vitality, or perhaps life had done that to her, Catherine thought. She tried to recall
memories that she and her mother had shared, laughter that they had had together,
moments when their hearts had touched; but it was Catherine’s father who kept leaping
into her mind, smiling and eager and gay. It was as though her mother’s life was a pale
shadow that retreated before the sunlight of memory. Catherine stared at the waxen figure
of her mother in her casket, dressed in a simple black dress with a white collar, and
thought what a wasted life it had been. What had it all been for? The feelings Catherine
had had years ago came over her again, the determination to be somebody, leave a mark
on the world, so she would not end up in an anonymous grave with the world neither
knowing nor caring that Catherine Alexander had ever lived and died and been returned to
the earth.
Catherine’s Uncle Ralph and his wife, Pauline, flew in from Omaha for the funeral.
Ralph was ten years younger than Catherine’s father and totally unlike his brother. He was
in the vitamin mail-order business and very successful. He was a large, square man, square
shoulders, square jaw, square chin, and, Catherine was sure, a square mind. His wife was a
bird of a woman, all flutter and twitter. They were decent enough people, and Catherine
knew that her uncle had loaned a great deal of money to his brother, but Catherine felt that
she had nothing in common with them. Like Catherine’s mother, they were people without
dreams.
After the funeral, Uncle Ralph said that he wanted to talk to Catherine and her father.
They sat in the tiny living room of the apartment, Pauline flitting about with trays of
coffee and cookies.
“I know things have been pretty rough for you financially,” Uncle Ralph said to his
brother. “You’re too much of a dreamer, always were. But you’re my brother. I can’t let
you sink. Pauline and I talked it over. I want you to come to work for me.”
“In Omaha?”
“You’ll make a good, steady living and you and Catherine can live with us. We have
a big house.”
Catherine’s heart sank. Omaha! It was the end of all her dreams.
“Let me think it over,” her father was saying.
“We’ll be catching the six o’clock train,” Uncle Ralph replied. “Let me know before
we leave.”
When Catherine and her father were alone, hé groaned, “Omaha! I’ll bet the place
doesn’t even have a decent barber shop.”
But Catherine knew that the act he was putting on was for her benefit. Decent barber
shop or no, he had no choice. Life had finally trapped him. She wondered what it would
do to his spirit to have to settle down to a steady, dull job with regular hours. He would be
like a captured wild bird beating his wings against his cage, dying of captivity. As for
herself, she would have to forget about going to Northwestern University. She had applied
for a scholarship but had heard nothing. That afternoon her father telephoned his brother