"Kennedy, Leigh - Belling Martha" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kennedy Leigh)

And far away, her father yelled her name through cupped hands. "Martha, I love you!"




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From the jeep she could see broken-down houses. To her left, she noticed the tall outline of buildings she'd seen distantly for years. They seemed close and large, and yet still a coherent shape.
A wish came to MarthaЧperhaps if she couldn't find her father, maybe her aunt could take his place.

After she'd first been taken to the Christian camp, she'd been bitter and angry, feeling deserted by the only person that had ever meant anything to her. His few letters to her there had eventually made her realize that he had thought it was the best thing for her. During the numb years at the camp, Martha mouthed the phrases and sang the verses, but they hadn't touched her. She'd made adequate, tentative friendships, but none so profound that she would grieve at separation.

She leaned back and slid down the seat, face turned outward passively to watch the scenery. She'd seen picture in old books of cities, but all this seemed a ruined imitation. Dried weeds poked out of the thin crust of snow. Parts of houses had been hacked away, probably for firewood or to patch other houses. Fleetingly, she saw someone prying a window frame from an abandoned garage. She saw one tree enclosed within a fence.

Slowing down, the driver spoke for the first time to Martha. "Is this it?"

Martha looked at the house beyond the posts of what had once been a chain-link fence. The house was a square two-story with symmetrical windows. "I don't know," she said.

She followed the policeman up the path to the house. The roof overhung the door a bit, but looked chopped away. A layer of gritty snow covered the boxes and other odd shapes on the porch. The policeman pounded on the door and turned toward the street uneasily.

When the door opened, four people stood behind a heavy mesh. Others looked through the parted drapes. The policeman unfolded a piece of paper and held it out. "Is there a Jennifer Skill here?"

It reminded Martha of the time she'd first arrived at the camp. Faces, faces, looking back at her.

A woman came forward out of the other room and stood behind the mesh. "What do you want?"

Martha couldn't superimpose her father's stories of his childhood companion on this tight-lipped, thin woman.

"This girl claims you'll take her in."

Jenny Skill looked at Martha speculatively. "Who is she?"

"Martha Gail Skill, she says," said the policeman.

"Where's my daddy?" Martha asked her.

No answers came for a moment. The policeman and Martha stared inward and the others stared outward and no one said anything. Jenny reached above her head and there were sounds of metal locks slipping as her hands crept down the side of the mesh.

The door opened. Martha stepped inside and stood behind her aunt. The policeman thrust his notebook in the door. "Sign this," he said. "She has no papers. You'll have to get them for her in ten days or pay the fines."

Jenny only nodded as she signed the paper.

After the policeman left, Jenny took Martha's coat collar between her thumb and forefinger and guided her into the living room. Furniture crowded the room, as if several households' worth of things had to be arranged in a single place.

Fifteen or so people came into the room, some sitting on the sofas or chairs, but most stood around them. Jenny lifted her chin. "She's kin to me and I'll take responsibility for her. You know that she's my brother Harry's kid, but she won't pull anything here." Then Jenny took Martha's jaw in her hand and jerked her face around so that Martha stared straight into Jenny's eyes. "Will you?" she said.

"Where's my daddy?" Martha whispered. She felt a cramping in her lower gut. The bright electric bulb overhead, the strangers all intent on her presence, and Jenny's roughness confused her.