The Lightning Keeper by Starling Lawrence Page A

near the particular, the individual who sees not over the line of trees or beyond the hill, knows not what his own destiny may be, and has all too limited an understanding of how he came to this place, this moment.
    Look to the left, over the spire of the church rising to meet us, and you will see the ironmaster’s house and truncated garden. In the driveway stands his forest-green Packard touring car, whose fenders are being buffed by a tall young man, and coming down the steps is Miss Harriet herself, wearing a dress that seems quite new and an expression that betrays some uncertainty.
    And there to the right, in the distance, under the slope of Lightning Knob, you may see the senator hitting golf balls on his lawn: a very strong shot will land them in the lake, and the others will be retrieved, several at one time, by his faithful bulldog. We cannot see the expression on his face, but he looks at his watch with some impatience, and the exercise with the golf club seems just a way to pass these minutes of anxious waiting. Miss Harriet lays her gloved hand on the gleaming handle to the door on the driver’s side of the Packard.
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    â€œG OOD MORNING, T OMA ,” said Harriet with bright emphasis as the door swung soundlessly on its hinges. That annoying squeak that her father could not hear had been attended to.
    â€œGood morning…” He would not call her Miss Harriet, as he wascareful to do in the presence of Bigelow, and something now made him stumble over the familiar diminutive of H. “Where shall we go this morning?”
    The awkwardness of this moment weighed on Harriet. She had taken the keenest pleasure in these driving lessons: partly because the mastery of the machine came naturally to her after absorbing MacEwan’s example; partly because the modest speed and consciousness of danger were intoxicating, like taking her horse over a gate or stone wall; and partly because this was time spent alone with Toma. If she had sensed anything odd in Fowler Truscott’s note she chose to ignore it. Why the urgency? Why a Saturday? Why at his home rather than at the bank? In the flush of her new competence she had answered before giving herself time to reflect. “I shall be there at eleven.” She had planned to drive herself to the Manor.
    â€œI want to try it myself today, Toma. You have taught me so well. I shall be quite safe.” Her father, who observed no day of rest except the Lord’s, need never know. He had been brought grudgingly to the idea of these lessons. She had insisted on the grounds of economy: MacEwan’s salary would be saved.
    â€œYour father will not have it so.”
    â€œI am quite sure he will not mind. He trusts me, you see. In fact he depends on me.” She made the mistake of consulting her watch, again forgetting its uselessness.
    â€œYou have an appointment? It would be better, then, if we leave the lesson for tomorrow. I shall drive.”
    â€œToma, please. I shall be quite all right if you will only start the motor for me.”
    â€œIt cannot be. This is not for me to decide.”
    â€œWho then?”
    He ignored the sharpness of her tone. “Your father has told me plainly that you are not to be taking the car by yourself. He worries for your safety. And I must take him to lunch with Mr. Truscott at one o’clock.”
    â€œVery well.” She made certain to smile at him here. “I am, I think, late for my own appointment.” She said to herself that it would have been much more convenient to have taken her horse. This outing,which had once possessed an appearance of simplicity and innocence, was now surrounded with unbecoming nuance. How would she explain Toma’s presence to Truscott? How would she explain anything to Toma? Well, she thought, setting her mouth, she would explain nothing.
    It was probably her imagination, but Toma seemed to have a sure sense of her destination. “Yes, left,” she