All or Notching: Notchin' Boots Series

Anne Lange
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All or Notching
NOTCHIN’ BOOTS
ANNE LANGE
 All or Notching
©Copyright Anne Lange February 2023, All rights reserved

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All or Notching
Published by hotRom publishing
105 Porcupine Trail
Ottawa Ontario K0A1T0
Canada

ISBN # 978-1-990789-05-2 (e-book)

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 Contents
All or Notching
Blurb

1. Laurel
2. Laurel
3. Laurel
4. Tristan
5. Laurel
6. Tristan
7. Laurel
8. Tristan
9. Laurel
10. Tristan
Epilogue

Next in Series
Notchin’ Boots Series
About the Author
Other Titles by Anne Lange
Publisher Logo
 By

ANNE LANGE

Ottawa, Ontario Canada

 I’m more than comfortable with a very short relationship.
Until I end up at the clinic a few months later with a flu I just can't shake.
Imagine my surprise when my one-night stand walks into the room.
Imagine my surprise when I find out it’s not the flu.
Imagine his surprise when he finds out our one-night stand resulted in a lifetime commitment.
CHAPTER 1
Laurel
 (JULY)

M y God, he’s beautiful. Too young for me, but I can look.
He stands out from his group by the way he holds himself. Unlike the others, who seem to be
competing for who can be the loudest, there’s a quiet intensity about him. The guy going for ‘most
boisterous’ is a tall redhead, holding court while his friends look on and listen intently to whatever
story he’s telling. All eyes are on him.
Except mine.
Mine are drawn to my guy. My guy, as I think of him, nods politely, smiles and occasionally
chuckles at the other man’s antics.
After a long day at the office, we decided to grab a drink and unwind. Typically, I decline when
my colleagues start to round everyone up on Fridays because my to-do list is lengthy, and I like to be
on top of things. That extra hour or two gives me a head-start on next week’s tasks. But tonight, rather
than heading home to my empty condo, I accepted the invite. It’s been a sweltering summer, and a cold
drink on a hot Friday evening in July, before the start of an even hotter weekend, sounds better than
any other task or activity I could think of.
Besides, my AC is on the fritz.
For the first time, I regret not having somebody special waiting at home for me. Somebody I can
cozy up to and vent with about wasting time in meetings that accomplish nothing, difficult employees,
and impossible-to-achieve deliverables with unrealistic deadlines.
I love my career. It’s always taken a front seat in my goal planning. I’m so different from my two
younger sisters; you’d think we came from different parents. Where they’ve been married to their
high-school sweethearts since graduation and live in the same small community we grew up in, I’ve
never had the desire to run back and forth between PTA meetings, play dates, and kids’ sporting
activities.
I craved the city, the action, the career.
However, and I will never admit this to them, or anybody else; lately, I’ve felt like I’ve been
missing out. Maybe it’s watching my sisters face life with middle graders and husbands who dote on
them. Perhaps it’s because the first anniversary of our parent’s death is around the corner, and I’m
suddenly realizing they got to see my sisters settled and blissful with their families but didn’t get to
see that for me. They always worried I’d be lonely. I assured them I didn’t need a husband. My job
fulfilled me. I remember the disappointed expressions on their faces, never sure if it was for them or
me.
Maybe that’s why I noticed him as soon as we grabbed stools at the bar. He and his friends are
gathered around the opposite end. He’s probably a good six or more inches taller than me. His hair
looks brown in the bar’s lighting, but it could be a darker shade of blond. He’s got a dimple, I can see
it from here. I’m a sucker for dimples. He’s wearing dark jeans, a light blue collared shirt, and the
cuffs rolled up to his elbows. I like when a man puts thought into his appearance. It looks good on
him. Maybe that’s why I’m leaning toward him being more blond than brown. Blonds favor shades of
blue.
I’m giving this far too much thought.
Oh, shit. My heart slams into my rib cage. He spotted me staring at him. I fight the urge to turn
away and feign interest in the conversation around me. Even though I should probably disengage, and
normally would, I don’t. I’m captivated by watching him watch me. I can see the movement of his
facial muscles as he smiles, nods, and winks at me—okay, I didn’t expect that. Now I’m blushing. I
hope the lighting will hide it.
“Who are you staring at, Laurel?” My assistant and good friend Sally, who has been making
flirtatious comments about any handsome man she sees walking through the door, and there’s been a
lot, follows my line of sight. “The one in blue?”
I nod.
“Oh, he’s cute.” She leans in and shoulder butts me. “You should go for it.”
With a sigh, I shake my head and turn my attention back to her and the others. “He looks too
young.” It’s true. He doesn’t have the baby face some men have, but it’s not the rugged, been-around-
the-block-a-few-times appearance I’m usually drawn to. If I had to guess, I’d say he’s ten years
younger than my thirty-eight. A child. Handsome, but still a child.
Nancy, who is sitting next to Sally, pipes in. She has to lean past Sally and practically yell
because the volume is rising in the bar as more professionals and locals decide they need to start the
weekend with a few beers or wine under their belts. Voices mix with music, and it’s hard enough to
hear myself think, let alone my colleagues speaking. “They’re only too young if they could be your
son. He’s not that young.” She nods in his direction as she sips her margarita. “He’s watching you.”
I glance up, catching his gaze. He lifts his bottle of beer in greeting.
My cheeks flush again, and I immediately look away. I can still feel his gaze burn into me as Sally
urges me to go talk to him.
“Come on, Laurel. You don’t want regret not taking a chance when you had one, do you?”
Nancy leans back in her chair and crosses her arms over her chest. “She’s right. Live a little. He
looks really nice. Go talk to him.”
I can feel myself wavering, but then reality sets in. No matter the weird loneliness I’ve been
feeling lately, it’s got to be temporary. Even if My Guy is interested, I don’t do relationships. No time.
No interest. I don’t need to meet the family or plan make plans for the holidays. I prefer a whirl-wind
affair with a few good orgasms. And, while I’m happy to hook up with Mr. Right-for-the-Night, the
age thing is a problem. I don’t look good in animal prints.
Sensing my hesitation, Sally takes charge of the situation and waves him over before I can even
open my mouth to stop her. He's obviously seen her signal because he looks over with a curious
expression. I watch as he says something to his friends and then leaves them to make his way through
the crowd, his stride confident.
“Hi there.”
I have no trouble hearing two simple words in such a deliciously deep baritone, even in this
atmosphere. It’s like he’s whispering in my ear, drowning out all other sounds. The warmth I feel must
be the alcohol because it can’t be him.
I swivel around on the stool, and My Guy is standing right behind me. He’s even more handsome
up close. There’s a tightness around his eyes, like he’s tired and seen more than he should at his age.
But the twinkle in his gaze tells me he’s still in the game.
“Hi.” Great conversationalist I am.
“Can I buy you a drink?”
I lift the glass I’m holding. When did I empty it? “Sure?”
He chuckles. “You don’t know?”
“Yes, you can buy her a drink. She’ll have a white wine spritzer.” Sally is so helpful before she
turns back to the rest of our co-workers, leaving My Guy and me alone in a packed bar.
He raises a hand to flag the bartender, pointing to his empty glass, and then mine. When I have his
full attention again, I feel the heat radiating off his body. My heart pounds. Even though I typically go
for older guys, I lick my lips as I stare at him, feeling sparks of electricity fire off between us. This is
so unusual for me. I’ve never experienced such an immediate reaction before.
The sound of people talking and laughing, their voices raised over the music, and other patrons
can be heard from every corner of the bar. The smell of fried food lingers in the air. But it’s just the
two of us in this small corner of the bar.
He leans closer. “I’m Tristan.”
“Laurel.” I hold out my hand.
He takes it, his touch warm and smooth, his grip firm as he wraps his fingers around mine. “It’s
nice to meet you, Laurel.” He has a boyish smile. And that dimple is killer up close and personal. “I
haven’t seen you in here before.”
“A last-minute decision to join the girls from the office.”
“What do you do?”
“I’m an account manager at an investment firm.”
“Cool.”
The conversation dies for a moment while we stare at each other. Typical to my pattern when
dating, I don’t ask about his job because I don’t want to get invested in something I know won’t
develop into anything. My one long-term relationship in graduate school ended when he asked me to
move in with him. He’d been looking for somebody to do his laundry and cook his meals. Being his
housekeeper didn’t fit into my five-year plan, so we said our goodbyes. I wasn’t even disappointed.
Relieved best describes my feelings. Ever since, I’ve maintained an emotional distance from any
relationship and focused on my career.
“Would you like to grab a table?” He glances around the room and frowns. “If we can find one.”
“I’d rather just stay here if that’s okay with you.”
He shrugs and delivers a wicked grin. “Whatever the lady wants.”
Our drinks arrive, and we settle into some easy banter about nothing important. I let him do most
of the talking while I sip my drink and then another. He makes me smile and laugh. It’s nice.
A couple of hours fly by. Tristan can finally rest his butt on a stool when the stranger on my other
side leaves. Our knees bump together, but neither of us pushes away, oblivious to the conversations
around us and the servers reaching around us to place or retrieve orders.
Another hour speeds by. The crowd is thinning. His friends are gone, as are mine. Tristan assured
them he’d get me home safely. Usually, I’d laugh off his insinuation that I couldn’t get myself home or
even permit a man I’d just met to see where I lived. It’s super awkward to shuffle someone out of my
place in the morning, so normally, I prefer to be the one to leave.
I’ll blame it on the alcohol because I agreed, not ready to end the evening. Of course, Sally and
Nancy gave me encouraging, not-so-discreet fist bumps before they made their way to the exit.
 The next thing I know, Tristan and I are falling through the front door I somehow opened while my
lips were locked onto his. We manage to get inside, already tearing at each other’s clothes. I might
have flashed a group of teenagers walking up the street. But now his back is to my front door, and I’m
licking my way up this bared chest.
CHAPTER 2
Laurel
 (JULY)

“S low“Yes.
down, honey. Are you sure about this?”
God it’s been so long since I’ve been with somebody.”
He puts his beautiful, strong hands on my shoulders. “Whoa, I think it’s best to slow down then.”
I detach my lips to mumble, “Crap, did I say that out loud?” But I can’t drag my nose away
because he smells so fucking good. Clean. Fresh. Like I imagine the ocean does. And he tastes good,
like the beer he had at the bar. I stretch up on my toes to run my tongue up the column of his neck and
nibble his earlobe.
“Laurel. Stop.” He gently pushes me away.
I pout.
He laughs. I love the sound of his laughter. It’s deep and sexy, a little rumbly like the motor of a
muscle car.
“Sweetheart, if you really want this, we’ve got all night. But I don’t want you to do anything
you’ll regret in the morning.”
“I won’t.”
“You’ve had a few drinks.
“Yes, but I’m not drunk.” Tipsy for sure, but not drunk. Relaxed enough to take the edge off and
clear away any pesky reminders that I should have gone to his place. Cognizant of that gentle, sweet
goodnight-thanks-for-a-great-evening kiss on the lips turning hungry, devouring, and something I
suddenly needed much more of.
“Are you sure?”
“I’m positive.”
He lowers his head and captures my mouth for a slow, sultry kiss before pulling back to look me
in the eyes. “Then I’m not about to say no to a beautiful woman.”
From there, we pick up where we left off, and what feels like only moments later, I’ve somehow
dragged him up the stairs to my bedroom, our clothing discarded into messy piles on the floor, and
we’re sprawled across the floral comforter on my bed. The only light in the room is the moonlight
spilling in through the open curtains at the window. But it’s enough. It’s romantic.
“You are so perfect.” He wraps his lips around one of my nipples.
Oh, Lord, that feels divine. Arching my back, pushing my breast into his mouth, I tunnel my fingers
into his hair and hold him close. My head falls back as a moan is pulled from deep in my throat.
He switches to the other, washing it with his rough tongue before tugging it, elongating it.
“More. Tristan, I want more.”
His mouth moves against my skin, stretching into a wide smile. He travels down my body,
pressing his lips to various spots until he’s cradled between my hips. Tossing my legs over his
shoulders, he makes himself comfortable.
That first swipe of his tongue through my slit is—oh wow—and then he’s attacking my clit. So
good. So freaking good. I’m already rushing toward an orgasm. It’s happening too fast. I want it to
slow down. I don’t want this to end that quick.
Working to relax my body doesn’t help. He uses his tongue like he’s making love to my vagina.
And then he’s back on my clit, sucking on it, teasing it. The building pressure is driving me wild.
“Oh, God, Tristan. That feels so—“
“Come in my mouth, baby. I want to taste everything you’ve got for me.” He grips my thighs in his
strong fingers and buries his face between my legs, growling like an animal protecting its meal.
My orgasm rushes through me, the intensity of it startling me. I gasp and fling my arms out,
grabbing my bedding to ground myself. A cry escapes. I tilt my pelvis, pleading to somebody up there
to make it last if heavenly possible. When I can’t take the torture of his talented mouth on my sensitive
flesh any longer, I finally collapse.
He rises and crawls over me. “Feel good?”
My eyes are closed, so I can’t see the smug expression I can hear in his words, but I feel a silly
grin emerging. “Oh yeah.” If I were a feline, I’d purr in contentment.
He chuckles and kisses me. “Do you want me to go?” he whispers.
I shake my head.
He leaves me, and I panic, but I’m scared to open my eyes and see where he disappeared to. Then
I hear foil ripping, and the mattress dips with his weight. Now I do lift my eyelids to see him staring
down at me. Without the lights, I can’t see his face clearly in the darkness of my bedroom. A brief
touch of sadness washes over me. This entire night has been far out of my comfort zone, yet I’m not
feeling uncomfortable. We’ve been like horny teenagers satisfying our hormonal urges. Usually, I
prefer sex with the lights on because I want to watch everything. I often coach the man I’m with and
tell him where and how to touch me. Guide him to my more sensitive spots.
Tristan seems to know everything I need.
He positions himself between my spread legs and holds there for a moment. I suspect he’s giving
me one more opportunity to stop this from going further. I wrap my legs around his hips and, using my
heels, urge him to enter me.
He does so slowly, his cock opening me wide as he pushes deeper inside, inch by glorious inch.
Oh, sweet Jesus, he’s no average man.
“Honey, you are tight.”
“Maybe you’re just too big.”
He looks down at me, quirks one dark eyebrow, and surges forward with a satisfied grunt.
I gasp, the exhalation quickly turning into a groan of pleasure as he immediately pumps in and
out.
He sets a quick pace, and I try to keep up, meeting every powerful thrust, but soon I have to just
give up and let him pound into me. I won’t see this man again, and want to enjoy every minute I can.
Tristan pulls out of my arms and rises to his knees. He takes my legs and pushes them to my chest,
changing the angle as each plunge hits some spot far inside that has me sucking in air while my eyes
roll back. He withdraws and then drives into me again.
“Christ, the way you’re squeezing me—fuck.” I widen my legs, and he drops forward, his hands
landing beside my head as he pumps his hips faster, rotating them in a way that nerve endings I didn’t
know I had pulse in excitement. I clutch at his forearms as a smaller but no less devastating orgasm
takes hold of me.
Suddenly he stops, his body rigid, his arms trembling. With his eyes squeezed closed, he
explodes, groaning through his long release until he finally collapses on top of me.
His warm weight feels lovely, and I put my around his shoulders, holding him tight as my eyelids
lower, and I drift off.
He shifts, and I hug him closer. I don’t want him going anywhere. I want to keep him right here,
tight against me, as I fall asleep. I don’t care that he’s heavy. I don’t care that he needs to dispose of
the condom. I want to feel his warm body cuddled to mine a little longer.
Sleep takes over, and I make a weak argument when he eventually rolls away. I turn to my side
and snuggle against him, throwing my arm over his chest and my leg over his.
My last thought before sleep takes over—this is what I’ve been missing.
When I wake in the morning, I know before I even open my eyes that Tristan is gone. I blindly
stretch my arm out over the sheets where he’d lain. They’re still warm and not from the sun's heat
shining through the window. I open my eyes, ignoring the headache that demands I slam them shut
again, thinking he might have gotten up to use the washroom. But when I force my head off the pillow,
I see my clothes folded and stacked on the chair next to my closet.
His are gone.
I flop back down, a steep sadness washing over me. I don’t like it. “Don’t be silly, Laurel. Be
relieved.” My voice is rusty from sleep. “A one-night stand is just that, one night.”
If I’d followed my normal routine, I’d be stopping for my favorite coffee on my way home right
now. Instead, I’m behaving like a love-sick teenager instead of the thirty-eight-year-old professional I
am.
Throwing back the covers, I rise and reach for the lavender terry robe I keep at the bottom of my
bed. After slipping my arms in and wrapping the tie around my waist, I go into my bathroom to
relieve myself.
There’s a note on the counter.
Laurel,
I got called into work and didn’t want to wake you. You looked so beautiful and peaceful lying
there. I had a great time last night. I’d love to take you out on an actual date. Text me.
Tristan
I stare at the phone number he scribbled after his name. My friends, sisters, and parents would
encourage me to find my phone, so I could enter his information into my contact list.
But I don’t.
Instead, I crumple the note and toss it into the garbage can.
Then I stare at it for a moment.
Changing my mind, I retrieve it from the bottom of the ceramic waste basket, and as I walk out of
my room, I rip it up. I jog down the stairs and head straight to the kitchen, tossing the pieces of paper
into the trash can under my counter.
I slam the door shut.
Damn it.
I yank open the door and reach in to snatch up each piece of paper. Out in my garage, I open the
larger black bin and throw the handful of paper in there, smashing the lid down and jiggling it until it
settles into place.
Better. I won’t go digging through this one. Besides, it goes out today.
It takes a mere second before I smack my hand against the garage door opener, and when the door
lifts, I roll that puppy to the end of the driveway and then rush back inside before somebody sees me
in only my robe.
I wash my hands, feeling better. If I were younger and looking for a relationship, Tristan would be
somebody I’d pursue. But since I’m not, and a relationship has never been part of my long-term plan, I
need to get on with my day. With my life.
Suddenly an image of my mother sadly shaking her head fills my mind. I blink it away and swipe
at the errant tear that slides from the corner of my eye. I’m being silly. It might be Saturday, but I’ve
got lots to do, so it’s time to shower and get ready for work.
I’m sure I’ll forget all about Tristan in a few days.
CHAPTER 3
Laurel
 (PRESENT DAY - NOVEMBER)

“O h,lamp
God, what time is it.” I scrub my eyes as I slowly wake to my stomach growling. My desk
is glowing, and my computer screen is dark. Glancing at my watch, I realize it’s after
seven. I fell asleep on my office sofa again.
Feeling off for a few weeks now, I initially considered it a stomach virus. It had lasted a few
days, then disappeared, but seemed to come and go after that. On the days I felt decent, I ignored it,
hoping it had finally passed. On the worst days, I simply worked from home. I’ve never had a virus
last this long, though.
And, I’ve been inexplicably exhausted. After a full day at the office, I can’t get home fast enough
to put my head on a pillow and sleep for an hour, sometimes two. At least I have my appetite back,
but I need to figure out what’s happening because this isn’t normal for me.
After working late today to play catch up, I reached the point where I simply couldn’t keep my
eyes open a minute more, so I figured a quick cat nap would help. Now it’s past dinnertime.
Tomorrow I’ll have my assistant call my doctor’s office and see if she can get me in.
My hunger pangs scream out again. I could head home to get something to eat and finish reviewing
my report.
When I reach my car, a wave of exhaustion slams into me, sending me into a wobble. “This is
ridiculous. What the hell is wrong with me?” I slide behind the wheel and start the engine. Hoping the
chilly November air will refresh me, I roll down the window as soon as I exit the parking garage onto
the street. Traffic isn’t as heavy now that rush hour has passed, but there’s still enough of us on the
road that my drive through the lightly falling snow will take longer than I’d like.
My mind replays the last few weeks. Has anybody else in the office been ill? Maybe I caught
something. I don’t remember hearing anybody coughing or sneezing. Maybe I picked something up
from a restaurant, or maybe when I was doing some Christmas shopping for my family. There have
been no trips to see my sisters for weeks, but I don’t recall their kids being sick the last time we got
together.
As I turn a corner, I glance up and spot a walk-in clinic, and it’s open. After a spontaneous lane
change while silently apologizing to the driver of the Ford Focus I just cut off, I’m swinging into an
empty parking spot right in front of the entrance. Before I can question myself, I’m out of the car and
strolling toward the automatic doors.
As soon as I step inside, I’m assaulted by that medical facility smell, bringing me to a dead stop.
That overwhelming scent of disinfectants mixed with the faint smell of body odor and anxiety. I
almost backtrack as I’m thrown back in time to standing in the hospital after our parents’ car accident.
We’d waited in that room for two days while mom and dad fought for their lives after being
broadsided by a dump truck. In the end, they succumbed to their extensive injuries. The payout from
insurance did nothing to address the pain we all still experience every time we think about them. The
only thing that gives us any sense of peace is that neither woke up in horrible pain, and they faded into
eternity together.
“Hello. Can we help you?”
I snap out of it. “Um…”
A tired-looking middle-aged woman sitting behind the desk looks concerned as she stares at me.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes, I…no. I mean, I feel okay, yes, but I think I might have a virus or something.” I realize I’m
still standing in the open doorway. It takes great strength to force my feet to move inside and steer
them toward the reception desk, so we’re not yelling across the room at each other.
She watches me like she’s taking stock of any apparent issues. “Have you been here before?”
With streaks of gray at her temple and the beginning of crow’s feet near her eyes, I’d estimate her to
be in her early fifties. Her warm mother-like disposition draws me closer.
“No. I haven’t.”
“Welcome then. Can I get your name, please?”
“Laurel Downing.”
“And do you have insurance, Ms. Downing?”
“I do.” Diving into my purse like it’s the savior I need, I pull out my insurance card from my
wallet and hand it over.
“Thank you.” She takes my card, enters my name and information into her computer, and then
grabs a piece of paper from a file folder on her desk. Snagging a pen from some unseen holder and a
clipboard, she clips the form to the board and hands it and the pen over the counter. “Why don’t you
have a seat and fill this out. Then we’ll get you to do a quick urine test and send you back to see the
on-call doctor.”
I take the board. “Thank you.” I spin around and search for an empty chair. Transitioning from
their busiest hours, only a few people are waiting. The walls are decorated with health-related
posters, and the tiled floors desperately need a mop. I spot a vacant chair near the back wall and head
in that direction.
Sitting, I spot a young mother directly across from me. The poor woman looks exhausted and far
too young to be a mother herself. She’s using one foot to rock the car seat, her crying baby not at all
happy or wanting the pacifier mom is trying to tempt it with.
I drop my handbag on the floor next to me and settle in to review my medical history. I fill in all
the pertinent information, briefly describe my symptoms and then work my way down the list of
yes/no questions. I’m in the habit of saying no to them all, so when I reach one particular question, the
intent to strike no is automatic, but I pause as the words register, jumping off the page at me in giant
bold print like they have a life of their own.
Are you pregnant? Yes or No.
My pen is hovering over the question as my fingers tighten on the cartridge. My mind instantly
carries me back to that night three or four months ago, that night with Tristan.
I’ve thought about him a few times since. Okay, more than a few. Every now and then, I regret
throwing out his phone number. I should have thanked him for getting me home safely and for his note.
And for the night. It’s replayed in my mind too many times to count. Sometimes when I’m dreaming
about it, in that land of half asleep, half awake, I change the ending, pretending we stayed together,
that we morphed from a one-night stand to a long-term relationship.
 But long term is outside the cards for me. My career is my relationship.
I skip the question.
The next one is no better. It asks for the date of my last period. I press the tip of the pen to the
paper, mentally thinking of my calendar at home, where I track my menstrual cycle because it’s so
irregular, and realize I can’t remember.
Oh, God.
My palms sweat.
“No, no, no.”
The young mother glances over at me, and I give her a half-hearted smile of apology.
Reaching into my purses, I dig around until I find my phone. While frantically swiping to the
calendar app, I’m mumbling another string of no’s under my breath. I force my mind to clear so I can
concentrate. I can do this. I count back the weeks.
My hands shake. The further I go, the more my fear rises. I have to be wrong.
“Okay, don’t panic,” I say aloud. I swivel in my chair so I’m not quite facing the mother with her
baby head on. I’ll just fill out the rest of the form and rethink this question.
The second go at it doesn’t help. I don’t think I’ve had my period in at least three months. Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
“Ms. Downing? I can take you back now.”
I jerk my head up. The receptionist is standing in front of me. I didn’t see or hear her approach.
My eyes slide over to the young mother. Is that understanding in her expression?
The receptionist hands me a wrapped plastic cup. “The room I’m putting you in actually has a
bathroom attached. If you’ll just fill this and then I’ll take it and test it while you wait for the doctor.”
My heart is racing, and my hand trembles as I reach for that damn cup. The cup that’s going to tell
me … nope. Not going there. Not until I have one hundred percent confirmation.
I follow her down the short hallway, my gaze glued to her back. She waits while I finish the deed,
and then I hand over my possible future to the unsuspecting woman. “Just take a seat, and Doctor
Tessler will be with you shortly.”
She leaves me in the small room, and I just stand there, a million and one things going through my
head. They all end with me mentally screaming the same thing—I can’t be having a baby!
And with a man-child I brought home from a bar. I didn’t even get his last name. What will people
think?
I drop into the empty chair near the examination table with a soft thud, my handbag thumping on
the floor when I let go.
What the hell am I going to do?
I can’t be pregnant.
How did I not realize I had missed my period for months?
Work. It’s because I’ve been so occupied at work. My account list has grown by forty percent in
the last three months. We’ve been complaining at the office that there must be something in the air
besides the fall temperatures because there’s been an influx of new clients. Many have been
downright demanding, insisting their portfolio be our priority.
My sisters have also been calling me, wanting to plan a family get-together for the holidays, our
first since mom and dad passed.
I close my eyes, drop my chin to my chest and take a few deep breaths. There’s been nobody since
that one night at the bar, so I know who the father is. However, I also know he used a condom,
obviously a defective one, so there’s nobody to blame. It was an accident. The question is, what to do
now? This was never part of my plan.
The door opens, and I see the hem of a white coat. It must be the doctor. I’m afraid to raise my
head because once I do, and this appointment starts, in my gut, I know how it will end with me
moving on to an unexpected and unplanned phase in my life as a single mother.
I lick my dry lips.
The blood is whooshing in my ears.
Time to get this over with and decide what to do next. I raise my head and lock eyes with Doctor
Tessler.
I blink. It can’t be.
I literally close my eyes again and shake my head. Hard.
“Laurel?”
“No.”
“No, you’re not Laurel? You sure look like her.” I hear amusement in his voice. I remember that
voice. My body shivers as that sexy as fuck timbre crawls over me. Oh yes, I remember that voice
and how the man who owns it made me feel so alive that night.
I open one eye.
Yup. Doctor Tristan Tessler is My Guy from the bar. My one and only one-night stand. The
sweet young man that has apparently turned my world upside down.
“Hello, Tristan,” I croak. “Or should I call you Doctor Tessler? I um, I didn’t know you were a
doctor.”
The room spins. I grab the arms of the chair.
Unaware of his effect on me, Tristan sets the chart he’s holding aside and grabs the stool on
wheels, pulling it closer so he can sit in front of me.
I’m instantly hit by the lingering scent of his aftershave. I can see his five o’clock shadow, his
blue eyes. I remember them looking down at me as he thrust into me repeatedly.
“I’m sorry I had to leave like I did. The hospital I work out of called me in to help with a multi-
vehicle accident. I left you a note, though. I assume you found it?”
He knows I did. He wants to know why I didn’t contact him. “I really enjoyed our evening, but I
wasn’t looking for a relationship.”
He shrugs. “I get that. No worries. I had a great time, too. I just wanted to make sure you didn’t
regret it.”
“I didn’t.” I do now, though.
He straightens and picks up the chart again. “So, what brings you here this evening?”
“Oh, nothing.”
His dark blond eyebrows pop up.
Bile rises in my throat.
I can’t tell him. I should tell him. But I can’t tell him. What the hell am I going to do? I can’t tell
this man I had a few hours of fun with that I’m pregnant with his child. What if he has a girlfriend?
Oh, God, what if he has a wife?
My gaze drops like a stone to his hands. No ring. Mild relief rolls over me. But there remains the
problem of a little person probably growing inside me right now that is part of him. We don’t even
know each other. Did I mention he’s too young for me? Damn it, he’ll have more in common with our
child than I do.
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
 Voi Vilho parka —.älä sentään noin sano.

KORPI synkästi.

Se on totuus — eihän heistä kukaan välitä. Siellä on naapurinkin

pikku poika juuri äsken kuollut.

LIISA hätkähtäen.

Kuollut? Mistä tiedät?

KORPI

En minä sisällä käynyt, mutta kun tulin ohi näin Mandin istuvan
rappusilla itkemässä tällaisella pakkasella. Menin hänen luokseen ja
hän sanoi juuri…

(Hänen puheensa keskeytyy, sillä sisään tulee kaksi työmiestä,

samat jotka etumaisina koettivat rynnätä mestarin konttoriin; he ovat
viluisia, huonosti puettuja; toinen näyttää kovin alakuloiselta, toinen
ikäänkuin vihaiselta. Tervehtivät.)

KORPI hetken äänettömyyden jälkeen alakuloisesti hymyillen.

Istumaan toverit. Ei minulla ole tarjota edes tupakkaa piippuun,

mutta miehet ovatkin miltei järjestään tehneet myöskin tupakkalakon.

1:NEN TYÖMIES katkerasti.

On tästä lakosta siis se hyöty ainakin, että monet lakkaavat

tupakoimasta…

2:NEN TYÖMIES
 Se kai tulee olemaankin ainoa hyöty.

KORPI rykäisee ja koettaa puhua rohkaisevasti.

No, ei sitä vielä sentään tiedä.

1:NEN TYÖMIES.

Kyllä sen nyt jo tietää…

Silloin tulee sisään Kaarlo. Hänen laihtuneet kasvonsa ovat

kalmankalpeat ja hän vapisee koko ruumiillaan; heittää takkinsa
penkille ja menee käsiään hieroen uunia äären, mutta tuntiessaan
sen kylmäksi kääntyy pettyneenä ja istuutuu tuolille. Kaikki katsovat
häneen kuin syyllisinä.

KORPI hetken äänettömyyden jälkeen, hiljaa.

Kaarlo — kyllä sinä sentään ihan palellut ilman päällystakkia

tuollaisella pakkasella. Ei sinun olisi…

KAARLO keskeyttää, koettaen puhua huolettomasti, mutta hänen

äänensä vapisee ankarasti.

Joutavia! Ei minua paljon viluta… Jouduin vain odottamaan

hieman tuolla asemalla, kun juna myöhästyi… 70 KORPI jännittyen.

No, tuliko niitä — niitä rikkureita…?

KAARLO hiljaa, synkästi.

Kyllä niitä nyt tuli…

KORPI järkytettynä.
 Vai jo tuli…

Hetken äänettömyys, sitten

KIIHTYNEITÄ ÄÄNIÄ

— Tuliko paljonkin?

— Niin, näitkö sinä ne?

— Minkälaista väkeä?

KAARLO

Kyllä minä ne näin ja ehdin laskeakin, vaikka mestari pakotti ne

lähtemään miltei juosten. Oli ihan sen näköinen, kuin olisi vienyt
varastettua tavaraa kätköön. Parikymmentä niitä vain oli.

I TYÖMIES

No, ei niillä tehdasta käyntiin saada!

KORPI

Eipä kyllä, mutta häviää loppukin yksimielisyys… kun se

muutenkin on jo niin ja näin…

KAARLO katkerasti.

Siitä ei enää kannata puhua meidän keskuudessamme — (hänen

leukansa vapisee niin, että on vaikea lausua sanoja; hän tekee
kärsimättömän liikkeen ja sanoo tuimasti.) — Sehän nyt on helvetti,
ettei osaa puhua! — (Hitaasti.) — Niin, täällä levitetään toinen
toistaan perättömämpiä huhuja ja kaikki uskotaan… Mestarin apurit
levittivät äskenkin asemalla tietoa, että 150 miestä myöhästyi
junasta, mutta ne tulevat aamujunassa toisen vielä suuremman
joukon kanssa. Sentähden pitäisi lakko ehdottomasti lopettaa, jotta
edes osa entisistä työläisistä saisi vielä jäädä työhön.

KORPI huoahtaen hiljaa, katkerasti.

Niin, sehän on yksi niitä tavallisia keinoja joilla koetetaan rikkoa

työläisten yksimielisyyttä. No, mitä muuta ne siellä levittävät?

KAARLO sisäisestä katkeruudesta kuohuen.

Kas, kun olin unohtaa erään tärkeän uutisen! Ajatelkaa, että tuo
Korpi on itse kuluttanut kaikki lakkolaisille tulleet avustusrahat…
herkutellut kotona, kun toiset kärsivät nälkää…

KORPI nousee kalveten seisomaan ja tuijottaa tyrmistyneenä

puhujaa ja taas toisia; vihdoin kysyy kolealla, hillityllä äänellä.

Vai niin? Kuka on sanonut niin?

KAARLO

Kettunen sellaista tietää.

KORPI hämmästyen.

Kettunen…?

KAARLO
 Niin, ja hän tietää paljon muuta. Viime viikolla oli hän käynyt
mestarille ilmoittamassa, että hänet on pakotettu lakkoon, joten hän
tulee työhön koska tahansa.

KORPI suoristautuu ja hänen olemuksessaan kuvastuu pelottava

voima, kun hän silmät säkenöiden ärjähtää.

Ooh — jumalauta! Minä sen opetan — tuon kurjan petturin! Mutta

miten se on mahdollista — hänhän on varakas…?

KAARLO

Kyllä se totta on — ei mestari apulaisestaan muuten levitä

tuollaisia tietoja. — Mestari niin oli Tiitiselle sanonut ja pyytänyt
kovasti, että tulisi työhön… luvannut enemmän palkkaakin.

HALONEN arasti.

Kyllä se totta on — niin mestari minullekin sanoi, kun…

Hän keskeytyy sillä sisään astuu vilusta kalpeana

EMIL. Hän aikoo sanoa jotain, mutta ääni tukehtuu terävään

yskään; sen tauottua sanoo hän katkonaisella, vapisevalla äänellä.

Kettunen tuli minun jälessäni ja näytti poikkeavan meille.

KAARLO hämmästyen.

Mitä se mies oikein ajattelee…? Kehtaako se vielä tulla tänne…?

EMIL kuuntelee.

Nyt se tuli.
 KORPI pakottaa itsensä tyyneksi ja lausuu hiukan värisevällä
äänellä.

Hyvä on. Käske sen tulla sisään.

Emil tekee sen ja alkaa kävellä edestakaisin sivuseinällä huitoen

välillä käsiään, näyttää ikäänkuin ei ensin huomaisikaan Kettusen ja
toisten väittelyä.

KETTUNEN astuu arasti sisään, hänen luihu katseensa kiertää

ympäri huoneen pälyilevänä ja pelokkaana kuin varkaan ja hänen
pukinpartansa heilahtaa hullunkurisesti joka kumarruksella.

Hyvää iltaa, hyvää iltaa… tuota… Taisin häiritä, tuota, tulla

sopimattomaan aikaan… taitaa olla tuota, kokous…?

KORPI

Ei täällä kokousta ole. Muuten vain pitäisi hiukan keskustella, mitä

olisi tehtävä lakon suhteen…

KETTUNEN mielistellen.

Jaha, jaha tuota, sellaista se on… Niin, minäkin tulin tuota,

kysymään, jos niinkuin tuota, olisin niitä apurahoja saanut, tuota,
minäkin…

1:NEN TYÖMIES äreästi.

Eihän teillä ole lapsiakaan…

KETTUNEN katsahtaa hurskaasti kattoon.

Ei ole — ei ole tuota, herra siunannut… vaikka…

 KORPI keskeyttää vapisevalla, miltei surullisella äänellä.

Onko Kettunen sanonut, että minä olen itse syönyt lakkolaisten

avustusrahat?

KETTUNEN hämmentyen.

Minäkö…? En tuota, en minä ole sanonut…

KORPI katsoo häneen läpitunkevasti.

Etkö sinä ole sanonut?

KETTUNEN arasti ja epävarmasti.

Enhän minä, tuota… en minä ole puhunut koko avustusrahoista…

En minä siis ole voinut tuota, sellaista sanoa.

HALONEN

Nyt sinä valehtelet taas! Juuri tänään sanoit kun pyysin viittä
markkaa lainaksi ja käskit mennä pyytämään ruokaa Korvelta…

KETTUNEN säpsähtää ensin huomatessaan Halosen hämärässä

nurkassa, multa sitten tiuskasee tolkuttomasti.

Mitä sinä sanot? Vastaatko puheesi? Kuka sen todistaa? Sinä itse
valehtelet tuota, kuin kirjava koira. Ettes häpee…

HALONEN tuskallisen syyttävästi.

Voi sinua… Etkö muista miten vielä lisäsit, ettei siellä tiedetä
nälästä mitään — koska meidän rahoilla on ostettu vaikka mitä…
Kiellätkö?
KETTUNEN

Tuota, tuota… en minä noin ole sanonut. — (Havahtuu

hämmennyksestään ja lisää ilkeästi.) — Vai olet sinäkin täällä
lakkolaisena? Ethän sinä päivällä ollut sillä kannalla…

(Halonen hätkähtää kuin piiskaniskuista ja aikoo sanoa jotain.)

KAARLO kuohahtaen.

Te olette koira! Ei — oikea Kettunen — oikea kettu te olette.

ENSIMÄINEN TYÖMIES

Niin, älä loukkaa koiria noin rumasti…

KETTUNEN ei tiedä mitä sanoisi, huulet vain höpsyvät

hassunkurisesti ja hän muistuttaa entistä enemmän pukkia; sitten
änkyttää raivosta vinkuvalla äänellä.

Mi-mitä, tuota… mitä sinä lurjus tuota, sanoit…? Vastaatko

puheesi…? Niin juuri — sinä muistat tämän!

KORPI ankarasti.

Onko Kettunen sanonut minusta niin?

KETTUNEN pelästyy taas, mutta viha voittaa; hän perääntyy pari

askelta ja sähisee, syyttävästi.

Minä en tuota, tiedä mitä te tarkoitatte — mutta kyllä minä aina

puheeni vastaan. Enkä minä ainakaan ole apurahoja saanut… Kuka
heidät sitten tuota, lieneekin saanut…
 KORPI koettaa hillitä itseään.

Kettunen on erehtynyt… Ellet ole saanut, niin onhan sinulla rahaa

pankissa. Muuten on täällä tarkasti merkitty kirjaan, ketkä ovat
saaneet ja minkä verran… Ja kyllä nämä toverit voivat sanoa, olenko
minä ..

KAARLO keskeyttää halveksivasti.

Tuollaiselle ei kannattaisi selitellä, mutta kyllä minä ja nämä toiset

toverit todistamme, ettei Korpi ole avustusrahoista suostunut
ottamaan itse yhtään penniä. Se näkyy myös kirjasta…

KETTUNEN epäilevästi ja loukkaavasti irvistäen.

Teidän kirjanne… teidän todistuksenne — niille, tuota ei… Samaa

sakkia olette, tuota…

KAARLO kalpenee ja lähenee Kettusta silmät säkenöiden.

Kurja petturi! Mitä sinä sanot…?

KORPI

Kaarlo… älä viitsi — se koskee vain minua.

KETTUNEN peräytyy pelästyneesti silmiään räpyttäen ja änkyttää.

Tuota, tuota… älä sinä hyökkää minun kimppuuni… minä…

haastan sinut oikeuteen, tuota… niin, vankeuteen pääset!

KORPI läheten Kettusta.

 Älä pelkää… en minä maksa sinulle ansiosi mukaan — kysyn
vain: onko sinun nyt hyvä olla, kun olet noin törkeästi valehdellut
minusta…? En ole vihainen jos se sinulle tuottaa jotain mielihyvää.
Mutta minulla on toinen tärkeämpi asia: Onko Kettunen käynyt
ilmoittautumassa lakkopetturiksi?

KETTUNEN kimeästi kirkuen.

Minä saan mennä työhön, koska, tuota, haluan. Eikä se kuulu,

tuota kaikenlaisille — mokomille!

KORPI raskaasti.

Kyllä se kuuluu — se koskee koko tehtaan työläisiä. Sinä olet

pettänyt jokaisen — kavaltanut meidän yhteisen asian. Sinähän
lupasit olla lakossa niinkauan kuin toisetkin…

1:NEN TYÖMIES pilkallisesti.

Onko patruuna siis Kettusen jumala?

KETTUNEN ärsyyntyen.

On mikä on! Mutta kyllä minä sentään tuota, tottelen häntä

enemmän kuin teitä! Häneltä minä, tuota, palkankin saan…

KAARLO on vieläkin raivosta kalpea, mutta pakottaa itsensä

nauramaan, ja hänen pilkkasanansa putoilevat piiskaniskuina.

Sehän on tietty, että Kettunen palkan saa! Mutta sanokaa nyt

huvin vuoksi, paljoko saatte? Oppimestarinne Juudas sai mestarinsa
pettämisestä 30 hopeapenninkiä — mutta tietysti veljien
pettämisestä on korkeampi taksa? Eikö niin? Rahan arvokin on
kohonnut.

(Katkeraa naurua.)

KETTUNEN ähkyy kuin raivosta tukehtumaisillaan.

Mi… mitä sinä lurjus lörpöttelet tuota, Juudaasta,

hopeapenningeistä…? Sinä uskallat?

KAARLO myrkyllisesti.

Ooh, suokaa anteeksi, herra Kettunen — nyt vasta ymmärrän, että

teillä on syytä loukkautua moisesta vertauksesta. Mikä oli Juudas?
Typerä hölmö, joka pettää vain yhden — penneistä, vie nekin
takaisin ja hirttää itsensä! Sellainenko kykenisi opettamaan Kettusta,
— joka pettää yhtaikaa 800 toveriansa, vie palkkiot pankkiin ja alkaa
ajatella, miten saisi lisää…

KETTUNEN peräytyy ovella ja heristää nyrkkiänsä, kihisten

kiukkuisesti.

Tämän te tuota, muistatte… jumala rankaisee — jumala muistaa

kerran teidät.

KAARLO

Mutta teidät muistaa vain piru!

EMIL

Tuskinpa pirukaan viitsii Kettusen puolesta kiusata kunnon ihmisiä.

KAARLO

Aa — onhan sillä täällä parikin uskollista asiamiestä — patruuna ja

mestari. Kyllä ne viitsivät — kun Kettunen taas suutelee heidän
saappaitaan.

(Naurua.)

KETTUNEN röyhkeästi.

Se on minun asiani! Ja kai minä yhtähyvin saan mennä työhön

kuin
Halonenkin. Hänelle ette sano mitään… — (Kaikki hämmästyvät.)

KORPI ärjäisten.

Valehtelet!

KETTUNEN ovella, ilkeästi naurahtaen.

No, olkoon niin — minun puolestani…

EMIL on muuttunut aivan kalpeaksi; lähtee nopeasti Kettusen

jälkeen ja mutisee hammasta purren.

Tuota minä en kärsi…

KORPI

Mihinkä sinä? Pysy täällä…

(Emil ei enää kuule.)

1:NEN TYÖMIES hiljaa, kiihtyneenä.

 Antakaa hänen mennä…

KORPI aikoen nousta.

Ei, ei. Siellä voisi käydä huonosti.

(Kyökistäpäin kuuluu epämääräistä melua.)

KAARLO lähenee häntä; hiljaa lujasti.

Korpi, älkää sekaantuko tähän. Siellä on nyt pimeä — ja pieni

selkäsauna tekisi hänelle niin kovin hyvää — hän kaipaa sitä
kipeämmin kuin kukaan toinen tässä maaherranläänissä…

KAIKKI paitsi Halonen yhtyvät naurahtaen Kaarlon mielipiteeseen.

— Hän olisi tarvinnut sen jo kauan sitten…

— Se on oikein! Ei sekaannuta…

Silloin kuuluu ulkoa epäselvästi Kettusen kimeä hätähuuto:

Auttakaa!
Apua jumalan tähden! — Liisa huutaa — Emil, Emil! — Siellä kuuluu
Anninkin ääni, ja lasten hätääntynyttä itkua.

KORPI syöksähtää kalveten seisaalleen.

Ei, nyt taisi käydä hullusti! Voi, kun en heti estänyt…

(Juoksee ulos.)

(Melun yli kuuluu vieläkin Kettusen huuto ja vaikenee äkkiä. —

Kaikki kuuntelevat jännittyneinä.)
 KAARLO kuiskaa levottomasti.

Voi, voi — kun ei Emil vain olisi iskenyt sitä kuoliaaksi! Hän on
sellainen… tulinen…

1:NEN TYÖMIES nousee.

Se olisi kamalaa… Mitä, mitä tästä tulee…?

(Aikoo lähteä.)

KAARLO hiljaa.

Ei mennä sentään sinne — me olemme vieraita… Jos

kumminkin…

(Kuuntelevat jännittyneinä.)

(Kuuluu ovien pauketta, Korven ääni, ja hetken kuluttua tämä tulee

sisään.)

KAIKKI

— No, eihän vain käynyt hullusti…?

— No, miten?

— Puhu.

KORPI purskahtaa nauruun.

Voitteko arvata mitä tuo saakelin poika teki?

LEVOTTOMIA ÄÄNIÄ
 — No, mitä?

— Älä viitsi nauraa…

—- Kerrohan nyt…

KORPI

Niin, kun minä menin ulos, makaa Kettunen mahallaan portailla,

poika pitelee niskasta ja tomuuttaa kepillä sen housuntakapuolta
ihan kuin mattoa!

(Kaikki purskahtavat helpottavaan nauruun.)

KAARLO

Kyllä minä tiedän miksi se tuli. Se oli varmasti mestarin asioilla

urkkimassa…

1:NEN TYÖMIES

Silloin se sai ihan soveliaan palkan.

KAARLO

Emil ei ole vielä koko elämässään tehnyt niin välttämätöntä

hyväätyötä kuin tänään…

(Naurua.)

KORPI
 Ei tässä naurunpaikka ole, mutta se oli totisesti niin naurettavaa,
ettei voi ilmankaan olla! — (Vakavasti.) — Kun ei se vain saisi jotain
pahaa aikaan?

1:NEN TYÖMIES

Eikös mitä. Ei se ilkeä mennä kielittelemään tuota

selkäsaunaansa…

(Nauraa.)

LIISAN ÄÄNI kyökissä, vihaisena.

Mitä sinä Emil oikein ajattelet? Tuollainenko sinusta tuli?

(Emil tulee sisään vieläkin kiihtyneenä ja kalpeana.)

(Samassa näyttää Kaarlo havahtuvan, muistavan jotain tuskallista;

nousee ja menee kyökkiin.)

KORPI

Kuinka sinä menet tuollaista tekemään? Tuovat tänne vielä

poliisilauman — sinun tähtesi.

EMIL tulisesti.

Tuokoot vaikka kaksi laumaa, mutta tuollaista minä en kärsi!

Kehtaa lasketella vielä tuollaisia syytöksiä, saadakseen lopunkin
yksimielisyyden rikki. Se on liian hävytöntä!

(Kaikki vaikenevat ja katsahtavat Haloseen. Tämä vaalenee

kalman kalpeaksi ja tuijottaa maahan.)
 KORPI pitkän äänettömyyden jälkeen hiljaa.

Halonen… eihän se ollut totta? Sano, ettei se ollut totta.

HALONEN hengittää raskaasti ja kuuluvasti, katsahtaa kerran

oveen, aivankuin aikoisi paeta, mutta ei vastaa.

KORPI nousevalla vihalla.

Sano nyt, onko se totta?

KAARLO tulee juuri sisään neuvottomana, kiihtyneenä.

Mikä niin?

EMIL kuiskaa Kaarlolle muutaman sanan.

HALONEN kuiskaa käheästi.

On…

(Silmät välähtävät, Emil hypähtää seisaalleen, nyrkit puristettuina,

ja Korpi tartun kaulaansa, aivankuin sitä kuristaisi liian tiukka
kaulaliina, mutta kaikki ovat kauan äänettömiä.)

KORPI mutisee kuin raskaan surun valtaamana.

En minä Kettusta ihmettele, vaan että sinä Kalle — sinä… (Sitten

äkkiä hiljaa ja uhkaavasti.) — Miksi sen teit? Koska siellä kävit? —
(Äänettömyys. — Kaikki tuijottavat pahanenteisesti Halosta. Lopulta
tämä nousee ja aikoo lähteä ovea kohti.)

KAARLO astuu hänen tielleen, lausuu hiljaa raivoisasti.

 Te ette hievahda tästä… Vastatkaa!

(Kaikkien suusta kuuluu epämääräinen, uhkaava murahdus.)

HALOSEN kasvoilla kuvastuu kiduttava tuska, kun hän vihdoin

änkyttää.

Tä… tänään… kun…

(Silloin puhkeaa katkeruuden ja vihan myrsky hänen ylitseen.

Kukaan ei huuda, mutta nälkä ja epätoivo terästää heidän syyttävät
sanansa murhaaviksi, ne tunkeutuvat suoraan sydämeen kuin
terävät puukot…)

KORPI

Kuinka sinä kehtasit tulla heti tänne senjälkeen, kun…

HALONEN änkyttää hiljaa.

Minun täytyy koettaa päästä vielä työhön tänne… Kun on niin

paljo… lapsia, eikä…

(Kukaan ei kuuntele hänen sanojaan.)

EMIL

Kai tekin tulitte urkkimaan — vai miten? Minkälainen raukka te

olette!

KAARLO hiljaa, yhteen purtujen hammasten välistä.

Ei minua säälittäisi, vaikka häviäisitte iäksi…

 EMIL pahanenteisesti.

No no, kyllä ne vielä tavataan, Kettuset ja kaikki — kunhan tulee

toinen aika…

KORPI tuskallisesti.

No, no pojat… älkää… lakatkaa…

1:NEN TYÖMIES

Eipä ole väliä! Kyllä hän samallainen on, kuin Kettunenkin.

KAARLO katkerasti.

Juudas edes hirtti itsensä — mutta meidän Juudaksilla ei ole

pennin edestä häpyä — eikä rohkeutta tehdä edes sitä!

HALONEN on vavahtanut jokaisesta syytöksestä kuin

piiskaniskusta, nyt hän käännähtää, kohottaa tuskan vääristämät
kasvonsa Kaarloa kohden ja änkyttää vapisevin huulin.

Voi toverit, toverit… kun mestari uhkasi ajaa heti pois ellen…

KAARLO keskeyttää ärjäisten.

Ei tässä ole sinun tovereitasi!

HALONEN kuin tukehtumaisillaan.

Älä sinä Kaarlo… et sinä vielä tiedä… kun ei ole leivänmurua —

eikä saa mistään apua… Ja sitten lapset… yhtämittaa pyytävät ja
itkevät… niin tuota…
 (Hänen äänensä katkeaa ja hän lähtee horjuen ulos.)

(Kaarlo hätkähtää vuorostaan Halosen viime sanoista, niinkuin

häneen olisi sattunut voimakas isku. Ja kaikki ovat kuin
lamaantuneita.)

EMIL katkerasti ihmetellen.

Hän — hän petturi…?

KORPI matalalla äänellä.

Toverit, me syytimme häntä liian ankarasti… Nähkääs,

tuollatavalla me suorastaan ajamme hänet petturiksi… Olisi pitänyt
puhua hänelle, koettaa auttaa, niin hän ei olisi mennyt… Me teimme
väärin.

1:NEN TYÖMIES

Ei tässä ihminen enää ymmärrä, mitä sanoo…

EMIL

Mutta miksi hän sentään lupasi mennä petturiksi…? Kuinka se n

mahdollista?

KAARLO syvästi katuen.

Kyllä minä sen nyt ymmärrän. Hän on tehnyt sen lastensa tähden,
ei ole voinut kestää niiden itkua… Ei, toverit, meidän täytyy auttaa
häntä jotenkin — heti paikalla! Minä menen toimittamaan jotakin.
(Näyttää ajattelevan hetken ankarasti; sitten lamaantuu.) Niin, mitä?
No, ehkä huomenna joku keino keksitään…?