‘Well, yes, that is what I meant. It was over too fast. He Goodness, you know who drove me to Butler. Chuck. Charles Perkins. He's sweet, cher papa, but... he knows less about it than I do.'

So I would expect. I taught you, and you were an apt student.'

‘Did you teach Audrey... before she got married?'

‘Your mother taught her.'

‘So? I suspect that you taught me more. Uh, was Audrey's marriage sponsored by the Howard Foundation? Is that how she met Jerome?'

‘That is a question never asked Maureen. It would be polite not even to speculate.'

‘Well, excuse my bare face!'

‘I won't excuse your naked manners. I never discuss your private affairs with your siblings; you should not ask me about theirs.'

I suddenly felt the curb bit. ‘I'm sorry, sir. This is all new to me.'

‘Yes. This young man these young men - will all be acceptable prospects... or, if I don't approve of one, I'll tell you why and not permit him in my house. But in addition to everything else, each one will have four living grandparents.'

‘What's special about that? I not only have four living grandparents but also eight living great-grandparents. Have I not?'

‘Yes. Although Grandpaw McFee is a waste of space. If he had died at ninety-five he would have been better off. But that is what this is all about, dear daughter; Ira Howard wanted his fortune used to extend human life. The Foundation trustees have chosen to treat it as if it were a stock breeding problem. Do you recall the papers on Loafer, and the reason I paid a high price for him? Or the papers on Clytemnestra?

You have long life in your ancestry, Maureen, all branches. If you marry a young man on the list, your children will have long life in all their branches.'

Father turned in his seat and looked me in the eye. ‘But nobody - nobody! - is asking you to do anything. If you authorise me to submit your name - not today but let's say next year - it simply means that you will have six or eight or ten or more additional suitors to choose from, instead of being effectively limited to the few young men near your age in Lyle County. If you decide to marry Charles Perkins, I won't say a word. He's healthy, he's well behaved. And he's not my cup of tea. But he may be yours.'

(He's not my cup of tea, either, papa. I guess I was just using him. But I've promised him a return match... so I must.)

‘Father, suppose we hold off until next year?'

‘I think that is sound judgement, Maureen. In the meantime, don't get pregnant and try not to get caught. Oh, by the way - if you submit your name and a young man on the list comes along, if you wish, you can try him out on the parlour sofa: He smiled. ‘More convenient and safer than the judges' stand.'

‘Mother would have heart failure!'

‘No, she would not. Because that is exactly the arrangement her mother provided for her... and that is why Edward was officially a premature baby. Because it is stupid to go the Howard route, then find out after you're committed by marriage vows that the mo of you are infertile with each other.'

I had no answer. Mother... my mother who thought ‘breast' was a dirty word and that ‘belly' was outright profanity... Mother with her bloomers off, bouncing her bawdy buttocks on Grandma Pfeiffer's sofa, making a baby, out of wedlock, while Grandma and Grandpa pretended not to know what was going on. It was easier to believe in virgin birth and transubstantiation and resurrection and Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny. We are strangers, all of us, family most of all.

Shortly we pulled into the Jackson Igo place, eighty acres, mostly rocks and hills, a shack and a sorry barn. Mr Igo cropped it a bit but it didn't seem possible that the place supported him and his thin, tired wife and his swarm of dirty children. Mostly Jackson Igo cleaned cesspools and built privies.

Some of those children and half a dozen dogs gathered round our buggy; one boy ran shouting into the house. Presently Mr Igo came out.

Father called out, ‘Jackson!'

‘Yeah, Doc.'

‘Get these dogs away from my rig.'

‘They ain't no harm.'

‘Do it. I won't have them jumping up on me.'

‘Jest as you say, Doc. Cleveland! Jefferson! Get them hounds! Take ‘em around back.'

The order was carried out; Father got down with a quiet word over his shoulder, ‘Stay in the buggy.'

Father was inside their shack only a short time, which suited me, as the oldest boy, Caleb, my age or near it, was pestering me to get down and come see a new litter of pigs. I knew him from school, where he had attended fifth grade for some years. He was, in my opinion, a likely candidate for lynching if some father did not kill him first. I had to tell him to get away from Daisy and quit bothering her; he was causing her to toss her head and back away from him. I took the whip out of its socket to point up my words.

I was glad to see Father reappear.

He climbed into the buggy without a word. I clucked to Daisy and we got out of there. Father was frowning like a thunder cloud, so I kept quiet.

A quarter of a mile down the road he said, ‘Please pull over on to the grass,' so I did, and said to Daisy, ‘Whoa, girl,' and waited.

‘Thank you, Maureen. Will you help me wash, please?'

‘Certainly, sir.' This buggy, used for his country calls and specially built by the carriage-wrights who built his racing sulkies, had a larger baggage space in the back, with a rain cover. In it was carried a number of items that Father might need on a call but which did not belong in his black bag. One was a coal-oil can with a spout, filled with water, and a tin basin, and soap and towelling.

This time he wanted me to pour water over his hands. Then he soaped them; I rinsed them by pouring. He shook them dry; then washed them all over again in the basin and dried them after shaking, on clean towelling.

He sighed. ‘That's better. I did not sit down in there, I did not touch anything I could avoid touching. Maureen, remember that bathtub we used in Chicago?'

‘I certainly do!' The World's Fair had been an endless wonder and I'll never forget my first view of the Lake and my first ride on a railroad train up high in the air... but I dreamed about that tub, all white enamel, and hot water up to my chin. I could be seduced for a hot bath. They say every woman has her price. That's mine.

‘Mrs Malloy charged us two bits for each bath. This minute I would happily pay her two dollars. Maureen, I need glycerine and rose water. In my bag. Please.'

Father compounded this lotion himself and it was intended primarily for chapped hands. Right now he needed it to soothe his hands against the strong lye soap he had just used.

Once back on the road he said, ‘Maureen, that baby was dead long before Jackson Igo sent for me. Since last night, I estimate.'

I tried to feel sorry about that baby. But growing up in that household was no fate to wish on anyone. ‘Then why did he send for you?'

‘To bless the death. To get me to write a death certificate, to keep him from trouble with the law when he buries it... which he is probably doing this very minute. Primarily to cause me - and you - to make a six-mile round trip to save himself the trouble of harnessing his mule and coming into town.' Father laughed without mirth. ‘He kept pointing out that I couldn't charge him for a call since I didn't get there before the baby died. I finally said, "Shut up, Jackson. You haven't paid me a cent since Cleveland beat Harrison." He said something about hard times and how this administration never does anything for the farmer.'

Father sighed. I didn't argue with him; he had a point.

Maureen, you've been keeping my books this past year, would you say these were hard times?'

That brought me up sharp. I had been thinking about the Howard Foundation and Chuck's pretty penis. ‘I don't know, Father. But I know that you have far more on the books than you ever get paid. He noticed something else, too: the worst of the deadbeats would rather owe you a dollar for a house call than fifty cents for an office visit. Like Jackson Igo.'