The Featherbed. Джон Миллер

well, you know how you love cap-making? Well, I really do feel that way about my classes.”

      “Yes I know, you said that.”

      “Yes, but the reason I mention it again is that my papa is right now telling your papa that the wedding’s to be delayed.”

      “What?”

      “For a year and a half. It’s nothing personal, I just wanted some time to finish my studies and get my diploma.”

      “Oh.” He turned away from her. He seemed hurt.

      “And I didn’t think it would be possible once we were married.”

      “Well, no, I don’t suppose it would be,” he said, “what with your household duties and all. And then when the children start coming...”

      She didn’t like the turn this conversation was taking. “Even though that may not be for some time,” she added.

      “Yes, but you never know. And I want us to start right away, don’t you? I want to have a big family.”

      “Well, you might feel different after the first one, and we’re up all night with the baby crying.”

      “I doubt it.”

      His face was serious, her attempt to lighten things had failed.

      “Even still, I wanted you to know. It’s not about you. I just want to graduate.”

      “Well, you’re right, once we’re married it won’t be possible.”

      She wished he hadn’t repeated that. She looked up at the trees. A brown leaf clung desperately to a branch just above her.

      Suddenly he turned and smiled at her, and his eyes brightened; their steeliness caught the light and glinted a little, making them seem more liquid. A flush of pink rushed into his cheeks.

      “If you were at school at night I’d never get to see you, would I?”

      She smiled, but looked down. “No, I guess you wouldn’t.”

      He stood up and held out his hand to help her up. “Let’s go see the tenement I wanted to show you. Although now I guess there might not be anything available by the time we’re ready to move in. Still, you never know.”

      “It’s only a matter of months, if you think of it that way.”

      They walked on in silence for a few blocks, side by side but not touching, until he took her arm and hooked it underneath his, pinning it there.

       Chapter Five

      “Hattie, maybe I should get married.”

      “Shhhhhhh! I’m trying to watch!”

      “If I do, at least I won’t have to work in the factory anymore...”

      Hattie took her finger away from her lips, simultaneously tilted her head, and pointed with both toward Mary Pickford. She furrowed her brow and jutted her chin forward in concentration.

      The piano player at the front of the theatre pounded the keyboard dramatically as Billy Quirk emerged from behind a tree; Mary Pickford recoiled and drew her open palms up beside her face in defence. Her mascaraed eyes widened with terror, and her mouth opened wide in a mute scream. Hattie jolted ever so slightly.