mail?'
'I burned them,' she replied quietly. 'Every single page.'
Carlisle's jaw dropped. 'You what?'
'Outside. In the burning barrel. I burned them all.'
Andrew Carlisle went livid, his hands shook. 'What the hell do you mean, you burned them?'
'They were trash, Andrew. Smutty, filthy trash. You have no business writing such terrible things, about all those people killing and being killed. It made my blood run cold. Wherever do you get such terrible ideas!'
Andrew Carlisle sank into a chair opposite his mother, hoping she was lying, knowing she wasn't.
'Mama,' he croaked. 'Do you have any idea what you've done? Those were my only copies of A Less Than Noble Savage. I'll have to rewrite it from scratch.'
'I'd set about getting started then, but try to write it a little nicer this time, Andrew. And leave out the woman who gets burned up, the one who gets set on fire with paint thinner. That was horrible. It reminded me of the Harveys' cat.'
Even now she could remember the agonized screams of that poor dying cat, her next-door-neighbors' cat, after Andrew and some of his friends had lit it on fire with paint thinner and matches. Over the years, she had almost managed to forget about it, but reading the manuscript had brought it all back in vivid detail.
The remembered sound in her head had kept her awake for hours.
Temporary relief had come when. around midnight, she had donned a robe and gone outside to burn the book. It had taken a long time. Hours even. Myrna Louise had wanted to be sure that each page was properly disposed of, with every shred of it reduced to crumpled ash, so she had fed the manuscripts into the flame one typewritten page at a time.
The problem was, after she was finished and when she went back inside, the sound came back anyway. It was screaming in heir head even now as she sat staring at this stranger in the pink silk pantsuit who was supposedly her son.
Yes, the cat was back with a vengeance, and Myrna Louise was afraid it would never go away again.
They took away the breakfast tray without Rita's noticing.
This time Understanding Woman took her concerns straight to the convent's superior. After hearing what the old Indian woman had to say, Sister Veronica made arrangements for a hasty trip to San Xavier, where they spoke at length to Father Mark. He listened gravely and agreed to take immediate action.
The next afternoon while Dancing Quail was busy with her endless dusting, she heard visitors being ushered into the convent. Soon Sister Mary Jane came looking for her.
'Someone is waiting to see you, Rita.'
Dancing Quail was thunderstruck when she came to the arched doorway of the living room and found her grandmother sitting on the horsehair couch with Sister Veronica. Across a small table. in matching chairs, sat Father Mark from San Xavier and the BIA outing matron from Tucson.
Dancing Quail stood transfixed for a moment, looking questioningly from face to face.
'Good afternoon, Rita,' Father Mark boomed heartily.
'Come in and sit down.'
Dancing Quail slipped warily into the room. She made for a small footstool near Understanding Woman. When she sat down next to her grandmother, she looked to the old woman's weathered face for answers, but Understanding Woman made no acknowledgment.
'We're here about you and your baby,' Father Mark said brusquely.
Father Mark's loud, forthright ways were often offensive to the politely soft-spoken Papagos who made up his flock.
At this frontal attack, Rita's features darkened with shame, but she made no attempt at denial.
'You must go away at once, of course,' he continued.
'Your staying here is entirely out of the question. To that end, I have contacted Mrs. Manning here. Between us, we've made arrangements for you to have a position with a good family in Phoenix. Isn't that right, Lucille?'
Over the years, the outing matron's once-red hair had faded to a muddy gray, but Dancing Quail still remembered the withering look the woman had given her years before when the Mil-gahn woman discovered that the little girl from Ban Thak had no shoes.
Lucille Manning nodded. 'They are a very respectable family in Phoenix.
Under most circumstances, they wouldn't consider taking someone in your ... in your condition. But Adele and Charles Clark are old friends of Father Mark's. They're also very interested in Indian basketry.
When I told them you were a basket maker, they decided to make an exception.'
'I don't understand. . .' Rita began.
The priest cut her off. 'Of course you do, girl! You're not stupid.
It would be very bad for Father John if you stayed here to have this baby. It would drive him out of the priesthood, destroy him completely, leave him to rot in hell. You wouldn't want to do that, now would you?'
'No, but. .
'And we've found a place where you can go. It'll be a good job, one that pays more than the sisters can.'
