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apologetically, a favorite of Jim’s.
    “That’s ridiculous, Beth,” Helen told
her. “Everybody’s
husband loved desserts. Order the pie if you want to, for heaven’s sake, but don’t blame it on Jim.”
    Mary Lynne’s voice was placating. “Bless their dear little old hearts, they
did
love desserts, didn’t they? Bo’s mother copied out a whole book of his favorites for me as a present when we got engaged. And I swear to goodness, her darling boy could tell, forty years later, if I changed anything by a quarter of a teaspoon.”
    There was sympathetic laughter, and conversation continued at the round table. In the next room there was clearly speechmaking, punctuated by bursts of laughter and loud applause.
    Both groups were momentarily stilled when Jadine came in bearing a tray with a large decorated cake, slowing as she went through the door of the private dining room to shield the flame of its single tall pink candle. Then the expectedchorus of feminine voices began, most of them singing in lower register to lend strength to the sentiment.
    The chorus grew stronger as one key was agreed upon.
“Happy birthday to you . . .
”
    The singing continued, then wavered, faltered. As the words
dear Eeeee-dy
were reached, it dwindled from a few uncertain voices to total silence, a silence far louder than all of the laughter and clapping and shrieking of the preceding hour.
    The thud of an overturned chair broke the silence, and there was a small clatter of china, as Linda Peaseley appeared in the doorway, her napkin still clutched in her hand. “Get Mr. Benson,” she said loudly. “Edie’s choking. She can’t get her breath.”
    Before anyone could speak or move, the girl with the smoothly rounded face and the long braid appeared beside Linda. “Does anybody here know the Heimlich maneuver?” she called sharply. “One of the girls is choking on a last bite of salad or something. She can’t get her breath.”
    Gussie jumped to her feet. “I’ve practiced it,” she said. “I’ll try, if no one else knows. Get Mr. Benson, Jadine.”
    Peter was out from the kitchen and into the private dining room before Gussie could get there. Edie, unable to speak, stood before her place at the table beside her overturned chair her eyes wide in a frantic gaze, pointing helplessly toward the pink-lipsticked circle of her open mouth.
    Peter approached her quickly from behind as Mrs. Potter’s party crowded into the doorway. The softball girls, except for Linda and the girl with the braid, still sat in their places at the table, staring in disbelief.
    “No, pound her back first,” Gussie called out. “That’s the first thing, the Red Cross says.”
    Peter had already encircled Edie’s waist and clasped his hands above her midsection. He administered a convulsive squeeze. “I learned it this way,” he grunted. “Doesn’t waste time.”
    Edie’s eyes grew even wider. An incoherent, almost soundless appeal came from the roof of her straining mouth. Theyoung women at the table and the group in the doorway watched in horror as her face grew red, then purple. Peter repeated his firm, sudden squeeze.
    He released her quickly; his deft, square fingers explored the open mouth. “No chunk of food,” he said abruptly. “Can’t get my fingers in her gullet, but her tongue’s not turned back.”
    He grasped the girl’s stiff body again in a spasmodic embrace and, as he did, shouted over his shoulder, “Call the hospital, Jadine.”
    Helen Latham was already at the telephone in the front hallway. “The ambulance is on its way,” she told them calmly. “Don’t worry, she’ll be fine.”
    “Shall I get her coat and things?” Lolly asked timidly.
    “Hurry up, then,” her mother said. “I’m going to follow the ambulance in the station wagon to be sure everything’s under control, and you might as well come along.”
    “She didn’t get a chance to make her birthday wish,” Jadine said as, seconds later, they