“I should have kept better watch instead of—” He stopped, closing his lips firmly on the words.
Her gaze on the water she was directing to the roof, she said, “It’s hard to guard against this kind of craziness.”
“What if they had fired the house? What if you had been here alone, asleep?” His voice was savage.
“But I wasn’t,” she said, frowning. “They must have known that, since there was still a light on in the house. Which means…”
“Which means it wasn’t something planned in advance, but a fast, crude job meant to get your attention. They didn’t set out to kill you—this time.”
The air was thick and hot, hard to breathe, and the crackling blaze behind them roared louder. “Why me?” she shouted hoarsely. “They could have known you were here.”
He shook his head as he moved closer to help her soak the end wall of the house. “I thought at first that somebody might have followed me here from California. Not anymore.”
“You mean your wife’s grown children?”
“Or somebody connected to them.” Precise and imperturbable, he sprayed the water on the building while the glow of the flames projected red lights in his hair and gilded his sweat-slick arms and shoulders with copper-gold. “It doesn’t compute. I’m no threat to anyone out there now. Besides, I’m not the one who molds clay into life or who once had a big dumb dog with a strain of wolf for a guardian. Somebody knows your weaknesses, Laurel, and they’re using them. Somebody can guess what you love most. Think about it, because they may not stop here. Think about what else you love that they might be able to destroy.”
She didn’t want to, couldn’t stand it, yet couldn’t help herself. What did she love? Her children, of course. Ivywild. Oh, and one thing more. One person.
She loved the man working at her side to save what she valued. She loved Alec.
The truth of it shifted in her heart and mind with the feel of an earthquake. Bright, unbearable, shattering knowledge. How had it happened? She didn’t want it, didn’t need it, had given up all expectation of ever being seized with this kind of sentimental nonsense. Premenopausal foolishness, that was what it was; changing hormones not unlike the wildly unstable highs and lows that brought on the infatuations of puberty.
“Would you hate having a baby…?”
She would not accept this love. If she ignored it, maybe it would go away. Surely she could weather it without revealing her silly, mooning pleasure in looking at him, talking with him, touching him. Her cataclysmic desire to be held close in his arms. The deep, sharp ache of wondering what a child conceived in their combined images would look like, and how it would feel in her arms.
She had tried so hard to be rational and distant. It hadn’t worked. Instead, she had succumbed with hardly a word of protest, and meant to do it again, given half a chance. Yet she wondered in despair if a man who wanted a woman, for whatever reason, would go to the trouble of killing her guardian dog, smashing the fruits of her creativity and burning down the only place where she could take refuge from him. If he would arrange it so that he was all that she had left.
He was, now. And she loved him; she really did.
She wondered if old Mrs. Chadwick had felt the same.
16
To Whom It May Concern:
Laurel Bancroft is a wicked woman. She has been caught fornicating in the sight of God and man. It is disgusting but true. She prances around naked, bowing down before her garden full of idols. Satan has entered this garden as the serpent into Eden. In his name, she and her lover do vulgar and unspeakable things. They mutilate animals and sacrifice them. Ask her what happened to her dog. If she is not stopped it will be a man, woman or child killed next time. Some of her evil has been cleansed by fire, but it is not enough. She should be treated like a witch unfit to live….
Laurel crumpled the letter in a convulsive movement. There was more, much more, but she couldn’t stand to read it.
She had found the thing in her mailbox at the end of the drive when she went to mail a couple of bills. The envelope was plain white, regular size, like a thousand others. The address was typed. There had been nothing to warn her before she opened it.
Her hands were shaking, her teeth clenched. That anybody would dare write such terrible things about her, that they could twist what she had shared with Alec into something so sordid, left her ill with rage and grief.
How many other people had received letters like this today? Would they throw the vicious words away as the product of a sick mind, or would they whisper and nod and tell each other they had suspected it all along? Would they stare at each other with secret delight, saying, “Well, where there’s smoke there’s fire. You know she’s been odd for years, staying by herself out there at Ivywild like a recluse, as if ashamed of something…”?
She could just hear them. It drove her crazy. She had a wild need to do something, anything, to stop this smear campaign.
Who was doing this? Who? Actually, she could think of only one person who might care what she did in any way, shape or form, and that was Mother Bancroft. The older woman seemed unbalanced in her belief that Laurel should stay imprisoned at Ivywild for what she had done to Howard, but Sadie Bancroft had never suggested she thought Laurel anything other than a garden-variety husband killer. There had been no hint of any of the lurid imaginings laid out in the letter. Certainly, she had never offered physical harm.
That was, of course, before Alec had arrived on the scene.
Still, a poison-pen letter was no great leap from the peculiar write-in campaigns her mother-in-law joined. If she had sent it, then it would be wrong to let it go unanswered in light of its weird slant and implied threat.
Alec was still working in the woods behind the house, as he had been for the past three days since the fire. Starting early and staying late, he seemed determined to remove any cover for whoever might be sneaking around. She should take the letter to him, since he was mentioned in it. He deserved to know what was being said, needed to be kept abreast of the latest developments.
She couldn’t quite bring herself to do it. The letter was not only ugly and hurtful, but it was embarrassing. She shouldn’t feel that way with Alec, but she did; she just couldn’t help it. If she had been able to trust him, to believe in how he claimed to feel about her, it might not have mattered. But she couldn’t, didn’t.
She would talk to Mother Bancroft by herself. It might even be better that way. Her mother-in-law would have no excuse to make accusing remarks if she had no audience.
Walking into her bedroom, Laurel flung the letter on the old-fashioned dressing table and picked up her hairbrush. A few quick strokes and her hair was smooth. She clipped it back with a heavy barrette, then slicked on a little lip-gloss. Moments later, she was out of the house with her car keys in her hand.
The house Mother Bancroft had built for herself after Laurel and Howard married was as different from Ivywild as possible. A low ranch-style bungalow with beige brick and trim, it was compact, economical and totally featureless. It was set back on a small lot in the only subdivision Hillsboro boasted, with not a shrub or flower or vine of any kind to soften its rectangular lines or relieve the tedium of its flat green lawn. It always seemed to Laurel that it was not only a house without personality, but one that was proud of it.
There was a car in the drive, the red Honda Laurel’s daughter drove. As Laurel pulled in behind it, Marcia came from the house with her head down while she pawed through her shoulder bag. She glanced up as Laurel opened her car door and got out. A startled look appeared on the younger woman’s face and she came slowly to meet Laurel.
“Good grief, Mother,” she said without preamble. “When did you start driving again?”
“Hello to you, too,” Laurel replied with warmth shaded by irony as she put her arm around her daughter’s stiff shoulders for a quick hug. The mockery was for herself as much as for Marcia. She had been so upset by the letter and the prospect of tacklin
g Mother Bancroft about it that she had hardly noticed she was driving at all, hadn’t even thought about her fears.
“It just seems too weird seeing you away from the house,” Marcia said, returning the hug awkwardly.
“I’m trying to get out more. Are you in a hurry to leave? Shall I move the car out of your way, or do you have time to come back inside and visit for a while?”
A look of acute discomfort crossed her daughter’s pale face. “Actually, I was going to the grocery store for Meemaw. I’ll be back in a little while.”
“You’re running an errand for your grandmother? She isn’t sick, is she?”
“No, no. I just—Well, I moved in with her a few days ago.”
Laurel stared at the color creeping to her daughter’s hairline, as Marcia looked everywhere rather than meet her mother’s eyes. “Why?” Laurel asked. “What is it? Has Jimmy lost his job?”
“It’s not that at all. If you must know, I’ve left him.”
“You’ve left him,” Laurel repeated slowly. “And you went to your grandmother instead of coming home to me.”
“Don’t make a big deal out of it, Mother. You’ve been busy with your garden and this Alec person. I didn’t want to get in your way.”
“You could never do that,” Laurel said in distress.
Marcia shrugged, an uneasy movement. “Well, it would only add fat to the fire, anyway. Jimmy has been just insane about all the talk going around, ranting and raving about you and your young stud. When I told him I was leaving because I couldn’t take any more, he called me all kinds of names, said I was just like you. I tried to tell him I might not have looked at another man if he had been a little less fanatic, but that made him twice as bad.”
“Another man?” Laurel said in dawning incredulity.
Anger flashed in her daughter’s eyes. “Don’t sound so shocked. You’re not the only one with a life, you know. Anyway, Jimmy slapped me. I don’t have to put up with that, so I left. Besides, it might have hurt the baby.”
“I’m not shocked, only—What baby? Are you pregnant, Marcia?”
Her daughter gave a defiant nod. “I am, as it happens.”
“And you haven’t told me? Good Lord, don’t you think I might be a little interested?”
“Don’t come unglued. I just found out myself four or five days ago.” Her words were defensive, but also carried a sarcastic edge.
Four or five days ago. Before the fire, before the plaques were broken. Not that it mattered. Or did it?
“I can’t believe Jimmy would endanger his own child,” Laurel said, “or that you two are separating at such a time, for that matter.”
“It isn’t his.”
Laurel stared at her daughter for an instant with her mouth agape; she couldn’t help it. “Then whose is it?”
“Just somebody I used to know, okay? I mean, you know how Jimmy is, so wrapped up in his job and all the stuff he does at the church. He’s always been so jealous, accusing me of this and that, saying things that make it sound as if I was some kind of sex fiend because I like it, instead of a normal woman with normal needs. I decided that I might as well have the sin since I was going to catch hell for it, anyway.”
Love and guilt, compassion and grief shifted inside Laurel. This composed young woman had once been her little girl who had run to her with her cuts and scrapes and bruises, crying for comfort. All that had been lost when Howard died.
“Oh, Marcia, I’m so sorry,” she said quietly. “Sorry you were having such problems and I didn’t know.”
“It doesn’t matter. I didn’t want anybody knowing. The last thing I needed was somebody else telling me what to do.”
The words were a reminder. “You mean the way you talked to me about Alec. How could you sit there and say them when you’ve been doing the same thing—or worse, since you’re still a married woman?”
Marcia compressed her lips and ducked her head, digging around in her purse once more until she brought out her car keys. Without looking up, she said, “It’s not the same at all. At least I chose somebody my own age. I wonder what your Alec will think when you tell him you’re going to be a grandmother.”
Laurel couldn’t imagine, though her concern for the moment was with her daughter’s problem. “I know that we haven’t been close, honey, but I’d like to help you if you’ll let me. You’re welcome to stay with me if you like, for as long as you like. There’s plenty of room at Ivywild, and I would enjoy having you.”
Her daughter jiggled her keys, sliding her gaze away. “Thanks a lot, but there’s too much oddball stuff going on out there. I just don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“Because of the baby. I see.” Laurel’s tone was stiff to hide the hurt caused by the dismissal of her offer.
Distress flickered over Marcia’s thin features. “That, among other reasons.”
“Your grandmother.”
“She wouldn’t like it.”
“I see,” Laurel replied in flat acceptance. “Well, the offer is always open.”
“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.” Marcia’s voice sounded thicker, and her gaze was a little less belligerent as she turned away.
Laurel almost let her go, then in an abrupt change of tone, she said, “Wait. You didn’t get a letter this morning, did you?”
“A letter? I don’t think so. Not here, anyway,” her daughter answered as she opened her car door. “What kind of letter?”
She was lying, and not too well, Laurel thought. Or maybe she was telling the truth in a strict sense, if Mother Bancroft had gotten the letter. Marcia obviously didn’t want to talk about it, however, or she wouldn’t be pretending ignorance.
“It’s nothing, really,” Laurel answered dismissively as she swung back to her car, getting ready to move it out of Marcia’s way. “Just a bunch of gibberish from somebody with a warped mind.” She hesitated. “If you won’t come and stay, maybe you’ll visit more often?”
“Sure,” Marcia said, but she didn’t smile or look at Laurel, and she immediately cranked her car and put it in gear.
It didn’t sound promising.
As Laurel pulled back into the driveway after letting her daughter leave, she saw the draperies twitch at the bungalow’s living-room window. A grim smile curved her mouth. Her mother-in-law was watching, probably had been all along. She would be dying to know what she and Marcia had been saying to each other.
It was no surprise, then, when the first words out of Sadie Bancroft’s mouth were, “I suppose your daughter told you she’s pregnant?”
“Oh, did you see us outside?” Laurel spoke in artless surprise as she stepped into the minuscule entrance of the house. “You should have joined us.”
The other woman stared at her, her mouth pinched and nostrils flaring as if she smelled something unpleasant. Her hair was uncombed, her face puffy, and her eyes ringed by dark circles. Her shapeless housecoat had once sported a pattern of pink and blue tropical flowers but had been washed so many times the color was barely recognizable. Her cloth slippers were ragged and had been cut across the instep for comfort. She looked ill, or as if she had not slept in days. “I was busy in the kitchen,” she offered finally.
“Cooking something special, I imagine, since you have Marcia with you now. Don’t let me keep you from it.”
Laurel wandered toward the kitchen area as she spoke. Everything in the house was so drab, from the vinyl on the floors to the light fixtures in the ceilings. It was also aggressively clean. Her mother-in-law’s house had always been that way; Laurel had almost forgotten.
“We’ll sit here in the living room,” Mother Bancroft said, her voice grimly commanding.
“Actually, I won’t be here that long,” Laurel said, turning to face the other woman. “I’ve come about—”
“Marcia and Jimmy, I just knew it. I expect the gossip is all over town.”
“You’d have a better idea about that than I do, I would imagine. But no, this isn’t about Marcia.”
“Of course I care!” Laurel snapped as her patience gave out. “She’s my own flesh and blood!”
“That,” Mother Bancroft said, “is perfectly obvious.”
“Are you trying to blame me for her separation?” Laurel returned at once. “If so, then let me remind you that my daughter has seen much more of you than she has of me since Howard died. You’re the one who pushed her into getting married, who decided that Jimmy was such a wonderful young man—upright, moral and Christian, the perfect husband. To me he was priggish, self-righteous and overbearing, but nobody bothered to listen to my opinion. So don’t try to push your errors of judgment off on me, Mother Bancroft, because it won’t work. If I’ve failed my daughter, it wasn’t by influencing her, but by not fighting to keep her from you and your narrow-minded ways!”
“Of all the nerve! You can stand there and say such a thing when everybody knows you’re living in sin with a man young enough to be your daughter’s boyfriend?”
“Sin has nothing to do with it, since we are both free to do as we please. More than that, Alec is at least ten years older than Marcia, though I’m sure that wouldn’t bother you at all if he was interested in her instead of me.”
“You don’t consider fornication sinful?” her mother-in-law demanded.
Laurel had only disdain for such a blatant attempt to take the moral high ground. “Frankly, I’m not sure there is such a thing. But it’s an interesting word, don’t you think? Maybe that’s why you used it in the poison-pen letters you’ve been passing around!”
Mother Bancroft lifted a hand to her chest as she stared at her with blaring eyes. “You think I would make up such filth?”
The older woman looked truly horrified at the thought. Her face was pale and a rim of moisture had appeared along the red edges of her lower eyelids. Laurel refused to be impressed. “Why not? You’re the person who has talked about me behind my back for years, the one who has done everything possible to be sure that I felt the full weight of guilt for causing Howard’s death. Now you see me escaping the fate you think I deserve. I’m getting out and doing things, finding some tiny bit of happiness with another man, and it kills your soul. So you’re doing everything in your power to stop it.”
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