I laid the letter up on the clock-shelf where I could see it while I did
my dishes. I needed it there to steady me. I didn't have to write my
answer till after dinner, because it wouldn't go out until the four
o'clock mail anyway. I kind of left the situation lie around me all the
morning so I could sense it and taste it and, you might say, be steeped
in it, and get so I could believe.
Me--a kind of guest housekeeper for six months in a beautiful flat in
the city--with two young married folks and a little baby to amuse myself
with, and the whole world sitting around me, expansive, and waiting for
me to enjoy it. It seemed as if the Golden Plan folks always think is
going to open up for them had really opened now for me.
How I kept from baking my doughnuts and frying my sponge-cakes in lard,
I dunno, but I did--sheer through instinct, I guess. And then I wrote my
letter and took it down to the post-office. Go? Wouldn't I go? My letter
just said:
"Ellen dear, you ridiculous child, did you think I could wobble for
a single second? I'd made up my mind before I got down the first
page. I'll be there Monday night. Do you care if I wear your
table-spread for dress-up, when I get there? All I've got is
everyday--or not so much so. And for your wanting me, I'll say
thank you when I get there.