“Here’s the letter,” she said, pulling it out of a pocket in her dress. “We knew you’d be anxious to hear.”
“Why didn’t you open it and then telephone me?” her mother asked.
“We could have done that,” Helen admitted, “but we thought you’d like to be the first to open and read it.”
“You’re so thoughtful,” murmured her mother. With hands that trembled in spite of her effort to be calm, she opened the letter and unfolded the single page it contained. Helen waited, tense, until her mother had finished.
“How’s Dad?” she asked.
“His letter is very cheerful,” replied Mrs. Blair, handing it to Helen. “Naturally he is tired but he says the climate is invigorating and he expects to feel better soon.”
“Of course he will,” agreed Helen.
“Where’s Tom?”
“The press broke down and he went to the garage to get Milt Pearsall.”
“I hope it’s nothing serious,” said her mother. “Is there something I can do?”