braced and heartened by that easy encounter, she picked up speed and began to look deliberately atthe neighborhood surrounding her. she was shocked to see how small the big things were: theboulder by the edge of the road she once couldn't see over was a sitting-on rock. paths leading tohouses weren't miles long. dogs didn't even reach her knees. letters cut into beeches and oaks bygiants were eye level now.
she would have known it anywhere. the post and scrap-lumber fence was gray now, not white, butshe would have known it anywhere. the stone porch sitting in a skirt of ivy, pale yellow curtains atthe windows; the laid brick path to the front door and wood planks leading around to the back,passing under the windows where she had stood on tiptoe to see above the sill. denver was aboutto do it again, when she realized how silly it would be to be found once more staring into the parlorof mrs. lady jones. the pleasure she felt at having found the house dissolved, suddenly, in doubt.
suppose she didn't live there anymore? or remember her former student after all this time? whatwould she say? denver shivered inside, wiped the perspiration from her forehead and knocked.
lady jones went to the door expecting raisins. a child, probably, from the softness of the knock,sent by its mother with the raisins she needed if her contribution to the supper was to be worth thetrouble. there would be any number of plain cakes, potato pies. she had reluctantly volunteered her own special creation, but said she didn't have raisins, so raisins is what the president saidwould be provided — early enough so there would be no excuses. mrs. jones, dreading the fatigueof beating batter, had been hoping she had forgotten. her bake oven had been cold all week —getting it to the right temperature would be awful. since her husband died and her eyes grew dim,she had let up-to-snuff housekeeping fall away. she was of two minds about baking something forthe church. on the one hand, she wanted to remind everybody of what she was able to do in thecooking line; on the other, she didn't want to have to. when she heard the tapping at the door, shesighed and went to it hoping the raisins had at least been cleaned.
she was older, of course, and dressed like a chippy, but the girl was immediately recognizable tolady jones. everybody's child was in that face: the nickel-round eyes, bold yet mistrustful; thelarge powerful teeth between dark sculptured lips that did not cover them. some vulnerability layacross the bridge of the nose, above the cheeks. and then the skin. flawless, economical — justenough of it to cover the bone and not a bit more. she must be eighteen or nineteen by now,thought lady jones, looking at the face young enough to be twelve. heavy eyebrows, thick babylashes and the unmistakable love call that shimmered around children until they learned better.
"why, denver," she said. "look at you."lady jones had to take her by the hand and pull her in, because the smile seemed all the girl couldmanage. other people said this child was simple, but lady jones never believed it. having taughther, watched her eat up a page, a rule, a figure, she knew better. when suddenly she had stoppedcoming, lady jones thought it was the nickel. she approached the ignorant grandmother one dayon the road, a woods preacher who mended shoes, to tell her it was all right if the money wasowed. the woman said that wasn't it; the child was deaf, and deaf lady jones thought she still wasuntil she offered her a seat and denver heard that.
"it's nice of you to come see me. what brings you?"denver didn't answer.
