Part 18 (1/2)

”Well, she certainly looks normal enough now,” Craig observed. ”Maybe Mary and Ted were right-maybe all she needed was a new environment.”

”You should have seen her a few days ago.” Barbara chuckled. ”With that pink hair-” She fell silent, her face reddening as Mary Anderson appeared in the doorway.

But Mary only smiled. ”That awful awful pink hair?” she asked. ”Is that what you were talking about?” Barbara's blush deepened. ”It's all right, Barb,” Mary went on. ”It pink hair?” she asked. ”Is that what you were talking about?” Barbara's blush deepened. ”It's all right, Barb,” Mary went on. ”It was was awful, and I still haven't thanked you for talking her into changing it. Let me give you a hand with that.” She picked up an egg and began peeling it, then glanced at Craig. ”My husband and father-in-law are both grumbling about what they claim must be a beer shortage.” awful, and I still haven't thanked you for talking her into changing it. Let me give you a hand with that.” She picked up an egg and began peeling it, then glanced at Craig. ”My husband and father-in-law are both grumbling about what they claim must be a beer shortage.”

Taking the hint, Craig pulled three cans out of the refrigerator, leaving the two women alone in the kitchen.

”I do appreciate what you did,” Mary said as she began slicing the egg she'd just sh.e.l.led. ”And I still want to know how you did it.” She sighed and her smile turned wan. ”I...well, sometimes I just don't seem to know how to talk to her.”

”Well, don't ask me,” Barbara replied. ”As far as motherhood's concerned. I've always just winged it. I figure there's no training for the job, and all we can do is follow our instincts.”

The last of Mary's smile faded away. ”Maybe my problem is that I don't have any instincts,” she said, her eyes carefully avoiding Barbara's. ”Ever since Kelly was a baby I've felt that I didn't have the slightest idea what she was all about. And it seems that it gets worse as she grows up, not better.”

”Don't be silly,” Barbara objected. ”Every mother has instincts. Didn't you feel it when you first got pregnant?” She hesitated as Mary's face reddened, and suddenly, as comprehension dawned on her, she felt a wave of embarra.s.sment. ”That was stupid of me,” she said. ”I don't know why I didn't figure it out. Kelly doesn't really look like either one of you. She's adopted, isn't she?”

Mary nodded. ”I couldn't have children at all. Ted and I tried, but I just can't conceive.” Her voice took on an edge. ”Sometimes I wonder if it might not have been better if we'd simply accepted the fact that we weren't going to be parents.”

Barbara stopped working, and faced the other woman. ”Mary, you can't mean that.”

”Can't I?” Mary asked, her eyes glistening with tears. ”Do you know what it's like, raising a child you don't even know? Every time something goes wrong-and with Kelly, it's seemed as though that's been most of the time-you wonder whether it's your fault. And then you start wondering where your child came from, if maybe it isn't your fault at all. You start thinking maybe it's something in your child's genes.” A brittle, harsh laugh escaped her lips. ”You wouldn't know about that, would you, with two perfect children of your own?” At the stricken expression on Barbara's face, Mary's words suddenly died on her lips. ”Barbara? Now I've I've said something, haven't I?” said something, haven't I?”

Barbara nodded mutely, trying to control the tears that had flooded her own eyes. ”I guess we've been lucky,” she breathed. ”With Michael, there haven't been that many problems. He's always been a bit of a loner, but-”

Mary Anderson's jaw dropped open with surprise. ”You mean he's not yours?”

Barbara swallowed the lump that had suddenly risen in her throat. ”I-There was a problem. My first baby was stillborn,” she breathed. ”We adopted Michael before I even left the hospital.”

Mary slipped her arms around the other woman, hugging her for a moment. ”I'm sorry,” she said softly. ”I had no idea.” Releasing Barbara, she stepped back, breathed deeply, then forced a smile. ”Well, aren't we a pair. Known each other half a day, and here we are, crying on each other's shoulders.”

The two women went back to work, and suddenly Barbara found herself telling Mary about losing her child. ”I hadn't really thought about it for years,” she said. ”But the same thing happened to one of the swamp-rat women last week. Her baby was stillborn, and she almost lost her mind.” She told Mary about the call she'd had from the clinic just a few minutes after Kelly had left that day, when Jolene Mayhew had told her what had happened to Amelie Coulton's baby, and how the young woman had reacted. ”Didn't Kelly tell you?”

Mary shook her head. ”I'm afraid Kelly doesn't tell either of us very much. She comes and goes, and eats and sleeps, but every time I try to talk to her about anything, she just gets defensive.”

”I know,” Barbara sighed. ”Michael can be that way, too. He's always been a loner, sticking pretty much to himself.” She glanced out the window to see Michael lining up a shot on Kelly's ball, while his sister did her best to ruin his concentration. ”At least he was until Kelly arrived. I have a feeling she's about to become his first girlfriend.”

”Well, it's fine by me,” Mary declared. ”I don't know what's happened since we came here, but Kelly seems happier. She still hardly talks to us at all, but at least she's not out running around all night long.”

They watched the children for a few minutes, and suddenly Kelly, as if feeling their gaze, looked up and waved. Mary waved back, but then frowned. ”If that isn't the strangest thing,” she said.

Barbara looked at her inquiringly.

”Just now, when she looked up, Kelly looked just like you!”

Barbara felt a chill run through her, and Jenny's words of a few days ago echoed in her mind. She looks just like cousin Tisha! She looks just like cousin Tisha! The memory of her brief fantasy about her long-dead daughter reared up once more, bringing with it thoughts of Jolene Mayhew's strange story that Amelie had insisted her baby hadn't died but had been taken from her. The memory of her brief fantasy about her long-dead daughter reared up once more, bringing with it thoughts of Jolene Mayhew's strange story that Amelie had insisted her baby hadn't died but had been taken from her.

It was the same thing that Barbara herself had thought when she'd lost her little girl sixteen years ago. She, like Amelie, had been unable to accept her loss.

She'd denied it completely, until Dr. Phillips had put Michael in her arms, and the tiny boy had instantly filled the great yawning chasm that had opened inside her.

Now all those memories surged up in her once again. Before she thought about it, she heard herself speaking.

”Mary, where did Kelly come from?”

Mary, startled not only by the question, but by the odd tone of Barbara's voice, turned to face her, and instantly understood the thought that had come into the other woman's mind.

”Oh, no, Barb,” she said quietly. ”I certainly didn't mean to put a thought like that into your head. It's-well, it's just a startling coincidence, that's all.”

Though she said no more about the strange idea that had popped into her head in the kitchen, Barbara could not keep from studying Kelly all through the rest of the evening.

And each time she looked at the girl, she thought the resemblance between Kelly Anderson and her sister's daughter was more and more remarkable.

Judd Duval got up from his chair and moved to the doorway of his shack at the edge of the swamp for at least the tenth time since darkness had fallen two hours ago.

He was imagining things.

He knew it, had told himself over and over again that none of the sounds he kept hearing was real. Still, each time he thought he sensed something approaching the cabin, he pulled himself up from his battered recliner and went out to look.

Each time it was the same.

He stepped out onto the porch, and the darkness closed around him. It was a frightening darkness, a blackness that reached out to him, as if it wanted to swallow him.

Deciding it was the lights of the cabin that made the surrounding blackness so impenetrable, he at last switched off the lights, leaving nothing to illuminate the interior of the cabin except the flickering gray light of his black-and-white television set.

After his eyes had adjusted to the darkness, he searched the shadows once more. Somewhere out there, hidden in the tall saw gra.s.s, or concealed behind a clump of palmetto, they were watching him.

The children, fixing him with their empty eyes, saying nothing.

Bulls.h.i.+t! he told himself each time.

It was nothing.

So each time he returned to the television, staring at the screen, but paying no attention to the images on the set, his mind filled with images of his own.

This time he was sure he heard the soft splash of an oar dipping into the water.

He flicked off the lights once more, then waited in the darkness.

He heard a rustling sound off to the right and froze.

Then he saw the eyes.

Bright, glowing eyes, staring at him.

Another pair, just to the right of the first.

Then another, and another.

His heart began to pound as he watched the semicircle of staring eyes.

Were they coming closer?