Shadows on the Ivy (7 page)

“Was there anything in the envelope?”

Kayla shook her head. “I shouldn’t have looked, but I did. It was empty. I put it back in the wastebasket. I was just surprised Sarah would get a letter from a place like that.”

“Maybe it was junk mail. Sometimes those letters look pretty official.”

“Maybe. But Sarah lived in Princeton once, you know. With her last foster family. She used to joke about how she had ‘gone to Princeton.’ She meant she’d gone to live there.” Kayla shrugged. “Maybe it doesn’t mean anything. But I thought I should tell someone. And the police would probably think I was paranoid. Or, worse, making it up. They don’t seem to think too highly of us.”

Maggie reached out and touched Kayla’s hand. “You’re not crazy. Maybe it doesn’t mean anything, but I’m glad you told me.”

They both sat silently for a few minutes. Suddenly Maggie remembered something. “Just before Sarah passed out last night she mumbled a few words. I thought I heard her say ‘Simon.’ Has she ever mentioned anyone with that name?”

Kayla shook her head. “I don’t think so. I wish I knew more that would help!”

“You’re doing fine. If you think of anything else, make sure you let me know. Or the police.”

“Okay. You know, Maria’s going to be really pissed when she gets home this afternoon,” added Kayla. “The police took her gun.”

“Her gun? Maria had a gun here at Whitcomb House?” Maggie was appalled. “In a house with all these children? Aside from the fact that guns are never allowed in the dormitories!”

“It was okay.” Kayla realized her mistake in telling Maggie. “Maria kept it unloaded and hid the bullets somewhere else. The gun was on a really high shelf in her closet. None of the kids could reach it.”

Maggie thought of Heather’s son, Mikey, who was tall for six. “Why did she have a gun?”

“For protection, she said. Professor Summer, I shouldn’t have told you. It’s just that Maria’s going to blame me when she gets home and finds out the police took it.”

“Maria could be thrown out of the college for having a gun! Have you any idea how crazy it is to have a gun around all these kids?”

Kayla looked down. “I shouldn’t have told you.”

“Well, you did. But I don’t think you or I will have to do anything about it. The police will do that.” That was just the kind of additional publicity President Hagfield would be thrilled about: one of his students had a gun in her room. In a house where six children lived. “Has Maria ever used the gun?”

“No! At least not that I know of. She just had it…in case.”

It was clear Kayla wasn’t going to say anything else.

Maggie left Whitcomb House and headed for the hospital. Maybe Sarah was better. Maybe the doctors would know more about the poison.

Dorothy Whitcomb was at the hospital ahead of Maggie, sitting on a straight chair in the waiting room reserved for families of those in intensive care. “I’m glad you’re finally here, Maggie,” she said. “Dr. Stevens says Sarah can have one or two visitors for five minutes every hour. I get nervous going in alone. She’s so still.”

“Has there been any change?”

Dorothy shook her head. “She doesn’t respond at all when I speak to her. But they say sometimes people in comas can hear things even when they seem to be unconscious.”

“I’ve read that.”

“So I think someone should be with her as often as possible.”

“If Dr. Stevens feels that’s best.”

“He should be back soon.”

Maggie sat on the blue vinyl couch next to Dorothy’s chair. A selection of well-worn six-month-old
Field and Stream
and
People
magazines littered a laminated wooden table in front of them. This waiting room had no TV. Maggie squared her shoulders. “Dorothy, you called me this morning, after we met.”

“I just wanted to see if you’d heard anything else, Maggie. The students trust you.”

“I haven’t heard anything new.” Maggie thought about the police finding Maria’s gun. But that had nothing to do with Sarah; Sarah had been poisoned, not shot. Why tell Dorothy something that would upset her and wasn’t directly related to the current situation? “I didn’t learn anything about Sarah. But the police searched Whitcomb House this morning and questioned Kayla Martin, who was the only one there at the time. They left the place pretty messed up.”

“Those poor young people! Coping with Sarah’s illness, and now this.” Dorothy looked at Maggie. “Do you think they’ll want to search my house, too?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. That’s where Sarah collapsed.” It could be the crime scene, Maggie thought. “I don’t know exactly what they’re looking for. Has Dr. Stevens found out what kind of poison Sarah took?”

Dorothy shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

A tall nurse with short brown hair under her cap joined them. “You’re here to see Sarah Anderson? You can go in now, for a brief visit.”

Sarah was lying in a small alcove curtained by off-white sheets. Her body was connected by an assortment of wires and tubes to several softly beeping monitors. Her face and hands were pale even above the white sheet covering her. Her uncombed light red hair was the only splash of color in the room.

“Sarah,” Dorothy said quietly, “it’s Dorothy and Professor Summer. We’re here to see you. We care about you. Please try to wake up and talk to us.”

Sarah didn’t move.

Maggie tried. “Sarah, I went to see Aura this morning. Kayla and the others at Whitcomb House are taking good care of her. She looks fine, but she misses you. She’s going to draw a picture for you. Next time I come I’ll try to bring it with me. Aura’s fine, Sarah, but she needs you.”

The nurse indicated they should go. The visit had been brief, but it had been long enough to scare Maggie.

What if Sarah didn’t recover? What if she came out of this brain-damaged?

I’m Aura’s guardian, Maggie thought. I have to start thinking about what it would mean to have her move in with me. To be a second mother to her.

She’d been thinking about making a home for a child who had no one. What changes it would make in her life; how it would work for both her and her child; how she could change her guest room into a child’s room. But all of a sudden that time seemed as if it might be frighteningly close at hand.

Maggie shook her head. She couldn’t let herself think about this. Not even a little. She wanted so much to be a mother, to have a child to love and care for and to prepare to go out into the world. But not this way.

Lost in her own thoughts, Maggie suddenly realized that Dorothy was crying.

“Dorothy, what’s wrong?” Maggie sat next to her on the hard waiting-room couch. They were the only people in the waiting room. The beeps and buzzes and footsteps and intercom announcements of the hospital continued in the background.

“I don’t know what to do, Maggie,” she sobbed. “I just don’t know how I’ll cope if Sarah dies.”

Sarah’s being poisoned and falling into a coma was horrible, to be sure. It was catastrophic to Sarah and Aura. It was of great concern to those who knew Sarah and cared about her. It could be a source of embarrassment for Somerset College.

But, even given all of that, Dorothy was overreacting. Was her life so empty that the students at Whitcomb House meant everything to her?

“You’ve created a wonderful program, bringing young parents together and sponsoring their scholarships and living arrangements. I don’t know what’s happened to Sarah, but, whatever it is, you will go on, and Whitcomb House will go on.” Maggie reached out and put her hand over Dorothy’s. “It’s an awful situation, I know, but you can’t let yourself get so distraught. Students have problems; sometimes they’re involved in tragic situations. But the school will still be here, and I’m sure the work you’ve started with Whitcomb House will go on. Somerset has already received inquiries from other schools; the program you’ve started may turn out to be a model for other colleges.”

“You don’t understand, Maggie.” Dorothy reached into her brown leather Coach pocketbook and pulled out a handful of tissues. “I planned Whitcomb House around Sarah and Aura. If they don’t benefit from it, then Whitcomb House will be a failure.”

“You planned Whitcomb House around the needs of a wide variety of single parents in Somerset County. I listened to your proposal, and so did the rest of the community. Giving young single parents the opportunity to live in a supportive environment was a wonderful idea. You made it possible for them to prove themselves. Now they can get two years of community college behind them and be in a position to get better jobs. They’ll be better able to support their families, or even to go on to a four-year college and get their bachelor’s degrees. And helping the parents also helps their children. Whitcomb House was your idea, and it will leave a lasting legacy.”

Dorothy nodded as she blew her nose and wiped the tears from her face. “I said all that, didn’t I?”

“And you worked with a consultant to prepare all the facts and figures to prove your theory. It was very persuasive, Dorothy. The only doubt anyone had was where the money would come from to begin such a program, and you provided that. In fact, not only did you provide the money, but you provided the dormitory and the furnishings, and the funding to support this first group of scholarship students. You made it happen.”

Maggie kept her voice low and calm. Dorothy was clearly distraught. “There was never a promise that every one of the students would make it. That would have been an unrealistic expectation, and you knew that. You allowed for it in your planning. And you did a darn good job of convincing everyone around, from the Board of Trustees to the local media, that your idea was going to work. Something has happened to Sarah Anderson; that’s sad. It’s tragic. But it’s not the end of your program.”

Unless the media runs away with this story, Maggie thought to herself. Unless there’s any connection between Sarah’s poisoning and the college. Unless the college is forced into a position of defending the program in the press and chooses not to do that.

Dorothy blew her nose again. Her face, usually so composed and immaculately made up, was red and blotchy, and lines of mascara were under her eyes. “Maggie, I need to tell you something. I need to tell someone, and you’ve always been so organized and calm and so good with the students.”

Dorothy had clearly never seen Maggie during an exam period when she also had an antique show to attend. Did she really want to listen to Dorothy’s confidences? Dorothy was on the Board of Trustees; Maggie was a professor. Would this change their working relationship? But if what Dorothy was about to say would provide information that might help Sarah and Aura…

“Of course, Dorothy. You can talk to me.”

“You have to promise to keep what I’m going to tell you a secret. You can’t tell anyone. Not the police. Not Oliver. Not anyone.”

“I can’t promise that, Dorothy. I can promise not to volunteer any information. But if the police ask me something directly, then I won’t lie.”

Dorothy looked at her. “I don’t think anyone will ask you this, Maggie. No one knows enough to ask.”

“Then we’ll be like the army. If no one asks, I won’t tell.” Maggie smiled slightly. This conversation was making her uncomfortable. But, for Sarah’s sake…

Dorothy seemed satisfied with her answer. “The story starts a long time ago. Over twenty years ago. I was living with my parents, here in Somerset County. But not in a big house like the one Oliver and I have now. I was a nobody who lived in a little house in Somerville with a father who worked for the post office and a mother who stayed home. And I fell in love. I thought he was handsome and charming and kind and he would take me out of Somerville and into a new life. His name was Larry.” Dorothy smiled at the memory and dabbed at her damp face with tissues. “Larry wasn’t much older than I was. But he went to Rutgers. I worked as a supermarket cashier. I wasn’t smart enough to get a scholarship, and my family didn’t expect it. No one in my family had ever been to college.”

“Did your family like Larry?”

“At first I didn’t tell them about him. I’d met him at a bar near the campus, and I didn’t want them to know my girlfriends and I sometimes went to bars. We were underage, and my father would have killed me. But after I’d been seeing Larry for a couple of months I finally introduced him to my mother, and then my father, and they seemed to like him.” Dorothy sat back for a moment and smiled quietly, as though to herself. “I don’t think I’ve ever been happier than I was in those next few months, Maggie. Larry and I loved each other; my parents were pleased. Everything was going so well. Larry and I talked about getting married. He was a junior then. I saved every dime I could, putting it away to pay for an apartment and furniture someday.”

“And what happened?”

“The world ended. That’s all. It came crashing down, and nothing was ever the same again. On his way from my house back to his dorm one March Saturday night, Larry’s car was sideswiped by some drunk kids in a truck. His car flipped over and hit a tree. The police said he was killed instantly. He didn’t have a chance.”

Maggie could feel her heart beating faster. Her parents had been killed in a car accident, and so had Michael. She knew what that telephone call from the police, or from Larry’s family, must have been like.

“Dorothy, I’m so sorry.”

“But that wasn’t all. A couple of weeks later, when I got myself out of bed and washed my face and knew I had to start over again, I realized I was pregnant. At first I didn’t want to believe it. But it was true. The baby was Larry’s, of course, and I wanted to keep it, although I didn’t know how I could support a baby. I didn’t tell my parents; my mother would have wanted me to have an abortion. I didn’t think my father could have dealt with the situation at all. So I didn’t tell anyone. I kept saving my money and thinking it was for my baby and me. That I had a little part of Larry left, and that would help me go on.”

Maggie sat, listening. So Dorothy had been a single parent herself. No wonder she had felt so strongly about founding Whitcomb House.

“After a few months I couldn’t hide my pregnancy anymore. My parents were furious. They said they wouldn’t support an unwed mother or her child. That I was a disgrace to them.” Dorothy blew her nose again. “I knew there were other girls who managed to keep their babies, who left their parents and went on welfare, or found apartments. But I’d never lived away from home. I didn’t know what to do. I’d always depended on my parents for advice. And I needed love and support then, Maggie. I needed it more than anything else.”

Maggie nodded. It must have been a horrible time for the young Dorothy.

“When my time came, I went to the hospital alone. My mother wouldn’t even go with me. But I had a beautiful little girl. It was all arranged; the social worker came to have me sign the papers and take my baby away and find a family for her. But I couldn’t sign. I panicked. I didn’t want to give her up; I wanted to take her home with me. But my parents would never have allowed that.”

Maggie handed Dorothy another tissue.

“The social worker told me the best thing for my daughter would be to release her for adoption, that she was a beautiful baby and there were lots of families waiting for a little girl like her. But she was my baby. All I had left of Larry. I just couldn’t give her up and turn my back. So the social worker said they would put her in foster care until I could offer her a home.”

“And you went back to your parents’.”

Dorothy nodded. “They thought I’d given the baby up for adoption. They never even asked whether it was a boy or a girl. They didn’t want to know. I went back to work at the supermarket. But I wasn’t the same after that. I was afraid I’d never be able to do everything necessary to get my little girl back. Every time I saw a baby her age, I’d start to cry.”

“Did you call the social worker?”

“All the time. Until she said not to call her again until I had a plan for my future. But she sent me pictures of the baby and said she was in a good home. And every few months I could visit her for an hour or two. She was such a beautiful little girl, Maggie, and so happy! Every time I saw her I wanted even more to take her home with me. But I knew I’d never make enough money as a supermarket cashier to support myself and a baby. Everything was so expensive and seemed so impossible. And then I met Ed.”

Dorothy paused, as though remembering. “Ed worked for a construction company in Bridgewater. A big guy, with sort of a red face, but nice. He used to buy his lunch at the supermarket where I worked. We talked, and flirted a little, and he asked me out. He was almost thirty and had his own apartment. I thought maybe this was the way. If I married Ed, I’d have a place to live, and a place for the baby, and I could offer her a real home. I knew Ed loved kids—he said so, all the time—but I didn’t tell him about my baby.” Dorothy looked at Maggie as though asking for forgiveness. “I should have told him, I know. But I was scared that if he knew there’d been another man in my life, he wouldn’t want me. So I waited until we were married to tell him about my daughter.”

“And?”

“He blew up. Said I’d married him on false pretenses; he wasn’t going to take care of another man’s kid. That’s about the time I realized he was drinking too much. After that he started drinking a lot too much. Maggie, understand, my dad was a pretty good drinker, too, so the drinking in itself didn’t bother me. My dad would come home and pick up a couple of six-packs of beer and sit in his chair by the TV and drink until he’d go to sleep every night. Most mornings my mother would have to wake him up and get him to shower and shave and get dressed to go to work. But my dad never yelled at anyone. He never hit anyone.”

“And Ed did.”

Dorothy nodded. “I knew I couldn’t stay; life with him wouldn’t be good for my little girl even if he’d wanted her. By that time she was four years old. I saw her once in a while. Supervised visits, they called them. But then the social worker said I’d had long enough to get my life together. The Division of Youth and Family Services was going to take me to court to take away my parental rights, so they could place her in a permanent home.”

Maggie thought of all the prospective adoptive parents waiting for a four-year-old girl. The social worker had done what she was trained to do: given the biological parent a fair amount of time to provide a home for her child before finding a permanent home for the child.

“I gave up,” Dorothy continued. “I felt I’d never get off the bottom, do you know? No, you probably don’t. But I knew I couldn’t stay with Ed, and my parents wouldn’t want my little girl, and I still couldn’t support her by myself. The social workers were right. She needed to be with a family who would love her and provide for her. I hadn’t been able to do that.” Dorothy sagged deeper into the hard couch.

Dorothy herself must have felt very unsafe and unloved then, Maggie thought. It must have been nightmarish. “So you relinquished custody of your daughter. Did you stay with Ed?”

“For a few more months. Then I got up enough courage to leave him. I went home for a few weeks, but my parents said I was grown-up and I couldn’t even keep a husband, so I needed to find out what it was like to live on my own. To see how hard it was to deal with the real world.” Dorothy paused. “The next years were pretty rough. At first I shared an apartment with an older woman I worked with at the supermarket who had just gone through a divorce. She had furniture, and I paid half the rent, so that was all right. But I wasn’t really making it on my own. I was depending on her for things I’d depended on my parents for. Plus I had no privacy. I couldn’t invite friends over without checking with her, and she liked the apartment to be quiet.”