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But even with a maid, the running of so large a household was an arduous undertaking, and Rachel Coppage thought herself entitled to half an hour's rest each afternoon before she began preparations for supper for the seven of them. This was always a major business because the children were sometimes finicky -one wouldn't touch collard greens, another couldn't abide fish - and Larry himself almost gagged at the smell of baked sweet potatoes. And of course the baby had to be fed separately. The children, who were noisy enough at other times, seemed hardly to breathe between six-thirty and seven, when their mother's bedroom door was closed and locked. Even the baby slept peacefully in its wicker bassinet at the foot of the bed for that half hour, and after taking the phone off its hook, Larry sat in the den to read the
Birmingham News
front to back.

When Rachel woke this early Wednesday evening, she rose from the bed, straightened the covers placidly and kissed the baby, which woke softly at the touch of its mother's lips. Then she sat before her dresser, and stared at herself in the mirror. This was not mere vanity, but a part of her routine which she considered absolutely necessary for waking up; for Rachel Coppage, it was the most delicious two minutes of the day.

While she sat on the little wicker bench, with her hands folded in her lap, thinking only that she felt very pleasant indeed after her short nap, she noticed the necklace that Larry had brought back to her from the Howells'. He had laid it atop her jewellery case. She stared at it, still wondering what could have possessed Jo Howell to send it over to her. Usually when Rachel got a piece of jewellery as a gift, it was a rhinestone clip in the shape of a poodle or something like that; this piece seemed very stylish, but also very peculiar. She was almost positive she had never seen another like it.

It occurred to Rachel suddenly that maybe it was really Sarah that had given it to her and that Larry had misunderstood. Rachel liked Sarah, but because Rachel couldn't stand Dean it had not been possible for the two women to become close. Sarah realised this and had not pushed the relationship. But why would Sarah send her a present out of the blue - unless it was to thank her for the two casseroles that she had carried over on the day after Dean got back from tlje Fort Rucca infirmary. It was the kind of thing that Rachel would have done for almost anybody in town, but maybe no one else had done it and Sarah felt grateful to her. Rachel felt better about the gift when she allowed herself to think that Sarah had sent it over. Rachel liked the necklace and wanted to keep it.

She picked it up, and weighed it in her hand. It was heavier than she had remembered. It looked to be real gold, but that was impossible of course; the Howells didn't have money, and there was no reason for Rachel to think that even if they did have any they would be spending it on gifts for her. They ought to be buying themselves a car first, for instance.

Rachel brought the chain close to her eyes, looking for the clasp, for it was very small and she had trouble locating it. It seemed just another two links, and she couldn't figure out at first how it worked: there was no pin or spring or screw. She touched it lightly with her finger, and to her great surprise, the catch - or whatever it was - flew open, and the necklace came apart in her hands. She lifted it around her neck, wondering how she was going to get it back together, when it suddenly snapped shut, just as mysteriously.
Well,
she said to herself, /
sure do wish every

piece of jewellery I had went on and came off this easy ...

The pendant felt just a little heavier than was entirely comfortable over Rachel's breast but she considered, as she looked into the mirror, that it became her marvellously. She sighed, and thought the unexpected acquisition a very happy one. In the mirror she caught the reflection of the clock behind her, and realised that she was a little past her time and that she ought to be downstairs already, getting supper together. She reached back around her neck, intending to take the amulet off, but could not find the catch. She pulled the chain all the way around looking for it, but the thing appeared to be made of uninterrupted links. She could not pull it over her head. She laughed at herself, blaming her slight grogginess for her momentary blindness and told herself that she would take it off after supper.

She opened the bedroom door, and the whole house seemed to sigh in relief. Suddenly, from down the hall, several small voices began to argue over a toy; the dog barked downstairs, the television set was turned on, and behind Rachel, the baby began to ciy.

Normally, this sudden onslaught of noise would not have bothered her. It happened every night; she had grown used to it, and even found it a reassuring bother. But tonight there was something about the noise that irked her horribly. It pressed in on her, but even more wretchedly pressing were the responsibilities that the noises represented: the house, the children, the husband. Her whole life had been subsumed by these six loathsome creatures. She told herself that she had only chosen one of them - Larry - and he had been a mistake. The others had been foisted on her. They had taken everything away from her, and left her with nothing; she wondered that she had got through so many years of it, and wondered even more darkly how she was going to get through another night.

Rachel screamed out for the children to shut up, she slammed the bedroom door on the crying baby, stormed down the stairs and kicked the dog out the front door. She turned off the television set in the middle of the sports report, and didn't reply at all when Larry in great surprise asked what the matter was.

She pulled the kitchen door to behind her, and locked it. This had never been done before. Larry wondered greatly at it, and feared for the rest of the evening. Half an hour later, Rachel unhooked the door and commanded them all inside for supper. Larry and the four children who were walking came in meekly and sat down without a word; there was not the shadow of incipient bickering to be found among them. Their mother was upset, and though they didn't know why, it was obviously best at these times (and she had never seemed so bad as this) not to cross her.

Not even her husband ventured to say anything, for he feared that he was somehow the cause of this anger. He didn't want to get into a fight with Rachel at all, and especially not in front of the children. Rachel told them all to get on with it, and then she left the room. While she was gone, Lany questioned the children in whispers: had they done anything to bother their mother that day, or did they know of anything that might have happened to upset her? The children shook their heads with troubled mystification. In a few moments, Rachel returned with the infant in her arms, sat down huffily at the end of the table, and began to feed the baby with a bottle of warm milk.

It was the quietest and most.wretched meal that had ever been consumed in that household. Whenever one of the children looked about to speak, Rachel stared him down so hard he choked on his food. They hardly dared to ask for the salt, and pointed out to one another which bowls and platters were to be passed. The children were so unused to this extremity of ill treatment from their mother, this unwholesome sternness directed at them altogether, that they began to feel sick. And even Larry suffered a queasiness in his lower intestines.

As soon as the food could be bolted down, the children asked to be excused, and Larry indicated that he wouldn't have any coffee, but might watch television for a little while. 'That is', he said quietly, 'if you don't think the noise will bother you.'

'Do what you want', she said briefly, and cast over him a chilling glance of absolute loathing.

One of the children, the eldest girl, bravely ventured to tell her mother that she felt ill. 'It's my stomach', she said. The other children nodded vigorously. The baby spit up its milk.

'Go upstairs and lie down', said their mother, without any apparent concern. 'When I finish here, I '11 come up and see how you're doing.'

'Rachel', said Larry hesitantly, i feel funny too. You think there might have been something wrong with the pork chops?'

'Nothing wrong with the pork chops. I had one a while ago, and I feel fine. Go watch television.'

Larry sighed. At least she had spoken to them. Maybe she would get over whatever it was that had her on edge. Maybe, he ventured to hope, there wouldn't be any fight at all.

The four children left the kitchen quietly; they went upstairs, following their mother's directions, and lay in their beds. In a few minutes, Larry turned off the television and went upstairs after them. He passed their bedrooms, and heard their muffled groans through the closed doors. He would have stopped to see about them, but was in too much pain himself. He pushed open the door of the guest room and fell across the bed - he had not been certain that he would make it to his own bedroom at the end of the hall.

Less than an hour later that evening, Sarah Howell was alone in her kitchen. The room was dark but for a single fixture above the sink. Here Sarah stood, washing the day's dishes, and staring with a small smile out into the yard that separated Jo Howell's house from that of Becca Blair.

This was the first time in the entire day that Sarah had been wholly alone, and she was enjoying the restfulness of it. The noises of the plant had been left behind, and the hundred women and men all trying to chatter and gossip over a staggering number of decibels. Jo and Dean were in the far part of the house, and it was with some relish that Sarah calculated the number of steps that lay between her and them. She imagined the dark kitchen behind her, how she would have to move slowly across that tiled floor, to keep from knocking into the table. And the living room was dark as well, and cluttered, so that she would have had to proceed even more cautiously. At last she would reach the little hall, which would have to be crossed, and that was at least a couple more steps, and then, even standing at the closed door of the room in which Jo watched over her son, Sarah could have chosen not to knock at all, could have decided that it was best not to turn the knob.

Ana in front of Sarah, out the window, was a flat piece of grassy ground, empty and still. Two fingers of concrete pointed up from the street and Becca's two-door purple Pontiac rested just within Sarah's sight. The moon was out, and full, and the empty yard was illumined with a dim, grey light that was peaceful and chill.

Becca Blair's house was dark, but Sarah could see only her kitchen and dining room windows, and it was probable that there were lights in rooms on the other side. But while Sarah looked out the window, Becca's kitchen light was switched on, and in only another moment, the back porch light. Becca Blair flung herself out the back door; a rosary swung and glinted in her hands. The screen door slammed sharply behind her.

Sarah leaned forward over the sink and put her face near the screen of the open window. Becca ran up to the house and looked up at her friend. Excitedly, she cried, 'Coppage house gone up in flames! Larry and Rachel and ever' one of them five kids still inside! You come out here, Sarah, and you can see the smoke!'

Quickly, Sarah stepped outside and joined her friend. They moved together to the street in front of the houses and gazed in the direction of the Coppage house. A siren started up to their left, where the fire station was located a few blocks away. The house was too distant for them to see flames, but frighteningly, the stars in a large section of sky, in the direction of the Coppage house, were obscured beneath a veil of smoke that was black as the night.

Sarah turned when she heard Becca's car being cranked-up in the driveway. Margaret leaned out the window and cried, 'Get in! We'll go on over there!'

'We'd be fire chasers', said Sarah doubtfully. 'Ought not chase fires.'

'Oh, come on', said Becca, 'let's go. It's not like we don't know who the people are, not like we won't try to do ever'thing we can to help 'em - if they's any of 'em that's left alive by the time we get there. Come on, Sarah!' She opened the door of the car, and slipped into the back seat. 'Get in, honey! And Margaret', she said to her daughter, 'you watch out for that fire engine! We don't want to get into no accidental collision on our way over there! You hear me?'

'I hear you, Mama', said Margaret, and when Sarah had pulled the door shut, the car screeched out into the street and away they flew to where the Coppage house was burning to the ground.

'How'd youhear?' asked Sarah. 'I mean, how'd youknow it was the Coppage house that was burning? We didn't even hear the sirens until we got out in the yard!'

'No, it was me that heard, Sarah', said Margaret, with a little pride. 'The Nelsons live right next door to 'em, in that little green house with the dogwoods right out in front - you know the place I mean - and Mary-Louise is a good friend of mine, and she called me up just as soon as she saw the flames. She didn't really call me up, 'cause we were already on the phone, but when she saw the flames she told me what was happening and then hung up to call the fire department and I told Mama!'

On the drive over to the Coppage house - and half the population of Pine Cone that lived below Commercial Boulevard seemed on its way to the other side - Sarah told Becca and Margaret, in a hushed whisper, that just that afternoon, not two hours before, Larry Coppage had come over to the house to see Dean.

'Well', said Becca, 'it's probably a good thing he come over when he did, 'cause it'd be just awful if Larry or Rachel or one of them kids got burned the way Dean did at Rucca. Lany and Dean used to be such good friends, and if something happened to Larry, I'm glad he and Dean had the chance to make it up between 'em