before Christmas, there was both a heavy snowfall and a long freeze, and Margaret took Lawrence to ice-skate. That fall, she had the boys with her quite often, because Beatrice was again with child and not feeling well (“The sure sign of a girl,” said Lavinia). Everyone in town younger than sixty congregated on the ice, which was in a low-lying lot south of the town square and not far from the hotel. She saw Captain Early as soon as he arrived, and well before he saw her guiding Lawrence with two hands along the edge of the ice. She watched as Captain Early strapped on his skates, which made him even taller, and affixed his top hat more firmly on his head (still taller), and sailed among the other skaters like a schooner among sloops (she had yet to see, except in pictures, either a schooner or a sloop, but they were naval, he was naval—it was a good comparison). And then she felt a sort of pleasing dread as he skated toward her. He took off his hat, and his smile was as big as she had ever seen it. In order not to glare, she kept her gaze on Lawrence until she had made her own face welcoming. He said, “All factions foregather upon the glazed surface.”
“You’ve returned.”
“Time has stopped, indeed, Miss Mayfield.”
She said, “Pardon me?”
“I was assaying a little joke. My responsibilities in Washington have to do with ascertaining the exact time, for naval purposes, by measuring the progress of the stars. While I am here, therefore—”
They smiled together. She said, “This is my nephew Lawrence. He’s doing quite well today.”
Captain Early clapped his hat back on his head and seemed to collapse, but in fact he was only squatting down to speak with Lawrence, who quailed, though he was normally a rowdy boy and not easily daunted. Captain Early’s voice seemed to surround them. “Two plus two!” he demanded.
“Four,” said Lawrence. His own age, thought Margaret.
“Three plus three!”
“Six.” (A softer voice.)
“Four plus four!”
“Eight.” (Very quiet.) This one Margaret was surprised the boy knew.
“Five plus five!”
Something inaudible emerged from Lawrence. She bent down and said, “What do you reply to Captain Early?”
Lawrence now yelled in the defiant manner she was more familiar with, “I said ‘Enough!’”
Captain Early barked out a laugh and said, “Indeed, ten is often enough.” He laughed again, and Lawrence laughed with him, his sassiness fully restored.
Then Captain Early shook her hand heartily, and skated away. She watched him in the crowd. Most people stared at him. He exchanged greetings with a few, but no lengthy conversations. One or two people looked from him to her and back again.
Later that week, Lavinia and Margaret were invited to the Earlys’ for supper. The horse and the sleigh came for them. Once again the house was warm, and once again the supper was very good, and just a little more festive. Mrs. Hitchens nodded agreeably and said, “Yes. Oh, yes, indeed,” every time Captain Early spoke. But this time Captain Early didn’t speak much. He complimented his mother on the supper, told them that the exposition was still behindhand, and allowed as how some of the athletic performances scheduled to take place that summer, at the Olympic Games, which had been moved from Chicago to St. Louis, could well be “enlightening.” Mrs. Hitchens asked what the Olympic Games were, and they were told that these were a competition between amateur athletes from all parts of the world.
“Don’t you remember?” said Mrs. Early. “They had them in Greece several years ago, and then in Paris.”
Lavinia and Mrs. Early discussed Christmas greenery and scarlet fever, and Margaret told how Aurelius had finally died—“a blessing not to go through the winter,” said Lavinia, and possibly Beatrice would send them another horse, “but horses are such a bother,” and everyone nodded, including Captain Early, who said, “Everyone will have an automobile soon enough,” and Lavinia said, “Can you imagine?” Margaret could tell Lavinia was uncomfortable, because her tone of voice got suspiciously brighter each time she spoke, and then she said, suddenly, “You know, Margaret here once witnessed a hanging. A public hanging. But she doesn’t remember a thing about it.”
“Indeed!” said Mrs. Early, but gracefully, as if Lavinia were still talking about Aurelius.
“She was five, or almost. It was the day Elizabeth was born. Her brother Lawrence took her. I don’t know what he was thinking.”
“I remember that,” said Mrs. Early. “It was quite an event. The last