“But why?” she demanded, then winced in pain. She lowered her voice. “This was just an accident—it won’t happen again.”
“You go out with someone, or you don’t go out at all,” he said in the kind of voice that brooked no arguments. “And if you disobey me I’ll lock you in.”
“Disobey you?” she echoed in a tight little voice. “Who the hell do you think you are, my father? You can’t tell me what to do.”
“I doubt even your father told you what to do,” he said sourly, and without another word he stormed out of the house, leaving Molly in a state of stomach-churning rage.
“Well,” said Mrs. Morse after a moment, “who would have thought he’d get so worked up?” She shook her head, but there was an oddly hopeful expression in her eyes. “Don’t you worry, Molly. I’ll fix you some nice hot soup and ham sandwiches, and some of my chocolate cake. How would you like that?”
She was hungry again. If she had been pregnant in the morning, she obviously still was. “I’d love it. Will you join me, Uncle Willy?” she asked politely of the silent figure in the corner.
He shook his head in faint disgust, the neat orange strands carefully combed over that pink and shining skull. “No, thank you, my dear. I always partake of only the lightest meal when I first wake up.” He rose and wandered out of the kitchen, looking oddly disturbed about something. He hardly seemed sensitive enough to be worried about her well-being, and Molly watched his retreating figure with vague, shapeless suspicions.
“All right, Molly,” Mrs. Morse said, coming to stand in front of her with arms planted on her ample hips. “What’s going on?”
“What do you mean? I must have tripped...”
“I’m not talking about your fall. Assuming it really was a fall, though it seems to me Patrick’s right about your being more careful. No, I want to know why you wanted to see Dr. Turner in private. And don’t tell me some story about you needing birth control, because I don’t believe it.”
She looked up at her. When it came right down to it, she had to trust someone. “I think I’m pregnant.”
“Sweet heavens!” Mrs. Morse said. “Have you told Patrick yet?”
“Not until I’m certain. What if it’s not his?”
Mrs. Morse’s face fell. “I hadn’t thought of that. You couldn’t be very far along—they would have caught it in the hospital after your accident.”
“And since I haven’t been home in five weeks that would mean that Patrick...”
“Wasn’t the father,” Mrs. Morse finished for her. “Why don’t you ask him?”
“Not until I have to. Not until I see Dr. Turner and get the proof. She should know how far along I am.”
“Molly, dearest,” she said in a gentler voice, “there’s no need to be scared of Pat. I don’t know what’s gone on between the two of you, but for all his bluster he’s a caring, decent man.”
“Sure,” Molly said with just a trace of bitterness. “He cares about Lisa Canning.”
“He cares about you, missy.”
Molly shook her head, unwilling to accept the notion. “You’re not to say anything until I find out. In the meantime I suppose I need to get an appointment.”
“I’ll call for you,” Mrs. Morse said firmly. “No one needs to know anything about it—we’ll just tell anyone who asks that you were feeling dizzy after your fall.”
“You don’t suppose that I...did anything to it?”
She shook her head, an ancient sorrow shadowing the eyes behind the steel-rimmed glasses. “You’d feel it if you did bring on a miscarriage, believe me. I had six of them myself, before the doctor told me to stop trying, and there’s no ignoring the symptoms, no matter how early along you are. No, if you’re pregnant then nothing’s happened to it yet.” She rose. “Should I call her office?”
Molly nodded numbly.
She was lost in thought when Mrs. Morse returned a few minutes later. “Damned receptionist. You’d think Dr. Turner was the queen of England and not some small-town family practitioner. She can’t see you till the day after tomorrow, unless it’s an emergency. In the meantime the best thing for you to do is go upstairs and lie down and try not to think about it. Find yourself a good book or something.”
“I’ve read them all,” she said morosely, rising slowly from the hard chair. “Maybe I’ll explore the house.”
“Whatever for?”
“Because I don’t remember it,” she said simply. “And I’m not at all tired.”
“Well, you be careful if you go in the attics. There’s a lot of junk stored up there,” she warned. “I’d come with you but your Aunt Ermy is coming in on the 5:47 train tonight and the Lord knows I’d better have an elegant enough supper to suit her palate. You go on ahead and come down here for some brownies and tea later on if you feel like it.”
