notes and there were more throat clearings than usual. Faith knew the title of Tom's sermon, 'Material Men and Women: How Much Is To Much?' and so the whole thing made sense to her, but what did Penny have in mind? Campaign spending, business ethics, a quarrel over their father's will?
Faith settled back into the pew and prepared to listen to her husband talk about what constituted riches. She was willing to bet Alden wouldn't agree.
“Get the cards, Marta.'
“Oh, Max, not tonight. I'm tired. Besides, we just read them Wednesday.'
“A lot has happened since then.'
“That's true and the moon is full tonight, so the power will be strong.”
She got up, went to the bureau in the hotel room, and took a small intricately carved wooden box from the top drawer. Max sat down in one of the chairs by the window, in front of a low table. Marta placed the box carefully in front of him and drew open the drapes. Strong white moonlight streamed over the room and Marta turned off all the inside lights, except for one next to the table. She sat opposite Max and said, 'Open the box.' She preferred the querent to handle the cards as much as possible, transferring whatever vibrations he or she was carrying around to the pack. Max unwrapped several layers of bright silk and silently handed her the cards that were inside the package.
She looked through them and selected one. '1 still see you as the King of Swords. All right?' He nodded and she placed the card face up on the table.
“Do you have the question firmly fixed in your mind?' Marta asked.
“Yes,' answered Max, closing his eyes.
“Then shuffle the cards and cut.”
Max shuffled several times with great deliberation, then hesitated before cutting the deck. With an almost defiant gesture, he quickly cut and leaned back in his seat.
Marta turned up the top ten cards, placing them in a pattern around the court card.
“What do you see?' he asked with a slight smile. 'Anything different?'
“You're always too impatient. Don't rush me.' Marta's face was anxious.
He leaned forward and scrutinized the cards. By now, he knew their characteristics as well as she did, but he couldn't interpret them.
“The Knight of Swords again—and the Chariot.”
“Hush, Max, the cards often repeat.”
Marta looked intently for several more minutes, then pointed to the first card and intoned, 'The Five of Wands covers him. He is involved in competition and struggle.”
The film, Max thought. The card pictured five young men fighting. He'd be happy to have so few adversaries.
“The Four of Cups crosses him. He is weary and discontent. It is a time to rest in life's race.
“The Wheel of Fortune is beneath him. He has had much good fortune in his past. There have been times of plenty and times that were lean.”
1 know this. Max knew not to interrupt the reading. Get to the future, Marta.
“The Six of Cups is behind him, happy memories and possibly a friendship are moving out of his sphere, leaving a space for new ones.”
Or not, Max reflected pessimistically.
“The Nine of Pentacles crowns him. There will be wealth for him far ahead.'
“Solitary wealth!' Max blurted out. 'I know that card!'
“Shhhh.' Marta reached over and stroked his hand. He slunk back against the chair cushions.
“The Queen of Wands is before him.”
Max's face brightened. It must be Evelyn. The Queen of Wands was a blonde. What other blondes were there? Or rather, other blondes who counted.
“The querent fears the Knight of Swords, the brown-haired youth who brings or takes away misfortune.
“The Two of Pentacles represents those around him. He is balancing many factors.”
A balancing act. His whole life was one long balancing act. The cards never lied, he thought.
“The Chariot carries his hopes. He would like to achieve greatness.”
Marta stopped speaking and looked at the last card, the outcome, with the director.
“The moon is strong tonight, Max. It was inevitable.'
“And the other night, the same damn Moon card?' Marta reassembled the deck.
“I know what it means, remember. Perils, deception, and secret enemies.”
She sighed. 'It depends on your question. The Moon can also illuminate your path and lead you away from danger.'
“Do you want to know my question?' he asked. 'I think I know, Max dear'
“I wonder if you do.'
Four
It is a curious subject of observation and inquiry, whether hatred and love be not the same thing at bottom.
The auditorium at Pritchard Junior High was packed and the highly partisan audience a bit more rowdy than was usual at Aleford public gatherings. At the moment, the stage was empty except for four gray metal folding chairs and a long table on which four glasses of water, a full pitcher, and a microphone had been placed.
Supporters of the three candidates waiting in the wings had had to choose between front-row seats and sitting en masse. The Alden Spaulding contingent opted for proximity and tried to snare as many as possible in the choice location close to the stage, elbowing their neighbors in a determined way. Penny Bartlett's fans went for unity and were occupying a block of rows under the balcony in the center of the room. The Heuneman forces had rallied undecidedly to the left-rear and front rows. Very few in attendance were uncommitted, and Faith wondered aloud to Tom why they had all bothered to come when everyone's minds were already made up.
“You shouldn't assume everyone is so firmly decided. I, for one, intend to listen with an open mind to all three candidates'—Tom paused and then just before his wife could jump on him, he continued—'then vote for Penny.'
“You see, everyone is decided. We're only here because we're all afraid the opposition might outnumber us.'
“Usually true, sweetheart, but I think in this election there are really quite a few people who have not made up their minds. If it was simply Penny against Alden, the choices would be clear, yet James is a dark horse. I don't know where he stands on a lot of things myself, and I've known him since I arrived in Aleford. Then, last but not least, let's not forget the entertainment value an event like this affords the town. Who could stay home, even to watch `Murphy Brown' when you have the opportunity to see your fellow citizens going at it hammer and tongs live?”
The candidates were taking their places. Peg Howard, the reference librarian at Aleford's Turner Memorial Library and president of the League, was calling the crowd to order. Whether it was because the audience was eager to hear the speakers or because of Peg's intrinsic association with silence, everyone immediately shut up.
“I'd like to welcome you all here tonight on behalf of the League of Women Voters and explain the format.
