Duff and Franny came downstairs then. I was wondering how Duff would react to the priest, since it was supposedly he who had stopped Duff after the first church incident.

“Do you know Father Jackson, Duff?” I asked casually.

“No, I don’t think so,” Duff said and shook hands. He didn’t react either to the news that Father Jackson was spending the night.

“Do you play Scrabble?” Franny asked. “I’m afraid that or poker is all we can offer you for entertainment, since we don’t have a TV set.”

“I’m a champion Scrabble player,” Father Jackson assured her.

“You have to watch Dad. He makes up words that you can never find in a dictionary. And Duff uses four-­letter words.”

“Untrue,” Duff said and smiled at me.

I didn’t pursue it, and I silenced Franny when she wanted to give us some examples. And we did play Scrabble after dinner—a dinner over which I labored somewhat more than usual, partly because we had a guest, but mostly because I was afraid of night coming on and prolonging dinner seemed to be keeping it at bay.

Then the Scrabble game. All of us except Duff played. I don’t know whether it was because of Franny’s remark or not, but he refused to participate, although he stayed in the dining room and kibitzed to an annoying degree.

Father Jackson didn’t seem to mind and had more fun than any of the rest of us. I suppose it was a welcome change from his usual evening at the rectory. Jack enjoyed himself too—mainly because Duff was helping him, suggesting words when Jack was stumped and supplying longer and better-­scoring words in place of Jack’s often feeble ones.

After a while I began to lose control. The first indication was when I picked up letters to build on a word of Franny’s. I had intended to spell “Jacobin,” but after I had picked up a “J” and a “C” to build on Franny’s “A,” it was impossible to pick up any more letters with my right hand. Instead my left hand picked them up and spelled out “jackass.”

“I guess that shows what Mother thinks of me,” said Franny.

“Jackass is male. She must be thinking of someone else,” murmured Duff.

Then on my next turn I wanted to add “history” to a word of Father Jackson’s. Instead my left hand spelled “him.” Father Jackson was watching me closely. I winked at him.

“You’ll never pile up points that way, Mother,” Franny told me.

The next time I built on Jack’s “initial” to spell out “incest.” My right hand wanted to prevent it, but it couldn’t.

“Mother,” Duff said reprovingly and grinned.

“This is a stupid game,” I said. “I’m going to quit.”

“No, don’t,” Father Jackson said sharply. “Play a while longer.”