Rockport had never looked so little as it did from the air. The plane circled the town at dusk, just as the stewardess finished serving supper, and as Peggy looked down from the oval window next to her seat, she saw the street lights suddenly flick on, section by section, all over the town. The familiar streets glowed under their canopies of trees, the houses were almost hidden under other trees and, in the center of the town, a few neon lights added warmth and color.
Peggy hardly knew what she felt for the place where she had been born and where she had lived her whole life. A wave of tenderness came over her for Rockport, so small and homelike, surrounded by its farms and forests and lakes. And at the same time, she compared this view from the air with the sight of New York, towering and dramatic in the afternoon sunshine. Who could settle for Rockport, after breathing the excitement of the giant city? Still ... she wondered if New York could ever be to her the home that Rockport was.
The somewhat bumpy runway of Armory Field was under their wheels. Peggy was home again. But in her mind, she was still in the city, starting her new and wonderful life.
After quickly unpacking and changing to a skirt and blouse more suitable to Rockport than the smart traveling suit she had worn on the plane, Peggy came running downstairs. Her father sat in his easy chair reading the two issues of the Eagle that had come out in his absence. Her mother sat in the wing chair opposite, working serenely on her needle point. To look at them, Peggy thought, one would suppose that they had never left home, that nothing at all had changed from what it had been two days ago.
“I’m going out for a while,” she announced. “I’ve just got to tell Jean right away, or I’ll burst for sure!”
“All right, dear,” Mrs. Lane said. “But don’t stay out too late. You’ve had an exciting day, and you’re going to need some sleep.”
With a wave of her hand, Peggy left and, whistling boyishly, skipped down the front steps. Once on the street, the last of her grown-up reserve left her, and she ran all the way to the Wilson house to arrive, panting and breathlessly bright-eyed, a few moments later.
“Jean’s down at the Sweet Shop,” Mrs. Wilson said, “but I know she’ll want to see you. I’ll call and tell her not to leave, and you can meet her there.”
Peggy thanked Mrs. Wilson briefly, and ran back home once more to collect her bike. As she pedaled down Chestnut Street, she wondered how many more times she would ride her bike again. It was not the sort of thing one did in New York, obviously. And besides, the bike was a part of her childhood and early teens, and now she was coming out of them and off to the great adventure of becoming a woman! Thinking this, she slowed down a little, so as to enjoy the ride and the familiar sights around her. Growing up would happen soon enough, she now knew. Meanwhile, she wanted to slowly taste and enjoy the pleasures of small-town girlhood that were not to come again.
Her subdued mood lasted only until she arrived at the Sweet Shop. There she found Jean, Betty Dugan, Alice Schultz, and Millie Pratt crowded around a soda-laden table, laughing and talking. They managed to make room for one more chair and as soon as Peggy was seated, turned silent, expectant faces to her.