“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Lee.

[4]

It’s a pleasant little stream that gurgles through the Alisal against the Gabilan Mountains on the east of the Salinas Valley. The water bumbles over round stones and washes the polished roots of the trees that hold it in.

The smell of azaleas and the sleepy smell of sun working with chlorophyll filled the air. On the bank the Ford car sat, still breathing softly from its overheating. The back seat was piled with azalea branches.

Cal and Abra sat on the bank among the luncheon papers. They dangled their feet in the water.

“They always wilt before you get them home,” said Cal.

“But they’re such a good excuse, Cal,” she said. “If you won’t I guess I’ll have to—”

“What?”

She reached over and took his hand. “That,” she said.

“I was afraid to.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“I wasn’t.”

“I guess girls aren’t afraid of near as many things.”

“I guess not.”

“Are you ever afraid?”

“Sure,” she said. “I was afraid of you after you said I wet my pants.”

“That was mean,” he said. “I wonder why I did it,” and suddenly he was silent.

Her fingers tightened around his hand. “I know what you’re thinking. I don’t want you to think about that.”

Cal looked at the curling water and turned a round brown stone with his toe.

Abra said, “You think you’ve got it all, don’t you? You think you attract bad things—”

“Well—”

“Well, I’m going to tell you something. My father’s in trouble.”

“How in trouble?”

“I haven’t been listening at doors but I’ve heard enough. He’s not sick. He’s scared. He’s done something.”

He turned his head. “What?”

“I think he’s taken some money from his company. He doesn’t know whether his partners are going to put him in jail or let him try to pay it back.”

“How do you know?”

“I heard them shouting in his bedroom where he’s sick. And my mother started the phonograph to drown them out.”

He said, “You aren’t making it up?”

“No. I’m not making it up.”

He shuffled near and put his head against her shoulder and his arm crept timidly around her waist.

“You see, you’re not the only one—” She looked sideways at his face. “Now I’m afraid,” she said weakly.

[5]

At three o’clock in the afternoon Lee was sitting at his desk, turning over the pages of a seed catalogue. The pictures of sweet peas were in color.

“Now these would look nice on the back fence. They’d screen off the slough. I wonder if there’s enough sun.” He looked up at the sound of his own voice and smiled to himself. More and more he caught himself speaking aloud when the house was empty.

“It’s age,” he said aloud. “The slowing thoughts and—” He stopped and grew rigid for a moment. “That’s funny—listening for something. I wonder whether I left the teakettle on the gas. No—I remember.” He listened again. “Thank heaven I’m not superstitious. I could hear ghosts walk if I’d let myself. I could—”