pported
her tenderly. She wasn't going to give him up for the sake of some
abstract tradition--

"--it's not abstract," her grandmother said with spirit. "It's in your
blood. Or why don't you sweep the floors the way other women do? The way
Sam's mother must?"

Simone had begun to clean the house while she was thinking, moving her
hand horizontally across the floor, at the height of her hip, and the
dust was following the motion of her hand and moving in a small,
sun-brightened river toward the trash basket in the kitchen corner. Now
Simone raised her hand to her face to look at it, and the river of dust
rose like a serpent and hung a foot below her hand.

"Yes," she agreed, "at least I can clean the house. If I don't touch the
good china, and look where I'm going."

"Phui," the old woman said again, angrily. "Don't feel so sorry for
yourself."

"Not for myself," Simone mumbled, and looked again toward the garden
where her daughter was doing something with three stones and a pie plate
full of spring water.

"I do despair of Nina," Cecily said, as she had said before. "She's
four, and has no appearance. Not even balance. She fell out of the
applerose tree, and couldn't even help herself." Suddenly the old woman
thrust her face close to her granddaughter. It was smooth, round, and
sweet as a young kernel of corn. The eyes, sunk down under the bushy
grey brows, were cold and clear grey.

"Simone," the old woman said. "You didn't lie to me? You did know she
was falling, and couldn't get back in time to catch her?"

A shudder passed through Simone's body. There was no blood in her veins,
only water; no marrow in her bones, they were empty, and porous as a
bird's. Even the roots of her hair were weak, and now the sweat was
starting out on her scalp as she faced her grandmother and saw the
bristling shapes of seven generations of Putnam women behind her.

"You lied," the old woman said. "You didn't know she was falling."

Simone was a vapor, a mere froth blowing away on the first breeze.

"My poor dear," the old woman said in a gentle voice. "But how could you
marry someone like Sam? Don't you know what will happen? He'll dissolve
us, our history, our talents, our pride. Nina is nothing but an ordinary
little child."

"She's a good child," Simone said, trying not to be angry. She wanted
her child to be loved, to be strong. "Nina isn't a common child," she
said, with her head bent. "She's very bright."

"A man