"So why didn't you keep on going?"

Kate looked at the floor. "It wasn't doing any good."

"No."

"What do you mean no?"

"I mean no. That's not why people stop going. You stopped because you were going to find out something you didn't want to know."

"Then I’ll have to get along without knowing."

"Some day you’ll find out," Erika said gently. "When you want to know the answer, it will come. It's easier if someone helps you, that's all. You really know already, only you lie to yourself."

The bitterness rose in her, sprayed out in words. "You know so goddam much!"

Erika filled a cup, set it down, and lifted the coffee pot to fill the other. It was a dismissal. "We'll talk about it some other time."

The coffee was boiling hot and strong. The first swallow choked her, the second tasted good. She was dissolved in weariness.

"Why don't you go to bed?"

"Because I don't feel like it. And you're not going to push me around anymore."

"All right, you do whatever you want to."

Kate noticed with a glimmer of pride that her hands were quite steady. The cup sat firmly on its saucer. This hadn't been a bad one, not half bad. "Maybe I'm getting better," she said hopefully. "Tomorrow I'll find something to do. Maybe a temporary job."

Erika sat down on the edge of the bed, holding her cup in both hands. She was still in her school clothes and she looked tired. Kate's resentment melted. "I'm sorry I'm so ornery."

Erika said, "Wait a little while and see what happens. Wait until you're ready."

She didn't care, she could no longer keep her eyes open. It was a shame to waste good coffee, but she was even too tired to swallow. She said, "I think I'll go to bed."

Erika said soberly, "Well, if you really think so—"

She sat with her bra dangling from her hand, still troubled. "Erika?"

"Uhuh."

"How do I know when I'm ready?"

"Your bones will tell you."

Kate's attempt to smile was a failure. "My bones are tired."

"Get your bones into bed," Erika said, "and I'll hold them together for you until they get rested."

CHAPTER 11

She woke in the haymow. It was dark. Not night-dark, but suppertime-dark, all shadowy under the trees and around the edges of the barns. This time she had cried herself asleep. She stirred cautiously, the tiny sharp ends of hay sticking her bare arms and legs, the welts where the razor strap had fallen were starting to smart again. Her shoulder began to bleed, a slow trickle. She had never known that human flesh could hurt the way her chest did.

Her own fault. She knew better than to face up to a licking, least of all when Pa was drunk and couldn't see or didn't care how hard he was laying it on. It's not so bad to be leathered across the back and legs-cause if you acted scared, sometimes he went easier. But she had been half crazy with fright all afternoon, waiting for him to get back from town and punish her. It would have been all right if she'd busted one of Ma's dishes, but no, it had to be his special shaving mug. The one he got when he was just married, from some old girl or something. Well, she didn't do it on purpose, he'd left it on the very edge of the washbench. It wasn't her fault.