Thief of Dreams Read Online Free
Author: John Yount
later, right back home where she had first seen him, and he was just as impertinent, rude, and incapable of being ignored in her memory as he had been on that morning in 1934.
Not that she hadnât had boyfriends before he showed up; sheâd been twenty-two, after all. One or two of them sheâd even thought she might like, but her father had been so strict that merely the notion of his disapproval had kept her distant and cool around them, and finally, he scared most of them so badly she couldnât help finding them dull and uninteresting. She and Lily had been the last two at home, all three brothers having gone off on their own, and already she and Lily were hearing jokes about being old maids. And so Lily was. But that hadnât been it at all. There had simply been something about Edward Tally. He just wouldnât be denied. And by the end of the next day, when he and his partner had finished putting in the service and the meter, he somehow thought he had a right to come and court her. Heâd even charmed and buffaloed her mother and father, so that they smiled to themselves when he came in his old open flivver and took her off on picnics, drives, and dates, even as far away as Bristol, Tennessee, and didnât get her back until midnight, when sheâd always had to be in by ten. Ha, she thought bitterly, if theyâd only known. If her father had only seen that he was just exactly the sort of man heâd meant to protect her from.
She couldnât help being furious and stared up at the ceiling of the trailer, fuming that she was thirty-six and not twenty-two; that she had a thirteen-year-old son to look after; that she was living in a cow pasture with not only no electricity, but no water either; that she had very little money and no prospects; that she was, in every conceivable way, worse off for having met Edward Tally.
And how disinherited and sad it made her feel that her family was keeping something back that sheâd counted on. There was a strange reserve in them that went beyond anything they might say or do. She was sure they didnât mean to show itâClara and Virginia aside, who were young and in a snotty stageâbut it told her they really did have their own lives to lead, lives they had been leading in her absence for a long, long time. It was just that she hadnât known you could lose your place with family. No one, she thought, meant for it to happen. But if you went away, they had to get on with their lives without you and maybe couldnât quite admit you again because youâd lost your place with them. How were they supposed to know how unhappy youâd been, or that youâd counted on them and dreamed of them constantly?
Oh stop it, she thought. It was insane to think such thoughts when she was so tired and needed to sleep.
She turned and fluffed her pillow. If absence had cost her her place at the center of their hearts, then who was to say that being among them again couldnât earn it back, even if it had to come a little at a time? And who was to say she had no prospects? Her life wasnât over. In a few days, when she got herself together, sheâd begin to look for a job, and she had enough money to buy some sort of a car; anything that would get her to work and back would do. And was she living in some dreary trailer park? No she wasnât. And was she going to be yanked about from one dirty, indifferent city to another? Or be abandoned in one strange place while Edward Tally moved on to the next without her? Absolutely not.
Donât think, she told herself. Think tomorrow. Her legs ached with tension and fatigue as if she were coming down with flu, and she stretched them and pointed her toes in order to force the ache out. In the faint, silver moonlight entering the small window of the trailer, she turned on her side, acknowledged the sound of crickets, and closed her eyes. They felt full of sand.
Oh but it was a wonder
Not that she hadnât had boyfriends before he showed up; sheâd been twenty-two, after all. One or two of them sheâd even thought she might like, but her father had been so strict that merely the notion of his disapproval had kept her distant and cool around them, and finally, he scared most of them so badly she couldnât help finding them dull and uninteresting. She and Lily had been the last two at home, all three brothers having gone off on their own, and already she and Lily were hearing jokes about being old maids. And so Lily was. But that hadnât been it at all. There had simply been something about Edward Tally. He just wouldnât be denied. And by the end of the next day, when he and his partner had finished putting in the service and the meter, he somehow thought he had a right to come and court her. Heâd even charmed and buffaloed her mother and father, so that they smiled to themselves when he came in his old open flivver and took her off on picnics, drives, and dates, even as far away as Bristol, Tennessee, and didnât get her back until midnight, when sheâd always had to be in by ten. Ha, she thought bitterly, if theyâd only known. If her father had only seen that he was just exactly the sort of man heâd meant to protect her from.
She couldnât help being furious and stared up at the ceiling of the trailer, fuming that she was thirty-six and not twenty-two; that she had a thirteen-year-old son to look after; that she was living in a cow pasture with not only no electricity, but no water either; that she had very little money and no prospects; that she was, in every conceivable way, worse off for having met Edward Tally.
And how disinherited and sad it made her feel that her family was keeping something back that sheâd counted on. There was a strange reserve in them that went beyond anything they might say or do. She was sure they didnât mean to show itâClara and Virginia aside, who were young and in a snotty stageâbut it told her they really did have their own lives to lead, lives they had been leading in her absence for a long, long time. It was just that she hadnât known you could lose your place with family. No one, she thought, meant for it to happen. But if you went away, they had to get on with their lives without you and maybe couldnât quite admit you again because youâd lost your place with them. How were they supposed to know how unhappy youâd been, or that youâd counted on them and dreamed of them constantly?
Oh stop it, she thought. It was insane to think such thoughts when she was so tired and needed to sleep.
She turned and fluffed her pillow. If absence had cost her her place at the center of their hearts, then who was to say that being among them again couldnât earn it back, even if it had to come a little at a time? And who was to say she had no prospects? Her life wasnât over. In a few days, when she got herself together, sheâd begin to look for a job, and she had enough money to buy some sort of a car; anything that would get her to work and back would do. And was she living in some dreary trailer park? No she wasnât. And was she going to be yanked about from one dirty, indifferent city to another? Or be abandoned in one strange place while Edward Tally moved on to the next without her? Absolutely not.
Donât think, she told herself. Think tomorrow. Her legs ached with tension and fatigue as if she were coming down with flu, and she stretched them and pointed her toes in order to force the ache out. In the faint, silver moonlight entering the small window of the trailer, she turned on her side, acknowledged the sound of crickets, and closed her eyes. They felt full of sand.
Oh but it was a wonder
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