And Doll said, “Most likely I’m going to thrash you.” But it was true, she never would do it. She was a kind, quiet woman as far as anybody ever knew. That knife was a secret she kept, not easily, not always, like the mark on her face. She just forgot to hide them both from Lila because she knew the girl loved her. One time Doane saw her cutting Lila’s hair with that knife, and he stopped and watched the strands fall, whiff whiff whiff, and he said, “Well, I’ll be danged.”
Lila was halfway to Gilead by now. The sky was gray and the wind was acting like it owned the place, tossing the trees, and the trees all moaning. Somehow there was always the notion that one day would lead to the next, mild today meant mild tomorrow, a sunny morning meant a decent afternoon. And then winter would take over everything before you knew what was happening. It would be there like the world after sleep, a surprise and no surprise. Whatever happened to Mellie? She could be anywhere doing anything. She could be in jail. Lila had heard there were women who flew bombers across the ocean so they could be used in the war, and she had thought of Mellie. Wherever she was, even in jail, she’d be better at it than anybody ever had been, and all wrapped up in herself, twice as interested as anybody else in whatever notion she had just come up with. She was probably all right. But Lila had seen plenty of times how a bird will hatch or a calf will be born, and pretty soon they know things they couldn’t be taught, they’re up on their legs scratching or suckling, and their eyes are all bright with it. The world is so fine. That’s when children can play with them, because their eyes are bright, too, and they’re finding out how clever they are. Then pretty soon the critters are just critters, livestock. And the children are just folks trying to get by. Could be even Mellie is just some woman somewhere, with that look in her eyes that says, I don’t want to talk about it. Lila told the child, “Don’t worry yourself. I’m going to do the best I can. Just like Doll done for me,” she said, and she laughed. Poor old Doll. Then she was thinking about that man-boy, crouching under her woman’s coat and sure to be wretched with cold anyway. He’d have frozen right to death before he’d let anyone see him wearing it. She should have made him come with her. Somehow. No. His pride was going to kill him. Well, she thought, worse things can happen.
If she had some of that money she’d get a ticket to the matinee, and maybe a box of popcorn. She could warm up there in the dark, watching The Treasure of the Sierra Madre again, but warm, at least. Then she could go on home. She didn’t want to walk into his office at the church looking as miserable as she was, knowing it would worry the old man. She’d seen that movie with him. He’d read the book, and he’d read about the movie in one of his magazines, so he’d been waiting for it. In the theater, in the dark, he’d held her hand. That was the best part about it. She was thinking, I don’t need to watch raggedy-looking men eating beans. I seen that plenty of times. Nice as it was to be sitting there with him, she was sort of glad when the men started shooting each other, so the movie would have to end. She liked movies where people wore nice clothes and tap-danced, but they were never the ones he’d read about in his magazines.
If she had some of that money, she’d go into the diner and have a cup of coffee and a piece of apple pie. If she had some of that money, she’d go into the dime store and look at dress patterns or something. She could do that anyway, but she thought people had begun to notice her, out in the cold that way, when anybody in her right mind would at least have a coat on. She had almost forgotten the dread that someone might speak to her, and here it was again. She wouldn’t let that happen if she could help it. It was like old times. No money and nothing to do about it, and people watching her. But there was the church. That was like old times, too. Stepping in out of the weather. She could just sit in a pew and wait till she stopped shivering and her fingers stopped aching. Then she’d find him in his office, and he’d say, Oh, my dear, and put his coat over her shoulders, and they’d walk to the house, and make some supper, and she would tell him she was fine, fine. She’d just gone for a walk.
She was too cold to stop trembling yet, so she put her hands between her knees and waited. Her toes ached. No point thinking about it. It always was quiet in there. You could hear any shift or creak anywhere in the building, and when the wind was blowing the way it was then, the church strained against itself like some old barn. You could practically hear nails pulling loose. And still it was quiet somehow. It was drafty, too, but that boy could have stretched out on a pew under a blanket or two and slept right through the storm, and who would have minded. If she’d had any idea how bad it was going to be, she’d have made him come with her.
It took her that long to realize the
