Joel is an unlicked cub, Cornelius says, a mass of good intentions and good feelings that have not jelled. We feel that it’s too bad he left college when he did. On the other hand, people grow at such different speeds, and it may be that, if he survives, a few years in the army will help knit him together. It is all rather worrying, I must confess. We have agreed, Cornelius and I, after much heart-searching, to put no pressure on Cathy, to keep hands off. With the one exception of drugs. From what she has told me there are some children at school who smoke occasionally—but she assures me that she doesn’t want to. Does she talk to Ellen, I wonder. She must need to talk with someone, and I can see that just because we are family, in loco parentis, we are the last people she can talk with. It might be a good idea to ask Olivia up for a weekend soon. Yes, that’s it. And I’m going to call her right now …

She’ll come May seventeenth, she says. Cornelius too needs a change. And by then that horrible chapter about the women will be finished—and spring will have really come!

Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

When Cathy got off the bus that Tuesday afternoon, for once there was no Joel to meet her.

“He’s gone off with Nick somewhere. He’ll be back soon, I expect,” Ellen said. “Sit down, child.” Ellen laid down her sewing and got up. “My back’s stiff—been sitting here all day trying to get this mending off my hands. Let’s have a cup of coffee or something. There’s a muffin still warm in the oven.”

The child looks peaked, Ellen was thinking. High time Joel left. Can’t understand why Christina has let this thing go on.

While Ellen made the coffee, Cathy wandered about, looking out the back door for any sign of Joel, then back to the front windows.

“Things all right at school?”

“Oh, I suppose so. I like geometry. But chemistry is so weird, half the time I don’t understand the textbook, and Mr. Grant seems so nervous about explaining, we don’t dare ask. But Miss Huntington is great. She lets me write poems instead of themes, every other one.”

Suddenly Cathy had no more to say. She sat down in Nick’s chair, her head in her hands. The trouble was that she really couldn’t communicate with grown-ups at all these days. The dear, cozy room she had always loved felt confining now.

“Oh dear, I feel so dull …”

“Spring fever,” Ellen nodded. “I’m as restless as a swallow myself. By the way, they should be back any day now.”

“How is Nick?” Cathy asked politely.