No Way Of Telling Read Online Free PDF Page B

the more Amy found that she could not exclude the happening from her own thoughts. She drank her tea in silence, frowning, and with every sip the possibility of there being something else besides chickens outside in the shed intensified. She tried to persuade herself that her fears were nonsense. It was morning now. The sun was shining. And yet, just supposing when she opened the side-kitchen door and stepped out—she put her cup down hurriedly.
    “I’m going to get dressed, Granny, and—and then I’ll see to the chickens. I believe it’s stopped snowing—it looks quite bright outside.”
    Had her grandmother really forgotten what horrid surprise the shed might hold in store? Amy longed to remind her and yet it was impossible for her to mention the subject while her grandmother remained so unconcerned.
    “I don’t suppose it’ll last,” said Mrs Bowen, measuring porridge. “Take that kettle, Amy—it’s your water for washing. And make haste—it’s too cold for you to be loitering about with no clothes on.”
    Amy took the kettle and went slowly up the narrow twisting boxed-in stairs. There was no passage in their cottage, or even landing. A partition divided the top floor in two halves, with the stairs emerging directly into Mrs Bowen’s bedroom, which Amy had to cross in order to reach her own room beyond it.
    In each bedroom there was a marble-topped washstand and on each washstand a matching set of china jug, basin and soap-dish. Amy’s jug and basin were small, made on purpose for a child. They were white, decorated with wide rings of pink and gold, and they had been bought for her by her father before he had emigrated to Australia, long before she could remember. Amy thought them very pretty.
    She mixed the hot water from the kettle with cold water from the jug and rapidly soaped her face and neck, with a dab or two at the ears. Having washed the soap off with a flannel she scrubbed herself dry on a rough towel. Resolved now to do what there was to do quickly, and yet still dreading to do it, she scrambled into her clothes at top speed and ran down the stairs and into the side-kitchen.
    As she pulled on her wellingtons and overcoat she eyed the door that she was going to have to open. And then, suddenly, she realised that her grandmother must have been out already: the bolts had been drawn back. Amy flushed warm all over with relief. So that was all right! She lifted the lid of the corn-bin and filled a scoop with grain; but after a moment or so of consideration she put the scoop down and went into the front-kitchen.
    Mrs Bowen was stirring the porridge. She glanced up. “Why, Amy,” she said, “whatever makes you so solemn, child? You can’t surely be imagining that man’s out there in the shed, can you?”
    “Did you go outside when I was asleep and have a look?” Mrs Bowen moved the pan off the fire. She took Amy’s scarf from the string where it was dangling ready and tied the two ends of it firmly underneath her chin.
    “Of course we did, me and Mick, first thing. You don’t suppose I’d have left that for you to find out? There’s only the chickens waiting for you in the shed, Amy, nothing else, and it’s late so you’d better make haste—they’ll be wanting their breakfast as much as you want yours.”
    “Weren’t you afraid, Granny? Supposing you’d opened the door and he’d been there?” Her grandmother laughed.
    “Well, to tell you the truth I didn’t stop to think too much. There’s times when it’s better to do a thing straight off, when it’s got to be done, and think about it after.”
    Amy was silent, pondering the matter while she watched her grandmother stirring. Finally she said:
    “You’re braver than me, Granny. You’re older, of course, but I don’t know if that’s why. Is it?”
    Mrs Bowen too was silent a moment or so before she answered.
    “I’d say brave isn’t mostly what people are, Amy, it’s what they decide to be—and if there’s no