The Other Child (21 page)

Mike chuckled ruefully as he faced the closed bedroom door. Some of the guys had had their wives in the bar tonight. It was a crying shame Karen didn’t loosen up a little and have a few drinks with him. It might make her more human. They used to have fun. Hell—they used to have lots of fun before they moved here.

He had turned to climb the stairs to his studio when he remembered. All gone—the brandy was all gone. He was feeling good and there wasn’t a damn thing to do. Karen was asleep and she wasn’t any fun anyway. He really ought to go in and wake her up and show her how to have a good time.

“Why not?” Mike chuckled again. He opened the bedroom door and stepped inside, shutting it quietly behind him. He’d just get out of his clothes and hop into bed with Karen. It was about time she started acting like a wife again.

“Mike! What—?” Karen gasped as she turned on the light and saw him leaning over her. The sour smell of whiskey made her head spin. He was staring at her, leering drunkenly. Then his hand shot forward and fastened on the neck of her silk nightgown.

“No!” She gave a cry and jerked back in fear. The material pulled away in his hand and she cried out again as she covered herself with her arms. “Get away from me! You’re drunk!”

“Yeah!” Mike laughed and grabbed her arms. He twisted them behind her back and pinned her to the bed. “I’m going to show you how to have a good time. Don’t you remember? You used to like it!”

She pushed against him with all her strength, but she was no match for his drunken determination. He was grabbing her now, fingers digging painfully into the tender flesh.

“Mike! Please! Leave me alone!” She twisted from side to side, but he was too strong. She heard his laughter as he loomed over her, and pure panic made her struggle desperately. He was an animal, a drunken animal. She had to get away.

His hand snapped back to slap her viciously. She reeled in shock; and before she could react, he was on her, lunging forward brutally.

One cry was all she gave. Then she shut her eyes tightly, welcoming the blackness. She willed her mind away, leaving her body uncaring, unfeeling, unmoving. It was a nightmare and she would awaken soon. She had fallen asleep in the yard, tired from taking care of the rose garden, weeding and planting in the late-summer sun. Any moment now she would wake up and it would be over. None of this was real.

The taste of ashes was in his mouth. Mike opened his eyes to see the early-morning sky outside the window. He’d tied one on last night. Gradually the memory was coming back.

He rolled over to look at her, ashamed at his passion of the night before. She lay there, still and straight, the covers barely lifting with her shallow breathing. She was asleep.

He felt tears come to his eyes and he blinked them away angrily. He’d never done anything like this before. He felt as if something inside him had died last night and there was no way to bring it back to life. She was gone—the beautiful, passionate woman he’d married. And in her place was this shell, this doll-like stranger who had only one thought in her mind, an old house.

He slipped out of bed and dressed quickly in the gray morning light. He had to go to Rochester for five days and it was time to hit the road. He couldn’t wake Karen to say good-bye; he didn’t have the guts for that. He’d write her a note before he left and tell her he was sorry. They could talk it all out when he called home tonight.

Mike started the truck and backed out of the driveway. He lit a cigarette and buckled his seat belt. There was no use in putting it off any longer. He had to do something. There had to be some way to patch up their marriage, to bring their life back to normal. Karen was obsessed with this damn house. But what could he do about that?

Mike felt a quickening of hope as the thought occurred to him. Maybe he could sell the house! He’d talk to some of the guys at the magazine and see what they thought. If he could move Karen back to the Cities, she might grow to love him again and maybe they’d even try to have another child. They’d all be a lot better off away from Cold Spring, and especially away from this house.

Marilyn gave one last glance in the mirror and nodded at her reflection. She thought she looked fine for her door-to-door canvassing. Now she was glad she’d let Bertha put that rinse in her hair. The slight blue covered up all traces of gray. In her green polyester suit, with the matching flowered blouse, she looked very smart and businesslike. She picked up her purse and her notepad and stepped briskly out of the house. She was determined to collect at least two hundred dollars for the hospital fund this morning.

Two hours later she had her quota. Mr. Jenkins had pledged fifty dollars, and Marilyn smiled as she marched down the street. Only two stores to go and then she’d start on the residential streets.

It was past four when she knocked on the door at the Appleton Mansion. Marilyn wasn’t looking forward to this, but it wouldn’t be fair if she left the Houstons off her list. She had to treat everyone the same, no matter how she felt about them personally. It was only right that the Houstons should be asked to contribute.

Marilyn frowned as Leslie opened the door. She couldn’t believe that this was the same child she’d seen only a few weeks ago in the grocery store. Leslie’s hair was clipped in a ragged pixie and she wore cutoff jeans and an old, dirty white shirt. What on earth had gotten into her mother to let her dress like this?

“Oh, hello, Mrs. Comstock.” Leslie smiled politely. She stood with the door open only a few inches and there was a questioning look on her face.

Marilyn cleared her throat. “I came to see your mother or your . . . uh . . . Mr. Houston.” Marilyn felt herself blushing. “It’s about the community fund for Gary Wilson and Bud Allen.”

“Sure . . . come in, Mrs. Comstock.” Leslie opened the door all the way and led her to the parlor. “Just wait for a second and I’ll get Mom. Mike isn’t home. He’s working in Rochester this week.”

Marilyn’s eyes widened as she took in the details of the room. It certainly looked grand. The parquet floor was polished until it looked like glass and the French love seat was gorgeous. It was clear to see that a lot of money had gone into making this room so beautiful. She just couldn’t believe that it was the same run-down house Rob had sold only a few months ago.

“Hello, dear.” Marilyn put on her best public-relations smile as Karen came into the room. “I came about the community fund for Bud and Gary. We’re asking for contributions and I thought you might like to sign a pledge.”

“Oh, yes . . . of course.” Karen smiled slowly. “How much do you want, Mrs. Comstock?”

“Well, the usual pledge is ten dollars.” Marilyn cleared her throat. Karen looked a little dazed. She hoped she hadn’t come at a bad time.

“That’s fine, Mrs. Comstock,” Karen replied slowly. She blinked once or twice and leaned against the door frame.

“Just drop the money off at the bank sometime in the next few days.” Marilyn handed her a pledge card and watched as Karen signed. “They’re taking charge of the fund for us.”

There was an awkward silence for a moment, and then Marilyn cleared her throat. “Well.” she smiled nervously. “How are you doing, Karen? Are you managing all right without poor Thelma?”

“Oh, yes . . . just fine.” Karen blinked again. Then she smiled fully for the first time. “Would you like to see the rest of the house? I’m almost finished with the renovation.”

Marilyn smiled back. “That would be wonderful.” She certainly did want to see the house. If it was anything like this room, it would be gorgeous.

Karen must have been napping when she came, Marilyn decided. She had seemed so disoriented at first, but now she was fine. Her face was animated and she talked nonstop as she led Marilyn from room to room, explaining the furnishings and showing the work she’d done.

“Oh, this is just wonderful!” Marilyn stood in front of the fireplace and looked up at the lovely portrait hanging there. “Wherever did you find it, Karen?”

“Oh, that’s Dorthea Appleton.” Karen smiled happily. “This portrait was in a trunk in the ballroom until I found it. Isn’t she just lovely? She’s Amelia and William’s daughter, you know, and she’s an artist in her own right. I have some drawings she’s done upstairs. It’s really too bad she ran off with the man who painted this portrait. He was a terrible scoundrel and he left her, pregnant and unmarried, in San Francisco. She wants to come home now with her son, Christopher, but her father’s never forgiven her. Poor Dorthea!”

Marilyn swallowed nervously as Karen stood looking up at the portrait. She could hardly believe what she had heard. Karen acted as if this Appleton girl were still alive!

“Well!” Marilyn cleared her throat. “I’d really better be going, Karen. I have to get home and fix Rob’s supper. Thank you for showing me the house. You’ve certainly done a lot of work on it.”

“There’s still a lot to be done before it’s completely finished,” Karen said as she walked her to the door. “I have to fix up Amelia’s flower beds and carry on Dorthea’s work in the greenhouse. Then there’s the rose garden. That simply has to be done before winter sets in. I think, if we work very hard, it’ll be the same showplace it was the year Dorthea left home. Can you imagine how wonderful she’ll feel when she comes home and finds it just the same?”

“Uh . . . yes.” Marilyn opened the door and stepped out quickly. “Well . . . thank you for the pledge, Karen. I’ll call again soon.”

Marilyn hurried to her car and got in. Then she reached out and locked the door. Karen Houston was completely out of touch with reality. “Just wait until I tell the girls about this!” she exclaimed as she drove away.

They spent the rest of the week making plans for the puppet show. It would be held in Taffy’s backyard this Saturday, the last weekend in September. All the proceeds from the bake sale and puppet show would go toward the hospital fund for Gary Wilson and Bud Allen. Taffy’s mother had volunteered their guesthouse for the puppet show, and all the kids in the class were doing something to help. Leslie was the class photographer. Her pictures would be in the school yearbook.

Karen spread out newspaper on the kitchen table and Leslie brought the big chest with the silver from the dining room. They were going to clean the silver tonight and she could hardly wait. It was a Queen Anne pattern with an
A
engraved on every piece. Leslie thought it was beautiful and she could hardly wait to see it gleaming on the lace tablecloth they had found.

“This is going to take a while, kitten.” Karen dipped the first piece in the silver polish and started rubbing with a soft cloth. “Make sure you clean between the tines of the forks.”

“Remember how Dorthea complained about cleaning the silverware?” Leslie grinned. “They used to do it every week when she was a girl.”

For long minutes they worked in companionable silence, dipping the pieces and polishing them. Then Karen laughed.

“It almost makes me want to change my name to something starting with an
A,
” she confessed. “Doesn’t it look lovely when it’s all clean?”

“Yes, it does.” Leslie smiled up at her mother. Working on the house with Mom was fun and it was almost done. All they had left were the finishing touches. Yesterday the men from the roofing company had come to repair the shingles and they’d promised to have them done by Tuesday. And the new storm windows would be installed by the end of the month. All they really had to do was finish the rose garden, and the whole house would be completely restored.

The silver was almost done now and Leslie worked at the last piece. She wished that Mike would hurry and come home. She needed to ask him some questions about the puppet show tomorrow. She wanted to be sure to use exactly the right kind of film so her pictures would be perfect. And he might even lend her a strobe. That would solve a big lighting problem for her.

“That’s all, honey.” Karen replaced the last spoon and closed the chest. “You’d better get up to bed now. Tomorrow’s a big day.”

“All right, Mom.” Leslie kissed her mother on the cheek. She was disappointed that Mike hadn’t come home yet, but there was nothing she could do about it. When she got up to her room, she took out her film and checked the ASA herself. She’d use Tri-X film and ask Mike to push it when they did the developing.

The first thing Leslie saw when she woke up in the morning was her camera propped up against the lamp. She smiled and hopped out of bed. She could hardly wait to take pictures today. Mrs. Ogilvie would be very proud of her.

Leslie dressed quickly and slipped her camera into its case. Then she hung the strap around her neck and stepped out into the hallway quietly. No one was stirring in the house. Her mother’s door was still closed and Leslie hurried down the stairs. She’d skip breakfast and get right to Taffy’s house.

Leslie left a note for her mother on the kitchen table and slipped out of the house. The driveway was empty. That meant Mike had stayed the night in Rochester. He’d be home sometime this morning, but she couldn’t wait around to ask him for the strobe. They could fix it up later, if she made any mistakes. Mike was a wizard in the darkroom.

The air was clean and crisp. Leslie buttoned her light jacket and ran through the leaves to the gate. Even though it was only the end of September, the cold weather would be here soon. They’d have to hurry with the rose garden if they wanted it done in time.

She opened the gate and let it clang shut behind her. If she hurried, she’d be the first one at the Comstocks’. She could help with the decorations, and all the kids would see she was trying to be helpful. That might make them like her more. And they were bound to be impressed when they saw her pictures.

Taffy’s house sat on the corner, shaded by giant elms. It was a large green wooden house, with white aluminum awnings. The shades were pulled on the upstairs windows and the awnings glinted like snow in the early-morning light. Leslie pressed the bell and waited. She could see through the beveled glass in the door, and the grandfather clock in the entryway read ten minutes to eight. Was she too early? It would be awful if Taffy and Mrs. Comstock were still asleep.

Leslie rang the bell a second time, but there was no movement inside the house. She was about to sit down on the steps to wait when she thought of the backyard. If Taffy and her mother were up, they might be working in the guesthouse already.

Leslie left the front porch and went around the side of the house, stepping over the rhubarb bushes that grew out from the fence. The guesthouse was at the very back of the lot and she could hear the sound of a hammer as she cut across the lawn and ran toward the green-and-white building. She wasn’t too early after all. Taffy and Mrs. Comstock must be putting up the decorations already.

“Taffy?” Leslie stepped into the small building and waved at Taffy. She was on top of a ladder, hanging streamers. She looked very different today. In school she was always impeccably dressed, but this morning she wore overalls and an old faded sweatshirt. Her hair was a tangle of uncombed curls. Taffy looked a mess.

“It’s going to be super!” Leslie smiled as she looked around. Some of the decorations were already in place and it looked good already. They had chosen the school colors, red and gold, to decorate the inside. Folding chairs on loan from the Lutheran church stood in even rows. The stage was raised slightly on a platform Rob had constructed and someone had rigged a curtain out of a white bedspread. It was a wonderful setting for their puppet show.

“Oh . . . Leslie!” Taffy put the hammer down and made a face. “You’re much too early! You weren’t supposed to get here until ten o’clock.”

Taffy couldn’t hide her irritation as she stared down at Leslie. She might have known it. The first one to show up was Leslie Houston! Why hadn’t it been one of her real friends, like Mary Ellen or Susie? Now she’d be stuck with Leslie until her mother came back from St. Cloud. She should have gone along instead of backing out at the last minute.

“Let me take a picture of it now, before it’s finished.” Leslie squinted through her viewfinder. “I can get one of you on top of the ladder, Taffy.”

“No! I don’t want to be in your stupid picture!” Taffy climbed down fast and stood to the side while Leslie snapped the shutter. She certainly didn’t want to be in any pictures until she was dressed up, with her hair combed. She’d simply die if her picture went in the yearbook looking like this!

“That’s a great braid, Taffy.” Leslie stared up at the red-and-gold crepe paper that stretched across the top of the stage. “It’s a little crooked, though. I’m sure it’s down too low on the left.”

“Well, fix it, then!” Taffy snapped. Leave it to Leslie to criticize. She’d spent hours last night making that braid and now Leslie had to criticize it. It was hard to be polite with people like that.

“Sure. I can do it.” Leslie climbed to the top of the ladder and reached out to straighten the braid. Taffy wasn’t being very nice, but she could take it. Just as soon as Mrs. Ogilvie got here, everything would be fine.

“Oh!” Leslie gasped as the ladder began to wiggle. “Catch it, Taffy—I’m going to fall!”

Taffy stood back and grinned as the ladder wobbled. She didn’t really care if Leslie fell or not. The ladder swayed precariously and Leslie managed to step down two rungs. Then it toppled and she jumped clear.

Taffy let out a howl as the ladder crashed into her braid. The streamers sagged and snapped under the heavy weight.

“Oh, no! Now, look what you did!” Taffy turned to glare at Leslie with hate in her eyes. Her beautiful braid was wrecked and there wasn’t time to make another. It was all stupid Leslie’s fault!

“Get out of here!” Taffy stamped her foot on the floor, and two bright spots of color appeared in her cheeks. “You ruin everything you touch, Leslie! Go home and don’t come back!”

“I’m sorry, Taffy.” Leslie really felt bad about destroying Taffy’s braid. “I think we can fix it, though. I’ll help you, and there’s more streamers right over there.”

“Don’t touch them!” Taffy’s voice was loud. “I told you to go home and I meant it! Get out of here before you wreck something else!”

“Come on, Taffy. I said I was sorry.” Leslie tried to be reasonable. “I know you’re mad right now, but I didn’t do that on purpose. It was an accident.”

“An accident?” Taffy’s voice was scornful. “Everything’s an accident when you’re around! Well, there won’t be any accidents pretty soon, because you’ll be gone. My mother’s going to kick you and your family right out of your old house!”

Leslie’s mouth dropped open. The house belonged to them. Mrs. Comstock couldn’t kick them out of their own house.

“I know you’re late on your house payment.” Taffy was pleased, watching the stunned expression on Leslie’s face. “I heard Mike talking to my dad at the office. Dad said he’d cover for you, but my mother doesn’t know about it. I’m going to tell her you missed a payment and she’ll kick you out on the street.”

“She can’t!” Leslie’s voice was desperate. “You’re lying, Taffy. Your mother can’t kick us out!”

“Oh, yes, she can.” Taffy grinned widely. “My mother owns your house. She can kick you out and I’m going to tell her to do it. You just wait and see if I don’t!”

For a moment Leslie was frozen there, staring up into Taffy’s jeering face. Then she whirled and ran out of the guesthouse and through the yard. She was panting by the time she reached the vacant lot behind Taffy’s house. There, hidden by trees, she stopped, gulping noisily. She had to stop Taffy from telling her mother about the late payment. They couldn’t lose Christopher’s house.

Desperately, Leslie reached up for her key. She leaned against a tree trunk for support and sobbed fearfully. The leaves began to move, blurring and swimming in front of her eyes and the sun grew brighter. She blinked and squinted against the brilliant morning light, clutching her key even tighter. Christopher had to help her!

As she stood there, shivering, a current of pure rage swept through her mind. There was a moment of dizziness and then a small serene smile replaced the frightened expression on her face. He would help her. Christopher was right here inside her. He would stop Taffy.

Leslie’s tears dried in the fall breeze and her eyes shone with purpose. She bent down to pick up the matches someone had dropped and walked silently back to the guesthouse. She had to be careful that no one saw her.

Hurry, Leslie.
His voice was loud and she obeyed.
Quickly, before anyone comes.

Taffy was still alone in the guesthouse when Leslie opened the door. There were more streamers hanging from the ceiling now, and Taffy had just finished tacking up one end of the banner with the name of the play on it. She was shocked when Leslie came in.

“I thought I told you to go home!” Taffy stamped her foot on the rung of the ladder. “How many times do I have to tell you, dummy? Nobody wants you here. Go home and start packing! I’m going to tell my mother just as soon as she comes back!”

Leslie stood there solidly, staring. She didn’t say anything and this time there were no tears in her eyes. She just stared without blinking, and Taffy felt the beginnings of fear flutter in her stomach as she looked into Leslie’s cold, dead eyes. There was a strange absence of expression on Leslie’s face, and there was something very different about her eyes, something that made Taffy start to tremble. Instead of being blue, as they always were, Leslie’s eyes were coal black and they looked flat and menacing.

Taffy gulped. Maybe she’d been too hard on Leslie. Of course she wasn’t really going to tell her mother. She had just said that because she was mad. She hated to apologize, but the strange way Leslie was staring at her made her blurt out the words.

“Leslie, I—I didn’t mean it, honest!” Taffy’s voice was high and desperate as Leslie started to move toward her. “I won’t tell my mother, really! It’ll be our secret, just yours and mine. I promise I won’t say a word! I like you, Leslie—honestly, I do! I don’t really want you to move away! I was just kidding around before—honest!”

Now, Leslie.
Christopher’s voice was firm. Leslie watched as he pulled her hand with the matches out from behind her back.

Taffy gave a cry of fright as Leslie moved. There was a rasp in the small room as she struck a match and Taffy knew she had to get away. She had to run for the safety of the big house, but something was very wrong. She couldn’t move. Something was holding her here and she couldn’t move!

The flame sputtered and then burned brightly.

See the streamers? Watch the flames, Leslie. It’s going to happen now.

The tongue of fire touched the streamers, and bright fingers of flame licked across the red-and-gold ceiling. The curtain on the stage blazed and flames spiraled upward, catching and crackling on the dry wooden beams.

Now the fire was flickering at the hem of Taffy’s denim overalls. The flames danced upward in bright ribbons and Taffy screamed with horror as her hair blazed in a halo around her shoulders.

Very carefully Leslie raised her camera and snapped a picture. Her eyes were huge and dazed as she opened the door and shut it firmly behind her, latching it securely from the outside. Taffy’s ghastly scream echoed in the early-morning air as Leslie walked away, out of the yard and through the vacant lot toward home. She was tired and it was time to go back to bed.

She let herself in the kitchen door and picked up the note, slipping it into her pocket. The house was quiet. Her mother was still sleeping. She tiptoed down the hall to her room and crawled under the blankets, shutting her eyes wearily. The key fell from her tightly curled fingers and rested warm against her neck as she dropped into a deep, exhausted sleep.