“I’ll just excuse myself,” said her mother, drifting up the stairs.
Miss Whipple wore a stylish burgundy dress and matching narrow-brimmed hat. “I’m sorry, Barbara, for all the upset,” she said. “I understand this is difficult for you.”
“I don’t need your sympathy.” Barbara crossed her arms. She was not impressed by Miss Whipple’s porcelain-pink complexion and stiffly coifed blond hair. And her perfume—some artificially sweet floral scent—had swamped the room. “Not when you’re behaving so dishonorably.”
“What I most want to tell you is I can make your father happy.”
“He has a family, you know. And we’ve all been quite content together.”
“What makes people happy changes. That’s what your mother and I’ve been discussing.”
“There’s no reason a happy family should change. I certainly haven’t changed. Nor has my mother.”
Miss Whipple folded her palms together and angled her head. “I’ve fallen in love with your father. And that pleases him very much.”
“Then you’d better fall out of love.” Barbara drew herself up to her full height and looked down on Miss Whipple. “He even forgot my birthday, which proves how much you’re distracting him with this so-called love.”
“Your father and I wish to marry.”
“What you’re doing is wrong and hurtful. Can’t you see that?”
“I can see it’s hurtful, and I’m sorry about that.” Miss Whipple wove her fingers into a prayerful pose. “Still, I’ve come to ask you and your mother to allow him to divorce.”
“I’m glad you see the wrong in what you’re doing, Miss Whipple.”
“Your mother has said she won’t grant a divorce. But it’s essential to your father’s happiness.”
“Well, he’s essential to my happiness. And Mother’s.”
“Your father and I want to build a future together. He won’t stay with your mother, but he’ll always love and cherish you.”
“I think it’s outrageous of you to barge in like this.”
“Love has its own ways, Barbara. You’ll understand better when you’re older.”
“Don’t treat me like a child. I know right from wrong.”
“Love isn’t right or wrong; it just is.”
Barbara clenched her fists. “Your authority on that subject is not what I’d call impeccable.”
Miss Whipple widened her eyes and dropped her jaw like she’d just swallowed a gob of cotton.
Through the picture window behind the sofa, Barbara spotted a taxi turning into their driveway. As it came nearer, its wheels crunched over the mash of gravel and snow. Miss Whipple had obviously planned her escape in advance. But Barbara wasn’t finished with her. “Do you have anything more to say for yourself, Miss Whipple?”
At the sound of the car, Miss Whipple twisted around, glanced out the window, and turned back to Barbara. “Your mother claims your life will be ruined if your father leaves. But I can see you’re a brilliant and strong-willed girl.”
“I can’t say how my life will turn out now, can I? But your plot to take my father away from us is despicable.”
Barbara heard her mother stepping down the stairs. She’d probably been listening all along, which was fine with Barbara. Let her mother hear exactly what she’d said to this impudent creature.
Miss Whipple cupped her hands over her knees as she looked to her mother. “Barbara’s been giving me some advice.”
Her mother leaned against the bottom stair post. “Are you surprised? You’re trying to steal her father and closest companion.”
Miss Whipple stood. “Well, I’ve said all I wished to say.”
“I haven’t.” Barbara stiffened her arms at her sides. “If I were doing the vile thing you’re doing, I wouldn’t visit this family and act so very unashamed of myself.”
“Yes, you’ve made yourself clear. And I see my taxi has arrived.”
Her mother said, “I’m sorry you couldn’t meet my darling Sabra, but I do hope you’ll take Wilson’s children into consideration.”
Barbara’s blood had reached a boil, and she blurted, “Goodbye, Miss Whipple. I will swear about you after you’ve left.”
“I’ll say good day, then.” Miss Whipple held her head high as if she were the queen taking her leave and walked out. Barbara watched her open the taxi door and swivel into the back seat.
Her mother came up beside her and draped a hand over her shoulder. “She’s a nervy thing, isn’t she?”
Barbara stared at the gaudy yellow taxi backing out of their driveway. “Damn her. What did you tell her, Mother?”
“Oh, a great many things. That she ought to think very carefully about what she’s doing. And that it’s not her place to ask me to give your father a divorce.”
“How insolent of her to claim Daddy as hers. I’m going to write and tell him how brazen and impudent she was.”
CHAPTER NINE
TWO-AND-A-HALF YEARS EARLIER—
BARBARA AT ELEVEN
Mount Moosilauke, September 1925
Gloomy clouds roiled the late-day sky. Barbara’s father planted his walking stick on the rocky trail and looked to the northeast. “I don’t like the signs.”
Pointing at a dark whorl of clouds, Barbara said, “Look how the sky swirls—like a witch’s brew.”
“Could be wicked all right.” He swiveled around and studied the trail they’d traversed. “We better backtrack.”
“But the summit isn’t far. I can see it.”
“We have to get off the ridge. In case of lightning.”
As they trotted downhill, the weight of their packs jerked them every which way. Barbara’s legs ached from the strain, but she didn’t complain. It’s the wilderness, she thought, and I’m as rugged as any climber who’s ever scaled this mountain.
“We need to get down to tree line.” Her father stopped to survey the land below and pointed at a bevy of lowlying firs. “Down there.”
They beat their way down the rocky path and skittered off-trail into a stand of hemlock and spruce. Her father took the lead, weaving his way among branches as full as the trees were high. Barbara held up her forearms to push aside the branches whooshing in her father’s wake.
“This’ll do,” he said, halting in a space little more than six-by-six and wriggling
