The Four Graces by D. E. Stevenson

Author:D. E. Stevenson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sourcebooks, Inc.
Published: 2014-05-13T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fifteen

The four o’clock bus from Wandlebury to Chevis Green was full of women who had been doing their week’s shopping. Roderick saw Sal safely in and placed the basket beside her.

“Good old basket!” said Roderick, smiling.

“Don’t wait,” said Sal. She knew all the women in the bus and was aware that they were interested in Roderick. (She could almost hear what they would say to each other when they got together over a cup of tea.)

“Don’t wait,” she repeated urgently. “Please, don’t wait.”

“All right—see you tomorrow afternoon,” said Roderick. He saluted smartly and walked away.

Sal watched him walk across the square; he looked strong and confident, sure of his own capacity to deal with any contingency that might arise. He was a real man, thought Sal, loving every inch of him…he turned the corner and was gone. Sal sighed. She would have liked to sit in silence and think about Roddy and try to arrange her thoughts. She still felt bewildered, almost incredulous of all that had happened. She felt tired and excited and slightly hysterical; the least thing would make her laugh—or cry—she wasn’t sure which. If only she could sit quietly and think things out…but, of course, she couldn’t. Silence and peace to think were denied her; she must pull herself together and join in the conversation or the women would think it odd.

Sal looked around and nodded and smiled to the women.

There was Mrs. Feather, the postman’s wife, and young Mrs. Trod, whose husband—a positive giant—was the local blacksmith; there was Mrs. Aleman, Mrs. Element, and nice fat Mrs. Bouse.

Mrs. Element was displaying a pair of stout black shoes she had bought for Bertie. She had stood in the queue for nearly an hour, but they were worth the trouble. “Just look!” said Mrs. Element, passing the shoes down the bus. “You don’t see shoes like that very often.”

“Not nowadays, you don’t,” agreed young Mrs. Trod, examining them carefully before passing them on.

“Reel leather,” said Mrs. Feather, regarding them with envious eyes. “They’d just about fit Tim. Terrible ’ard on shoes, Tim is.”

“Too big,” declared Mrs. Bouse. “Bertie’s twice the size of Tim; ’e’s grown so in the last year I declare I wouldn’t know ’im.”

This statement was merely rhetorical, of course, for Mrs. Bouse lived next door to the Elements (as we know), and saw Bertie every day of her life.

“I suppose you’ll be losing Bertie soon,” said Mrs. Feather, whose feathers were slightly ruffled by the belittlement of her son.

“No,” replied Mrs. Element. “Miss Sal is writing to ’is mother.”

Every eye was immediately focused upon Sal.

“I’ve written,” said Sal, nodding to Mrs. Element. “But of course we don’t know what she’ll say.”

“As long as you’ve written,” said Mrs. Element, with a satisfied air.

“I got onions,” declared Mrs. Aleman. “Well, I daresay you can smell them.”

“White’s had raisins—that seedless kind,” put in Mrs. Trod.

“And syrup, too,” asserted Mrs. Bouse. She sighed and added, “But it takes such a lot of points.”

“Two ’addocks,” Mrs. Feather was saying.

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