Though even then she was averting her eyes. For she would not tell me her suspicions. For she’d asked me, weeks ago, more than once she’d tried to draw out of me what was happening in the suddenly strained household, what had Oscar said, or done, or hinted at doing, or threatened to do—she’d tried to question me, in her discreet way, and I had insisted that nothing was wrong.

Going to pack a suitcase for him, this very hour. Two suitcases.

She’d called a downtown hotel, booked a room—Oscar Allyn.

For he must leave tonight. Couldn’t abide the thought of sleeping under the same roof with her husband one more night.

She was excited, her hands flailed and fluttered. So resolute, I wouldn’t have believed her capable. Thinking, with awe—Lula would not be this strong.

But having to tell her, no. I didn’t think so.

Told her that I would be the one to leave, not my uncle. For this was his house. He should stay in his house.

My response astonished Irma. Whatever she’d expected from me, it had not been this.

Yes, I would leave. Better me, than Uncle Oscar.

Calmly I told her. As if it were a decision I’d come to independently of hers.

The remainder of the afternoon, Irma and I talked. So frankly, so freely we’d never spoken before.

The following week, I would be eighteen. An entire lifetime had preceded this birthday. I was not young, and could certainly live alone. I would live in Port Oriskany for a while, I would visit Irma often.

At first Irma did not wish to be dissuaded. She’d rehearsed the words she would say to Oscar. No more and no less. Only what he needed to know. (Not that anyone had accused him of anything. Like any guilty man Oscar wasn’t likely to ask.) So long she’d contemplated the grave decision, simply to call a lawyer had required enormous courage on her part. To make up her mind as she might make up a bed—methodically, perfectly, all wrinkles smoothed out.

Once made, she did not wish to unmake it.

But then by degrees, Irma weakened. It was time for me to leave home—her home. There was nothing wrong between Uncle Oscar and me—truly.

Soon I would be leaving for college. A scholarship at St. Lawrence University, three hundred miles away.

I’d planned to work over the summer. I wanted to support myself. She and Uncle Oscar had supported me for years. Now it was time that I moved away.

Tears shone in Irma’s eyes. I understood that she’d capitulated.

“Oh, Violet! You’re still so young . . .”

“Mom supported herself cleaning houses when she was my age, and younger. But I guess you know that.”

Irma peered quizzically at me. “Supported herself cleaning houses? Lula?”

“Didn’t she?”

“When was this?”