The Progress of Love

morning. She set the pennies on top of it for the stamp. She climbed up on the bank behind the mailbox and sat down.
    Nobody went by on the road. The days were at their longest now; the sun was just going down. A killdeer went cheeping by with a wing dragging, trying to get her to follow. Its eggs must be somewhere close by. Killdeers laid their eggs practically on the road, right on the gravel, then had to spend their time trying to lure people away.
    She was getting as bad as King Billy, thinking she sensed somebody behind her. She tried not to look around, but couldn’t stop herself. She jumped up and turned, all at once, and saw a streak of red hair caught by the low sun, behind a juniper bush.
    It was Dawn Rose and Bonnie Hope.
    “What are you doing there, trying to scare me?” Violet said bitterly. “Aren’t all of us scared enough already? I can see you! What do you think you’re doing?”
    They came out, and showed her what they had been doing—picking the wild strawberries.
    Between the time she first saw the streak of red hair and the time she saw the red strawberries in their hands, Violet knew. But she would never get it out of them unless she coaxed and pleaded, and seemed to admire and sympathize. Maybe not even then.
    “Can’t I have a berry?” she said.” Are you mad at me? I know your secret.
    “I know,” she said. “I know who wrote those letters. I know it was you. You played a good trick on them, didn’t you?”
    Bonnie Hope’s face started twitching. She clamped her teeth down on her bottom lip. Dawn Rose’s face didn’t change at all. But Violet saw her fist close on the berries she had picked. Red juice oozed out between Dawn Rose’s fingers. Then she seemed to decide that Violet was on her side—or that she didn’t care—and she smiled. This smile, or grin, was one that Violet thought she would never forget. It was innocent and evil, like the smile of some trusted person turned or revealed to be an enemy in a dream. It was the smile of chubby little Dawn Rose, her sister, and the grin of a cold, sly, full-grown, slatternly, bad-hearted stranger.
    It was all Dawn Rose’s doing. That came out. It all came out now. Dawn Rose had written all the letters and figured out where to put them, and Bonnie Hope had not done anything but stand by and keep her mouth shut. The first two letters were posted from town. The first time was when Dawn Rose had been taken to town to see the doctor for her earache. The second was when they had gone along with Annabelle for the ride. (Annabelle found a reason to go to town almost every day, now that she had the car.) Both times it had been easy to get to the post office. Then Dawn Rose had started putting the notes in other places.
    Bonnie Hope was giggling faintly. Then she started to hiccup, and next to sob.
    “Be quiet!” said Violet. “It wasn’t you!”
    Dawn Rose did not show any such signs of fright or remorse. She cupped her hands to her face to eat the squashed berries. She didn’t even ask if Violet was going to tell. And Violet didn’t ask her why she had done it. Violet thought that if she did ask, point-blank, Dawn Rose would probably say that she had done it for a joke. That would be bad enough. But what if she didn’t say anything?
    After her sisters had gone upstairs that night, Violet told King Billy that he wouldn’t have to sit up anymore.
    “Why’s that?”
    “Get Mother out here and I’ll tell you.” She was conscious of saying “Mother” instead of “Aunt Ivie” or even “Mama.”
    King Billy banged on the bedroom door. “Move that stuff away and get out here! Violet wants you!”
    Violet let up the window shades and unbolted and opened the door. She stood the shotgun in the corner.
    Her news took a long time to sink in. Both parents sat with their shoulders slumped and their hands on their knees and looks of deprivation and bewilderment on their faces. King Billy seemed to comprehend first.
    “What’s she got against me?” he said.
    That was all he kept saying, and all he ever could say when he thought about it.
    “What do you think she could’ve had against me?”
    Aunt Ivie got up and put on her hat. She felt the night air coming in through the screen door.
    “People get their laugh on us now,” she said.
    “Don’t tell them,” said Violet. (As if that would be possible.)“Don’t tell them anything. Let it die down.”
    Aunt Ivie rocked herself on the couch, in her felt hat and dismal