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trouble。 But now； tonight； this was the very first time of all that she was ing down them。
She held him close to her and felt her way； for they were new to her； she hadn't got the measure of them； the feel of them； yet； and she didn't want to miss her step。
They were standing about in the dining…room waiting for her。 Not rigidly； formally； like drill…sergeants； but in unselfconscious ease； as if unaware of the small tribute of consideration they were giving her。 Mother Hazzard was leaning forward； giving a last…minute touch to the table； shifting something a little。 Father Hazzard was looking up toward the lights through the spectacles with which he'd just been reading； and polishing them off before returning them to their case。 And there was a third person in the room； somebody with his back half to her at the moment of entrance； surreptitiously pilfering a salted peanut from a dish on the buffet。
He turned forward again and threw it away when he heard her e in。 He was young and tall and friendly…looking； and his hair was… A camera…shutter clicked in her mind and the film rolled on。
〃There's the young man！〃 Mother Hazzard revelled。 〃There's the young man himself！ Here； give him to me。 You know who this is； of course。〃 And then she added； as though it were wholly unnecessary even to qualify it by so much； 〃Bill。〃
But who…？ she wondered。 They hadn't said anything until now。
He came forward； and she didn't know what to do； he was so close to her own age。 She half…offered her hand； hoping that if it was too formal the gesture would remain unnoticed。
He took it； but he didn't shake it。 Instead he pressed it between both of his； held it warmly buried like that for a moment or two。
〃Wele home； Patrice；〃 he said quietly。 And there was something about the straight； unwavering look in his eyes as he said it that made her think she'd never heard anything said so sincerely； so simply； so loyally； before。
And that was all。 Mother Hazzard said； 〃You sit here； from now on。〃
Father Hazzard said unassumingly； 〃We're very happy； Patrice；〃 and sat down at the head of the table。
Whoever Bill was； he sat down opposite her。
The colored housekeeper peeked through the door for a minute and beamed。 〃Now this look right！ This what that table been needing。 This just finish off that empty si…〃
Then she quickly checked herself； clapping a catastrophic hand to her mouth； and whisked from sight again。
Mother Hazzard glanced down at her plate for a second； then immediately looked up again smiling； and the hurt was gone； had not been allowed to linger。
They didn't say anything memorable。 You don't say anything memorable across the tables of home。 Your heart speaks； and not your brain； to the other hearts around you。 She forgot after awhile to notice what she was saying； to weigh； to reckon it That's what home is； what home should be。 It flowed from her as easily as it did from them。 She knew that was what they were trying to do for her。 And they were succeeding。 Strangeness was already gone with the soup； never to return。 Nothing could ever bring it back again。 Other things could e…she hoped they wouldn't But never strangeness； the unease of unfamiliarity； again。 They had succeeded。
〃I hope you don't mind the white collar on that dress； Patrice。 I purposely saw to it there was a touch of color on everything I picked out； I didn't want you to be too…〃
〃Oh； some of those things are so lovely。 I really hadn't seen half of them myself until I unpacked just now。〃
〃The only thing that I was afraid of was the sizes； but that nurse of yours sent me a plete…〃
〃She took a tape…measure all over me one day； I remember that now； but she wouldn't tell me what it was for…〃
〃Which kind for you； Patrice？ Light or dark？〃
〃It really doesn't…〃
〃No； tell him just this once； dear； then after that he won't have to ask you。〃
〃Dark； then； I guess。〃
〃You and me both。〃
He spoke a little less frequently than the remaining three of them。 Just a touch of shyness； she sensed。 Not that he was strained or tonguetied or anything。 Perhaps it was just his way； he had a quiet； unobtrusive way。
The thing was； who exactly was he？ She couldn't ask outright now any longer。 She'd omitted to at the first moment； and now it was twenty minutes too late for that。 No last name had been given； so he must be…
I'll find out soon； she reassured herself。 I'm bound to。 She was no longer afraid。
Once she found he'd just been looking at her when her eyes went to him； and she wondered what he'd been thinking while doing so。 And yet not to have admitted that she knew； that she could tell by the lingering traces of his expression； would have been to lie to herself。 He'd been thinking that her face was pleasant； that he liked it。
And then after a little while he said； 〃Dad； pass the bread over this way； will you？〃
And then she knew who he was。
16
Episcopal Church of St。 Bartholomew； social kingpin among all the churches of Caulfield； on a golden April Sunday morning。
She stood there by the font； child in her arms； immediate family and their close friends gathered beside her。
They had insisted upon this。 She hadn't wanted it Twice she had postponed it； for two Sundays in succession now； after all the arrangements had been made。 First； by pleading a cold that she did not really have。 Secondly； by pleading a slight one that the child actually did have。 Today she hadn't been able to postpone it any longer。 They would have finally sensed the deliberation underlying her excuses。
She kept her head down； hearing the ceremony rather than seeing it。 As though afraid to look on openly at it As though afraid of being struck down momentarily at the feet of all of them for her blasphemy。
She had on a broad…brimmed hat of semi…transparent horsehair and that helped her； veiling her eyes and the upper part of her face when she cast it down like that。
Mournful memories； they probably thought Grief…stricken。
Guilty； in reality。 Scandalized。 Not brazen enough to gaze at this mockery unabashed。
Arms reached out toward her； to take the child from her。 The godmother's arms。 She gave him over； trailing the long lace ceremonial gown that…she had almost said 〃his father〃…that a stranger named Hugh Hazzard had worn before him； and that his father； Donald； had worn before him。
Her arms felt strangely empty after that She wanted to cross them protectively over her breast； as though she were unclad。 She forced herself not to with an effort。 It was not her form that was unclad； it was her conscience。 She dropped them quietly； clasped them before her； looked down。
〃Hugh Donald Hazzard； I baptize thee…〃
They had gone through the parody of consulting her preferences in this。 To her it was a parody； not to them。 She wanted him named after Hugh； of course？ Yes； she had said demurely； after Hugh。 Then how about the middle name？ After her own father？ Or perhaps two middle names； one for each grandfather？ （She actually hadn't been able to recall her own father's name at the moment； it came back to her some time after； not without difficulty。 Mike： a scarcely remembered figure of a looming longshoreman； killed in a drunken