Suffer the Children (6 page)

She was quiet. She neither spoke nor laughed, and when she moved she moved slowly, as if something were holding her back.

Occasionally, she screamed.

She seemed to be frightened, but she learned to tolerate the presence of her mother. She was never left alone with her father.

She responded only to Elizabeth. She would follow Elizabeth whenever she could, and if Elizabeth could not be with her, she would sit quietly and wait But that wasn’t often.

Elizabeth was usually with her. Except when they were in school, Elizabeth spent most of her time with Sarah—reading to her, talking to her, not seeming to notice that Sarah never talked back. Elizabeth played with Sarah, never losing her patience when Sarah’s interest wandered, always finding something new to distract Sarah from whatever was going on in her mind.

The doctors said that Sarah could recover someday, but they didn’t know when it would be. Since they didn’t know exactly what had happened to Sarah, and nobody seemed able to tell them, they weren’t entirely sure how to treat her. But someday, they were sure, Sarah would be able to remember what had happened to her that day, and face it. When that day came, Sarah would be all right again. But until that day, Sarah might do anything. Schizophrenia, they said, was unpredictable.

Rose Conger stared across the breakfast table and wondered for the twentieth time how her husband could drink so much and never show the effects of it.

Had he been less engrossed in his morning paper, Jack would have noticed the look of annoyance on Rose’s face as she studied his own. At forty, he looked ten years younger, and where the lines of character, or age, should have begun their march from his forehead to his jowls, only the smooth skin of youth was present; still unaffected by the years of drinking. It isn’t right, Rose thought. Any other man would have veins standing on his nose, and the awful pallor would make him look skeletal. But not Jack.

“What time did you come to bed?” she asked.

He looked up, then went back to his paper. “One thirty. Two. I don’t know.”

“Would you like some more coffee?”

He put down the paper, and a twisted smile crossed his face.

“Do I look like I need it?”

“I wish you did,” Rose said bitterly. “Maybe if it showed on your face you wouldn’t drink so much.”

“Oh, come on, Rose. Let’s let it alone, shall we? The kids will be down in a minute.” He glanced at his watch, as if the gesture would bring the girls into the room and rescue him from what he knew was coming.

“They’ll be ten minutes yet,” Rose replied. “Jack, what we were talking about last night …”

“Is it going to be the drinking this morning? Why is it, Rose, that it’s always the money at night and the drinking in the morning? Why don’t you, just for the sake of variety, talk about the drinking at night and the money in the morning? Then maybe we could both think of something new to say.”

Rose glowered down at her plate and tried to keep her voice even. “I suppose I harbor the vain hope that maybe, if I don’t talk about it at night, you won’t do it You’d think I’d learn, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes,” Jack said, “you would.” He folded the paper noisily and tried to concentrate on the print. He read a paragraph, then reread it as he realized that he hadn’t any idea of what it was about. He was on his third reading when Rose spoke again.

“How long can we go on like this?”

He put the paper aside and stared across at her. For a long time he was silent, and when he spoke his voice was hard.

“What do you mean, ‘like this’? If you mean how long until I can get it up for you again, I don’t know. If you mean how long before I’m going to stop drinking, I don’t know. If you mean how long before you stop harping at me all the time, that’s up to you. I have a strange feeling that I will stop drinking, and start screwing, when you decide to let the whole thing alone and give me some peace. There are reasons, you know, why I have problems, and your nagging doesn’t help at all. So why don’t you just leave it alone, Rose? Just leave it alone.” He stood up and left the room, and Rose was amazed to hear the warmth with which he greeted his daughters before he left the house. His failure to slam the door as he left only increased her annoyance. She poured herself some coffee, and tried to match Jack’s warmth as the girls came into the room.

“You have your choice this morning,” she said. “Mrs. Goodrich says waffles and pancakes are equally easy, so you can have either one.”

“We’ll have waffles,” Elizabeth said. She kissed her mother good morning and seated herself. Sarah pulled her father’s recently vacated chair around and sat beside Elizabeth.

“Sarah? Don’t you want to sit in your own chair?”

There was no response from the little girl. She sat quietly with her hands in her lap until Elizabeth poured her some orange juice. She picked it up, dutifully drained the glass, and set it down again. Her hand went back to her lap. Rose watched in silence, feeling helpless.

“Sarah,” she repeated. “Are you sure you don’t want to sit in your own chair?”

Sarah’s head turned toward Rose, and she stared at her mother for a moment. Rose looked vainly into the tiny, dark face, trying to see if Sarah had understood her. It was like trying to fathom the feeling of a mask. After a few seconds, Sarah turned her face away again. A knot formed in Rose’s stomach.

“Maybe she’d rather have pancakes,” she said pensively. “But how can I know?”

Elizabeth smiled at her mother. “The waffles will do fine,” she said. “She likes them. How come Daddy left so early?”

“I guess he had a lot to do at the office,” Rose answered distractedly, her eyes still on her younger daughter. She felt that there was something she ought to do, something she ought to say to Sarah, but she didn’t know what it was. She felt confused. Hurriedly, she put her napkin on the table and stood up.

“I have a lot to do myself,” she said. “Can you manage by yourself, Elizabeth?”

“Sure,” Elizabeth said. “If I have to leave before the van gets here, shall I leave Sarah with Mrs. Goodrich?”

“If you think it would be—” “All right” was what she was about to say, but it struck her that she was the mother, not Elizabeth, and that even if she did feel all at sea where Sarah was concerned, it was still her duty
to be a mother. She should not defer to a thirteen-year-old child, even one as mature as Elizabeth.

“That will be fine, she corrected herself. I’ll be in my office. Come in before you leave.”

She started to leave the room, then, on an impulse, leaned down to kiss Sarah. Sarah didn’t respond at all, and, the knot in her stomach tightening, Rose left the room. As she made her way into the little parlor at the front of the house that she had converted into an office for herself, she heard Elizabeth chattering brightly to Sarah, never pausing to give Sarah a chance to say anything, never sounding annoyed at Sarah’s—“Dumbness” was the word that came to mind, but Rose couldn’t bring herself to use it. She avoided the issue completely by turning her mind to her work.

She pulled out the files she had been working on the previous afternoon and began checking her figures once more. She found two errors, and corrected them. She prided herself on her attention to detail, and had become even more careful as time went on. Since her first day in the real-estate business she had not turned in any paperwork that was less than perfect, and she knew that the men in her office resented it. It had become an unspoken game, good-natured on her part but played with a slight edge of envy by the others involved, to give Rose wrong figures and see how long it would take her to find them. She suspected there was a pot building that would eventually go to the person who succeeded in catching her in a mistake. She intended for that pot to keep on growing till they finally gave it up and either split it up among themselves or handed it all over to her. She finished the files just as Elizabeth came in.

“That time already?” she said.

“I told Kathy Burton I’d meet her before school. Sarah’s in the kitchen with Mrs. G.”

“Will you be home right after school?”

“Aren’t I always?”

Rose smiled at her daughter appreciatively, and held out her arms. Elizabeth came to her mother and hugged her.

“You’re a great help to me, you know,” Rose whispered to her.

Elizabeth nodded her head briefly and freed herself. “See you tonight,” she said. Rose watched as she pulled the door closed behind her, and turned to gaze out the window. In a moment she heard the front door open and close, then saw Elizabeth, pulling a coat on, skip down the steps and start the walk to the Point Road.

Rose went back to her work, thumbing through her listings and mentally pairing off houses with clients. She had discovered that she had a knack for picking the right house for the right person, and her reputation was spreading. She made it a practice to spend at least a couple of hours with each client, talking about everything but houses. Then, when she felt she knew something about her client, she would pull out her listings and give them a couple to look over. Finally she would pull out her own choice for them, and she was usually right. More and more, lately, people had begun to come to her, not so much to see what she had available as to ask her what she thought they ought to have. It was making her work much easier, and her volume much larger.

One more year, she thought, and I’ll get my broker’s license. Then, watch out, Port Arbello. Another Conger is on the rise.

She was only half aware that the little Ford van that served as a school bus had arrived to take Sarah to White Oaks School, and didn’t look up from her work until she heard the tapping at her door.

“Come in,” she called.

The door opened, and Mrs. Goodrich, looking resentful at having to intrude on Rose, stuck her head in.

“Sorry to bother you,” she said, the deep Yankee voice rumbling from her immense bosom. “Mr. Diller wonders
if he could have a word with you. I told him you were busy, but he wonders anyway.” Her tone suggested that it was her strongly held opinion that if Mr. Diller had any sense of propriety whatsoever, he would have faded directly into the ground upon being told that Mrs. Conger was busy.

Rose suppressed a grin and did her best to impersonate the grande dame that Mrs. Goodrich obviously expected her to be. For a long time, when she had first come to live in the Conger house, Mrs. Goodrich had frightened her to death, and she had been painfully aware that she did not meet the standards that Mrs. Goodrich had set for the senior Mrs. Conger-in-residence. But she had eventually come to realize that, whatever she did, Mrs. Goodrich would see her as Mrs. Goodrich wanted to see her. In the last couple of years Rose had found a certain enjoyment in trying to play the role. So now, for the benefit of the old housekeeper, she stood up, drew herself as erect as she could, and tried to sound imperious.

“It’s unusual that he should call without an appointment, isn’t it?”

Mrs. Goodrich nodded a vigorous agreement.

“But I suppose it would be useless to try to send him away.”

Again Mrs. Goodrich nodded vigorously.

“So I suppose you may show him in.”

The door closed, and in a moment it reopened to allow George Diller to enter. Rose promptly relaxed and smiled at him. He was a little younger than she, and sported a full beard. He was one of the teachers at the White Oaks School, but since he seemed to have a special way with the children he taught, he also drove the van that picked them up and delivered them home every day. The school had tried other drivers, but things always seemed to go better when George Diller drove, as if the children, trusting him, tried to behave better for him.

“What was that all about?” he said, glancing back toward the door.

“You heard?” Rose replied, chuckling.

“You sounded just like my Aunt Agatha, down in Boston. She could order a servant to kill himself, and he wouldn’t dare disobey. Fortunately for everyone, she never did.”

“Mrs. Goodrich would have loved your Aunt Agatha. She’s convinced that’s the way a proper lady should talk, so I do my best for her. It’s kind of fun, really.”

“Well, it almost scared me off. But not quite.”

“That’s good. Would you like some coffee?”

“Not enough time. The kids won’t wait long.”

Rose glanced out the window and saw Sarah climbing into the front seat of the van. In the back, six or seven children stared out at her, and she could see that one or two of them were already getting restless.

“Then what can I do for you?” Rose asked.

“Nothing for me. It’s about Sarah. It isn’t anything serious, but the staff at the school would like you and Mr. Conger to come in for a talk.”

“Oh?” Rose looked concerned, and George hurried on.

“Really, it’s nothing. I think they’re thinking of making some changes in Sarah’s program, and they want to talk to you first.”

Rose nodded. “Of course. Is there any time that’s best for the school?” She moved to the desk and opened her calendar.

“Not really.” George shrugged. “Afternoons are best, after the kids have gone home, but if you don’t have time, we can always work around you.”

Rose knew they could. White Oaks was a very expensive school, and had a policy of going out of their way both for their students and the families of their students. Consequently, they found that they very rarely had to go out of their way. Parents, realizing that the school would do what it could for them, tried to do
what they could for the school. So Rose searched for a free afternoon, and picked up a pencil.

“How’s Thursday? Of course, I’ll have to check with my husband, but I imagine he can get away.”

“Fine,” George said. “About four?”

“I’ll mark it right now—” Rose broke off as she heard a little cry from the front of the house. She glanced up, and for a moment she didn’t see anything amiss. Then she saw it: The van was moving.

“George!” she yelled. “Quick! The van!”

Without asking any questions, George headed for the door. It stuck, and he grappled with it for a moment. Rose was still staring out the window. The van was moving slowly, but it was picking up speed on the slight incline that led to the garage. She judged that if it hit the garage, it would stop with little damage. But if it missed the garage…