"Why?" Miranda wondered.
Susan pointed to the senior superlative section, one full page for each superlative. "Elitist. Hurts people's feelings."
"Life is unfair." Harry's voice rose slightly. "You might as well learn that in high school if you haven't already."
"You've got a point there." Chris shook her sleek blonde pageboy. "I can remember crying hot tears over stuff that now seems trivial but I learned that disappointments are going to come and I've got to handle them. And all that surging emotion going through you for the first time. How confusing."
"Still is." Harry sipped her tea. "For me anyway."
"Is everyone in your class still alive?" Chris asked Susan and Harry.
"We've lost two," Susan answered. "Aurora Hughes." She turned the page to Most Talented and there a willowy girl in a full-length dress was in the arms of a young man, Hank Bittner, wearing a top hat and tails. "She died of leukemia the year after graduation. We were all in college and, you know, I still feel guilty about not being there.Aurora was such a good kid. And she really was talented."
"Who was the other one?" Chris asked.
"Ronnie Brindell." Harry spoke since Susan had just stuffed a cookie in her mouth. "They say he jumped off theGolden GateBridge inSan Francisco . He left a note. I still can't believe he did it. I liked Ron. I can't imagine he'd-well-what can you say about suicide?"
"Here." Susan flipped to the senior superlative for Most Pop-ular. A slender, slightly effeminate young man sat on a merry-go-round with Meredith McLaughlin, her eyes sparkling with merriment.
"He doesn't look depressed." Chris studied the picture.
"People said he was gay and couldn't handle it." Harry also studied the picture. "He was a nice boy. But the bruiser boys used to pick on him something terrible. I bet it was rough being a gay kid in high school but back then no one said anything like that. The gay kids must have gotten roughed up daily but it was all hidden, you know."
"I do, actually. We had the same thing atLakeShore . I guess every school did. It's sad really. And to think he jumped off the bridge." Chris shuddered.
"May the Lord be a tower of strength for the oppressed." Mrs. Hogendobber cited a verse from Psalm Nine and that closed the subject.
"Who knows what secrets will pop up like a jack-in-the-box?" Susan ruminated. "Old wounds might be opened."
"Susan, it's a high-school reunion for Pete's sake. Not therapy."
"Okay, maybe not therapy but it sure is a stage where past and present collide for all to see."
"Susan, I don't feel that way. We know these people."
"Harry, when was the last time you saw Bob Shoaf?" Susan mentioned the star athlete of their class, who became a professional football player.
"On television."
"You don't think he'll have the big head? Those guys snap their fingers for girls, cars, goodies . . . and presto, they get what they want. He won't be the same old Bob."
"He sounds fascinating, too." Chris's eyes widened.
"He thinks so. He was always conceited but he is good-looking and I guess he's rich. Those people pull down unreal salaries." Harry sighed, wishing a bit of money would fall her way.
"Maybe he blew it all. Maybe he's suffering from depression. Maybe he's impotent." A devilish grin filled Susan's face. "Secrets!"
"She's right, though. At our twentieth people who had crushes on one another in high school snuck off, marriages hit the rocks, old rivalries were renewed. It was wild, really. I had a good time, though." Chris shyly grinned.
Susan wheeled on Harry. "Charlie Ashcraft!"
"Not if he were the last man on earth!"
"You slept with Charlie. That's your secret."
"Is not," Harry protested.
"Girls." Mrs. Hogendobber feigned shock. She'd spent enough time around this generation to know they said things directly that her generation did not. She still couldn't decide if that was wise or unwise.
"You know, Harry, it will all come out at the reunion if what Chris says holds true for us."
"You're one brick shy of a load." Harry considered flicking a cucumber at her face. "Anyway, a woman has to have some secrets. People are boring without secrets."
Mrs. Murphy raised her head, her mind clearing somewhat from the delightful effects of the homegrown catnip. "That depends on the secrets."
2
Canadasent down a ridge of cool dry air which swept over centralVirginia , bringing relief from the moist, suffocating August heat.
That evening Harry, on her knees weeding her garden, rocked back on her heels to inhale the light, cool fragrance. With the mercury dipping to sixty-five degrees Fahrenheit, she had put on a torn navy blue sweatshirt.
Mrs. Murphy stalked a maple moth who easily saw her coming; those compound eyes could see everything. The yellow and pinkish creature fluttered upwards, fixing on the top of the boxwoods. From this lordly perch it observed the sleek cat, who, intelligent as she was, couldn't climb a boxwood.
The pile of weeds grew to a mound.
"Better toss this before it gets too heavy." Harry lifted the pitchfork, wedged it under, and in one neat motion picked up the debris. She walked past to the compost pile some distance from the manure spreader.
"Dump it on the manure spreader," Murphy suggested.
"You don't have to come along," Harry replied to her cat, who she thought was complaining. She walked to the edge of the woods, where she chucked the weeds. Murphy caught up with her.
"If you'd put it in the manure spreader, Harry, it would have been a lot easier."
Harry leaned on her pitchfork and looked out over the hay field. The bees were heading back to the hives as twilight deepened. Even the nasty brilliant yellow digger bees headed to their labyrinthine underground nests. The bats stirred overhead, consuming insects.
"Farmer's friend," Harry said. "Did you know, Mrs. Murphy, that bats, black snakes, praying mantis, and owls are some of the best partners you can have among the wild animals?"
"I did. I forgot to tell you that the black snake that winters in the loft is now close to four and a half feet long and she's on the south side of the garden. Her hunting territory is a giant circle and she moves counterclockwise. The sight of her is a fright. 'Course, the sight of Flatface, the barn owl, is a fright, too. She's grown twice as tall as last year. Thinks she's better than the rest of us."
Harry reached down, picked up her little friend, and kissed the top of her head. "You are the most wonderful cat in the world. Have I told you that lately?"
"Thank you," Murphy purred, then wiggled to get down. The night creatures emerging were too tempting. She wanted to stalk a few.
Harry grabbed the pitchfork which she'd propped against a hickory: "Come on, time for supper."
The sweet smell of redbud clover filled their nostrils as the thin line of ground fog turned from seashell pink to mauve to pearl gray. A bobwhite called behind them. The magnificent owl of whom Mrs. Murphy had just spoken flew out from the barn cupola on her first foraging mission of the evening.
Part of the rhythm of this place and these animals, Harry placed the pitchfork on the wall of the small storage shed. The night air cooled the temperature considerably. She put her hands in her jeans pockets as she hurried into the house.
"What took you so long?" Pewter complained. "I thought you two were weeding the garden."
"We did but we had things to talk about." Mrs. Murphy brushed past her, then quickly turned as she heard the can opener. "Hope it's tuna tonight. I'm in the mood for tuna."
A bark outside and then a whap on the doggie door announced Tucker's presence.
"Where were you?" Mrs. Murphy asked from the counter as Harry spooned out the tuna into the two cat dishes, one marked Her Highness and the other, Upholstery Destroyer.
"Blair Bainbridge's." The dog mentioned Harry's nearest neighbor to the west. "Bought starter cattle and I had to help him herd them. He doesn't know beans and he's still moving a little slow after his injuries from last year. Wait until you see the calves. Weedy, spindly legs and thin chests, not good specimens at all but at least they've been wormed and had their shots. Wait until Mom sees them. It will be interesting to see how she manages to praise him without telling him these are the worst heifers she's ever seen."