Midge Gette: The more the sexier

"To tell the truth, Sharon, I'd rather have this cottage myself, but then, I'm a pretty ordinary housewife."

"I don't think you're ordinary at all, and that business about you not being educated-you don't talk at all like Brownie and her crew."

Beth laughed warmly. "Well, thank you, Sharon. My husband and I have worked hard to learn our grammar for our son's sake. We just couldn't let our boy be ashamed of his old ma and pa."

"He'd be a real kook if he were. I think he's lucky to have a mother like you. I wish I did-" Sharon frowned. It was just too easy to talk to this woman. "My mother's all right," she added quickly, not wanting to incur Mrs. Harrow's disapproval. "I'm really the bad one of our family," she confessed. "I just don't seem to know how to like the rest of them."

Beth was silent for a moment, then she sighed softly. "You are like your uncle," she said at last. "I hope you two become better acquainted, Sharon"-she turned a troubled gaze on the girl. "He isn't very happy either. Things have not worked out as he hoped."

"What things?" Sharon's rancor for her uncle stirred. "Do you mean he's sorry he made a fool of us?"

Beth Harrow set a bowl of salad on the table with unnecessary force. "I've said more than I should already," she said snappishly.

"Oh, gosh," Sharon sat down abruptly. "Me and my big mouth," she mourned. "Don't be mad at me, Mrs. Harrow. I'm just kind of mixed-up anyhow."

"I'll call the men to lunch," Mrs. Harrow said, but her tone softened and she gave Sharon a troubled smile, patting her shoulder. "You poor child," she said, and left the kitchen.

Sharon sat slouched, half-tempted to rise and leave, but held by the hope of understanding in Beth Harrow's tone and eyes.

And she really did not want to leave this kitchen, this cottage, that smelled of sweet domesticity and was snug in the warmth of human kindness. She felt lost and angry and at odds with herself, and most of all, she wanted to be liked by Beth Harrow and feel at home again somewhere.

Uncle Nate came into the kitchen behind the Harrows, beaming to find her here. "Well, well, Sharon," he said, "what a nice surprise."

"Hi, Uncle Nate." She got to her feet awkwardly, wondering why she had never noticed how blue his eyes were. "Mrs. Harrow asked me to lunch," she said like a child.

John Harrow laughed gently. "I wondered how long it would take Mother to lure some young one to our door," he said, his own blue eyes twinkling.

Sharon tilted her head toward the tall man, deciding she liked him. "She didn't lure me," she said with a grin. "I just butted in."

Her uncle chuckled. "Ah, yes," he nodded, "it's what I did myself, Sharon, but these good folks don't hold it against us,"

"Sit, sit, all of you," Beth Harrow ordered. "Nate, you old rascal, you know we love having you any time-and Sharon, too."

"Now Mother will have an ally against the two of us, eh, Nate?" John Harrow laughed. "This uncle of yours," he told Sharon, "is quite a chess master. Keeps me on my toes!"

"I never could understand the game," remarked Beth. "And what gets me, Sharon, is that their games never seem to end."

Sharon was amazed at how quickly comfortable she was with them and with what ease the conversation flowed. Beth Harrow kept the talk quite cleverly away from the personal. Sharon decided that, education or no education, Mrs. Harrow certainly did not lack intelligence. The girl kept stealing looks at her uncle, although she avoided addressing him directly.

Uncle Nate was a rather comical-looking little man and yet rather handsome, she decided presently. His high color, and hair that stood up on his head in white tufts, stressed in an eye-catching way the hurting blue of his eyes. He had deep dimples in his

otherwise amazingly unlined face. He'sLike A Rosy Cherub , she thought, or a roly-poly Santa Claus. This latter thought made her frown. After all, he was the cause of her disrupted life. Still, it was interesting to be looking at him and really seeing him after months of going out of her way to avoid acknowledging his existence. And she liked the Harrows and they liked him. Sharon prided herself in her fair-mindedness. It was just possible that she would have to revise her opinion of Uncle Nate.

She talked and laughed and thoroughly enjoyed the lunch, but all the while her mind hummed with unanswered questions. Mrs. Harrow had said Uncle Nate was lonesome, and that things had not worked out as he hoped. What had he hoped for? And why did he talk to the Harrows about her? Did he think her the ingrate her mother insisted she was? Why was he here in the gardener's cottage when he could be anywhere in the world he wished? And for that matter, why was she here? And why, why was she feeling the first little ripplings of happiness and hope she had not felt for too long?

Sharon was not one to let well enough alone. She had to have answers, but at the moment could not devise a method of approach to this little man she had, she supposed, treated with open contempt. Beth Harrow solved her problem neatly.

"John and I have to get back to work," she announced when the meal ended. "Your uncle always insists upon doing the dishes, Sharon. Would you like to stay and help him?"

Sharon hesitated, surprised to find herself shy, but John Harrow bridged the moment with laughter. "You'll get used to Mother before long, Sharon," he said. "In this house everyone sings for his supper, as Nate here has found out."

"Now, Dad, you stop that. Half the time Nate pushes me out of my own kitchen. He's quite a cook, did you know that, Sharon?"

Sharon shook her head, bothered by a small thrust of jealousy at her uncle's obvious popularity. To be liked by the Harrows became very important. "I'll sing for my supper any time you let me," she said, and for a moment her glance met Uncle Nate's eyes. "Do you want me to stay and help?" she asked.

He dabbed at his lips with his napkin while above its whiteness his blue eyes danced. "I'll wash, you dry," he said. "And you two run along. Together Sharon and I will have these dishes done up in no time."

Sharon's heart gave an odd leap. What a nice word that was-together. And what a nice way he was looking at her-almost as if he liked her.

"Well, let's get at it," she said gruffly.

The Harrows left laughing, and the two behind them did not see the quick, pleased look they exchanged.

"I tell you, Dad," Beth Harrow said when they were alone, "that girl could be just what Nate needs, if she'd let herself."

"You're a very conniving woman, Beth Harrow."

Beth laughed. "Oh, some people just need a little push," she replied in an offhand manner. "And I like Sharon. I don't think she's ever had any real mothering, the poor little thing."

"Well, you'll remedy that or my name's not John Harrow."

She made a face at his sly, teasing tone. "Oh, go tend your roses," she said. "I don't know which of you is the worse tease-you or your son!" And although all she went forward to was endless cleaning of what she felt was a loveless house, she walked with the light step of a happy woman.

"What do you suppose she's up to, Mother?"

Debbie Carlson swished about her mother's sitting room in a floor-length gown of shimmering blue and slightly muted gold the color of her beautifully coiffured hair. It was the following evening and she and her husband were about to leave for a formal party. She had stopped in at her mother's room to be admired before leaving, and the talk had turned to Sharon's strange behavior.

"It does seem odd that she's become so suddenly chummy with Nate," her mother said in answer, "but it's better than walking about glowering at everybody."