Вино из одуванчиков

           "Thereyouare!Ithoughtyouladies’dnevercome!"HelenGreerstoodtappingherfootatopherporchsteps."You’reonlyanhourlate,that’sall.Whathappened?"

           "We—"startedFrancine.

           Laviniaclutchedherarmtight."Therewasacommotion.SomebodyfoundElizabethRamsellintheravine."

           "Dead?Wasshe—dead?"

           Lavinianodded.Helengaspedandputherhandtoherthroat."Whofoundher?"

           LaviniaheldFrancine’swristfirmly."Wedon’tknow."

           Thethreeyoungwomenstoodinthesummernightlookingateachother."I’vegotanotiontogointhehouseandlockthedoors,"saidHelenatlast.

           Butfinallyshewenttogetasweater,forthoughitwasstillwarm,she,too,complainedofthesuddenwinternight.WhileshewasgoneFrancinewhisperedfrantically,"Whydidn’tyoutellher?"

           "Whyupsether?"saidLavinia."Tomorrow.Tomorrow’splentyoftime."

           Thethreewomenmovedalongthestreetundertheblacktrees,pastsuddenlylockedhouses.Howsoonthenewshadspreadoutwardfromtheravine,fromhousetohouse,porchtoporch,telephonetotelephone.Now,passing,thethreewomenfelteyeslookingoutatthemfromcurtainedwindowsaslocksrattledintoplace.Howstrangethepopsicle,thevanillanight,thenightofclose-packedicecream,ofmosquito-lotionedwrists,thenightofrunningchildrensuddenlyveeredfromtheirgamesandputawaybehindglass,behindwood,thepopsiclesinmeltingpuddlesoflimeandstrawberrywheretheyfellwhenthechildrenwerescoopedindoors.