Leigh by Lyn Cote Page B

will bear a bitter load of guilt.”
    Bette threw her hands upward. “All right. She can write Frank. I’m just trying…” She burst into tears and Ted folded her into
     his arms.
    The phone rang.
    Chloe walked to the wall phone and picked up. “This is the Gaston residence.”
    “Grandma?” Leigh’s voice came over the line—tentative.
    “
Leigh,
where are you?” Chloe felt a rush of relief.
    “I’m calling from Ivy Manor. I got here about an hour ago.”
    “You shouldn’t have left home like that, Leigh,” Chloe scolded. “No matter what your mother said or did. Carlyles don’t run.
     They stand and fight.”
    “I’m tired of fighting, Grandma. Aunt Jerusha told me to call you,” Leigh sounded defeated. “If it’s all right, I think I’d
     like to stay here with her for the night. And I think she would like me to stay, too.”
    “You’ll have to ask your mother.” Chloe handed the phone to Bette. “Your daughter wants permission to stay the night with
     Jerusha.”
    Bette took the phone as if it were a cobra. “Leigh, honey, are you all right?”
    Leigh felt relieved her mother didn’t sound angry. She just didn’t have the energy to face any more of her mother’s displeasure.
     “I’m fine. I’m sorry I cut school today.”
    “You know the president’s been killed?” Bette’s voice was gentle.
    Had the assassination overshadowed everything else—even her mother’s anger? “Yes. Please, may I stay with Aunt Jerusha tonight?
     I don’t want to have to walk back to town.”
    “That’s fine,” Bette agreed. “Call tomorrow and we’ll make plans for you to come home.”
    “Okay.” Leigh paused and then guilt made her say, “I love you, Mom.” Then she waited for more scolding. Whenever she showed
     any contrition, her mother always followed it with the “you are such an ungrateful daughter” lecture.
    “I love you, too, honey.”
    Surprised that the lecture didn’t come, Leigh hung up and walked into the large country kitchen. She opened the refrigerator
     door and the phone rang.
    Oh, great. What now}
She hurried back into the hall and picked up. “Hello?”
    “Hello, this is Frank Three. Is that you, Mrs. McCaslin? Could someone ask my great-grandmother to—”
    Leigh heart stuttered. “Frank, it’s me, Leigh.”
    “Leigh.
Leigh?
What are you doing there?”
    “I ran away today and came here.” Leigh held onto the phone as if it were an extension of Frank. “My mother found your letters
     to me.”
    “And you’ve been forbidden to write me again.” He sounded disgusted but not at all surprised. “I knew thatwould happen. I’ve been waiting for it to happen. I’m sorry for putting you—”
    “It was my decision to write you.” Leigh made her shaky voice firm. She recalled his large black eyes and thick black lashes.
     “I could have just kept your first letter and left it at that. I wanted to write to you. I still do.”
    “I’m too old for you, and you’re white and I’m black,” Frank spoke the words like a familiar litany, “even if this is the
1960s,
not the
1860s.”
    Fear nearly choked her. “Frank, we can’t let… nonsense like that spoil our friendship.”
    “This isn’t friendship. We know that. You’re so sweet, so innocent, so passionate about life. You attract me like no other
     girl ever has.”
    His words went through Leigh like a lightning bolt.
    “And I shouldn’t have said that, either.” Frank sounded disgusted. “I won’t write you again, Leigh. I’m… sorry.”
    “Frank,” Leigh clung to hope, “isn’t it possible for a white girl and a black man to be friends?”
    “No, I don’t think so.”
    She felt her throat tightening. “Frank, I—”
    “Please tell my great-grandmother,” he interrupted, “that I called to see how she was in light of the president’s assassination
     and tell her I’ll write her soon. Good-bye, Leigh.” The line went dead.
    Shaken, stinging, yet faintly relieved, Leigh returned