OCR Text |
Show 9-3 "How was he hurt in France?" "Burned." "Oh." Ruth looked down at her paper. Then she looked at me through her hair which fell low over her dark eyes. "Is it pretty bad?" "Yes, but he's still very nice." "Annie, niceness has nothing to do with it. I'm sure he is." She sat up straighter. "And so you want to go see him? Your mother didn't mention it. To me." "Well, she didn't exactly know I was going. Today, I mean. I go whenever I want to. To see Father and help him out." Ruth laughed. "Sounds a bit mysterious. But fun. I do have some work to do here. Tell you what. You go on out. See your man from France and I will call your mother this afternoon and tell her you're there. So she won't worry. OK?" I thought of what my mother would say. But maybe Ruth would forget to call, She was short of memory, my mother always said. Anyway, I was going to go. And Ruth wasn't worried the way my mother was. It would be all right. I hurried to help with chores and packed my bookbag with books and some slices of Ruth's soft raisin bread. And I was gone. I walked to St. John's, about a mile away. My head whirled a bit with the heat, the sun and my own adventure. He was not sitting on the bench. My stomach lurched and I felt dizzy. Had I been wrong? Wasn't he waiting for me? I paused on the walk and looked out under the trees. Only a few men on the benches. No one was playing checkers today. Then as I looked up the path to the hospital, I saw that men were walking and being pushed out from the terrace where Father and I had eaten. They drifted out under the trees in |