Stillwatch, my last novel, was set in Washington, D.C. Special thanks are in order for the good friends who assisted me in my attempt to give that book an authentic Washington flavor.
Mrs. Frances Humphrey Howard, sister of the late Vice-President Hubert H. Humphrey, generously shared her vast knowledge of life in the nation's capital with me. She and her network of friends were always readily available to answer my questions about everything from protocol to the inner workings of Congress.
John and Catherine Keeley assisted me in creating the Cable Network background and planning the crucial travel times and routes. William Jackman, vice-president of the Air Transport Association of America, lent his expertise to guide me in the technical aspects of a vital airline investigation.
Abiding thanks to my editor, Michael V. Korda, whose perception and understanding make it a challenge and a pleasure to embark on the long road between story concept and completed novel. Finally, my love and gratitude to my agent, Pat Myrer, who before her retirement helped me to plan this new book and christened it with the title Weep No More, My Lady.
July, 1969
The Kentucky sun was blazing hot. Eight-year-old Elizabeth huddled in a corner of the narrow porch, trying to tuck herself into the thin band of shade from the overhang. Her hair was heavy on her neck even though she had tied it back with a ribbon. The street was deserted; almost everyone was taking a Sunday- afternoon nap or had gone to the local pool. She wanted to go swimming too, but she knew better than to ask. Her mother and Matt had been drinking all day, and they'd begun to quarrel. She hated it when they fought, especially in summer, when the windows were open. All the kids would stop playing and listen. Today's fight had been really loud. Her mother had screamed bad words at Matt until he hit her again. Now they were both asleep, sprawled on the bed with no cover on them, the empty glasses on the floor beside them. She wished her sister, Leila, didn't work every Saturday and Sunday. Before she took the Sunday job, Leila used to call it their day, and she'd taken Elizabeth around with her. Most of the nineteen-year-old girls like Leila were hanging around with boys, but Leila never did. She was going to go to New York to be an actress, not get stuck in Lumber Creek, Kentucky. 'The trouble with these hick towns, Sparrow, is that everybody marries right out of high school and ends up with whiny little kids and Pablum all over their cheerleader sweaters. That won't be me.'
Elizabeth liked to hear Leila talk about how it would be when she was a star, but it was scary too. She couldn't imagine living in this house with Mama and Matt without Leila.
It was too hot to play. Quietly she stood up and smoothed her T-shirt under the waistband of her shorts. She was a thin child with long legs and a spray of freckles across her nose. Her eyes were wide-set and mature-'Queen Solemn Face' Leila called her. Leila was always making up names for people-sometimes funny names; sometimes, if she didn't like the people, pretty mean ones.
If anything, the inside of the house was hotter than the porch. The glaring four-o'clock sun shone through the dingy windows, onto the couch with its sagging springs and the stuffing that was beginning to come out at the seams, and the linoleum floor, so old that you couldn't even tell what color it had been, cracked and buckled under the sink. They'd lived here for four years now. Elizabeth could vaguely remember the other house, in Milwaukee. It was a little bit bigger, with a real kitchen and two bathrooms and a big yard. Elizabeth was tempted to straighten up the living room, but she knew that as soon as Matt got up the room would be a mess again, with beer bottles and cigar ashes and his clothes dropped where he shed them. But maybe it would be worth a try.
Snores, unpleasant and gruff, came from behind the open door of Mama's bedroom. She peeked in. Mama and Matt must have made up their fight. They were all wrapped up in each other, his right leg thrown over her left, his face buried in her hair. She hoped they'd wake up before Leila got home. Leila hated to see them like that. 'You must bring your friends to visit Mama and her fiance,' she'd whisper to Elizabeth in her actressy voice. 'Show off your elegant background.'
Leila must be working overtime. The drive-in was near the beach, and sometimes on hot days a couple of the waitresses didn't show up. 'I've got my period,' they'd whine to the manager on the phone. 'Real bad cramps.'
Leila had told her about that and explained what it meant. 'You're only eight and that's young, but Mama never got around to telling me, and when it happened I could hardly walk home, my back hurt so much, and I thought I was dying. I won't let that happen to you, and I don't want other kids hinting around like it's something crazy.'
Elizabeth did the best she could to make the living room look better. She pulled down the shades three-quarters of the way, so that the sun didn't glare so much. She emptied the ashtrays and washed the tops of the tables and threw away the beer bottles that Matt and Mama had emptied before their fight. Then she went into her room. It was just big enough to hold a cot, a bureau and a chair with a broken cane seat. Leila had given her a white chenille bedspread for her birthday and bought a secondhand bookcase which she'd painted red and hung on the wall.
At least half the books in the bookcase were plays. Elizabeth selected one of her favorites, Our Town. Leila had played Emily last year in high school, and she'd rehearsed her part with Elizabeth so often that Elizabeth knew the part too. Sometimes in arithmetic class she'd read a favorite play in her mind. She liked it a lot more than chanting times tables.
She must have dozed off, because when she opened her eyes, Matt was bending over her. His breath smelled of tobacco and beer, and when he smiled he breathed heavier and that made it worse. Elizabeth
