On Sparrow Hill (33 page)

Nipping back a defense of Conall’s so-called clumsiness, knowing how hard were the simplest tasks for children just like him, she restricted her response to a nod.

“You’ll be returning to Nessa’s, won’t you, Finola?” Berrie asked. “That’s partly why I came, to see if I could persuade you to return there with me for at least the duration of my visit.”

Thaddeus shook his head, though Berrie was sure Finola had been about to speak. “Finola has agreed to live at home again, and until I am wed, she has agreed to oversee things here. It’s a fair exchange, I think, since I am the sole heir but am welcoming her to stay.”

It occurred to Berrie that he hadn’t made any attempt to equally divide their inheritance, the way his lawsuit had demanded Escott Manor be divided between Cosima and her cousins. Berrie knew she couldn’t bring that up without revealing her true identity and so remained silent. Surely there was a reason Finola didn’t want her brother to know who Berrie was.

“And how is it, Miss . . . is it ‘miss’?”

Berrie nodded.

“Miss Ferguson, then?”

Berrie nodded again, wondering if he expected an invitation for him to call her Cecily as his sister did.

“How is it that you arrived here by such humble transportation?”

“My . . . family had need of the carriage, so I took the market wagon.”

“Hmm, extraordinary that they should let you use such a necessary piece of equipment. Not only that, they let you travel without Nessa at least, as chaperone. Why didn’t she accompany you?”

“She intended to,” Berrie said, hoping she could follow her own path of lies, “but she wasn’t feeling well when I left, so I came alone.”

“And you left a sick friend to visit Finola? How odd.”

Berrie had no answer, only looked from his piercing gaze to Finola’s desperate one. She had nothing more to offer, not the truth, no more lies, nothing. It appeared obvious he didn’t believe her anyway.

“Why don’t you tell me what you’re really doing here, Miss Ferguson? If that’s even your name?”

She tried to smile. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“I mean that from the moment my sister called you Cecily, the look of shock on your face revealed the first lie. Who are you, and what are you doing here?”

Berrie stiffened, wanting nothing more than to leave—but to take Finola with her. Something wasn’t right here, and whatever it was, it held Finola in fear.

“I am nothing more than a friend of your sister’s,” Berrie answered firmly. “And I’d like to take her and Conall back with me to Nessa’s. Tonight. Immediately.”

“And as I’ve already explained, that’s impossible. Nessa doesn’t want Conall living there, and Finola wouldn’t dream of leaving him behind.” He eyed his sister. “Would you, Finola?”

“Of course not.”

“And besides that, Finola is needed here.” Thaddeus looked back at Berrie. “So I’m afraid you’ve made the trip for nothing. My apologies, but there’s nothing to be done for it.”

He stood, and it seemed obvious he expected her to take her leave. Berrie turned to Finola, who was still fastened to her side. Finola slowly withdrew, her eyelids shading her eyes.

Anger coursed through Berrie. Clearly this brother had something over Finola. The fear in the other woman was like a scent, unmistakable. For the first time in her life, Berrie wished she were a man, if only to be able to back up a demand for the truth with physical strength, intimidating enough to get this brother to speak.

Berrie knew one thing: she wasn’t leaving without learning what was really going on. What had she to lose? The school was already at risk, her reputation as well. If that was lost already, she had nothing else left.

Such freedom added to her headiness. She sprang to her feet, prepared to launch whatever words it would take to battle this man for the truth.

But her tongue would not obey. Although she stood, it felt as if the blood in her body stayed seated. Her vision went blank, her knees collapsed, followed immediately by the feeling of falling through darkness toward a spinning abyss.

51

* * *

“The conversation ended so quickly it didn’t occur to me to offer a ride from the station,” Rebecca said, standing at the window the following evening. Dana and Padgett sat on the sofa behind her, playing a game of Snakes and Ladders that once belonged to Quentin.

“She’ll be fine,” Dana said. “One thing about being the oldest child, they’re good at pretending they know what they’re doing, even if they don’t. She’ll figure it out.”

The telephone rang and Rebecca went to answer. Perhaps it was Talie, calling from the station. If there were no taxis available, Rebecca could be there in her mini in twenty minutes if the fog wasn’t too thick. “Hello.”

“Rebecca.”

The voice didn’t belong to Talie at all but to Quentin. Rebecca’s blood caught fire in her veins. “Hello.” The repeated salutation was silly, though that was all that came to mind.

“I’ll be there early tomorrow.”

No small talk, no niceties. A warning? The Featherby judges were due for the first tour at ten. Was that why Quentin was coming—the
only
reason? Such questions wouldn’t form on her lips. “All right.”

“Is everything all right?” His tone was clear and gentle, making her aware of how much she missed him. “Are you all right?”

Her eyes closed, she took a calming breath. This was the Quentin she knew. “Yes.” She cleared her throat, aware—if only distantly—that both Dana and her daughter were watching. “I almost called you earlier; perhaps I should have.”

“Yes?” His voice was surprised or eager, she wasn’t sure which.

“Dana’s sister is coming to England. Today. Right now, as a matter of fact. She should be here any moment. I hope it’s all right for her to stay upstairs for a few days.”

He didn’t respond immediately, and she wondered if he was disappointed that was all she said. Had he hoped she would have called for some other reason? She wouldn’t, though. He must know that.

“It’s perfectly fine,” he said at last. “Tell her I look forward to meeting her.”

“Yes, I will.”

Another pause. Rebecca wished she could think of something to say, something funny or light, so he wouldn’t know how desperately she missed him, how much she wanted to know his thoughts. She’d never been good at asking such things.

“Tomorrow, then.”

“Yes.”

And then he hung up.

She didn’t have to say anything for Dana to guess the caller had been Quentin. Rebecca could tell that the moment they caught eyes.

Even if she’d had the words to describe how she felt, even if she wanted to share them, even if Padgett wasn’t there to hear them all, there wouldn’t have been time for such an exchange. The expected taxi lights sparkled down the lane, and both Dana and Padgett were at the door before the vehicle pulled to a stop.

The sisters hugged as though a lifetime had separated them not just an ocean and a few weeks on the calendar. Rebecca would have known without an introduction that this woman was Talie’s sister. They both had the same wheat-colored hair, the same slant to their brows. With a squealed greeting, Padgett laughed as her aunt hugged and held her close.

They went inside, where Helen had stayed to serve cocoa and biscuits. It wasn’t long before even the sugar couldn’t keep Padgett awake. Rebecca volunteered to take her upstairs to bed.

Rebecca lingered over Padgett’s bedtime routing, helping her with pajamas, overseeing toothbrushing, reading two stories instead of one. She told Padgett about how God made the sun and the moon and the stars and that He was with them all the time, even when they slept. Padgett wondered if when they went to heaven they could ask God to tuck them in with a blanket that twinkled of stars, but Rebecca told her there wouldn’t be any darkness there, and she wasn’t sure about sleeping. It might be fun to jump on a blanket of stars anyway, so they might hope for that.

When Rebecca finally stepped outside the child’s room, she determined she would stop in the parlor only to say good night, then give the sisters more time alone. She might have only met Talie moments ago, but from what she knew about her through Dana, Rebecca doubted she would wait long before attacking the mission for which she’d come: getting Dana to return to her husband’s side.

Passing her office, Rebecca noticed a light from behind the open door.

“Rebecca, come in,” Dana called from her usual chair on the opposite side of Rebecca’s desk. Talie sat beside her, and the two held various pages Rebecca instantly recognized. From Dana’s box of school records.

Rebecca’s heart went heavy. So this was how it would be, Dana pulling Talie down over such dour reports?

But Talie smiled. “Dana is trying to convince me the child she’s carrying—and no doubt my own son Ben—has a future just like the ones written about in these records.”

Rebecca took her familiar seat behind the desk. From Talie’s tone, it didn’t sound like the task would be as easy as Dana might hope. “Yes, so she’s tried to tell me, too.”

“I told her I wanted to see Berrie’s letters, and so far she’s only shown me these. Maybe you can tell me where Berrie’s letters are?”

Rebecca opened a manila file on her desk. “They’re here. I’ve spent the past few weeks transcribing them with Dana’s help.” And a bit of help from Quentin, too, although she didn’t think it necessary to mention him. “Dana was working on it before she decided to concentrate on the school records.”

“Mind if I see those?”

Rebecca handed all of the transcribed letters to her. They were nearly complete.

Talie looked through the pages. “I’m not a bit tired, but I’m guessing you both are. Why don’t you go to bed? I’d like to stay up and read through some of this. We can talk more tomorrow.”

Dana frowned. “You’ve hardly seen any of the school records.” She flipped through a stack.

Talie put a hand over Dana’s. “I think I’ve seen enough of those.”

Dana’s eyes rounded. “You can’t mean you’re not going to read the rest of these? I thought you’d want to see them!”

“I can tell what they’ll say, just like the IEPs I receive every semester from Ben’s school.” Talie set aside the file in her hand, not letting go of Dana. “Haven’t I always told you Ben looks worse on paper than he does in real life? What do you expect me to see in those pages? All the things those kids couldn’t do? That’s all it says. It doesn’t say anything about what made them laugh, or the twinkle in their eyes when they saw someone familiar. The joy when they finally learned something or the communicating they could do without language. You can’t write a report on that, Danes.”

Dana leaned closer to her sister. “Don’t you get it? ‘Duration of attack:
Life
.’ Nothing changed in their lives. Nothing’s going to change for Ben. Maybe nothing’s going to change for my baby.”

Talie didn’t back away; they were nearly nose to nose. “And that’s okay, Danes.”

Now Dana leaned back, as if she were the sister who could claim jet lag. She shook her head, eyeing Talie. “I thought you’d get it.”

“I
do
get it. Maybe it’s you who don’t, and maybe our talk shouldn’t wait until tomorrow. Maybe you need some sense knocked into you right now.”

Dana plopped the records from her lap onto Rebecca’s desk, leaning back like a truant student assigned extra classes complete with a lecture she was about to endure. She stared ahead instead of at either her sister or Rebecca.

“You know, Danes,” said Talie more gently, “when I first found out about Ben, when I was pregnant just like you are, not knowing, I did the same thing you’re doing. Immersed myself in as much information as I could. I tried to read everything I could get my hands on about fragile X. Do you remember?”

Dana nodded. “Knowledge is power, as they say.”

Rebecca guessed she wasn’t the only one to hear the hard edge to those words, a phrase that Dana might believe explained her obsession with the old records. But Rebecca couldn’t see any power Dana was gaining in gathering how many things might go wrong with the child she was carrying. All Rebecca saw was a chipping away of hope.

Talie touched one of Dana’s stiff, folded hands she had pressed to her still-flat middle. “I saw what you see in these records, all the limitations my child would face. It wasn’t until Luke stopped reading the reports that I realized he was right. It wasn’t doing either one of us any good. We knew enough of the basics, and at the time that was all we needed. And now I see that time has a way of clarifying things, so getting an overdose of information that might not even apply was probably the wrong thing to do.”

One of Dana’s brows crinkled, and her mouth twisted to a snarl. “One of the kids set fire to his bed, but you didn’t read that part. Another one wandered away and they didn’t find him for two days. Two days, Talie! They found him in the middle of nowhere, eating grass! Do you know what would happen if a child got away in Chicago? He could be hit by a car, get picked up by a maniac, drown in the lake!”

“Those sound like worries any parent might have,” Rebecca said. She knew she wouldn’t have much to add to this conversation, having so little experience either with children or with the disabled, but the fears Dana listed sounded typical.

“They are,” Talie confirmed, “and not just little kids, either. You worry about all of that with Padgett, too.”

“She’s smart enough to look both ways before crossing a street, not to talk to strangers, not to go swimming unless I’m there. It’s different and you know it. There’s an end to my worries with Padgett, at least worries like that.”

Talie nodded.

“Besides, I have new worries about Padgett, just like you worry about Kipp. They’ll still be here after we’re gone. Are we supposed to saddle them with the responsibility of taking care of their handicapped siblings? Is that the kind of future you want for Kipp?”

“It might not be the kind of future I would have designed.” Talie sighed, looking directly at her sister, eyes steady, brows slightly drawn. “Look, Dana, I’m not going to sugarcoat this, because I live every day with what you fear. Maybe I’ve made it look too hard to handle. This is the life we were given, me and Luke and Ben and Kipp. We can’t change it, but it’s made me realize we can do it, we
can
handle it.”