Hemingway's Girl Read Online Free PDF Page B

floors to clean on which days. Then Pauline left to do some shopping
     in town. Just after she left, as Mariella walked into the family room to sweep, she
     tripped over Patrick as he dropped a large, struggling peacock on the floor. Mariella
     used her broom to send the bird back out to the yard, and had just turned back to
     the house to scold Patrick when she ran into Hemingway himself.
    “Jesus, daughter, I hope I never do anything to earn that look from you,” he said.
    She blushed to her toes and reached up to smooth her hair.
    “I guess I’m not used to boys,” she said. “I have sisters.”
    “You’re lucky,” he said. “I’ve always wanted a daughter; just don’t make ’em, I guess.”
    She laughed, a little shocked at his reference.
    “You’re actually just who I was looking for,” he said. “Follow me.”
    Mariella followed, still carrying the broom. He walked her up the stairs and to his
     bedroom. He stopped for a moment by the bed and gave her a mischievous smile. She
     broke into a cold sweat.
    “Not here,” he said.
    He turned and opened a door on the side of the room that led to the walkway to his
     writing cottage. She walked along the narrow walkway and tried not to look down. She
     hated heights. He pulled a key out of his pocket and opened the door. She followed
     him into the room.
    The cottage was an oasis. Cool from the morning air, it smelled like the books stacked
     on its shelves around the room. Papa’s writing table sat in the middle of the room
     like an altar—the typewriter some kind of holy instrument of transformation.
    “I’d like you to clean in here,” he said. “I trust you not to move anything or talk
     about any of the writing you’ll see when you snoop.”
    Mariella had an impulse to deny that she’d snoop, but thought he’d know better.
    “So you’re okay with me snooping,” she said.
    “Snoop away; just never talk about it. You never talk about a book till you’re done
     with it.”
    Mariella was surprised how easy it was to be herself around him, and how easily he’d
     taken to her. She thought their meeting at the dock had been the right way to start.
     It was neutral territory. Now they could just continue on without the formality. Still,
     she wondered.
    “Why do you trust me?” she asked.
    “Because you’re honest. If you’d have tried to deny you’d snoop, I’d have told you
     I changed my mind. You passed the test.”
    Mariella was glad she hadn’t tried to lie. It didn’t seem like much escaped his notice.
    She turned away from him and leaned the broom against the door so she could walk the
     perimeter of the room. An antelope hung from the wall, and a lion-skin rug splayed
     across the center of the room. She crouched down to look at its teeth up close.
    “Just got these beasts mounted, stuffed, and gutted,” he said. “From our Africa trip.”
    Mariella stood and walked to his desk. A roll of half-typed paper stuck out of the
     typewriter. She looked at the words and then at him. He nodded, and she leaned in
     to look at it closer.
    “It’s when my companion was talking about great writers,” he said. “He admired them,
     but I knew they were a bunch of miserable saps.”
    Mariella read the words for a moment and then looked at Papa. “And he asked you who
     was the best writer?”
    “My husband,” said Pauline. She stood in the doorway regarding Mariella with an icy
     stare.
    “Back so soon?” he asked.
    “My stomach’s killing me.” Pauline looked pale. “Mariella, come draw the curtains
     and see that the children are kept out of my room. I need to lie down.”
    “Yes, Mrs. Hemingway.”
    Mariella walked over to pick up the broom and followed Pauline. As she turned to pull
     the screen door to the cottage closed, she met Papa’s gaze. The way he looked at her
     made her blush. She turned away so he wouldn’t see her burning, and hurried to catch
     up with Pauline.



C HAPTER F OUR
    Mariella’s shoulders ached