Árdís - 01.01.1953, Qupperneq 55

Ársrit Bandalags lúterskra kvenna
53
that smelled of alcohol and drugs, on head and rash. Leaving Cecilia
May asleep on the settee in the sun room, Grace did the wash. She
was hanging it out, when her new neighbor, Alice Peake, called.
“How was the baby last night?” She spoke in a breathless
manner brushing back a brown wisp of hair across her cheek. With-
out waiting for an answer, she went on. “Marge told us about the
baby. We all think you are wonderful. Just a sec.” She ducked
back into her house, appearing again with a tray. “Let’s sit on your
stoop.” Pouring coffee from a thermos, she said. “I’m sure ready
for this.”
Taking a sip, Grace said, “It’s delicious cofíee.”
“Washing by hand sure is hard.” Alice crunched the crisp
toast with strong teeth. “But you can’t have everything,” she
added with a smile. “We’re dishing out money for the house, and
furniture, and fridge, and stove. And on top of all that we get our
baby, Danny.” She smiled again, and shrugged a slim shoulder.
“One can’t have everything.”
“My dear,” Grace said, “you’re welcome to use my washing
machine. I’m sorry I didn’t offer it before.”
Alice gave a startled look. “Do you really mean that? That
would be super.” She placed the cups on the tray. “How’s the
baby?”
“She had a good breakfast, and now is sleeping.”
“Dr. Mike — everyone calls him that — is certainly wonderful
with those children. Ugly puglies, he calls them. Marge is wonder-
ful too.”
“Are these two young people engaged to be married?” Grace
asked, remembering the glances of love flashed between them.
“No.” Alice tucked the wisp of hair behind her ear. “They’re
crazy about each other. But Dr. Mike has some silly idea about
marriage. Says he’ll never marry.”
She started off with the tray, then turnéd. “This afternoon we
girls are bringing some things over for the baby.”
Cecilia May, wearing a fresh flanelette gown, was cooing on
the divan when Grace heard a noise on the porch, then the bell.
Opening the door she saw two strange young women with a baby
buggy.
“I’m Betty McLean,” the brown-haired one said. “And this is