wanted to seem eager to Blake. I hadn't wanted to say, "Doctor, when can I get out of this joint and the sooner the better."
It would fit the whole picture better if I continued to let him play the big shot, to let him think he'd guided me along.
Three days later in the morning Blake sent for me.
"Mrs. Meglund," he greeted me, "I feel you can go home anytime now. Have you plans? Perhaps you'll return to Northville."
I told him, no, I didn't think I'd do that. There was a little money left from my husband's insurance, I mentioned candidly, and I thought I'd travel a bit.
"Good," he nodded sagely. "When would you like to leave?"
I bit my lip and kept "Today, as soon as possible," from popping out.
"Oh, sometime tomorrow afternoon," I suggested with an airy wave of my hand as though I really didn't care to leave at all.
Vilma's smart don't you think?
"Tomorrow afternoon? Splendid?!" echoed Dr. Blake.
He talked to me further then for well over an hour, I'd say, and I struggled to keep any trace of boredom from my expression. He wrung my hand.
"I'll make all the necessary arrangements."
I left his office, for the last time I knew, and with my head turned away, I could feel the smirk of satisfaction ooze across my face.
As I walked through the corridor toward the wing, I contemplated with what I thought was justifiable glee, the life that lay ahead of me. And not having Ed holding me back was more advantage than disadvantage. I'd get by and more!
I climbed the one flight to my room. I supposed I'd better start getting some of my things together, but it was nearly lunchtime. I'd wait until afterward. I went to the window, looked out idly—and something hit me in the pit of the stomach. For there, the top of its upper structure almost on a level with my eyes, was Big Mike! I'd know that steam shovel anywhere! The red operator's cab on the left side, the rest of it drab-painted, the big bucket shovel—everything came back to me then.
The memory, the hysterical fear, the knowledge, yes, the definite knowledge that this was not something of dead steel and iron but an inspired, thinking murderous monster!
"Miss Meadows!" I tried to take the edge of screaming out of my voice. "Miss Meadows!"
I heard the nurse's heavy steps on the stairs outside my room. My nails bit into the palm of my hands as I fought for control. Miss Meadows came into the room.
"What's the matter, dear?"
I pointed out the window. "What's that doing out there?" I tried to keep my voice steady.
The nurse looked. "Oh, didn't you know? We're going to excavate to build onto this wing. It's just a steamshovel, my dear.
I knew she was taking in my white face and I put my hands behind my back to hide their trembling. But despite my efforts, fear ran away with me. I sat down suddenly on my bed because of the weakness in my knees.
"Miss Meadows," I gasped, "I've got
