Apprehension gripped Sonya as she glimpsed Uncle Alex’s house, rising like an antebellum mansion from the gently rolling Kansas plain. Despite the sturdy row of columns, the long front porch seemed to sag. Paint peeled in places, revealing the naked gray-brown boards beneath. The Rathmell Place, as people still called it, no longer possessed the look of aloof nobility, but now seemed marred, on the brink of decay.

Sonya had talked to Dan Rathmell, Uncle Alex’s stepson, on the phone before she’d left Boston. He’d tried to prepare her. “Everything’s changed,” he’d said, an edge to his voice. “Alex has made a bad mistake, remarrying again so soon after my mother died.”

“Uncle Alex is all right, isn’t he? He’s recovering from the stroke?”

“He’s fine, but nothing else is. I’m afraid this time he’s got mixed up with some real con artists. But you’ll be able to judge for yourself soon. How long will you be able to stay?”

“For about a month. While I’m here, Alex and I plan to settle Dad’s estate and dispose of the business.”

She could picture the sparkle that would have lighted his dark eyes. “I can’t wait to see you again!”

As Sonya turned into the circular driveway, she thought of Dan and she as children looking for nonexistent treasures imagined to be hidden away by robbers along the banks of the Smoky Hill. She thought of Dan as she had last seen him over a year ago, when she’d wondered when the boy had changed so completely into a man—a very handsome man.

Sonya remained in the car for a while, weary from the long, monotonous miles of driving, filled with growing concern for Uncle Alex.

Before she’d reached the front steps of the house, Uncle Alex opened the door. “Look who’s here,” he drawled.

Sonya felt a sense of relief. In spite of his recent illness and the troubling events that had taken place in the long interval of her absence, Alex Brighton looked quite the same.

* * * *

Uncle Alex couldn’t possibly have married this woman! Through the huge front window of the Rathmell mansion, Sonya, a sinking sensation around her heart, watched Alex’s bride, young enough to be his daughter, climb from the station wagon and move unhurriedly toward the house. She walked slowly, her exaggerated form giving her a voluptuous appearance. Silently Sonya compared her with Dan’s mother—neat, fragile, righteous little Anna. Sonya could feel Alex’s gaze on her. Of course he knew what she was thinking. He always did.

Her total disbelief at Uncle Alex’s marrying only four months after Aunt Anna’s death now changed to censure. The Brightons had suffered many shocks from Uncle Alex’s activities, but none where his judgment about women was concerned.

Uncle Alex’s wife was inside before she noticed any visitor. She wandered into the kitchen to set down a grocery sack and entered again, tossing a faded sun jacket on the buffet and reaching for a package of cigarettes.

Sonya glanced at Uncle Alex. The frosty, faded eyes, large with crinkled lines about them, always betrayed some contradiction, reading both laughter and meanness, sullenness and humor, suspicion and deep affection. Thin lips curved downward, deep furrows cut around them.
After an awkward silence, Sonya said, “I’m Alex’s niece, Sonya Brighton. You must be Constance. Welcome to the clan.”

“Call me Connie. You from Boston?”

“She runs Dexter Publications,” Alex joked.

“I’ve heard Alex talk about you.”

“So have I,” Sonya answered, then to lighten the atmosphere, added, “Unfortunately.”

Alex broke in again.

“This niece of mine is more like me than anyone on earth.”

Sonya thought she detected some change in Connie’s expression, an implication this was not what Connie considered good. Connie’s gaze dropped to the canvas bag Sonya had placed beside the oak rocker. “You staying tonight?”

“She’s staying as long as she can,” Alex answered shortly. “Why don’t you sell me that suitcase of yours? I’ll give you a buck-fifty for it right now."

“I just paid ninety-nine-fifty.”

“So, you got took. You’d better sell now while you’ve got a buyer.”

“He has to have someone to quibble with all the time,” Connie observed coldly.

“I’ll bet Sonya’s hungry. Why don’t you go open a couple of cans?”

Connie drew deeply on a cigarette and eyed him. He stared back.

“I hope you brought something home from town. All I could find here at noon was Meow Mix.” He paused. “That blasted stray cat I took in eats better than I do. I think I’ll start swapping meals with him.”

Connie stuffed out the cigarette. “Shouldn’t we wait for Emil and Sis?”

Alex answered a loud, definite, “No.”

Sonya rose. “I love to cook. Let me help.”

“No,” Connie replied, then added in a definite way as if Sonya’s assistance was the last thing she wanted, “You just stay in here and talk to him.”

Connie ambled unconcernedly into the kitchen, and they could hear the clanging of kettles and the shuffle of silverware.

Alex turned to the source of the clatter.

“That woman sure makes a lot of noise!”

“So do you!” Connie yelled back at him from the other room.

“It used to be nice and peaceful-like around here.”

Connie appeared at the doorway, knotting a flowered apron behind her. She was silent as she smirked at Alex, then said to Sonya, “He wants to pick a fight now. No matter what I answer to that, there’ll be an argument.”

“It takes two to argue.”

“But only one to start an argument, and you’re always that one.”

“Oh, forget I said anything. It never was peaceful here.”

“Or anywhere around you,” Connie added as she returned to the kitchen.

“I still have trouble with my hands.” As Alex spoke, he rubbed the paralyzed fingers of his right hand. “But the feeling’s coming back a little. It won’t be long until I can work them as good as ever.” He remained silent for a while, then, “How old are you? Twenty-two, twenty-three? When are you going to get married?”

Sonya, laughing as she always did at his abruptness, answered, “Never sounds like a good time.”

“You don’t have to get smart about it,” Alex shot back teasingly. “I’m not so sold on marriage.”

When he was seated, the paralytic straightness seemed to leave him entirely. His lean form now slumped in a relaxed, undisciplined way, hands folded across his stomach.

“Do you know Connie moved her sister and brother-in-law in with us? I don’t know where they’re at now, but they’ll be here shortly. You can count on that.”

Once again Sonya experienced a sinking sensation around her heart. She wished Alex wouldn’t talk so loudly. Connie was certain to overhear. Not wanting to continue on the subject, Sonya said, “Maybe we can get Dad’s estate settled while I’m here. I know we’re going to take an awful loss on the furs, but we might just as well sell them. You haven’t made any plans, have you?”

“No, I was waiting until you came back. I need to see to a lot of business. Have you noticed the ‘FOR SALE’ sign out here?”

Sonya felt jolted. She’d somehow overlooked the sign, had been too overwhelmed at the ruined look of the mansion. “I can’t believe you actually intend to sell this place. You’ve always loved it here outside of town.”

“Too much traffic. I’m getting weary of watching people crash and roll into my yard.”

Sonya tried to put aside her shock at what she knew was his final decision, to sell out. She wanted very much to know his reason for selling—it must be a vital one, a last resort, but in spite of their years of confiding in one another, Sonya knew he wasn’t likely to tell her.

“I’ve got a buyer already. But I’ve been waiting for you to get here to finalize the deal.”

“Where are you going to move?”

Alex placed his hand on his knee and turned his head stiffly to look at her. “Down on Circle Street. It’s not so nice a house, but it’ll do. Besides, it’s time I moved into town.”

Gloomy silence settled over them. Then he sighed, and spoke in a quieter, slower tone.

“I can’t begin to tell you what I went through after Anna died.”

Sonya had at that time been working in London, had just been handed an assistant editorship at Dexter Publications. If she’d only known how bad things were for Uncle Alex, she would’ve abandoned her own plans and returned, but she hadn’t known. She hadn’t even been told he’d been struck with illness until last week, when she’d made this snap decision to see him.

Even though Alex was still in his sixties, the stroke had left him in bad need of assistance. He’d quickly accepted whatever aid was available. But why hadn’t he turned to Dan, his stepson, who would have been willing to stand by him, instead of rushing into an ill-thought-out remarriage?

Most of what Alex said, he didn’t mean to be taken seriously, but his next words seemed more meaningful than humorous.

“Money grabbers,” he said sourly. “Sometimes I feel as if I’m losing faith in humanity.”

Now, with Connie so close by, wasn’t the time to discuss Alex’s very real problems. Sonya responded again, in a lighter vein. “Don’t tell me you ever had faith in humanity.”

“I did. But I finally learned. You can’t trust anyone.” Stillness filled the house, even out in the kitchen where Connie was preparing supper. Alex stared straight ahead. The space from his nose to his lip was wide and slightly protruding, adding bitterness to his mouth. “The best advice I can give you, Sonya, is this. Be always suspicious.”

Connie’s loud voice broke into the stillness. “He sure takes his own advice!”

“It’s hard to keep up with the way things change,” Sonya offered after a while.

“Yeah. Life takes much intestinal fortitude. And talking of courage, that’s what it takes to eat Connie’s cooking.” Because he enjoyed maintaining a constant line of banter, he raised his voice so Connie couldn’t miss hearing him. “Eating her cooking is dangerous. Just like suicide!”

Connie, not short of quick retorts, stuck her head out of the kitchen entrance and made a face at him. “You’re doing all right on my cooking. Getting fat and sassy.”

Alex eyed her, a sardonic expression on his face.

“Sassy, maybe. But fat? I’m nothing but skin and bone.”

Connie stepped into the front room, drying her hands on her apron. “He’s always deviling me about my cooking. Someday I’m going to say, ‘There’s the stove, mister. You do the cooking’.”

“Someday,” Alex announced, “we might not have anything to cook. We’ll be down there with those poor folks on Circle Street. They’re not going to be able to bring in food like these neighbors do.”

Connie’s mouth tightened as she narrowed her eyes. “You’d better watch what you say, or Sonya will really think the neighbors have to feed us. You’ll notice, Sonya, we hardly have any neighbors out here.”

“What about LaVett?” Alex asked. “He’s just across the field. Between him and the Salvation Army...”

Connie produced an exasperated woosh.

“Alex! I’ll never understand him. We go places and he pretends to lift billfolds, watches, or anything. I have to watch him all the time, so I can explain to everyone that he’s just that way.”

“‘That way’? You say that to everyone about me, and they’ll think I’m insane.”

“I wonder sometimes myself,” Connie retorted quickly. “Wanting to move down on Circle Street.”

“Don’t start that again.” The teasing vanished from Alex’s voice. “That’s settled.”

Connie’s bold gaze seemed to pierce him, but she didn’t speak. Alex didn’t look at her, nor at Sonya.

“What do you think of his selling this place?” Connie finally demanded.

Sonya remained silent, studying Connie. With her flawless skin and small, well-molded features, she did possess a certain attractiveness, yet the hardness of her eyes and the tense set of her thin lips revealed a capacity for scheming, for conniving. The affluent Rathmell Place with its vast areas of fertile land must look like very high stakes to her. Without doubt, Connie had plotted to turn Alex’s situation to her advantage, to wrest the valuable property away from its natural heir, Anna’s son, Dan.

“Speak up. Don’t be shy. Alex isn’t that fierce.”

Alex got quickly to his feet. Sonya remembered when there had been a casual slump to his carriage, now he was forced to stand severely straight. “I told you not to start that again!”

Connie paid no attention. “I thought you might talk some sense into him, Sonya. He thinks so much of you, he might listen if you told him.”

“I couldn’t talk him out of anything.” Sonya tried once again to regain their joking manner. “The Brightons are a stubborn lot.”

“So I’ve found out. He told you, I suppose, what he’s trying to make out of this place. Nothing compared to what it’s worth! What’s wrong with him? He’s determined to sell this place for a song and live in a shack.” Connie drew in her breath sharply. “That doesn’t make any sense, does it? You’d better use your influence. I know you don’t want to see that happen. Alex deserves it, but what about me?”

“Why don’t you shut up!” Alex raised a hand as if to swipe her. “When you open your mouth, you bare your ugly soul!”

“You’re just crazy to even think of selling out and moving down on that old street! Don’t you see? Nothing but trash lives down there.”

“We ought to be right at home, then,” Alex drawled.

“You just might be!”

Sonya turned and looked once again out of the window, toward gently rolling wheat fields beginning to turn yellow.

“Why don’t you just ask Sonya what she thinks about it?” Connie demanded.

Sullenly, Alex sat back down on the leather couch. Sonya could tell by his brooding manner he would say no more but do exactly as he pleased.

“He never considers what anyone else wants.” A calm, almost patient control now checked Connie’s anger. “But tell him anyway, Sonya.”

Sonya was musing on the issue. Connie had no doubt married Alex so she and her family would someday own the Rathmell place. She was surprised Alex hadn’t protected himself from people like her.

“I’m sure Uncle Alex has his reasons for wanting to sell out.”

“But you don’t want to see him living down there. He’s just going to end up losing his shirt!” As Connie spoke, she stepped closer, challenging Sonya to choose a side.

Sonya felt the sudden clash as their stares met. Warning herself not to get involved, she made an effort to drive the opposition from her voice as she reminded Connie, “It is Alex’s shirt.”