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"I know, but it was so awful looking," shuddered Abby. "And
before you tell me to be nice to him-- I was! I pretended not to notice the scar,
and he seemed to be doing fine... up until the pike took his line."
"Oh, Abby," sighed Terry.
"I know, I should have been more careful," said Abby, tying a leader onto
the end of her fly line.
"Wait until you get to know him better," reasoned Terry. "You'll be
easier around him then."
"Uncle Terry, I don't want to know him better," confessed Abby,
getting to her feet.
"Why?" pressed Terry.
"Because, he scares me!" exclaimed Abby.
"Why on earth should he scare you?" continued Terry with a puzzled look.
Abby hesitated.
"Maybe, it's different for you," mused Abby, "because you're a guy.
But every time he looks at me, I see so much pain in his eyes that it frightens me.
I can't explain it any better than that. Besides, after what happened yesterday,
he's better off not knowing me any better. After a few days around me, they'd probably
send him back to prison for a nervous breakdown!"
"I think you're selling yourself short," replied Terry, gathering up his
fishing gear, "but no one's pushing you at him. If you don't want to be his
friend, you don't have to be."
After a little more fishing, the two returned to the house.
Monday morning found Abby at home by herself. John and Terry had gone on a business
errand into Watertown, and Izumi was away visiting a neighbor on the other side of
Three Mile Bay. Abby had taken advantage of the quiet house, by resuming work on
her painting. She had gotten half way through the heron's left leg, when the telephone
interrupted her work.
"Hello?" she answered, placing the receiver between her right ear and shoulder
to free her hand for the paintbrush.
"This is Nick at the Old Mill Camp Ground," said the caller. "I understand
you people are letting Murphy rent your house."
"Yes, that's right," said Abby, a little surprised.
"Murphy's gone berserk," exclaimed Nick, "and he's hiding in the men's
bathroom! He's scaring the guests-- not to mention me! If John doesn't get down here
at once, and drag him out of there, I'm calling Sheriff Peterson!"
"My Dad isn't here right now," stalled Abby.
"Well, ONE of you better get down here," shouted Nick, "or I'm bringing
in the Sheriff! The only reason I haven't yet, is because it will frighten away the
campers!"
"I'm on my way," replied Abby, reluctantly.
She hurried on a jacket and shoes, and ran to the garage to get her jeep. The wind
whipped through her hair as she made her way down the main street to the Old Mill
Camp Ground, a few miles away. On the drive there, Abby could barely make out her
own thoughts. She didn't want to come, but there was no one else.
When she pulled into the parking lot, Nick came out to meet her.
"He's in the men's restroom!" grumbled Nick.
As Nick led the way, a small crowd of curious people gathered in front of the restroom.
"How is he?" asked Abby, venturing a question.
"How should I know?" growled Nick. "No one's gone in there!"
"Oh no," Abby muttered to herself. "I get to be the first one!" |
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