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He didn't try to follow。 He stood there where she'd left him。
〃You're afraid I'll kiss you。〃
〃No； that isn't what I'm afraid of；〃 she murmured almost inaudibly。 〃I'm afraid I'll want you to。〃
The door closed after her。
He stood out there in the full bleach of the moonlight； motionless； looking sadly downward。
25
In the morning the world was sweet just to look at from her window。 The sense of peace； of safety； of belonging； was being woven about her stronger all the time。 Soon nothing could tear its fabric apart again。 To wake up in your own room； in your own home； your own roof over your head。 To find your little son awake before you and peering expectantly out through his crib； and giving you that crowing smile of delight that was already something special he gave to no one but you。 To lift him up and hold him to you； and have to curb yourself； you wanted to squeeze so tightly。 Then to carry him over to the window with you； and hold the curtain back； and look out at the world。 Show him the world you'd found for him； the world you'd made for him。
The early sunlight like goldenrod pollen lightly dusting the sidewalks and the roadway out front。 The azure shadows under the trees and at the lee sides of all the houses。 A man sprinkling a lawn a few doors down； the water fraying from the nozzle of his hose twinkling like diamonds。 He looked up and saw you； and he gave you a neighborly wave of the hand； though you didn't know him very well。 And you took Hughie's little hand at the wrist； and waved it back to him in answering greeting。
Yes； in the mornings the world was sweet all right。
Then to dress； to dress for two； and to go downstairs to the pleasant room waiting for you below； to Mother Hazzard； and her fresh…picked flowers； and her affectionate； sunny greeting； and the mirror…like reflection of the coffee…percolator （that always delighted him so） showing squat； pudgy images seated around it on its various facets： an elderly lady； and a much younger lady； and a very young young…man； the center of attraction in his high chair。
To be safe； to be at home； to be among your own。
Even mail for you； a letter of your own； waiting for you at your place。 She felt a pleased little sense of pletion at sight of it。 There was no greater token of permanency； of belonging； than that。 Mail of your own； sent to your home。
〃Mrs。 Patrice Hazzard；〃 and the address。 Once that name had frightened her。 It didn't now。 In a little while she would no longer even remember that there had been another name； once； before it。 A lonely； frightened name； drifting ownerless； unclaimed； about the world now…
〃Now Hughie； not so fast； finish what you've got first。〃
She opened it； and there was nothing in it； Or rather； nothing written on it。 For a moment she thought there must have been a mistake。 Just blank paper。 No； wait； the other way around…
Three small words； almost buried in the seam that folded the sheet in two； almost overlooked in the snowy expanse that surrounded them。
〃WHO ARE YOU？〃
26
In the mornings the world was bitter…sweet to look at from her window。 To wake up in a room that wasn't rightfully yours。 That you knew…and you knew somebody else knew…you had no right to be in。 The early sunlight was pale and bleak upon the ground； and under all the trees and on the lee side of all the houses； tatters of night lingered； diluted to blue but still gloomy and forbidding。 A man sprinkling the lawn a few doors down was a stranger； a stranger you knew by sight。 He looked up； and you hurriedly shrank back from the window； child and all； lest he see you。 Then a moment later； you already wished you hadn't done that； but it was too late； it was done。
Was he the one？ Was he？
It isn't as much fun any more to dress for two。 And when you start down the stairs with Hughie； those stairs you've e down so many hundreds of times； now at last you've learned what it's like to e down them heavyhearted and troubled； as you said you might some day have to； that very first night of all。 For that's how you're ing down them now。
Mother Hazzard at the table； beaming； and the flowers； and the gargoyle…like reflections on the percolator…panels。 But you only have eyes for one thing； furtive； straining eyes； from as far back as the threshold of the doorway。 From farther back than that； even； from the first moment the table has e into sight Is there any white on it； over on your side of it？ Is there any rectangular white patch showing there； by or near your place？ It's easy to tell； for the cloth has a printed pattern； with dabs of red and green。
〃Patrice； didn't you sleep well； dear？〃 Mother Hazzard asked solicitously。 〃You look a little peaked。〃
She hadn't looked peaked out on the stairs a moment ago。 She'd only been heavyhearted and troubled then。
She settled Hughie in his chair； and took a little longer than was necessary。 Keep your eyes away from it。 Don't look at it。 Don't think about it。 Don't try to find out what's in it； you don't want to know what's in it； let it stay there until after the meal； then tear it up un…
〃Patrice； you're spilling it on his chin。 Here； let me。〃
She had nothing to do with her own hands； from that point on。 And she felt as though she had so many of them； four or five at least。 She reached for the coffee…pot； and a corner of it was in the way。 She reached for the sugar…bowl； and another corner of it was in the way。 She drew her napkin toward her； and it sidled two or three inches nearer her； riding on that。 It was all about her； it was everywhere at once！
She wanted to scream； and she clenched her hand tightly； down beside her chair。 I mustn't do that； I mustn't。 Hughie's right here next to me； and Mother's just across the table…
Open it； open it fast。 Quick； while you still have the courage。
The paper made a shredding sound； her finger was so thick and maladroit。
One word more this time。
〃WHERE ARE YOU FROM？〃
She clenched her hand again； down low beside her chair。 White dissolved into it； disappearing through the finger…crevices。
27
In the mornings the world was bitter to look at from the window。 To wake up in a strange room； in a strange house。 To pick up your baby…that was the only thing that was rightfully yours…and edge toward the window with him； creeping up slantwise and peering from the far side of it； barely lifting the curtain； not stepping forward to the middle of it and throwing the curtain widely back。 That was for people in their own homes； not for you。 And out there； nothing。 Nothing that belonged to you or was for you。 The hostile houses of a hostile town。 An icy wash of sun upon a stony ground。 Dark shadows like frowns under each tree and leeward of each house。 The man watering the lawn didn't turn around to greet you today。 He was more than a stranger now； he was a potential enemy。
She carried her boy with her downstairs； and every step was like a knell。 She was holding her eyes closed when she first went into the dining…room。 She couldn't help it； she couldn't bring herself to open them for a moment。
〃Patrice； you don't look right to me at all。 You ought to see your color against tha