The Education of Harriet Hatfield by May Sarton

Author:May Sarton [Sarton, May]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781497647473
Publisher: Open Road Media
Published: 2014-07-22T04:00:00+00:00

15

It is time for a lull and I am happy to have the afternoon ahead of me here at the store, for once hoping that not too many people will drop in needing to talk. Looking at the calendar I can’t believe it is October already. Vicky and I always drove to Williamstown for a weekend of leaf-seeing at about this time, but there is no one I want to ask to do that with me now.

I am not surprised when the phone rings and it is Jonathan to persuade me to take out more insurance just in case. He assures me that the stolen wood is covered. “Until those oddities who are threatening you can be taken care of, it would be wise, Harriet.”

I am so amused at the word “oddities,” so typical of Jonathan’s way of talking, that I laugh aloud.

“Why are you laughing? I am serious.”

“‘Oddities’ is such a peculiar word to describe them.”

“What is your word then?”

“Goons, gross goons.”

“Oh.”

“I see that even my vocabulary is changing lately. Yes, gross goons. It is a comfort to be well insured. Thanks, Jonathan.”

After his call I fiddle around with ideas about how we might advertise the store and it comes to me that so far not one of my Smith classmates has dropped in, and there are certainly many in this area. Once Andrew has invented a logo I am going to have something printed that I can send out to my class and those of the year ahead of me and the year after. Of course they are all grandmothers by now but a few at least should be interested in a women’s bookstore. I am jotting down some notes about what to say when a young woman I have not seen before pushes open the door. She is a round young person, which I like, and is dressed in a dark blue coat and white turtleneck sweater. She smiles at me shyly. I think she may be a nurse.

“I wonder,” she asks, “if I might sit down for a few minutes. I’ve been up all night and thought the walk back from Central Square would do me good, but I feel rather weak in the knees suddenly.”

“Sit right down, you are welcome,” I say at once. I am dying to ask what she has been doing all night but don’t quite dare. I say, “It’s a little early for tea, but I’ll be glad to share a cup with you. You do look worn out.”

“Thanks, but I’ll be on my way in a minute.” She looks at me for a second, asking herself, perhaps, whether to say more. Then she looks down at her gloved hands and says, “You see, the person I was with all night died an hour ago. I’m coming from the hospital.”

“How awful for you.”

“No, it is a blessing.”

“Are you a nurse then?”

“No, I work for Hospice. I’ve been on this case for months, going every day to look after Mrs. Dolan, whom I grew to love.

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