I cannot say that, because I really don’t know, do I? You do live a very solitary life. I spoke as I thought, as things appear to me.”
    That satisfied him. “Mac runs wild here. If you would rather not share his company, I will tell him so.”
    â€œOh no,” I said quickly. “I’ve never known a boy.”
    â€œOne of your Aunt Constance’s prejudices?” he asked.
    â€œI don’t think so. We just have no opportunity to meet boys. Mac appears knowledgeable—about certain things.”
    â€œA wild Indian’s knowledge,” Mr. Thiel remarked.
    â€œAll knowledge is useful, don’t you think?” I said.
    â€œNo, I don’t.” His effort to cut off conversation did not stop my tongue.
    â€œYou cannot understand what you do not know,” I pointed out to him. “And if you cannot understand it, how can you make changes for the better?”
    â€œYou’re a reformer,” he said. Obviously, he did not care for reformers.
    â€œI would like to be useful in the world,” I answered. That was true. But there was something more I wanted, that I could not define. “There is something very wrong in Mrs. Bywall’s life. It should not have happened that way,” I finished lamely.
    â€œShould,” he repeated, as if that were a particularly silly word.
    â€œI can’t explain,” I said. “But you seem to have felt it too. Why else is she here?”
    â€œBecause she does her job well,” he said. “Because, as you pointed out earlier this afternoon, she would take the job, which no other person in the village would have done.”
    â€œMr. Thiel,” I said, feeling very clever, “you do not like to be accused of doing a good deed.”
    â€œNot if I don’t deserve it,” he answered.
    That evening I wrote to Aunt Constance, describing Marlborough and Mr. Thiel’s home and reportingto her about my progress with the Callender papers. I described how I had gone about it, and how I planned to distinguish categories; then I asked for her response and her suggestions. I told her how I spent the days and tried to explain my feeling for the glade by the waterfall. It was a long letter. I was reluctant to end it because while I was writing I had the feeling that Aunt Constance was nearby.
    The next afternoon I set off on my own to take the letter to the post office. I deliberately avoided telling Mr. Thiel of my intention, although I don’t know why. I did, however, inform Mrs. Bywall. Someone should know. Besides, I thought she would notice if I was not there.
    â€œAre you sure you can manage it, the walk?” she asked. We were washing up the luncheon dishes. Then she answered herself. “Of course you can. You’re as I used to be, thin but strong. In prison, we did laundry and more laundry, and what with that and the diet—if you could call it that. . . . But I used to be slender and wiry, like you. Have you money for the stamp?”
    â€œYes, I still have my traveling money,” I said. I dried my hands and prepared to leave.
    â€œMiss Jean,” Mrs. Bywall said, wiping her own hands on her apron. Then she left the room abruptly.I waited, I did not know why or what for. No change of expression on her impassive face had prepared me for her departure.
    Mrs. Bywall returned carrying a simple gingham dress. She stood