Wild Swans by Patricia Snodgrass Read Free Book Online Page A

pines.
    Cally has a good reason to be peeved , Althea thought. Mom makes us out to be stinking rich when we’re obviously not. And when Mom spends money on fancy dinners and expensive clothes while Cally has to wear last years skirts and eats from the deli and even then Mom quibbles over a few bites of cheese and bologna. Althea slunk deeper into the metal chair, her elbows protruding over the metal arms.
    If I was Tante Cally I wouldn’t put up with it, not for one hot moment.
    Althea bit her lip.
    Of course, if Tante Cally got fed up enough, the two of us could pack up and leave. I could just say no thanks when I stand in front of the priest. Just smile as pretty as you please and say no thanks mister rich boy, but I have a life and I don’t intend to spend it with you. My tante and I are going to go live it up in New Orleans...
    “Excited about your wedding day?” Mr. Lindt asked.
    “What?” Althea asked, breaking her reverie.
    “I understand your mother is planning your wedding,” he said casually. “Congratulations.”
    “And you are?”
    Mr. Lindt held out his hand. “The name is Lindt. I rented the apartment from your mother this morning.”
    “Oh yeah, the guy who showed up in the weird car.”
    “The same.”
    What happened to it?” Althea asked.
    “What happened to what ?”
    “The car.”
    “The driver took it back to the garage.”
    Althea grunted and returned to her dark thoughts.
    Mr. Lindt shrugged. “Arranged marriages aren’t anything new, he said, returning to the subject. “They’ve been going on for centuries now. Poor people did it, wealthy people did it, and royalty did it...a lot...” he smiled. “I did it.”
    “You did?” Althea said, unimpressed.
    “Indeed. I didn’t meet my bride until the day of the wedding.”
    “And did it work out for you?”
    “It took some getting used to,” Mr. Lindt admitted. “But over the years we grew to love each other fiercely.”
    “Really,” Althea scathed. “And why ain’t Mrs. Lindt with you now?”
    “She died some years ago.”
    “Oh, how rude of me,” Althea said, genuinely contrite. “I’m so sorry.”
    “Thank you,” Lindt said, “for your sympathy.”
    “What, may I ask, did she die of?”
    “She was killed during a war.”
    “I am so sorry to hear that. Was she Korean?”
    “It was a very different war, and from a different time.”
    “I’m sure I don’t know anything about any other wars,” Althea said.
    “Then you are most fortunate.” He sighed and gazed at the lawn, at the circle driveway that encompassed the turf and the grocery store, his eyes unfocused. Darkness descended. Summer insects buzzed. Down by the docks a bullfrog begged for rain. In the center of the lawn, the gaslight flickered and lit, showering the grass with warm golden light.
    “Did you ever remarry?” Althea asked.
    “No.” Lindt’s gaze was soft, his tone nostalgic. His countenance lit by yellow porch lights. “No. There would have been...complications.”
    “I hope I didn’t say something to offend you Mr. Lindt. Mom says I have a bad habit of sticking my nose in where it doesn’t belong.”
    “No, dear girl, not at all. I was just enjoying the evening. Look, fireflies are starting to appear. Have you ever captured fireflies, Miss Thibodaux?”
    “I did when I was a little girl. Mom would get me out a mason jar and poke holes in the lid. I’d catch a bunch and put the jar on the veranda and watch it glow all night long.” She frowned. “But they’d always be dead by morning.”
    “Poor man’s lanterns.”
    “I guess you could say that. I used to catch cicadas and tie a string behind their big bug eyes and let them fly around. Tante Cally calls them poor man’s kites.” Althea frowned. “Mom said it was cruel, but I don’t think bugs have feelings, do you?”
    Mr. Lindt didn’t answer but continued to gaze out into the dusk.
    “Are the fireflies always that color here?” he asked.
    “Greenish yellow like