Seed on the Wind

“That’s just the point. How can you do anything there’s no reason for? That’s why I say you couldn’t do it.”

She still thought it was stupid.

The house stood at the top of a gentle rise, where the road west out of Maidstone lifts itself in readiness for the long descent into the valley where the main line of the railroad runs. On a clear day she could see the hills bordering the Hudson to the west, and toward the north a corner of one of the reservoirs, lined with evergreens, was in plain view. The grove sheltered both the garden and the house from the winter winds, and a high hedge served as a screen from the road in front. But from the windows of her room on the second floor Lora could see the cars go by, over the top of the hedge. On that floor were four bedrooms, not counting the maid’s; the room downstairs that had been intended for a bedroom she had arranged as a playroom for the children. Stan, whose last name Lora knew but could not pronounce, a black-eyed Pole with a little tuft of black hair in the middle of his chin, who did the outdoor work and tended the furnace and could drive the car when necessary, lived on the other side of the village with his wife and seven or eight children. When Lora asked him one day if he didn’t think that was too many he shrugged his shoulders, screwed up one eye, and said impassively, “It don’t matter what I think, she’s as full as a frog.”

He’s a sensible man, Lora thought, I must ask him to bring his boys with him some day to play with Roy. A week or so later they came, three of them, straight and slim with flashing black eyes. Not more than ten minutes had passed before Lora heard a frightful uproar in the back and ran out to find two of the visitors rolling on the grass locked in a deadly embrace, screaming and jabbing at each other. Roy’s velocipede lay on its side nearby, and Roy himself was standing calmly with his hands in his pockets, watching the battle with detached interest. He explained that they were trying to decide who should have the first ride on the velocipede. The third visitor, the biggest and handsomest, was jumping up and down shouting encouragement to both combatants, while their father was methodically raking the grass not far off without bothering to look at them. The experiment was not repeated.

So far as Maidstone was concerned, Lora was a widow; her name was Mrs. Lora Winter. But for the insistence of Lewis Kane she would not have bothered with the transformation of the Miss into the Mrs., but seeing that obviously it would simplify matters she did not oppose it. The first autumn, when Roy started to school, he came home one day in October and demanded to be told the name, occupation, and date and place of demise of his father. Lora supposed it was a question of official records; but no, he explained that the other boys were all talking about their fathers and he wanted to talk about his; besides, they asked questions.

“It’s none of their business, your father is dead,” said Lora.

Roy stood, keeping his eyes on her, without speaking. She went over to him and put her hand on his head and turned his face up.

“You don’t tell me any big lies, do you?” she said.

His head wiggled from side to side under her hand.

“All right, I don’t tell you any either. I can’t tell you about your father now, but someday we’ll have a long talk about it, so if the boys ask questions just tell them to mind their own business. Fathers don’t matter a bit. They’re just a nuisance.”

That had faint repercussions, the first one coming the following Sunday, when Albert Scher arrived for his customary visit and Roy informed him briefly and categorically that he was a nuisance. When Albert laughed and demanded specifications Roy merely said, “You’re Panther’s father, so you’re a nuisance.”