Cast a Blue Shadow (4 page)

“Sonny,” Juliet said and sat down beside him. “Sonny, listen.

“You’ve been sheltered, Sonny. Now it’s time you faced the destiny your father and I have laid out for you. Wealth is more than money. It’s the one asset that rises above all others. It’s the only reliable commodity this world has to offer. It is the supreme commodity, Sonny, and you’ve got to learn to handle it. Oh, it takes many forms, and you’ll have to start learning about that. But Sonny, everything you’ll want in life derives from wealth. Your estate. Freedom. Power and choice. These all lie subordinate to the one thing that drives them all—raw, fabulous wealth.”

Sonny sat for a long moment as if hypnotized. He eventually stirred, and Juliet drew him to his feet.

“Now, Sonny,” she said. “Many people will come and go tonight. I want you to stay close beside me. Follow me. Listen. Learn tonight, Sonny. I do it all for you. Life’s a dance. It can be orchestrated. Watch me lead the first dance of wealth, Sonny—the Puppeteer’s Waltz. You’ve got to learn to be a puppeteer if you’re ever going to handle wealth properly.”

3

Friday, November 1 8:10 P.M.

IN MILLERSBURG, Martha Lehman parked Sonny Favor’s silver Lexus in the deep snow on the parking lot of Cal Troyer’s little white church house. A ground light shined through the falling snow to illuminate the church sign: Church of Christ, Christian. Caleb Troyer, Pastor.

Martha dried her eyes and pushed the car door open, scraping the drifts aside with the bottom edge of the door. She stepped out and sank into the snow, soaking her hose and shoes. She folded her black parka closed in front by wrapping her arms across her chest and trudged, head down against the blowing snow, to the side door of the church building, which she found unlocked. Inside, she slipped out of her parka, took off her wet shoes, and sat in the dark sanctuary’s first pew. She stared at the gold cross on the plain oak altar and tried to think. To formulate a plan.

Clearly her first meeting with Sonny’s mother had been a disaster. What right did she have to talk that way? There seemed little point in going back. But even more troubling was Sonny’s reaction. Or rather his lack of one. Send her away with his car? What had that been about? And not to have come with her?

Hurt as much as angry, Martha got up from the pew and paced in front of the altar. Frustrated, she stopped, looked at the cross, lifted her eyes to the ceiling, and shouted, “Why can’t you let me be happy? I deserve to be happy!”

From the back of the sanctuary, Cal Troyer answered, “Looks like you’ve come to the right place, Martha.”

Martha spun around and saw the short pastor coming slowly down the center aisle. “How long have you been there, Cal?” Martha asked.

“Just got here now,” Cal said, removing his coat and stomping snow off his boots onto the carpet. “I saw a car in the parking lot.”

His long white hair was tied in a ponytail. Calm eyes anchored his round face, and he smiled at her as he approached.

Martha, unnerved as usual by his peacefulness and grace, sat down and said, “Everything’s falling apart, Cal. My boyfriend’s mother hates me, and I can’t sleep through the night. My professors aren’t happy with my work anymore, and my parents think I’m a tramp. I just want to be happy, Cal. What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing at all,” Cal said. He sat beside her and took her hands in his. “Maybe you and I need to pray about this.”

“A lot of good that’ll do,” Martha said bitterly.

“I can’t believe you mean that.”

“Maybe I’m not the girl you think I am, Cal.”

“You know you can talk to me,” Cal said. “Any time, and about anything.”

“I’ve lost my way.”

“Is it really that bad?” Cal asked.

“Nothing’s right anymore, Cal,” Martha said. Tears formed in her eyes. “There’s something wrong with me. Something really big. Something’s broken, and I’ve known I wasn’t normal for a long time. It’s horrible. You wouldn’t believe my nightmares. I can’t get a minute’s peace. I don’t know. Everything goes rotten on me. School, friends. Boyfriend. Why does God hate me?”

“He doesn’t,” Cal said softly.

“Why can’t I remember my childhood?”

Cal waited a beat, then said, “What do you mean?”

“My psychiatrist knows more about my childhood than I do.”

“You weren’t much of a talker, Martha.”

“Yeah, but why? Something must have happened. From five or six to about nine, I can’t remember a thing. After that, I did bad things, Cal. Still do.”

“What does Dr. Carson say?”

“That I have issues. Something I haven’t been able to face. She says when I’m ready to face it, I’ll remember.”

“Tell me about your nightmares.”

“You’ll think I’m nuts.”

“I don’t think so.”

“It’s always a blue shirt. An Amish shirt. Flies off a clothesline and wraps over my face so I can’t breathe.”

“That’s it?”

“It’s heavy, Cal. The shirt is heavy on me. It gets on top of me, and I can’t breathe. Then all the other laundry on the line starts whispering. It’s Amish laundry. Amish whispering. It all piles up on me. It’s supposed to be light as a breeze, but I can’t move. Can’t get up. I’m gasping for air.”

“Have you told anyone?”

“Just you.”

“Dr. Carson could help.”

“I don’t want doctors anymore. Don’t want to be sick anymore,” Martha said, crying again. “Why can’t I be normal?”

“We need to pray about this,” Cal said.

“God doesn’t answer my prayers.”

“Have you tried?”

“Not lately.”

“You ought to.”

“God doesn’t care about me. I’ve known that since I was a kid,” Martha said and rose. There was a wild anger in her eyes.

She grabbed her parka off the pew, and then sat back down to put on her shoes. Getting up again, she said, “I’m in trouble, again, Cal. So you tell me. How has God ever cared even two cents for me?”

4

Friday, November 1 8:30 P.M.

JULIET Favor came back into the foyer squeezing her temples, and slowly climbed the grand staircase to the second floor. In the bathroom, she found a little glass bottle with a ground-glass stopper and carried it into the master bedroom, inverting the bottle to moisten the stopper. When she switched on the light, she found Sally Favor sprawled on the bed with her girlfriend in her arms. They both held champagne glasses, and they smiled at Favor and drank.

Although her ears flushed crimson, Juliet Favor showed no other immediate reaction. She tilted her head back to let her hair fall away from her face and dabbed the wet glass stopper at each temple.

“That’s just great, Sally,” Favor said bitterly. “Rub my face in it.”

“You remember Juliet, don’t you, Jenny?” Sally taunted. “She’s that trust-busting homophobe we call Mom.”

“Brat!” Favor hissed.

“Takes one to know one, Mommy Dearest,” Sally Favor replied spitefully, her speech slurred. She drained her champagne and threw the empty glass onto the carpet, where the stem broke with a muted “tink.”

Juliet Favor dabbed at her temples again and rubbed the clear liquid in with her thumbs. “Your trust is suspended, Sally. But I guess you already know that.”

“I can hire a lawyer, too,” Sally said. She took the second glass from Jenny, drank it down defiantly, and tossed it onto the carpet beside the first one. Then she pulled Jenny off the bed to stand face to face with her mother. “Why don’t you just go ahead and castrate him, Mother? I’m sure you know you’re raising a eunuch as it is.”

Favor pushed her daughter away and headed for the staircase.

Drunk, Sally listed like a ship whose cargo had broken loose in the hold. She steadied herself against a dresser, recovered, and led her lover by the hand down the staircase too rapidly, following her mother carelessly. They stumbled on the steps and grabbed for the banister near the bottom of the staircase. Once down in the foyer, Sally inquired mockingly, “Do we have another headache, Mommy? Professor Pomeroy’s little miracle bottle almost empty?”

Favor retreated into the bar and then the library, and leaned over with both palms flat on a large reading table, eyes closed, feeling pressure and pain rise in the back of her neck.

Sally entered the paneled library with her arm around Jenny, spun around with her, and ushered her into the adjoining butler’s room, where they poured the two last drinks from a champagne bottle before clanging the empty into a wastebasket beside Daniel’s desk.

Favor charged after them and said, “Since you two must have been eavesdropping, you’ll know I explained to Sonny that I can do whatever I want with your trusts.”

Sally lifted her glass high and shouted, “There’s more to life than money, Mother!”

“Get out!” Favor screamed.

“No, Mom.”

“You’re a disgrace!”

“Like I care what you think.”

“I’m calling the police.”

“Don’t bother,” Sally said and pushed with Jenny through the swinging doors into the kitchen.

Favor snatched a cordless phone from Daniel’s desk and followed. She found the two women struggling into winter coats, and, with a forced show of calm, went back slowly through the swinging doors.

JULIET found her little bottle of medicine in the bedroom and dabbed anxiously at her temples. Frustrated, she eyed the bottle, saw that it was empty, and threw it into a corner of the room. At the wall-mounted intercom, she rang impatiently for Daniel several times. No answer. She rubbed the back of her neck and moved slowly to a front window to peer out. Normally, that window gave a view of a long, curving, blacktop driveway that led down to the north side of Route 39, seven miles west of Millersburg. Tonight, she saw only a blinding blizzard of white. It unnerved her, and, feeling trapped, she retrieved the medicine bottle from the corner of the room. Suffering, with the bottle inverted close to her eyes, she tried to wet the stopper with a film of the thick liquid, but the bottle was truly empty.

In the master bathroom, Favor pulled medicines and perfumes from the medicine cabinet and cast them angrily to the floor. Pawing now, in the back of the cabinet she found an old bottle that still held some of the clear and colorless liquid. She rubbed the stopper against her temples and leaned over at the sink to calm herself. After a moment, with her balance restored, she tried the wall intercom again, with no result. She heard a faint growl outside and went back to the bedroom window to see Daniel below, on a small tractor in driving snow, plowing the blacktop circle in front of the house. Resigned for the moment, Favor got the last bit of medicine out and then composed herself to descend the staircase.

In the parlor with her lawyer DiSalvo, she busied herself for the next several minutes with the various documents they were to finalize. When she heard Daniel at the back door, she excused herself, left through the door to the dining room, and found her butler in the pantry at the back of the house.

“I’m out of medicine,” she said directly, pulling the butler aside, out of earshot of the cooks.

“Already?” Daniel asked and hung a long black dress coat on a peg beside the back door. He watched her close her eyes and rub her neck and said, “Pomeroy didn’t give you his new bottle?”

“No,” Favor replied in exasperation.

“I sent him up.”

“Never saw him.”

“He just went up. I’m surprised you didn’t see him.”

“I came through the dining room.”

“Wait right here, if you please,” Daniel said and went quickly up the back staircase to the second floor. Shortly, he returned, carrying a fresh stoppered bottle. “He put it on your dresser, ma’am.”

Grateful, Favor took the little bottle in both hands and closed her eyes as if meditating. She dabbed more of the liquid on her temples, and after composing herself, said, “OK, then. Please put this back in the bedroom. I’m afraid I left quite a mess in the bathroom.”

“I will attend to it, ma’am,” Daniel replied.

She handed over the bottle as if it were of immense value and said, “I’ll be with DiSalvo when Laughton arrives. But I’m not going to change first. We’ll have to do that later, Daniel.”

5

Friday, November 1 8:45 P.M.

MARTHA swiped her plastic night pass through the magnetic reader at her dorm’s front entrance, pulled the heavy oak door open, and climbed the stairs to her third-floor suite. She pushed through the door, switched on the lights, and startled her roommate, who was tangled in the arms of her boyfriend on the couch, finishing a cigarette. Her roommate, only mildly embarrassed, grumbled, “Turn out the lights, would you.”

Martha switched off half the ceiling lights and sat in an old armchair, across a coffee table from the two lovers. She fanned at the smoke in front of her face and said, “Hey, Wendy. Will. Got another smoke?”

Wendy sat upright on the couch, and Will fumbled for a pouch, mumbling something unintelligible. Wendy took the pack from Will, knocked out a cigarette, and handed it across the table. Martha took a book of matches from a dirty ashtray, lit the cigarette, drew on it heavily, and said, “You didn’t think I was coming back.”

Wendy brushed stringy blond hair out of her eyes, passed the joint on to Will, and said, “No. Sonny’s not with you?”

“Back at the mansion. He’s with his mommy.”

Wendy raised her eyebrows. “You two had a fight?”

Martha shrugged. “Not so much a fight as a surrender. His mother told me off, and he said I should take his car. I wanted to leave anyway.”

“What’s he doing?”

“Beats me.”

“You going back out?”

“Not while she’s there.”

There was a knock at the door. Martha got up reluctantly and opened the door. There stood a young man in a blue Amish blouse, black vest, and heavy denim jacket. He held a black felt hat in his hands.

Martha said, “Oh, it’s you.” She turned around and walked back into the room.

The Amish man said, “A fellow let me in. Can we talk?” followed by something in Dutch dialect. Martha answered in kind, and waved him into the room.

6

Friday, November 1 8:50 P.M.

WHEN Arne Laughton, president of Millersburg College, entered the front door of the Favor mansion, Daniel was waiting to take his coat and galoshes. The two exchanged glances when they heard Favor break out into laughter in the parlor next to the front foyer. Daniel folded the tall president’s long coat over his arm and said, “If you don’t mind, sir, Ms. Favor won’t be but a minute.”

Puzzled, Laughton looked in at the parlor door and saw Favor seated on the divan with her back to him. He caught DiSalvo’s gaze and waved awkwardly to the lawyer. DiSalvo acknowledged the president with a fractional tip of his head. In a far corner sat Sonny Favor, fidgeting.

Laughton stepped back into the foyer. Daniel offered a straight-backed chair, and the president sat with his slender hands on his knees, listening to whatever brief snatches of conversation he could understand. Intermittently, he made out key phrases, and, with growing concern, he moved his chair closer to the parlor door. He listened intently and ran his fingers nervously through white hair. By the time Favor came out to him, Laughton thought he had overheard the loss of a sizable portion of Millersburg College’s long-term funding.

“MY DEAR Mr. President,” Favor said, and took Laughton’s outstretched hand in both of hers. “I hope you haven’t been waiting long. It’s business, you see, with Mr. DiSalvo.”

She reached up and linked her arm in his, and with Sonny following, she guided the president into the bar, where she poured two drinks and toasted, “To Millersburg College!”

Laughton held his martini aloft and repeated the toast. He took a substantial swallow and said, “Forgive me, Juliet, if I show too much concern. Or if my concern is misplaced. But do I understand correctly that you’re to reduce funding for our college next year?”

“Why, Arne. You’ve been listening at keyholes again.”

Laughton blushed and stammered, “I’m sorry, but . . .”

With a dismissive wave of her hand, Favor said, “Arne, Arne. You can’t expect the Favors to carry the college indefinitely.”

A flush rose in Laughton’s face, and he gulped the rest of his drink. Unsure what to say, he held out his glass, and Favor refilled it, smiling.

“Arne,” Favor said, handing over the refill. “You didn’t support me for chairwoman of the board of trustees last May.”

“Juliet,” Laughton began.

Favor interrupted. “Oh, come now, Arne. Surely we needn’t worry about such little matters as these. As much as the Favors have been a friend to this institution? Not at all. But this can be repaired easily, Arne. There’s the December meeting yet, and we can’t operate too much longer with an interim chairman. He’s not that good, anyway, don’t you agree?”

“Juliet, I don’t think . . . ”

“Sure, Arne, sure. Now I do hope you’ll stay for dinner. Nine o’clock in the formal dining room. And you’re dressed just right.” She stepped close to the president and played coyly with his tie, as if their relationship permitted her an extra measure of familiarity. “Always such a gentlemen.”

Laughton straightened his tie. “I’m not sure, Juliet.”

“I insist. Please. See Daniel. And we will talk some more after dinner.”

“I hardly think this is the sort of thing to discuss over dessert,” Laughton said gruffly.

“Such a tone!” Favor chided. “I won’t sign any papers until tomorrow, anyway, so you needn’t worry about your precious money. There’s time yet, and we should use it. Don’t you agree? Please, Arne. Stay just a bit longer and we’ll sit down to a nice meal. Daniel is preparing sautéed Casco Bay sea scallops with peanuts and chives, plus Backaofa Alsace Style sea bass, or lamb with haricots à la Tourangelle. So how can you resist, Arne?”

“Perhaps, but I’m going to have to do something about my car.”

“What’s wrong out there?” Favor asked with indifference.

“Your Daniel has plowed a lane, but not much more than that. And in front of the house there are three cars, now, with little room for more. The drifts keep piling up, and I’m not sure any of us will be able to leave, if it keeps up out there.”

“Is it any better around back?” Favor asked, cataloging in her mind the people yet to arrive. To Sonny she quipped, “At least we don’t have your Lexus to worry about, do we?”

“Haven’t been around back,” Laughton said uneasily, watching the blood rise in Sonny Favor’s cheeks.

“Can you please check with Daniel?” Favor asked Laughton, turning her back to Sonny.

Somewhat offended, Laughton replied, “Certainly, Juliet. If you wish.”

“Thank you, Arne. And please tell Daniel to turn on the lights all around the house. I’d like him to plow again, too, this time wider. Yours is not the last car that has to get up my drive tonight.”

JULIET led Sonny back to the parlor, where they found Sally Favor and Jenny snuggled up to either side of a blushing Henry DiSalvo on the divan.

Favor erupted, “Oh, for crying out loud, Sally!”

“Mother dear,” Sally said, obviously still drunk. She hugged DiSalvo as if he were a fuzzy bear.

“I had hoped you’d left,” Favor said coldly.

“Can’t get down the drive, Mommy. Guess we’ll stay for dinner.”

“You’ll do no such thing!”

“You see that, Sonny?” Sally drawled. “Mommy’s true colors.”

“Why do you always have to push it, Sally?” Sonny complained.

“Because you won’t stand up to her!” Sally shot back. “You’re pathetic, Sonny. Stand up to her.”

Sally bounded suddenly to her feet, took Sonny by the arms and pulled him into the center of the room. “Stand up to her just once, Sonny.”

“You’re drunk,” Sonny muttered.

“So what?”

“I don’t see why you have to be so rude to everyone,” Sonny complained.

“Just to her, Sonny. Do you really think you can keep your trust?”

“Just three more years.”

“What do you mean? Didn’t you hear her lawyer?”

“You were listening?”

“Oh, Sonny! Grow up.”

Sonny shook his head and retreated to the fireplace, where he sullenly tapped the smooth brass rugby trophy on the mantel. Enraged, Sally closed the distance to him quickly, seized the trophy in both hands, and threw it onto the plush carpet in the direction of her mother. It gave a heavy thunk and rolled a foot or so to her mother’s feet.

Mrs. Favor launched herself at Sally, grabbed her by the neck, and twisted. In the brief scuffle that ensued, their legs became entangled, and they spun and fell to the floor as if spite and rejection had conspired to stir a vortex that dragged them down.

Stepping forward, Sonny managed to separate the two stunned women without getting kicked, while DiSalvo, embarrassed, returned the trophy to the mantel. Jenny sat quietly on the divan, smiling as if in victory. Nervously, DiSalvo centered the trophy on the mantel.

Struggling to her feet, Sally sputtered, “Monster!”

Juliet straightened her skirt and blazer and tried to refasten her carnation. Frustrated, she tore the flower off and threw it into the fire.

“Really, folks,” DiSalvo said and shook his head.

“I know, Henry. I apologize,” Juliet offered, and glanced angrily at her daughter.

Sally rubbed at her throat, looked woefully at Jenny, walked over to take her hand, and stood her up in front of the divan. To Sonny, Sally rasped, “If you don’t break free from her, you’ll never have a life, Sonny. Money isn’t that important.”

Pausing, she looked in turn at Sonny, at her mother, and at DiSalvo. Softly she said, “Money isn’t really anything at all,” and escorted Jenny from the room.

PHILLIPS Royce, chairman of the art department at Millersburg College, turned up the drive to Favor Manor behind Daniel’s small tractor. He followed slowly in the track the plow cleared and came up to the oval in front of the house, wiper blades snapping at the snow and ice. Instead of parking in front, where there were several other cars angled into a snowbank, Royce followed Daniel’s plow back around the east side of the house to the north, and parked in the rear. He stepped out into the blizzard, huddled next to the car, fought the wind to close the car door, and sprinted to one of the back doors.

Inside, the art professor stomped his boots without closing the door tightly, and this brought loud complaints from the three cooks working in the spacious kitchen to his left. He turned back to close the door, but Daniel Bliss pushed in behind him. The butler closed the door with effort and caught a stern look from one of the cooks, who reached up to steady several pans and skillets that had started banging in the draft from the open door. Bliss left his long black dress coat on and helped Royce out of his coat. He took a whisk-broom hanging on the doorknob and knelt to brush snow from the professor’s pants and boots.

Phillips Royce was a small man of fifty-nine, not much taller than Juliet Favor. He pulled off a knit skullcap to reveal a large, clean-shaven head. He had big eyes and wore thick, black-rimmed glasses. His black mustache was full and long, covering most of his upper lip and twisting out into fancy, waxed curls on either end. He was dressed in a brown corduroy suit, with worn leather patches at the elbows. He twisted the ends of his mustache carefully, thanked Daniel, and ascended the stairs at the rear of the house without further comment.

The staircase led to a vestibule at the back of the house on the second floor, where there were doors to two bedrooms separated by a long hall. He went directly to the west bedroom and halted before opening the door. Inside, he heard the playful voices of two young, drunk women. At the door to the east bedroom he heard nothing. He turned back, passed down the middle hall, and came out at the top landing of the front staircase. Here was another hall, perpendicular to the first, giving access to the master bedroom. At the west end of this hall, he stopped to listen again to the women’s voices, now on his right, and then entered a door on his left, to the master bedroom. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he removed his old boots, fluffed two big pillows, and lay back against the head of the bed.

In a few minutes, Juliet came in from the master bath. She took off her blazer and threw it on the foot of the bed. With her blue skirt hitched above her knees, she climbed onto the bed and moved on hands and knees to Royce.