Dreadful Sorry (23 page)

But Abner didn't come for another hour, and when he did, he whispered through the door that Janie was still at the house and Anne was putting them to bed.

"Mama's very sick," he hissed, sounding scared, and then ran off again when he heard his father and Janie coming. Clementine sighed. Silly little boy—she thought she'd be able to count on him. And Aunt Ethel—
damn
that woman for her weakness!

She crossed the room impatiently to the windows and stood looking out across the headland. If only she dared climb out this way. She didn't care about anyone in this house as much as she cared about getting herself out. into the world. There was a tree just a few feet too far from the house—she'd checked earlier whether she could fix a rope out of bed sheets and swing down to freedom. But no, the only way out was through the door.

She flopped back across her bed to wait for Janie to leave. She hoped Abner wouldn't forget and fall asleep or something. He was so little. He couldn't really be trusted, devoted to her though he was.

She closed her eyes and imagined the boat ride with Hob to Benson. They would sail right across the cove, then she'd break it to him that she was having second thoughts about marrying so young. And off he'd go. Maybe he'd be angry. Certainly he'd be disappointed—he was so head-over-heels about her. But in the end it didn't matter how
he
felt—just as long as
she
was safely away from Hibben. She knew she was selfish in this but didn't care. Her desperation to move on with her life was too great. And Hob was the means to the end.

If somehow she couldn't get away, they might have to get married after all and spend the night in a hotel. Well, that would be too bad, but in the morning she'd sell her locket and head straight to the depot to get the big bus to Boston or New York—wherever the bus went. It didn't matter. There was bound to be work in the city, and soon she would have a paying position at another school, or maybe as a governess to a wealthy family that would pay her for her services. No one from Hibben would ever find her. And when she had enough saved, she would apply to colleges. Her life would finally begin!

She heard a rustling noise and ran to the door. "Abner? Is it you? Did you get the key?" Clementine held her ear to the door.

His childish voice seemed loud in the nighttime hush of the big house. "I couldn't get it, Clemmy! Janie's still here and she hasn't hung her keys back up on the nail."

"Janie shouldn't be here now." She rattled the door handle. "Why hasn't she gone home?"

"I don't know. She's in the bedroom with Mama. Janie said we're all to stay up in the playroom. She said Anne is in charge."

"Oh, Abner!"

There was the sound of shuffling. "I'm
trying,
Clemmy. I want to help you! Maybe I can get one of the others." His little voice sounded sad. He loved her so. He wanted to be her hero.

"Don't tell Anne." Anne was becoming more and more troublesome lately, always bossing and telling on the younger children, and Clementine didn't trust her anymore. Anne was too prim. Clementine had been looking forward to the time Anne would go off to boarding school in the fall. But now it was turning out that she would be gone before Anne. "Maybe Andrew or Amity will be able to get the key. Go look for them," she ordered Abner. "Don't let me down. You're my little sweetheart, aren't you? I don't want to leave my sweet boy, but if you don't let me out of here, I might have to get out some other way, and then, well ... you might never see me again." That ought to make him try harder. "Now, I'm depending on you, Abner. Go get the key—and hurry!"

"Oh please, Clemmy," he sobbed. "Promise you won't—oh—!" He broke off suddenly and she heard the small thuds of his footsteps as he darted down the hall. Then came the murmur of voices—her uncle's deep rumble and Janie's high-pitched one.

Clementine rattled the doorknob again, then stood leaning against the door with her forehead pressed upon its smooth, paneled surface. Time passed. She moved to the window and stood there, looking out at the shapes of trees, planning her future. She heard the clock in the hall strike eight-thirty, then nine. The evening outside her window grew dark. She paced the room, stopping every few minutes to rattle the door handle. She felt faint with hunger. Did her uncle mean to starve her, then? Had everyone just forgotten her? Finally she pounded on the door with clenched fists. "Janie! Uncle Wallace! Please open the door! Let me out!"

But no one came.

The children would all be in bed by now. Abner had failed her. So much for loyalty and true love!

She resumed pacing. Soon Hob Wilkins would be waiting for her at the wharf, and she wouldn't be there! Clementine began to cry helpless tears of rage. She then heard the slam of a door and the heavy, measured tread of her uncle's footsteps in the hallway. They stopped outside her door. She heard the beautiful sound of the key scraping in the lock.

Then Uncle Wallace stood there. His hair was wild, as if he had been out in a boat in the middle of the stormy cove. His face was haggard. "Clementine, girl," he said in a choked voice, "you must be hungry. Come with me."

She followed him down the stairs. From her aunt's room she heard a cry. Uncle Wallace winced.

"It seems your aunt may lose this baby," he said softly. "We have been attending to her all day. Janie stayed as long as she could, but she has just left to go home to care for her own old mother. I have telephoned down to the village for the doctor, and he is on his way."

Clementine didn't answer. All she could think of was how hungry she was. Even a slice of bread, would be heavenly—and a tall glass of milk.

"We need your help here tonight, Clementine. That is why I am releasing you from your room early." He directed her to the kitchen and nodded at the table, where a bowl of soup and a hunk of bread sat waiting. "I had thought two days in solitary confinement would be punishment enough for your adventure this morning, but if you can promise me you will be a dutiful and proper member of the family, then I will not lock you in again. Am I making myself clear?"

She nodded quickly, not looking at him, eyes fastened on the soup. She could already taste its fragrant broth.

"Clementine!" His rough voice made her look up. "On your knees!"

She just stared at him. "Excuse me?" she asked weakly.

"
On your knees,
Clementine! I want you to promise to do your duty to your family. Come along now." He held out his hand.

She wouldn't take it, she wouldn't! But there seemed no other way to get at that soup, and then to get out of the house. She sank slowly to her knees at his feet. He placed his hand on her head.

"All right, niece. Promise."

"I promise," she said, shrugging.

His fingers tightened in her hair. "What is it you promise, girl?"

"I promise to obey you and my aunt in all things and to fulfill my duty to your family."

"Look at me when you say it!" But now his hand was gentle on her head. "And remember, my dear, this is
your
family, too."

She looked up at him and tried to keep her voice steady. "I promise to obey you in all things and to fulfill my duty to
my
dear family."

He stared down at her, blue eyes probing. She lowered her eyes meekly so that he wouldn't see any challenge in them. Satisfied at last, he took her hand and helped her to her feet. She stepped quickly to the table and sat down.

"Eat quickly, then," he said. "I need you to attend to the children. Several of them are still awake and worried about their mother."

"Yes sir," she said through a mouthful of soup.

 

She finished her small meal and followed her uncle up to the children's rooms. Amity and Alice were awake, clinging to their dolls. Anne was holding a howling Augustus, trying to calm him. Clementine crossed the bedroom and took the baby from Anne. "He needs another bottle," she said. "And he's wet! No wonder he's crying."

Anne looked at her resentfully. "Well, I tried my best! But how am I to know how to tend an infant? That's Janie's job—or yours!"

"We did sing to him, Papa," offered Alice. "But he wouldn't go back to sleep. He's not used to sleeping in a basket. He wants his bed in Clementine's room."

"I'm sure you tried your best," Uncle Wallace said. "But Clementine will take over now. I need to wait for the doctor. Your mama is having a hard time tonight."

"Go down and fill his bottle, Anne," directed Clementine, patting Augustus's small back. "I'll change his clothes. And Amity and Alice, hop back into bed. I'll tell you a story in a minute."

Uncle Wallace left them and hurried back to his wife's side.

Soon Anne returned with the baby's bottle. Clementine settled herself in the low chair between the little girls' beds and fed him. While he sucked, she began a story. She had sat in this chair many times, sometimes tending the girls when they were sick or had been sent to bed early for some naughtiness or needed comforting after a bad dream. Tonight, if God were on her side, was the last time she would ever sit here. She listened to the clock chime the half hour and closed her eyes in despair. Already past nine-thirty, and here she was, no closer to the wharf and Hob's boat than before.

Anne settled on the window seat to listen. Clementine took a deep breath and forced her voice to be soothing and slow. "Once upon a time," she began, "there was a girl named Mollydolly. She was young, but she wasn't little. Do you know why?"

"Because she was a
giant
little girl, right, Clemmy?" All the children knew Clementine's stories about the giant girl.

"That's right. And she lived high up on a cliff above a dangerous, rocky cove."

"Like us, up here on the headland, right, Clemmy?"

"Right. Now you girls close your eyes and listen." They did, and Clementine continued the familiar tale. "One day she was hungry and wanted to make a good supper. She thought that soup would taste good. So what did she put in her caldron?"

"Trees!" squealed Alice.

"
Shhh,
" said Clementine. "That's right. She just pulled up some big trees and tossed them down over the cliff into her boiling caldron. Just like Janie puts celery into the pot when she's making soup. And then Mollydolly sprinkled in a few boulders for seasoning and threw in part of an old fence—"

Her voice droned on, telling the story of the giant girl. Soon Amity and Alice were asleep, baby Augustus was asleep in Clementine's arms, and Anne was dozing on the window seat. If Clementine went right now, she might still be able to meet Hob after all. She stood up to carry the baby to his crib in the room they shared.

But then there was a commotion in the hall and the bedroom door flew open. Uncle Wallace ran in, his face above his beard flushed. "Clementine," he hissed. "Go straight to your aunt! Hurry, girl!"

Clementine clutched the baby. "But, Uncle Wallace—I—"

"Remember your vow, girl! I need your help!"

Anne stirred on the window seat, then opened her eyes and hurried over to her father. "Is it Mama? Is she all right?"

"She is having a hard time," he said in a choked voice. "Clementine must help. You stay up here, Anne. It's not something I want you to see."

Wordlessly, Clementine handed the sleeping baby to Anne and followed her uncle from the room.

"The doctor isn't here yet, and no one answers his telephone. Perhaps he's on his way—I can only hope so. But you, you've attended the births, Clementine. You must know what can be done to help Ethel. You've helped her so many times before."

He pushed her along the hall ahead of him down to Aunt Ethel's room and opened the door. Clementine had assisted at half a dozen births, it was true. But this was not a birth. Nothing could have prepared Clementine for the sight of her aunt writhing on the bed, her white nightgown hiked up around her waist. Blood had seeped onto the white gown and onto the bed sheets. Clementine started to back out of the room, but Uncle Wallace pushed her forward. "You must help her!" he insisted. "She's in terrible pain."

Clementine could see that for herself. But she stood motionless as he left the room and closed the door. She knew tricks to help turn a baby that was stuck or to get a blue-faced baby started breathing. But this wasn't a baby yet, and it didn't look now as if it ever would be. She approached the bed slowly and reached out to pull the quilt over Aunt Ethel's bare legs. When her aunt moaned and kicked the quilt off again, Clementine backed away. She spied a pitcher of water on the bedside table and poured some into the glass. "Would you like a drink of water?" She held the glass out. Her aunt groaned and opened her eyes.

"Clementine?" The voice was a whisper.

"Yes—"

"You must promise to—you must—stay with the children." A spasm crossed her face, wrinkling it with lines of pain. Aunt Ethel reached out one thin hand to her niece. "Promise me, promise to take care of my babies." The pale eyes were pleading.

Clementine backed away. Aunt Ethel was trying to trap her! And in the meantime, Hob Wilkins was waiting for her down at the wharf. He would think she wasn't coming. But she was—oh, she was! She made her voice gentle. "Of course, I promise," she told her aunt. "But you'll be fine in no time, Aunt Ethel."

"Clementine, there's so much blood. Clementine, do something to stop it—!"

Clementine sidled out of her aunt's room, ignoring her mewling cries, closing the door softly behind her. She started down the back stairs but saw a light in the kitchen and heard her uncle shouting into the telephone. So she went back along the hallway to the main staircase and hurried down. She needed only her hatbox and then she'd leave, free as the wind off the ocean.

She crept through the library and into her uncle's study. The room smelled of smoke—not the pungent odor of her uncle's familiar cigar but of wood-smoke. Odd, on a summer's evening. But she had no time to think about that. The hatbox sat open on a. glass-fronted bookcase. Her doll and her mother's necklace lay inside, but the atlas was nowhere to be seen. She hesitated, looking over at the desk. She pulled open all the drawers, searching for her atlas. What would Uncle Wallace have done with it? The atlas wasn't in any of the drawers, but in the top drawer she found several bills and a handful of coins in the tray with the pencils. She stashed the money in the deep pocket of her skirt, then turned to leave. As she passed the fireplace, something caught her eye. It was the remains of a fire, which explained the smell of smoke. And although she was in a terrible hurry to be away, something made her bend down to look more closely into the grate. What she saw made her flush with hatred: there were burnt pages of text among the ashes and twisted shreds of red leather.