The Dawning of the Day Read Online Free Page B

Campion.
    â€œMy boy,” said Asanath briefly. “Terence.” The curtness of his remark seemed to imply criticism.
    Terence came toward them aimlessly as a feather. Asanath introduced him, and Philippa shook hands. He had the Campion eyes, pale and bright as aquamarine, and a thin straight mouth. He was in his mid-twenties, Philippa guessed, and wondered what preoccupied him.
    â€œGit Mis’ Marshall’s stuff up off the wharf, son,” Asanath said, and Terence nodded and left them. A faint sound of whistling spun out like a thread behind him. His father said in his leisurely voice, “Terence is some absent-minded. Always thinking something he ain’t telling.”
    They went up toward the house, and she saw Suze Campion behind the screen door. But in that instant she was not so real for Philippa as the sweet whistlings of the goldfinches in the thistles at the edge of the woods, the sheets snapping like sails on the clothesline in the side yard, and behind them a yellowing field that stretched to the sea. Beyond she saw again the island called Tenpound; in the clear air the black sheep were visible against the sky.

CHAPTER 4
    A t midnight she was no nearer to sleep than she’d been two hours before when the last of the callers had gone home and she’d come to her room to write to Eric and then go to bed. She lay on her back with the high headboard rearing above her and watched ripples of moonlit water move endlessly toward the shore below her windows. The wind had died out at sunset, but the room was filled with a sort of murmurous hush, like the big conch shell that was her door stop.
    Foss Campion and his wife had come to supper. Foss was the same as she had remembered him, except for the change from the blue suit to cotton slacks and moccasins. His wife, Helen, was a big woman with short wavy dark hair, only slightly gray, a fine color, and a brilliant hazel gaze. She appeared to overshadow Foss, who had little to say but whose eyes glinted in an amused and friendly smile whenever they met Philip-pa’s.
    â€œI understand you’re a widow, Mrs. Marshall,” Helen said. She didn’t drop her voice, as if widowhood were a faintly disgraceful condition, but said it heartily. “I’m a widow myself, or was, till I married Foss. I have a boy by my first marriage, too, so it gives us something in common.”
    â€œSo it does,” said Philippa. “How old is your boy?”
    â€œSeventeen. Perley’s real smart. I wanted him to go to high school, but he was so set on being a fisherman he just wouldn’t work for his pass. Stayed in the eighth grade for three years!” She laughed heartily.
    â€œHave a roll, Helen.” Asanath held the plate out to her. “You look about starved. I can see your ribs.”
    She enjoyed the joke thoroughly, flinging herself back in her chair till it creaked, her laughter pealing around the kitchen, her solid bosom heaving. When the last of the spasm had died away in a diminishing series of breathless gurgles, she wiped her eyes and said faintly, “Oh dear, Asa, you’ll kill me yet!” She took two rolls. “If you can see my ribs, you’re a lot better off than Foss; he says he hasn’t felt ’em for ten years!” She began to shake again but subdued the paroxysm and buttered her rolls. “I was telling you,” she said to Philippa, “Foss gave Perley a peapod last year and he’s been in it ever since. Loves lobstering, he does, and his father was a farmer! So I guess the smell of manure don’t get into the blood after all.”
    Suze, a vaguely disapproving look on her face, got up from the table and went over to the dresser. Helen’s laughter burst forth again; the men looked at her with bemused smiles, except for Terence, who continued to gaze past Philippa’s shoulder at the woods outside and seemed unaware of anything that happened in the big kitchen.