hiram harris had been a dull boy. harriet had often despaired of making anything out of him.
if she could not make him adventurous, intelligent or energetic, she could at least make him dutiful and punctual. and she did.
or maybe he had just inherited these qualities from her, and all her efforts at training him had been superfluous.
in any case, by the time he had been entrusted with the nominal management of the factory, he had become even more a creature of habit and routine than his mother.
hiram departed the factory on foot at quarter to three every afternoon "leaving" it in the care of the foreman bud riley, and arriving at the family home for dinner at exactly three o'clock.
a curious time for dinner, but one that suited harriet unless she was entertaining guests, which she only did under the most severe and unavoidable exigencies.
it only spasmodically and fleetingly occurred to harriet that her lack of sociability might have a negative effect on her ambitions in the town.
the table was always cleared at five minutes to four, and hiram made his return journey, arriving back at the factory at quarter past four. he remained there until nine o'clock, an hour after the gates had been opened for the workers to depart for their homes or for the saloons.
when hiram got home at quarter past nine, he invariably went to bed, after drinking a glass of milk and eating a slice of pie and reading a page of the bible.
harriet and hermione would already be in bed at nine, sparing hiram the tedium of talking to them and saying good night to them.
poor hermione had restless dreams and often cried out in the night. no one ever responded to her cries.
harriet usually slept soundly, no matter how much annoyance she had suffered during the day.
hiram always slept soundly.
on the day in which our story commences, the sky was a brilliant and cloudless blue as hiram wended his way home - the same sky whose benign influence had caused bob fisher and sam wilson to decide to abandon the office of the times-gazette and go fishing at shag creek.
the same blue sky being observed with satisfaction by doc wilson (no relation to sam) as he sat on his front porch in a rocking chair sipping a cool glass of lemonade. he had put harriet harris and her imminent demise completely out of his mind.
the same blue sky that millie porter, behind the counter at the general store, glanced at out of the corner of her eyes as she slapped together two enormous ham and cheese and tomato sandwiches for bob fisher and sam wilson to take with them to shag creek .
the same blue sky that was blotted out of bob fisher's vision as he reached deep into the ice chest at millie's for a couple of cold bottles of sheboygan ginger ale.
hiram was mildly surprised when he arrived home to find hermione seated beside harriet in the parlor. hermione usually took a nap just before dinner and had to be awakened when it was being served.
mildly surprised and mildly perturbed, as he always was by the slightest deviation in his routine.
harriet, in her usual fashion, got right to the point.
"be seated, hiram. i have an announcement to make. i have waited for your return to make it to both of you, as i do not wish to waste such time as i have left in repeating myself needlessly."
"such time as you have left? , hermione exclaimed.
harriet ignored her. "i was informed this morning by doctor wilson that i have approximately three weeks to live."
"you do not say so," hiram replied, as he settled into his chair.
hermione screamed and began to sob. "oh, that is not possible!"
"it is eminently possible. stop your caterwauling. you sound like a servant girl who has dropped a dish of mashed potatoes on the carpet."
hermione put her face in her face and stifled her sobs.
hiram cleared his throat. "i suppose doctor wilson knows his business."
"i am going to assume that he does. i am going to proceed on the assumption that he does."
hiram nodded. the thought flickered through his brain that harriet was enjoying herself - something she rarely did.
"now, both of you listen to me. i have never had much hope for either of you. it is more important than ever that you realize that you are a pair of helpless fools and that you must therefore do exactly what i tell you. do you understand?"
"i understand," hiram muttered.
"speak up! i am not sure i heard you."
"i understand," hiram repeated in a clearer voice.
"good. and what about you? "
"yes, mother."
"yes mother what?"
"i - i will do whatever you say."
"excuse me mum." the cook had appeared behind harriet.
"what is it?"
"i know you said i might have to wait, mum, but the dinner is getting cold -"
"you will serve it when i tell you to. if it is cold, heat it up. is that so difficult?"
"no, mum."
"then get back to your post."
"yes, mum."
harriet watched as the cook retreated and waited until the kitchen door stopped swinging shut behind her.
"eavesdropping! again!"
florine was lying on the bed with her hands behind her head. "finished?"
"well, no, i am not finished. i've done enough for now."
"sure." florine sat up on the edge of the bed. zelda handed her the two pages she had just typed up.
like many of the girls, florine had dispensed with the services of a maid. and like most of the girls, she had become quite friendly with her regular guards - the persons she saw most of during the day and night.
there was no rule against the guards or maids helping the girls with their novels.
the rules specifically stated: "contestants are not prohibited from conversation with guards or maids. they may discuss the contest, and even request advice or input regarding the contest. note that staff were not retained on the basis of any presumed expertise on matters relating to the contest."
florine had found zelda willing and capable and even eager to not only "help" but practically write her novel for her.
zelda sat down beside florine as she read the pages. "like it?"
florine laughed. "hello! that's what you're here for, isn't it?"
zelda pushed florine down on the bed. florine did not resist.
florine laughed again. "spit it out."
florine blinked. "then what?"
"i think you are here under false pretenses. you're some kind of impostor."
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