“I’ll see you in a month, I suppose,” said Lorna. “I’m sure I can’t wait for you to bring us our copy of One Hundred Lessons in Business.”
“You won’t see me,” said Herb. He was a little annoyed now, and he let it show. “I don’t live around here. Besides, I’ve been called up for service.”
“Oh,” said Lorna, surprised at how much this news startled her.
“I’ll have to find someone here in Chacallit who can deliver the books for me.”
“Oh,” said Lorna. She couldn’t think of anything to add.
“I’d better be on my way,” said Herb, in a tentative way, without moving any closer to the steps. “My uncle Ben must be wondering what I’ve been up to all this time.”
“Well, I’m sure he’ll be pleased when he learns what a fine job you did selling books to the Hubers,” said Lorna. The pert tone was back in her voice, but she had the sickening feeling that Herb and his uncle might laugh at her parents, laugh at her too.
“Good-bye, Cinderella,” said Herb. He turned and walked down the steps, down the walk, to his car. He got in, started it, and drove away. Lorna felt the chill, but she hugged herself and watched from the porch until the taillights disappeared.
“A shame about that boy,” said Lena when Lorna returned to the living room. Lorna stood with her back to the fire, but the chill she felt came from within her.
“Yes,” she said, abstractedly.
“He’s got gumption, that boy,” said Richard. “He’s going to go places, I’d say. He’s a pusher, you can see that. Doesn’t sit around feeling sorry for himself. Runs right at a thing. Probably a real scrapper when he was little. He’ll be a scrapper in business too. He’s going to go places.”
“He’s going to France,” said Lorna.
“France?” asked her mother.
“He’s been drafted,” said Lorna, still abstracted, still attending to her own thoughts.
“Oh,” said Richard. “Well, good for him, and I wish him luck.” He raised his paper in front of his face.
“He’ll probably do just as well in the war as in business, don’t you think, Richard?” asked Lena, partly just to say something, to contribute her share to the conversation, and partly because, still grateful to her husband for steering them through their interview with Herb Piper, she wanted to show him that she was paying careful attention to everything he said.
“Hmmm,” said Richard. “Not necessarily. He may be a little too plucky, if you know what I mean, a little too eager. That kind is apt to get himself killed.”
Lorna brought her hand to her face, tried to speak, but found that only a strangled cry came from her. She looked at her father in terror. She ran from the room and up the stairs to her bed, which she found so cold that she shivered under her quilt. The clouds had dispersed, and moonlight fell across Lorna’s bed. She lay awake, thinking of Herb — mostly of that smile of his, that honest smile. She smiled herself when she recalled his surprise when he’d seen her in the right light, the way he’d paused in folding his umbrella, the way he’d held his hat, the way he’d lost his tongue. She was also thinking of herself, mostly of things she might have said, might have done.
I could have stayed out on the porch with him, talking. Just talking about this and that. The moon even came out from behind the clouds. The perfect setting. Why didn’t I? Why didn’t I?
“Where are you from, Herb? Albany, I’ll bet. How did you ever find your way to Chacallit? Are you afraid to go to the war?”
No, no. That wouldn’t be the thing to ask. He might be killed. He’s got gumption, and that can be dangerous in a war. I could have touched his hand, could have made him promise to write to me, to come back to me. That’s a ridiculous idea. When he comes home from France, he won’t be coming to Chacallit. He might not come home at all. He might be killed.
Father liked him, even if he had no idea who he was. “He’s got gumption.” He liked me, liked me even when I was teasing him, liked me even when I told him to call me Cinderella. Cinderella. Damn. I might as well have told him to go away and leave me alone. Well, he has. I wish something would bring him back.
“Do you like selling books?”
That would have been better than nothing.
“You must have stories to tell about traveling, don’t you, Herb? I’ll bet you have stories you wouldn’t want to tell me.”
Teasing again. He probably does have stories he wouldn’t want to tell. There may be girls lying awake from here to Albany or wherever he came from. All of us lying awake, with the moonlight falling across our beds, thinking of things we might have said to keep Herb from going on to the next girl. Are the others thinking that, that there are others, that we’re all thinking the same things? Maybe not. Maybe there are no others. Maybe I’m the only one who’s made him feel awkward; maybe I’m the only one he’s wanted to talk to. But maybe not. Maybe I’m different. Maybe each of us thinks she’s different, that she’s the only one he’s really noticed, that he’ll be back. Maybe each of us is wishing that something would bring him back.
In Topical Guide 271, Mark Dorset considers L’Esprit de L’Escalier from this episode.
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