I told her that. She knows. Why don’t you let me have the front page. You’re done with that much.
Raymond handed him the newspaper, and he took it and shook it out and began to read. After a while Raymond said, What was she doing in there? When you was inside her room.
Nothing. Reading. Working over her schoolbooks.
Was she in bed?
Harold looked up at him. I don’t know where else was she going to be.
Raymond stared back at his brother. Then Harold began to read again. The wind blew and whistled outside. After a time Raymond spoke again. She didn’t eat very much supper, he said. I don’t think she did.
Harold didn’t look up.
I reckon maybe she just don’t like steak.
Oh, she ate enough. She’s just a small eater.
I don’t know if she did. She didn’t hardly touch none of what I give her. I had to scrape most of it to the dog.
Did he eat it?
Who?
Did the dog eat it?
What in hell do you think? Course he did.
Well, Harold said. He looked up again now, peering at his brother from above the top of the newspaper. Not everybody likes their beefsteak covered in black pepper.
Who doesn’t?
Victoria, maybe.
He bent back to the paper and Raymond sat at the table watching him. His face took on a disturbed and arrested look, as though he’d been caught in some sudden and disquieting act. You think she didn’t like my cooking? he said.
I wouldn’t know, Harold said.
The wind howled and cried. The house creaked.
An hour later Raymond stood up from the table. I never considered that, he said.
Considered what?
About peppering her steak.
He started upstairs. Harold followed him with his eyes.
Where you going?
Up.
To bed already?
No.
He went on. Harold could hear him walking on the pine floorboards overhead. Then he came back down carrying two thick wool blankets that smelled of dust and disuse, and he carried them to the front door and stood in the open doorway in the howling gusts of snow and wind and shook them out. Afterward he crossed to the door and tapped lightly, not wanting to wake her if she were asleep. There was no sound from inside. He stepped in and found that the girl was lying deep under the covers and that the light from the high purple farmlight outside was shining palely onto the bed. He stood for a quiet moment looking at her, at the room and all its new disturbances and the things in it, and then he spread the two blankets over her in the bed. When he turned to come back out, Harold was standing in the doorway watching. They came out together and left the door slightly ajar.
I didn’t want her to take a chill, Raymond said. Not on her first night.
Much later in the night she woke up sweating and shoved the blankets aside.
Guthrie.
All parties seem to be present, Lloyd Crowder said, so we can get started.