Part 5 (2/2)

74.His words left me feeling suddenly desperate.

”I don't know why she sent for me, or what I can possibly do for her, now that I'm here. She wouldn't even tell me_why she wanted me to come. There's nothing to do but leave as soon as possible, and then I won't be seeing her at all.”

He spoke directly, without equivocation. ”They think you've come to grab whatever you can when she dies.”

I didn't know what he was talking about. ”Who do you mean by 'they'?”

”Caleb Hawes. And perhaps that nurse who's turned up and seems to be taking over the house.”

”But why should they think I-”

He stepped back from me, and as light from the barn touched his dark head, the anger went out of his face.

”I'm sorry,” he said. ”I shouldn't have spoken to you the way I did. I don't know what I expected of you, or why I should think you'd be any different.”

”Different from what?”

”Laurie!” His voice was gentler now, softer. ”I do remember, but that was a long time ago.”

I continued to stare at him. The mountain wind was cold and everything was growing darker, making me s.h.i.+ver. When I closed my eyes I was on a horse again-the pony I'd ridden as a child-and I was tearing up the valley toward Old Desolate, with hooves pounding hard in pursuit and this same cold wind in my face. Terror, awful terror, lay in the house behind me. A goal pulled me ahead toward the mountain. Something I had to reach. I mustn't stop, because if I didn't get there . . . !

When I began to s.h.i.+ver in the wind, Jon put his hands on my arms, steadying me.

”You're cold.” He reached toward a hook near the barn door. ”Here, put on my sweater.”

It was a woolly beige cardigan, and I slipped into its gener- 75.cms warmth gratefully, aware of a barn and outdoor scent that was somehow comforting.

”What do you remember?” he asked.

”Only a little. There was a boy who was kind to me when I was frightened. But I still can't recall what frightened me. My grandmother wouldn't tell me.”

”Perhaps that's for the best. She's the only one who would know the whole story. Don't listen to anyone else.”

I hugged his big sweater around me as though his arms held me again. ”But I have to know. It's what I came out here for. I can't leave without learning the truth. Will you tell me?”

He seemed to change before my eyes-to stiffen and draw back from me. ”I was only a kid when it happened. I could only guess at a lot of it. I don't know facts. In any case maybe you have to earn the right to know.”

What a strange thing to say. No one else had ever told me anything like that. I'd been told by Peter that I must find a way back. Hillary had thought I should open those doors. And Grandmother Persis had said to let it go. But never before had anyone said I must earn the right to understand my own past. Why hadn't I that right automatically when I was the one person most concerned? His words made me angry. He had no right to judge me, as he was clearly doing.

I fondled Red again, thanked Jon coolly for the loan of his sweater, and started back toward the house. This time he let me go, and no sound of singing followed me. I felt a strange sense of loss. The comforting part of my dream would never come again. My mysterious, loving young friend had disappeared into the reality of the stern, reproving man he had become. Nor was I any longer that small girl for whom a boy had felt a protective affection. We were indeed antagonists now. His momentary relenting was only for an incident long ago that he, too, had remembered. It was foolish to feel the wetness of tears on my cheeks.

76.Behind me as I walked away, Red made soft whining sounds, but I didn't turn back. I followed the rough road to the house, stumbling once or twice in the dark, and ran up the porch steps. I wanted only to put the barn and that man with a guitar behind me as quickly as possible.

VI.

When I entered the hall, a bell upstairs was clanging furiously. It sounded like an old-fas.h.i.+oned cowbell, and at the sound a woman came rus.h.i.+ng out of the kitchen at the back of the house, a laden tray in her hands. She ducked her head at me in greeting and hurried up the stairs, carrying Persis Morgan's meal.

I found myself alone in the hallway, with the Turkey-red runner stretching past closed doors at the back, and once more I experienced the same uneasiness I had felt earlier in this spot. As though something unhappy might have taken place ”here that the unconscious part of me still remembered.

I saw that the dining room door stood open on my left, opposite the parlor I had already visited. So the dining room wasn't the room at the back that made me uneasy. I hung Jon's sweater on a rack near the door and v, alked into the dining room to escape the hall.

No one was here as yet. My feeling of distress subsided a little as I once more stepped back in time. Not in memory, but in history. This room, I suspected, hadn't been changed in years, 78.though I couldn't recall it clearly. It was a dark, rather oppressive room, heavy with handsome walnut paneling.

Somehow I seemed to remember as I looked about that my grandmother's husband-the man who was not my grandfather -hadn't cared for children at the table. So I had been given my meals earlier in the kitchen. A place that I must surely have preferred to this room that was so dark and repressive.

From over the fireplace an antlered elk's head looked down at me with a familiar stare, and this at least I recalled. I was returning its gla.s.sy look when Gail Cullen walked into the room. She no longer wore her uniform, but had changed to a swirly green dress that became her. Brown hair had been loosened from its bow and its dark gloss hung past her shoulders in a thick ma.s.s, making her look very feminine and pretty and unstarched. Yet my instinct to feel doubtful about her remained.

When I turned to look once more at the elk's head, she nodded. ”I do agree. But I understand that Johnny Morgan, Mrs. Morgan's first husband, was quite a hunter, and we're lucky those heads don't look down at us in every room. She wouldn't think of moving it, though it doesn't help the digestion. Lately I've been sitting with my back to it in Mrs. Morgan's place. She doesn't come downstairs for meals these days, and I'm let off for supper. Edna takes care of that.”

”Isn't it hard on the rest of the house to have her way up there on the third floor? With all that running up and down stairs whenever she rings?”

”She won't hear of being anywhere else, and the servants are devoted to her. It may not be for long, anyway. She seems to fail visibly from day to day.”

”Caleb didn't tell me what is wrong with her.”

”The doctor doesn't really know. She won't go into a hospital for tests. Mainly it's old age, deterioration. Mr. Hawes says she's about eighty-four, though she's absurdly vain and won't tell.”

79.”Do you know why she sent for me?” I asked.

”Didn't she tell you?”

”Not exactly. Only that I am supposed to help her in some way.”

Gail dismissed that with a flick of her hand. ”Let's go over to the parlor. We can at least have a drink in a more cheerful atmosphere before supper. Mr. Hawes should be joining us s< ion.=”” we=”” dine=”” early=”” here=”” because=”” it=”” gets=”” dark=”” so=”” quickly,=”” and=”” because=”” early=”” dining=”” has=”” always=”” been=”” the=”” custom.=”” heaven=”” forbid=”” that=”” we=”” break=”” with=””>

I followed her across the hall, where a fire had been lighted beneath the black marble mantelpiece to warm air that was growing chill. The elaborate chandelier was dark, but sconces on the walls gave electric light, and there v, as a lamp on a reading table. I sat in a winged-back chair near the fire and watched the flames until they soothed me a little.

Gail brought me bourbon and water without asking. ”Our stocks are low, since Mrs. Morgan doesn't approve. Johnnv ft lorgan used to drink as well as hunt, I understand, and I expect she often had her hands full with him.”

I took the gla.s.s she handed me and sipped, aware that her dark eyes were watching me with curious intent.

”Don't you really remember anything?” she asked sortly. ”Doesn't the word 'murder' recall anything to you?”

The sound of that word, flung at me without warning, u ent surging through my mind in echoing waves. She had spoken deliberately, clearly meaning to cut through whatever defenses I had. I suspected that she was eager to tell me anything I might ask, but I shrank from her malice. If what I must learn was almost too horrible to be borne, it must not come to me from this woman. Jon was right. Only my grandmother could tell me the facts truthfully.

”If you'd like to ask am questions,” she went on in that soft, cheerful voice that I so distrusted, ”I do know quite a bit of the So story. Mr. Hawes felt that I ought to know about it, once we learned that you were coming. This must seem a haunted house to you, and there's only one way to stop the haunting.”

”If there's anything to tell, I'd rather hear it from my grandmother,” I said quickly.

”Who will never tell you anything.” Gail shrugged. ”As you please. Though I can't believe that it's healthy to go through your life without ever facing up to the past.”

Caleb came into the room in time to hear her last words. ”Stop that, Gail. Mrs. Morgan is enormously relieved that Laurie can't remember what happened here. If you try to tell her the story, she will be very angry.”

Again Gail shrugged, but I suspected that she had no wish to make Persis Morgan angry at this point.

Caleb came over to the fire and stood near my chair. ”Your grandmother asked me to tell you that she's grateful to you for coming. She feels that she didn't make that clear, and she hopes you won't go away at once.” He paused, and I knew he was repeating a sentiment that was not his own. ”There's still a great deal she wants to talk with you about,” he added.

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