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storm of rage that threatened to blow out the very walls of our house. In the midst of that. I heard what people called the eye of the storm, the silence right

before a hurricane resumes.

I had been outside most of the afternoon. I saw

Dave return from work. He had gone into the store

early and was off. He had the mail in his hands,

waved to me, and went into the house. A little more

than an hour later. Betsy drove in, her radio blaring as

usual, the car spitting up dust as she tore up part of the

driveway and jerked it into the spot behind Dave's car. It was late fall now. The days were shorter, the

afternoons especially abbreviated. Years of

experience in nature told me that the cooler breezes

were foretelling an early winter. There were years

when it actually snowed hard in October and the

temperatures dropped to below freezing quickly. I put all my tools away carefully and started

toward the house. As I walked, I remembered my dog.

Cleo, and how he had enjoyed following me about

everywhere and how I enjoyed having him at my

heels. He had filled the dark holes of loneliness and

made my life here more than just bearable. Maybe I

should get Mama to let me have another dog. I

thought, but then I thought it would be heartbreaking

if she came to harbor the same suspicions she had of

Cleo. I was really beginning to feel sorry for myself.

Despite the brave and indifferent front I put up

between myself and Betsy, her continual criticism,

sarcasm, and challenges were having an effect. I could

feel myself breaking down. I had come close to losing

my temper a number of times since her accusations

about me and Mama. I was tired of her lording over

me, threatening to do this and that to cause Mama to