“Yes, insufficiently aggressive for active duty was the euphemism. Dad said the dog had too much sense to attack a stuffed dummy that hadn’t done anything. Merlin is fast enough if a live’un raises a gun, though.”
Major Laird snorted sympathy for the fine distinction.
“I might not believe you if I hadn’t seen his performance this morning. But I do. I’m sure I’ll agree more as our acquaintance deepens. But the dog must have complicated your life no end. No, eat all of it!”
“I don’t like eggs in the morning,” I said, enunciating clearly. “Particularly soft-boiled eggs.”
“I don’t care what you don’t like. This diet is designed to reintroduce your stomach to solids. I’ve a suspicion you’ve ignored all basic convalescent rules or you wouldn’t have got so ill last night.”
“Your cooking!”
“My cooking my sainted aunt,” he replied, frowning as I laughed over his hurried substitution of a politer phrase. But his face told me he would shove the eggs down my throat if I demurred so I gagged the mixture down, hoping it would regurgitate and annoyed because it tasted surprisingly good.
“I had quite a row with the college about Merlin,” I remarked, picking up the original subject. “That’s why I ended up at a boardinghouse instead of a dorm. And I had a helluva time finding - “
“You don’t need to swear.”
“If I feel like it, I will - a house that would accept him.” I chuckled smugly. “When I was sick, Mrs. Everett was very glad he was in her house. Someone tried to burgle it twice. Merlin nearly broke the window in my room when the thief tried to get in from the roof.”
The major looked at me sharply, frowning. “Into your room?”
“Eyah. My room gives onto the back porch roof.”
The Major’s frown deepened, on the left side, that is. “I gather Merlin dissuaded him thoroughly?”
I grimaced. “No. He got away. Now if Mrs. Everett had had the sense God gave little apples, she’d have let Merlin loose and told him to go get the man. But,” and I shrugged philosophically, “she didn’t and he did.”
The major was thoughtful as he refilled my cup.
“I don’t want any more.”
“Immaterial. You need fluids. You’re dehydrated. Stir hard. I don’t mind the noise and you’ve two months’ rations on the bottom of the cup.”
“I am not dehydrated.”
“Want a mirror?”
I closed my mouth with a snap and sullenly spooned more sugar in the cup, stirring with as much noise as I could make.
“Bathroom’s down the corridor,” the major said, throwing a heavy wool bathrobe on the bed. “You’d better stay here today. I can keep it warmer.”
“But I thought “
“Blizzard!” and he took the tray back to the kitchen.
Snowbound with the major. How romantic! I thought acidly.
By the time I finished the second mug of oversweet tea, common sense had asserted itself. I knew that I had been outflanked and outranked and it didn’t happen often enough to sit well. But I would snitch some coffee. Him and his tea! No one as thoroughly indoctrinated in army ways as I was could consider starting a day without coffee. I slid down under the covers again, gathering warmth for what was surely going to be a cold dash for a freezing bathroom.
The corridor was really frigid but not the bathroom. It backed against the kitchen and a vent from the stove kept the room, probably converted from an old shed, luxuriously warm. A huge raised tub, pull-chain toilet, and ornate lavatory indicated that someone in the Victorian era had preferred not to brave the rigors of Cape Cod winters for trips to the outhouse. I was deeply grateful. And mirabile dictu! hot water steamed out of the spigot. I jerked my hand back in time to avoid being scalded. I’d have preferred a bath but, in view of my weakened condition and the chilly corridor back to the warm study, decided against it. It was morally comforting to know the facilities existed.
A mirror, badly in need of resilvering, told me I was no Cinderella. As a matter of fact, I wouldn’t have made it as Apple Witch. My eyes were dark holes in my face, my cheeks drawn and gaunt. Perhaps it was the effect of the shot-silver. I’d never looked that desiccated before!
Men’s toiletries took up the small shelf above the sink. I made bold to pull the major’s comb through the tangle of my hair. Great wads pulled loose as they had ever since my fever. I’d be bald, I was sure, despite the doctor’s reassurance that there would be new growth coming in. All fringe benefits of the high fever. Maybe my hair would grow back in straight, I mused hopefully, and pulled at a curl experimentally. It flopped back into place with disgusting resilience. I made a face at my reflection which was almost an improvement. Why did my lipstick have to be up under my bed? I needed all the color I could get.
When I opened the bathroom door, a smell of coffee wafted up the corridor. I could go back to the study by way of the kitchen. I had been a good girl and I had kept my eggs down. Maybe I could have coffee as a reward.
A muted thudding caught my attention and I ducked back to the window, parting the blind. The major, bundled up in a bright hunting coat, was right outside splitting kindling. He threw a piece out towards the scrub bushes for Merlin to retrieve. The major’s good profile was towards me and I could see his grin, the flash of his even teeth as he watched my idiot dog romping. Given half a chance by people who are not cowed by his size and apparent ferocity, Merlin was as agreeable a companion as you’d want. The major was not the least intimidated and Merlin was taking full advantage of the relaxed atmosphere.
I thought of Mrs. Everett who never quite trusted him in the same room with her. Merlin was always the gentleman in her house, instinctively aware of her anxiety. On campus he knew which of my classes he could sneak into, lying quietly under my chair. He also knew which lecture halls to avoid completely, returning after the hour was up to escort me home or to the next class. He had become, very shortly, as much a campus feature as the two legitimate seeing-eye dogs. He ignored them studiously. They were working.
Of course, Mrs. Everett’s attitude had changed after Merlin had routed the prowler. She had even unbent enough to pat his head tentatively as she accompanied me to the taxi the day before. Day before! It seemed like years ago. Time had been suspended during that incredible train ride and that ageless drive in the jeep.
“You will be coming back, won’t you, dearie?” Mrs. Everett had asked anxiously through the taxi window.
I had roomed with her for two years, summer and winter. She had been kind and comforting when she discovered my lack of family. I would always remember the terrible stricken look on her face when she brought me the telegram informing me of Dad’s death. She had known instinctively what news that telegram contained. She’d had one herself for her navy son. She and Mr. Everett had done more than true relatives would have for their “poor orphaned lamb.” Kay Alexander who roomed down the hall told me that’s what the Everetts called me.
I was not above milking such reactions. To tell the truth, kindly boardinghouse ladies had been mother surrogates since my own had died when I was five. What none of them would admit was that I was perfectly capable of taking care of myself. Dad had seen to that. However, when I occasionally needed a female ally against some of Dad’s purely masculine directives, I was bald-faced enough to use any nearby sympathetic soul to achieve the ends in mind: dating, long dresses, less childish clothes, more spending money, dancing lessons, and the rest of these absolutely essential items an army colonel could not have imagined. Consequently I had a handpicked string of courtesy aunts and uncles all over the country. There were few cities near large army installations in the United States and its territories where I could not find a roof to shelter me off base. And Dad had to name Laird my guardian!