sweet thighs is the original horn of plenty; I can share it endlessly with no
possibility of diminishing its wealth. But for Ira it’s the unattainable, the
treasure that can never be reached.’
`But Father can have me any time!’
‘Woops! Did you finally get past his guard?’
‘No, damn it! He won’t give.’
‘Oh. Then the situation is unchanged; Ira won’t touch you for the same reason I
won’t touch Nancy – although I’m not dead sure I’m as noble as Ira. You had better
warn Nancy to stay covered up and downwind when dealing with her poor, old, frail
Pop.’
I’m damned if I’ll warn her, Briney. You are the only male in the whole world I am
absolutely certain would not hurt our Nancy in any way. If she can get past your
guard, I’ll cheer her on – I might learn something from her about how to cope with
my own chinchy, impossible-to-seduce father.’
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‘Okay, you redheaded baggage – I’ll sniff Nancy and jump you. That’ll learn yuh!’
‘T’m skeered. Want a giggle? Brian junior wanted to look. Nancy let him.’
‘Be damned.’
‘Yes. I kept my face straight; I neither laughed nor pretended to be shocked. B.
Junior told her that he had never had a chance to see just how girls are different
from boys -‘
‘What nonsense! All our kids have been naked in front of each other from time to
time; we brought them up that way.’
‘But, dear, he really did have a point. A boy’s differences hang right out where
they can be seen; a girl’s girlishness is mostly inside and doesn’t show unless she
lies down and makes it show. That is what Nancy did for him. Lay down, pulled up her
robe – she was just out of her bath – spread her thighs wide, pulled her lips apart
and showed him the baby bole. Probably winked at him with it. Probably enjoyed it
herself. I would have… but none of my brothers asked me to.’
‘Wench, we haven’t found anything yet that you don’t enjoy.’
I thought about that. ‘I think you’re right, Brian. Some things hurt a little but
mostly I have a wonderfully good time. Even this frustration over Mr Bronson
pleasures me more than it hurts… since I can tell my beloved husband all about it
without causing him to stop loving me.’
‘Do you want me to tell Ira to lay off? Ask him to give you the shut-eye chaperonage
that I would give you?’
‘Uh, let’s wait until you have sized up Mr Bronson. If you approve of him, I’ll have
my drawers off in a jiffy. If you don’t, I’ll continue my best Vestal Virgin act,
which is what he has been getting. But, as I told you, my head is in a whirl and my
judgement is no good. I need your cool head.’
On Tuesday the Post and the Star each reported that President Wilson had asked the
Congress to declare that a state of war exists between the United States of America
and the German Empire. Wednesday we waited for the shout of `Extra!’ in the street,
or for the telephone to ring, or both and neither happened. We required the children
to go to school although they did not want to, Brian Junior especially. Woodrow was
utterly unbearable; I had to refrain from switching him too often.
On Thursday Father returned home, in a state of tense excitement. He and Brian kept
their heads together, and I stayed with them, mostly, while delegating all that I
could. Woodrow demanded that his grandfather – or someone – play chess with him,
until Father turned him over his knee and walloped him, then make him stand in a
corner.
On Friday it happened. War. The extras were on our street just before noon, and my
husband was on his way almost at once, after telephoning a brother officer, a
Lieutenant Bozell, who picked him up and off they drove to Fort Leavenworth, their
M-Day assignment. Brian did not wait for his telegram.
Brian junior and George were home for lunch, waited until their father left – then