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her. She could not breathe freely until she was sure they were not nearing her door. In the stillness a lone mosquito zing-zing-zinged near her ear. She worried about her father, sitting in the darkness alone. Then she thought of Tanya. She was glad Tanya did not have to see their father with a shotgun on his knees. Even though the night was hotter than most she had seen, she lay shivering in the dark.

Chapter 5
    Monday dawned. The morning light seeped through the open window of Sophia’s bedroom. The curtains were not drawn, but not a bit of air coursed through. Another hot day aborning.
    Sophia stirred, tossed about, then woke feeling the ill effects of troubled sleep. Desegregation, Burt’s attitude, and now Arnold lay heavily on her mind—like the weight of a sleeping cat. She stretched and sighed, feeling sorry for herself.
    She lay looking at the ceiling, her hands folded under her head, elbows near her ears, recalling how she’d been nasty to Arnold. The television had been on in her father’s study and she had hoped to escape to her room unnoticed. She was not so lucky. When she reached her room her mother was there with quilt pieces spread over Sophia’s bed.
    â€œBack … so soon?” her mother asked.
    â€œThis heat tires me out, Mother,” Sophia said, trying to keep her voice and manner even, normal.
    â€œWhere’s Arnold?”
    â€œHome, I guess.”
    â€œYou should have asked him in for some of the ice cream we made.”
    Sophia said nothing and slumped into a chair with her legs outstretched.
    Her mother went on laying the pieces to determine how many more were needed to finish the quilt. She glanced at Sophia. “You all right, dear?”
    â€œI’m fine, Mother,” she said drawing herself upright. She smiled. “That’s going to be the prettiest of all the quilts you’ve made. Wish it were mine.”
    â€œIt’s for your dowry. Hope we’ll have time to get it finished.” She looked at Sophia, winked, and laughed.
    Sophia flushed, “Aw, Mother, girls don’t have dowries, anymore. You know that.”
    â€œWell, for your hope chest, then.”
    Now Sophia turned onto her side. Hope chest, she thought, and grimaced. Her mind wandered to the things she had been collecting since she was sixteen. They were stored in an ebony cedar-lined chest: two silk sheets, hand-embroidered pillow slips, imported linen luncheon sets and a fine lace tablecloth … all carefully stored to be unpacked only after her wedding in her own house. And that Arnold! It could have been a perfect evening. Suddenly she felt angry. Then his face above the white collar of the choir robe appeared in her mind’s eye as it had been when he asked, “At seven?”
    It was not going to be easy. Why couldn’t I have gone into that church? she asked herself. But he had no right. If only he had told me . She remembered the warm gentleness and the look in his eyes when he had said, “I’ve never come here with anyone else before.… I care about you.…” Her heart leaped and she went cold at the thought of living with her feelings about Arnold. Oh, I was a fool not to trust him, she cried to herself.
    Anxious and miserable, she turned out of bed and stood by the window looking into the distance. The stillness of the house blended with the quiet of this Labor Day morning. The pale sky, almost silver, had a smattering of feathery, salmon-pink clouds forecasting the rising sun. Dew sparkled on the grass, refreshing the morning, forestalling the heat of the coming day.
    The whole of yesterday crowded in on her and she remembered crying on Arnold’s shoulder. Again the words “I care about you …” pushed all other thoughts aside. She went back to bed thinking, he’ll call and everything will be all right.
    She lay trying to clear her mind of all thought but her mind would not obey. If only it wasn’t