The sense of festivity lingered through the goodbyes, thinning out abruptly, following Joanne as she drove off with Kathy’s brother. Ellie darted down the porch steps, into the yard, keeping the car in sight as long as she could. When it disappeared she turned, looking suddenly bereft, and trudged back up the steps. Gwen gathered her close, holding her tightly for a moment. “Joanne’s going to have a lovely time,” she said. “Shall we make some lemonade and maybe have a game of chess?”
Ellie remembered the promise she had made herself. All week long her mother had done things with her. Now the ironing bag was full — Mamma had to fish through a huge bundle to find Joanne’s cotton — and the mending was piled up... Ellie shook her head. “No,” she said slowly, “My system’s no good anyway. Daddy beat me easy last night. I got to work on it.”
“Well,” her mother said comfortingly, “Let’s at least make the lemonade.”
The afternoon wore on, quiet, muffled with the summer stillness that comes before a storm. Gwen moved with her mending basket to the side porch where she could keep an eye on Ellie in the backyard. Ellie, fiddling with her pocket chess set down between the maples, listened to the stillness. Even the tiny insect noises were gone. Everything was hushed, expectant, waiting for the rain. There was only the sound of her own movements and the occasional squeak of springs as her mother shifted positions on the glider.
After awhile there wasn’t even the squeak of springs. Ellie raised her head, motionless for a moment, listening to the silence. Then, wedging the chess set into her pocket, she stood up and walked back to the porch.
Her mother was asleep, her thimbled finger still crooked behind the needle. In her lap, the mending rose and fell with the soft, deep sounds of exhaustion. Ellie tip-toed over, cautiously slipping the needle from her mother’s fingers, sticking it into the little red pin cushion on the lid of the mending basket. Then she turned and tip-toed back to the edge of the porch.
From the top step she had a full view of the doll factory, the burned-out arch black now, a mysterious, giant half moon against the red brick. There was no one in sight, not on the streets or sidewalks or in the fields beyond the house. You really couldn’t catch an epidemic if there was no one to catch it from. And besides, the fire would have burned all the germs at the doll factory. That was the way you sterilized things, like with a needle when you took out a sliver.
Ellie hitched her shoulders under the thin straps of her sun suit. Her mother really wouldn’t mind because of the doll factory being so sterilized and everything. Besides, she would only stay a minute. Her mother probably wouldn’t even wake up.
She took the steps quickly, quietly, hurrying across the lawn, past the maple trees and over the low stone wall at the edge of their property.
The open fields were cooler than the yard and the gloom was different out here. There was no canopy of leaves overhead to double the shade, only the even, murky overcast from the clouds above. A wonderful sense of freedom gripped Ellie; it was the first time in over a week that she had set foot from the yard. She began to run, creating her own breeze, feeling it lap through her long, straight hair. The field was full of ruts and pot holes, and each time she stumbled and kept her balance she laughed wildly, privately, jubilantly, until at last, as she neared the factory, she tripped over an edge of concrete and fell down. The chess set. flipped out of her pocket, the pieces scattering over the broken paving and Ellie sat up, hugging her knee, rocking with pain.
A voice, soft and articulate, drifted past her ears. “Did you hurt yourself, little girl?”
Ellie jumped, her head pivoting, turning toward the sound. He sat just a short distance away, under the charred arch that led to the factory basement.
Ellie smiled wanly. “I sure did,” she said. “I banged my knee bone.”
“I thought,” he said admiringly, “that you did well not to tumble much sooner. I’ve been watching you clear across the field and it looked like splendid fun.”
“It was,” Ellie replied matter-of-factly, “till I hurt myself.” She rose, limping, to gather the chess pieces. The man reached out, picked something off the ground, transferring it to his other hand. “Have you broken your toy?” he asked.
“It’s not a toy exactly,” Ellie said. “It’s a game and I can’t find one of the pawns.” She poked through the long grass that pushed up between the cracks in the paving.
“Is this it?” he said, extending his, arm.
She rose and moved, toward him, seeing the tiny pawn in the palm of his hand. She lifted her head, smiling into his face. “Thank you,” she beamed, starting to take it. “How did it get way over here I. wonder...” Her hand touched his and she broke off abruptly, giving a small involuntary jerk, starting to draw away. He didn’t move and she peered down into his upturned palm, feeling a small burst of shock. His hand was fat and perfectly rounded and stiff looking and it had a pinkish gray color. She bent a little closer for a better look. The pinkish gray color was a glove. He had slowly raised his other hand for her to compare. It was nothing like this one. It was thin and bony and it wore no glove. She looked at him, frowning. “Why are you wearing just one glove?” she said.
“To cover an artificial hand,” he answered. He did not move.
“What’s an artificial hand?”
“It’s a hand that’s manufactured to look like a real one.”
“Where’s your real one?”
“I lost it in an accident when I was a boy.”
“I’m sorry,” Ellie breathed. She was genuinely saddened.
He looked vaguely disconcerted. “Don’t you want your pawn?” he said.
Ellie had forgotten the pawn. She dipped now into his artificial hand and scooped it out, returning it to its little case. “Do you play chess?” she asked.
“I used to,” he replied tonelessly. “When I was in England.”
“What were you doing in England?”
“I lived there. I taught school.” Ellie made a wry face. “School, ugh. What kind of school?”
“A girl’s school.”
“I’ll bet you’re glad you don’t do that any more.”
“No,” he said, his voice gradually animating, “I rather liked it. I wish I could go back.”
“Why don’t you?”
“Because... well because sometimes I’m rather sick.”
Ellie recoiled. “Is it the epidemic?” she said in alarm.
“Epidemic? What epidemic?”
“You know, the one that’s going around.” He looked confused and she elaborated. “It’s catching. Everybody gets it. Is your sickness catching?”
“No, my sickness isn’t catching. No one can have it but me.”
Ellie relaxed. “That’s good,” she said, settling down beside him. “Do you want to play chess?”
“Do you really know how?” His voice was flat again. “Most little girls your age don’t know how to play chess.”
“I’m not very good but I think I can stalemate,” she answered.
“Stalemate!” He gave an odd little laugh. “Very crafty. Little girls are always very crafty. All right, set up the board.”
She hesitated, her gaze traveling slowly from his real hand to his artificial hand. For a moment she looked troubled, then in a swift, decisive movement, she thrust one arm behind her back.