| OCR Text |
Show 21-5 Silence. I looked around the room, filled with old-fashioned furniture and perfectly clean. Braided rugs covered the wood floors and heavy dark drapes hung over the three small windows. The young woman came back in with a pitcher and two glasses. "Would you like some water?" "Yes, please, that would be delightful. It was a hot drive." Mother took the glasses, handed me one, and then cleared her throat. "Mrs. Crayton, we have become quite fond of your son, Andrew. He's a fine young man." Mrs. Crayton rocked steadily. "As a matter of fact, he has helped us out. You see, my brother was killed, uh, died in France, and Andrew was able to clear up some details for my family." Mother looked down at me. She smiled just a moment. I just looked at her. "That was very good of him." "Andrew always x^as a good boy," Mrs. Crayton said. She kept rocking. "My daughter, Annie, here, spends a lot of time with Andrew. At the hospital. My husband works there." Mrs. Crayton looked at me. I looked back at her. "The thing is, Mrs. Crayton, well, Andrew is very lonely. All the men there are. We invited him to dinner at our house last week and he said it was the first time he had left the hospital in a year." Mother leaned forward holding her clasped hands tight in her lap. "He needs his family, Mrs. Crayton." Mrs. Crayton had stopped rocking. She looked at Mother. Her daughter stood in the doorway, watching. "I know I probably haven't any right to say this or to even come here. But after last w<*ek I just had to." Mother reached down and took my hand. "That hospital is full of wounded men, most of whom will always stay there. And no one comes to see them. |
