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Show in my father's house/ 235 She smiled, not looking up. "What is it, darling?" "A policeman. At the front door." She blanched and stood frozen, staring at me. I gave a dry, hoarse cry that seemed to push a button inside her. She moved frenetically, swooping the ends of her hair into the bun she hadn't yet combed for the day, retying her wraparound, wadding clothing from a chair by the door and tossing it out of sight. She took a deep breath and opened the door, and in that second, I realized - though she may not yet know it herself - that she could deal with anything that life placed before her. She;smiled. "Hello." Her voice quivered only a little. My knees began to shake and I sat down, listening. "Good morning, Mrs. Allred." It was the County Sheriff, a man who could almost be counted a family friend. Aunt Helga had served him coffee every morning when she waitressed at the casino-cafe. My mother had played the piano at his daughter's wedding. He always made it a point to stop my brothers, red lights flashing, to congratulate their performance in the evening's ball game. He had even driven me home from the library on a couple of occasions. "It's very uncomfortable for me to pay you this visit," he confessed, studying his shoes, "but we've had some complaints from over in Wells." I saw his feet shift and he rubbed his moustache vigorously, as though trying to ward off a sneeze. "Complaints?" My mother's hand had flown to her throat. He nodded and coughed. "Uh...it seems one of the girls over there has been telling the neighbors that her father has several wives - and that you're one of them." He cleared his throat. "You know, Mrs. Allred, a lot of us knew about you folks from |