book is about. It's just about a town and the people in it and what they do and think and feel. Just an ordinary small town in northern New England.â
âLike Peyton Place?â asked Norman.
âIf you want to think of it that way,â said Allison defensively. âBut as far as I'm concerned, the town in Samuel's Castle is just like any small town anywhere.â
âHow do you know so much about small towns anywhere?â demanded Norman. âThe only one you ever lived in is Peyton Place.â
âDon't be silly, Norman,â said Allison crossly. âSmall towns are small towns everywhere.â
Suddenly, it was as if they were very young again, the way they had been in high school, when they had sat on the banks of the Connecticut River and had argued about books and people and words.
âRemember, Norman?â asked Allison, her voice gentle. âRemember how I took you to my secret place once, up behind Road's End?â
Norman's voice was low. âYes,â he said, âI remember.â
âYou kissed me,â said Allison.
âYes.â
âIt seems so long ago.â
âYes.â
Allison made herself brighten and gave a little laugh. âWell, what are we so down in the mouth about?â she asked. âIt was a long time ago.â
âYou wore your hair in a pony tail and the buttercups made little, yellow shadows on your skin,â said Norman, as if she had not spoken.
âI've got to go,â said Allison. âI'm leaving for New York tomorrow, and I've a million things to do.â
âYes,â said Norman. âOf course.â His eyes glistened with unshed tears. âGood luck, Allison. Don't forget to come back to us.â
Allison leaned across the table and touched the back of his hand.
âI won't forget, Norman,â she said gently. âI'll be back.â
Walking home from Corey Hyde's diner, she wondered if success had already begun to change her. Road's End, buttercups, the day she kissed Normanâall that seemed so remote now. It was another world; and she was a wholly different person, not young Allison grown up but, simply, Allison. Allison sometimes felt that she had created herself, just as surely as she had created the characters in Samuel's Castle.
The train lurched and Allison's forehead bumped hard against the windowpane.
â NEW HAVEN â called the conductor. â NEW HAVEN, NEW HAVEN .â
Oh dear, thought Allison, sitting up and rubbing her forehead. There's still such a long way to go. Does Providence come after New Haven? No, it can't possibly. Damn it, I never can remember.
She smoothed her skirt and lit a cigarette to try to get the train-sleep taste out of her mouth.
I hate the snow when it looks stepped on and has black specks all over it, she thought crossly as the train picked up speed. Damn it, my head aches.
She went to the ladiesâ room and swallowed two aspirin and some water, and when she got back to her seat she flipped disinterestedly through the pages of a magazine. There was one of her stories. âMarianne Said Maybe.â Complete with four-color illustration. She read it through, and then flung the magazine down on the seat.
What inexcusable tripe! she thought viciously. But then her eyes cleared. No more. Not now. Now I'm an author of books. It'll be different now. Now when anyone in Peyton Place wonders what I do for a living and I say that I write, they'll know what I'm talking about.
The news of the sale of Allison's novel had traveled quickly through Peyton Place, and as she leaned her head against the back of the train seat, she smiled a little and imagined the comments and conversations she had evoked all over town.
âAllison MacKenzie went and wrote a book.â
âSome feller down to New York sold it for her, I heard.â
âWho's he? The New York feller, I mean?â
âDunno. Some feller down there makes his