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and English and American History and Home Economics and French. PE is swimming, of course. And there’s a study hall every day. Next year we get Science instead of American History. Principal Houghton is very excited about Science, saying it is the wave of the future, and half of the Board of Education agrees with him. In my junior year, we’ll have a choice of Biology or Chemistry.
    Grandfather Larkin has been doing poorly. He’s having heart trouble, and his doctor says he’s not going to be around much longer. Mom and Uncle Clay have hired a housekeeper for him, and there’s a nurse who checks on him once a week. He’s almost 64, and that’s a respectably long life—everyone says so, even Grandfather Larkin. Mom’s upset, but he is her father after all, so what else would she be. She says she may go spend some time with him while she can.
    Henry Lee is in fourth grade now, and being rascally. Mom has tried to get him to mind his manners, but no luck so far. The neighbors said that he killed a cat out in the woods behind our houses, but Henry Lee says he didn’t, and you know Mom will stand by her son come rain or shine. Daddy is a little less certain, but he isn’t about to take the neighbors’ side against his own flesh and blood. I don’t know what’s going on with him, but you could probably figure it out. You’re a psychologist, aren’t you? You’d know what to do to make him behave. I know you can’t come back right now, but it would sure be helpful if you could.
    I went to see The Red Shoes, and thought of you the whole time, and not just because of Moira Shearer. Daddy said it’s not possible to film ballet well, but I think he’s wrong about that. You should go see it if you get the chance. I also saw The Third Man and I can’t understand what the fuss is all about. I don’t suppose spies are really like that, not even in Europe. I like Orson Welles, though. He’s not a dreamboat like Clark Gable, but he’s got something about him. Maybe it’s his reputation for getting into trouble, or maybe it’s his voice. You have to look at him, and hear him. Daddy says he’s arrogant and irresponsible—there was that War of the Worlds broadcast—but maybe he’s a genius, too.
    I’m not supposed to ask what you’ve been doing to keep body and soul together, but if you want to tell me, I’d like to know. I can’t imagine what it must be like for you and Cousin Tim. I won’t tell any of the family—or anyone else.
    We’ve been to the VA hospital to see Dennis Crowder; he’s got a prosthetic leg and hand, and they’ve done more operations on his face, but he still looks like something out of a bad movie. He puts on a good front, but it’s obvious that he is really down in the dumps about his injuries, and his prospects. He told me he doesn’t know what he’ll do with himself for the rest of his life. No one’s going to hire him, he’s certain of that.
    Cousin Emily is going to have her baby next month, or so her doctor says. She may be having twins. Claude is pleased as punch, but Emily only wants it to be over. She waddles like a duck and her feet and ankles look like rising dough most of the time. After four years of marriage, everyone was beginning to wonder, but the way things look now, they’re making up for lost time. Emily says she likes it in Florida except for the bugs. Claude got a promotion when they moved, so he’s pleased.
    Anyway, this should catch you up. Daddy’s tucked in a note to you, as you can see. I hope you have a happy Thanksgiving and a Merry Christmas. We’re all looking forward to the day you can come home again all of you.

    Love,
    Your cousin, Betty-Ann
     

 
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    B Y MID-MORNING, a squall came whipping up the Adriatic, the sea churning and frothing as it swept into the lagoon, stirring up the canals that made Venezia famous; boats of all sizes and purposes rocked in the surging water, a few of them banging against their narrow berths or the walls of