A Will and a Way

dog.
    “Poor fella,” he murmured. As he stroked, Bruno stirred, whimpered, then settled again.
    “I think he’s better.”
    Glancing over, Michael saw the light reflected in Pandora’s eyes. Her hair was tousled, her skin pale and soft. Her shoulders, gently sloped, rose just above the covers pooled around her. She looked beautiful, desirable, arousing. He told himself he was mad. Pandora didn’t fit into his carefully detailed notion of beauty. Michael looked back at the dog.
    “Just needs to sleep it off. You could use another log on thisfire.” Needing to keep busy, Michael dug in the woodbox, then added a log to the coals.
    “Thanks. Can’t sleep?”
    “No.”
    “Me, either.” They sat in silence a moment, Pandora in the big bed, Michael on the hearth rug. The fire crackled greedily at the fresh log and flickered light and shadow. At length, she drew her knees up to her chest. “Michael, I’m frightened.”
    It wasn’t an easy admission. He knew it cost her to tell him. He stirred at the fire a moment, then spoke lightly as he replaced the screen. “We can leave. We can drive into New York tomorrow and stay there. Forget this whole business and enjoy the holidays.”
    She didn’t speak for a minute, but she watched him carefully. His face was turned away toward the fire so that she had to judge his feelings by the way he held himself. “Is that what you want to do?”
    He thought of Jolley, then he thought of Pandora. Every muscle in his body tightened. “Sure.” He tossed it off like a shrug. “I’ve got to think about myself.” He said it as if to remind himself it had once been true.
    “For someone who earns his living by making up stories, you’re a lousy liar.” She waited until he turned to face her. “You don’t want to go back. What you want is to gather all our relatives together and beat them up.”
    “Can you see me pounding Aunt Patience?”
    “With a few exceptions,” Pandora temporized. “But the last thing you want is to give up.”
    “All right, that’s me.” He rose and, hands in pockets, paced back and forth in front of the fire. He could smell the wood-smoke mixed with some light scent from one of the bottles on Pandora’s dresser. “What about you? You didn’t want to hassle with this whole business from the beginning. I talked you into it. I feel responsible.”
    For the first time in hours she felt her humor return. “I hate to dent your ego, Michael, but you didn’t talk me into anything. No one does. And I’m completely responsible for myself. I don’t want to quit,” she added before he could speak. “I said I didn’t want the money, and that was true. I also said I didn’t need it, and that’s not precisely true. Over and above that, there’s pride. I’m frightened, yes, but I don’t want to quit. Oh, stop pacing around and come sit down.” The order was cross and impatient, nearly making him smile. He came over and sat on the bed.
    “Better?”
    She gave him a long, steady look that had the hint of a smile fading. “Yes. Michael, I’ve been lying here for hours thinking this thing through. I’ve realized a few things. You called me a snob once, and perhaps you were right in a way. I’ve never thought much about money. Never allowed myself to. When Uncle Jolley cut everyone out, I thought of it as a cross between a joke and a slap on the wrist. I figured they’d grumble and complain certainly, but that was all.” She lifted her hand palm up. “It was only money, and every one of them has their own.”
    “Ever heard of greed or the lust for power?”
    “That’s just it, I didn’t think. How much do I know about anyof those people? They bore or annoy me from time to time, but I’ve never thought about them as individuals.” Now she ran the hand through her hair so that the blankets fell to her waist. “Ginger must be about the same age as I am, and I can’t think of two things we have in common. I’d probably pass Biff’s wife on the street without recognizing her.”
    “I have a hard time remembering her name,” Michael put in, and earned a sigh from Pandora.
    “That’s my point. We don’t really know them. The family, in a group, is a kind of parlor joke. Separately, who are they and what are they capable of? I’ve just begun to consider it. It’s not a joke, Michael.”
    “No, it’s not.”
    “I want to fight back, but I don’t know how.”
    “The surest way is by staying. And maybe,” he added, and took