Beloved Stranger Read Free Page A

kitchen table.
    “Yes. The Fosters are very nice people. I felt a little guilty about leaving you, though.”
    Her mother made a gesture of dismissal. “You mustn’t worry about me, dear. I’ve been very busy. The Talbotts had a dinner the other evening and then there was a meeting of the university women I had to attend.”
    Susan ate and listened to her mother chatter on. Apparently she had resumed her old busy schedule of meetings and lunches and teas and dinners. She was indomitable, Susan thought. The uncharacteristic lethargy of Christmas week that had so worried her daughter had quite disappeared.
    “Are you teaching a full load this semester?” Susan asked.
    “Yes.” When working, Mrs. Morgan was Dr. Helen Morgan, Professor of Anthropology at the University of Bridgeport. Susan’s father had also been a professor at the university before his death a few years ago.
    They moved into the living room and Susan curled up on the sofa. “I was so pleased to hear of your acceptance into the Honor Society, Susan,” her mother said warmly. “I’m proud of you. You worked hard for it.”
    “I know.” Susan made a face. “I may be just a member and you and Sara were presidents, but I’m pleased with myself. It took me so long to finally get the grades.”
    “I don’t see why,” her mother said briskly. “You’re a bright enough child.”
    Susan sighed. “I have such a hard time finishing a test, Mother. I’m always still there when the time has run out and usually I’m only half done. I think too much and write too little.”
    Mrs. Morgan smiled abstractedly, her mind obviously elsewhere. “I’ve gone through Sara’s clothes,” she said after a minute, “and there are a number of things that should fit you. The dresses will all be too big, but the sweaters should be all right. And the suits could be altered. And her new black coat. I’ve packed a bag for you to take back to school with you.”
    “Oh Mother,” Susan said weakly, “how can I wear Sara’s clothes?”
    “She would want you to. I want you to.” A shadow crossed Mrs. Morgan’s face. “I don’t want to just give them to the Salvation Army, Susan.”
    Susan had a brief vision of her sister’s beautiful, vital face. She had loved clothes, loved shopping. “Of course you can’t give her things to the Salvation Army,” she said quickly. “I hadn’t thought. I’ll take them. They’ll remind me of Sara.”
    For a brief moment it seemed as if Mrs. Morgan’s eyes went out of focus and Susan knew it was not she that her mother was seeing. “It doesn’t seem possible that she’s gone,” the older woman said at last in a low voice.
    “I know.” Susan sat still, helplessly watching her mother. There was nothing she could say, nothing she could do to comfort her. Sara was gone, killed instantly by an out-of-control trailer truck on the New England Thruway, and no one could fill her place.
    Mrs. Morgan forced a smile. “You must be tired, dear, after that drive. Don’t let me keep you up.”
    “I am rather tired.” Susan rose slowly and went to kiss her mother’s smooth cheek. “Good night, Mother.”
    “Good night, dear. Sleep well.”
    “I’ll try,” murmured Susan; the memory of how she had slept last night flashed into her mind. She wrenched her thoughts back into the present and slowly, resolutely, climbed the stairs to her bedroom.
    * * * *
    Susan looked out the window of her dorm and sighed. It had been raining for five days and the new leaves on the trees looked heavy and green and limp. The weather was a perfect reflection of her mood. She stared blankly for a few more minutes at the paper she was trying to write for a poetry course and then reached into the desk drawer and drew out, once again, the lab report. There it was, clear and inescapable, the unwelcome news: she was pregnant.
    Her first reaction had been anger. How could she have been so stupid? Her second reaction had been self-pity. Why me? I only did