Up a Road Slowly by Irene Hunt Page A

me something precious just now, something infinitely precious.”
    Father looked strained as he always did when Uncle Haskell put in an appearance; Jonathan Eltwing’s eyes had a preoccupied, brooding look; Aunt Cordelia did not move a muscle. Only Mrs. Eltwing looked pleased, even radiant. She did not say a word, but she looked at Uncle Haskell as if she had never seen a person so beautiful or so charming. When he turned to greet Dr. Eltwing, she continued to look at him, her eyes shining.
    Uncle Haskell greeted Mr. Eltwing brusquely. “So good, Jonathan,” he said, and our guest replied with a brusque greeting that matched the one he had received. Father and Uncle Haskell shook hands, nodded, and murmured something, nothing very cordial; then Aunt Cordelia invited her brother to sit down with us.
    â€œSorry, Cordelia, darling, I think I must get back to work. Deadline to meet by next week,” he said, smiling at Mrs. Eltwing. “I’ll have to be in New York for a conference with my publishers at the end of the week—events are crowding in on me a bit.”
    â€œYour book is coming out soon then?” Jonathan Eltwing asked politely.
    â€œBy spring, we hope,” Uncle Haskell said airily. I was amazed at him. He knew that Father, Aunt Cordelia, and I knew positively that he was lying, that Jonathan Eltwing was pretty well convinced of it, but these facts seemed not to affect him in the least. He had an audience of one person who believed him; sometimes I wondered if he didn’t vaguely believe himself. He was not in the least embarrassed, but the rest of us were. I wondered how Aunt Cordelia had managed to stand it all through the years. I had had much less of Uncle Haskell than she had, and even I felt a little sick as I watched him.
    â€œYou will be staying in New York for some time, I suppose?” Jonathan Eltwing asked, mostly, I think, because it seemed necessary to say something when the silence became awkward.
    â€œOnly a week or ten days—at least I hope not any longer. I can’t leave my girls alone too long, you know.” He rumpled my hair, and I grinned inwardly. Aunt Cordelia and I could have been robbed, stabbed, drawn and quartered and Uncle Haskell would have known nothing about it. I wasn’t too sure that he would have been greatly concerned, if he had known.
    He went back to Mrs. Eltwing. “Thank you, thank you for a moment of pure delight, dear lady,” he murmured. Then he bowed slightly to Dr. Eltwing. “So good, Jonathan,” he said again. “Adam.” He nodded at Father. “Until this evening, Cordelia—Julie, my sweetheart.” Then he was gone, a flash of glory we were all relieved to see ended.
    All but Mrs. Eltwing. She stood beside the piano looking after him, her face full of bewilderment and disappointment.
    â€œWho was that man, Jonathan?” she asked her husband in a low voice, and we were all chagrined. Uncle Haskell’s dramatic entrance had made us forget an introduction.
    â€œThat was Cordelia’s brother, darling. Haskell Bishop.”
    â€œSo beautiful,” she said as if she were alone. “Such a beautiful and good man.”
    â€œYes, Katy,” Dr. Eltwing said gently. Then he turned to us, speaking quietly of other things.
    The next hour was one of pleasant conversation in which everyone joined except Mrs. Eltwing. She sat close to her husband, leaning lightly against his shoulder, smiling a little to herself. I loved her somehow, and I really hadn’t intended to, because she was the woman who had married the man my aunt had loved and I felt a certain loyalty to Aunt Cordelia. I loved Mrs. Eltwing, however, in spite of myself, mostly I think, because she was so tiny and delicate, so tragic. I believe that Dr. Eltwing saw the feeling in my eyes for he suddenly smiled at me, told me how fond he had been of my mother, hoped that I would visit him and his wife when they