The Mirror

by Marlys Millhiser

  “She’s known you for years –”

  “And acts as if she’s never seen me before.”

  “Amnesia?”

  “Amnesiacs don’t forget how to take showers or shave their legs. Rachael, I want you to go over everything again, from the beginning.”

  She started with the night her mother died and tried to remember any odd action, reaction or word. There were many.

  “… and when her friends call, she refuses to see them. She loves to ride in the car but won’t drive it. She never cared much for TV and now she has it on till it’s driving me bananas. She never plays her stereo anymore. Her attitude toward her fiancé has changed. I can’t explain it … almost like a schoolgirl crush. At least she’s stopped telling us she’s her grandmother. But, Gale, it’s a total personality change. As if she’s experiencing things for the first time like … well, as I’ve said, she told us she learned to shave her legs and shampoo her hair properly from a TV commercial.”

  Gale sucked on a dead pipe and doodled on his notepad. Finally he looked up with a frown. “I don’t know why the term ‘culture shock’ keeps popping into my head.”

  “But this is the culture she was born to.”

  “I know. There are pieces of all kinds of things here. But no recognizable pattern. I’d like a full medical report. Who’s she seeing?”

  “Jeff Haffenbach. He’s checked her quickly since this … thing started and found nothing, but he didn’t have time to schedule a complete physical till the end of July.”

  “I’d like to see her again next week. Keep me posted and keep a watch on her. I can’t tell you what this is, Rachael.” He reached across the desk and took her hand. “But I can tell you one thing. It isn’t remotely normal.”

  7

  The box everyone called TV came to control Brandy’s life. It was a way to numb her terrible homesickness.

  Jerry tried to coax her on walks or for rides in his automobile. She finally asked him to leave her be and then felt remorse at the look of pain that crossed his face.

  Marek left for Wyoming, where his mother lay near death. Brandy decided if he were Satan this world was filled with them.

  Rachael and her husband began to quarrel and Brandy withdrew further.

  The wedding mirror remained vacant but for the image of Shay Garrett. Several weeks passed, interrupted only by her visits to Dr. Sampson. She couldn’t convince Shay’s parents that she didn’t need a doctor and that the man only irritated her. Rather than cause unpleasantness Brandy sat through sessions that grew increasingly uncommunicative. TV taught her he was a doctor of the mind and not the body. She resented his attempts to invade the privacy of her thoughts.

  Marek returned, saddened at the death of his mother, but soon left again for something called a field station at a place named Grover.

  One day, Brandy realized she’d slept through a whole afternoon of the TV’s entertainment. That night she lay awake and wept for her family, for the quiet, gentle world she’d left.

  The stories on the TV became repetitive, different people doing the same things with the same result.

  Brandy took to long naps during the day on Shay’s bed. Once she awoke to crashing thunder and dashed to the mirror to see if it would perform its magic and send her home. But the storm passed almost before it had begun and the glass remained passive.

  The days blended into a hopeless lethargy. Rachael’s eyes seemed constantly reddened. Jerry grew silent, wistful. Brandy didn’t know how to comfort them. Marek telephoned her often from Grover and she had little to say to him, but looked forward to hearing his voice.

  Rachael drove her to see Dr. Haffenbach again. He was interested in bodies. Too interested. A large-boned nurse threatened force if Brandy wouldn’t cooperate with the horrid things planned for Shay.

  Still smarting from the hateful examination, Brandy refused to speak to Rachael on the way home. How could she put someone she loved through such indignities if that person weren’t even ill? Brandy could no longer feel any sympathy for this woman who would become her daughter.

  The next evening after dinner, Brandy lay on her granddaughter’s bed thinking of Marek Weir. She wondered if the wedding mirror had maliciously punished her by leaving her in this world long enough to fall in love with Shay’s intended. What more could it do?

  As if in answer there was a stealthy footstep in the hall and she opened Shay’s eyes enough to peer through fair lashes.

  Rachael stood in the doorway a few seconds, then quietly pulled the door closed. Brandy sensed that if the door’d had a lock Rachael would have used it.

  Uneasy, Brandy slid off the bed and into the hall. She stood by the wedding portrait of herself and the long-dead Hutchison Maddon until Rachael reached the bottom of the staircase. Then she descended far enough to see that the entry hall was empty.

  “It’s all right. She’s asleep. That’s about all she does anymore, sleep,” Rachael said from the parlor. “I’m worried, Gale. I think she’s getting worse. But Jerry won’t listen to me.”

  “Hell, what do you want me to do? Put my only daughter in a nuthouse or something?”

  “Hey, I know things are getting tense around here and I can understand why.” Dr. Sampson’s voice. “But if you’re going to help Shay, you have to get ahold of yourselves.”

  Brandy flattened Shay against the wall beside the buffet. Eavesdropping was a nasty occupation, but whatever they schemed for the body she inhabited was her business too.

  “There’s a further complication,” Dr. Sampson said. “I’ve discussed this case with Dr. Haffenbach as you agreed we should and –”

  “There’s not something wrong with her physically as well?”

  “Rachael, your daughter is in excellent health. It’s just that she’s pregnant. About two months along.”

  Brandy stifled a whimper. Dear God in heaven!

  “Weir! I’ll kill him. He took advantage of her in the state –”

  “Jerry, the child was conceived before the change occurred in Shay’s behavior. If the wedding had taken place as scheduled –”

  “Are you sure?” Rachael’s voice sounded muffled by shock and breathlessness. “Absolutely?”

  “There’s no doubt. I’m sorry.”

  “But she was on the pill. I found them several days ago on a shelf in her closet when I took down a blanket.”

  “Women have been known to get pregnant on the pill. Many have ended up that way by forgetting to take them regularly. The fact remains your daughter’s going to have a baby.”

  “Do you think this … change in her is temporary?” Rachael asked.

  “No, I don’t. It’s too complete.”

  “But she can’t have a baby when she’s … unstable like this. Or even marry.”

  “I wouldn’t let her marry that bastard now if …” Jerry’s voice broke. “Oh, God, what do we do?”

  “Her mental condition isn’t improving,” Dr. Sampson said. “She’s withdrawing further every day. Frankly I recommend around-the-clock professional care, and soon.”

  “You mean an institution? A mental asylum? Do you know what they do at those places? Do you want my daughter treated like a prisoner and raped by sadistic orderlies and –”

  “Jerry, you’re being hysterical. There are fine clinics for the mentally disturbed and you know it. You and Rachael can afford the best for Shay. I’m surprised you believe that kind of glop. Have you ever been in a hospital for the –”

  “Yes. I got a client out of one once. It was horrible.”

  “But what about the baby?” Rachael insisted.

  “There are two alternatives, as I see it. Let her have the baby and put it up for adoption or … well, it is early stages. A medical abortion would certainly be appropriate under the circumstances.”

  Brandy let Shay’s back slide down the wallpaper. Asylum, abortion, rape … was there no end to the wickedness of this world? She looked down at Shay’s middle.

  “I’ve never l
ike the idea of abortion,” Rachael said. “But to put her through a pregnancy and childbirth in her condition … Jerry we can’t let her have this baby.” Rachael’s strangled whisper was just loud enough for Brandy to hear.

  The door chimes sounded, the same tune they’d played to notify the Gingerbread House of callers in Brandy’s time but gone a little thin. Now they seemed to sound a warning.

  Brandy drew in Shay’s long legs and huddled tight to the side of the buffet, one eye peering around it to see Rachael open the door.

  Marek Weir stepped inside and even now Brandy felt Shay’s body react to his easy smile. A smile that was unaware of the conversation in the parlor.

  John McCabe might well have shot him on this evil night.

  “Oh, no … Marek, this isn’t a good time for …” Rachael put her hands to her mouth.

  “Marek!” Jerry exploded into the hall. “You son of a bitch, Weir, you got her pregnant.”

  “Jerry, please.” Rachael moved between them. “Gale, help me.”

  Marek raised his eyebrows in surprise.

  The mind doctor stepped out of the parlor.

  Jerry pushed Rachael aside in a brutal motion that knocked her to the floor. He cracked a fist into Marek’s face. It sent an answering snap to Shay’s head, brought a strange chill to the skin and left Brandy dragging air into the borrowed mouth.

  Marek fell against the hall tree and it toppled over on him. Dr. Sampson held onto Shay’s father from behind. Shay’s mother raised up on an elbow and made a gurgling sound in her throat. Shay’s fiancé lay unmoving under a jumble of coats.

  No one had noticed her or was facing her now. Bringing Shay’s body to a standing position, Brandy eased it around the staircase, into the kitchen and out the back door.

  Where can I go? No Aunt Harriet here. But the body took her through the gate by the carriage house as if by its own volition. It sought shadows as it raced from one alleyway to the next.

  I am Brandy, God help me! I’ve never even lain with a man.

  A low growl. Then a hellish series of barks. A heavy body lunged at the other side of the solid board fence next to her. Hundreds of tiny explosions ignited in her granddaughter’s blood. The legs leaped into a frantic pounding of paved earth.

  Dogs, more frightening because they were unseen, sent up the alarm in every imaginable tone. From inside houses. From behind fences. Alerting others ahead of her as she flew across streets and beneath street lights to the next alleyway. She turned Shay’s ankles in the shadow puddles of potholes.

  The smell of fear rose from the body. The wetness of it oozed into the clothes. Trees and buildings reared up around her. Alleys became darkened tunnels with street lights at the end of each to guide her through. But tunnel and beckoning light began to sway, tipping to one side and then the other as if she raced on a gigantic ship at sea.

  The ugly canvas shoes and the blue jeans lent her a freedom of movement she hadn’t known in her own button shoes and long skirts. The body was lean and lithe but not strong. Exhaustion shot pain up the legs, set the lungs ablaze, filled the ears with hammer blows until dogs near at hand sounded distant.

  A massive beast with pointed ears hurtled over a fence. Snarling, it tried to block her way but when she didn’t pause it turned to avoid a collision and ran beside her, veering to crowd against her. Brandy grazed the side of a building and bounced into the animal’s flank. It snapped air and slobbered but didn’t harm her.

  Brandy was afraid of him but had lost control of Shay’s body. She continued the mad flight to nowhere with the dog running easily beside her.

  Brandy heard the noise of automobiles somewhere but met none. She glimpsed a man strolling toward her on a sidewalk but didn’t see if he looked up. Where had all the people gone in this crowded city?

  Did the dog wait for her to collapse? He was big enough to halt a horse if he so decided.

  The body was in pain and slowing but couldn’t seem to stop.

  A heavily lighted area ahead. The sound of automobiles over Shay’s hoarse breathing. Brandy saw the street only dimly. The dog fell back at the honking and screeching.

  She’d reached the raised portion dividing the street when she heard the thud, the animal’s high-pitched yelps. But her granddaughter’s body drew her on. Wheels screamed near, drowning out the dog’s cries. Why won’t she stop? She’ll kill us both.

  But they reached the safety of the far side before the grinding crunch of colliding metal sounded behind.

  On they went, without the threatening dog. Their pace slowed to a sagging jog. Darkened streets and business buildings. A fence they were too weak to climb barred their way. They turned and headed north.

  I must be truly mad now.

  They reached a graveled road at the edge of the city. The jog became a walk.

  What are we doing to your baby, Shay?

  But the fate awaiting that unborn child, and the body as well, kept them going.

  Shay and Brandy crouched in the borrow pit beside the road when the lanterns of automobiles bore down on them. And then, too tired to stir, they slept. Only to awaken damp, aching and stiff. The night had deepened.

  Another broad ribbon of highway, divided by a grassy area, and the red rear lanterns of an automobile that’d passed.

  But once across they met a fence so they followed the borrow pit away from the sprawling city, dropping to the grass when a vehicle approached.

  Shay grew light-headed, her stomach churned. But Brandy realized how far they’d come and still avoided capture. There must be a way, Shay. If only we can think of it. Perhaps God is with us after all.

  A cloud appeared in front of her where there had been none a moment before. At first Brandy thought it a swarm of gnats rising from the tall grass. But it enveloped them. Pulled them down as if there were no earth beneath it.

  The falling stopped. Brandy rose through a mist of dizziness and nausea. When that motion ended the sickness remained.

  Thunder clamored and the borrow pit shuddered beneath her.

  She opened her eyes to a lightning flash against a rain-smeared window-pane and then the blackness returned. Her groping hand found not the grass of the borrow pit, but a hard wooden floor with cracks between the boards, and farther on, the cold metal of ridges like … Fingers! The wedding mirror … thunder …

  This was the Gingerbread House. And there was no cushioned rug on the floor.

  She was home. She moved her tongue along her teeth and felt the space left by the tooth that was pulled the summer before. I’m Brandy. Oh, thank you, Lord. I’ll marry Mr. Strock. I’ll do anything. And I’ll forget all about Marek Weir and …

  Had he been badly injured or even killed when his head struck the hall tree?

  Flickering light replaced the darkness. “Brandy, I’ve brought you a candle. The lights … dear, did you faint again?” Candle shadow softened the beloved face.

  “Ma, it’s so good to see you, to hear you … it’s been so long.”

  Sophie knelt to feel her forehead. “Only since dinner, dear. Here, I’ll unlace you. Why, you’ve left off your corset again.” Her voice was so much gentler than Rachael’s.

  Brandy put her fingers to her lips. “Ma, I think you’d better fetch the bucket.”

  “There’s one in the linen closet. I’ll hurry.” Her mother and the candle left, barely returning in time.

  Sophie had to support her so she could keep her head over the rim of the bucket. Then her mother helped her into her nightdress, took down her hair and tucked her into bed. “I’ll braid your hair later. Rest now. I’m going to empty the bucket and freshen it. Try not to be sick until I get back.”

  Sophie McCabe didn’t seem very happy to see her. Only since dinner. Had time stood still while she was away?

  The bed felt hard and gritty after Shay’s luxurious one. Brandy longed to rid herself of the stench of sickness, to take a hot shower and wash her hair with the scented liquid soap of Shay’s world, brush away the evil tas
te with the minty tooth polish.

  But she looked at first one familiar object in the room and then the next. Even by the candle her mother’d left on her writing desk, Brandy could see that no crack jagged across the top of the wedding mirror.

  Sophie returned with the bucket and placed it beside the bed.

  “Oh, Ma, it’s so good to be home.”

  “Yes, dear.” The cruel suspicion in Sophie’s eyes heightened her resemblance to Rachael Garrett. “Brandy, I’m going to call Dr. Jackson. You’ve been too tired since your father’s funeral and now tonight –”

  “Funeral!”

  But her mother’d left. Brandy saw again the stone of John McCabe in Columbia Cemetery. And Elton’s next to it. No, time had not stood still. Pa’s already dead and in a few years, my brother. It would be so awful to know.

  Rain lashed at her window. The candle flame danced in the wedding mirror. Had the storm caused it to yank her back to her own world? Was its dangerous magic haphazard? Did it control her destiny by a mere whim of fate and nature? Did no reasoning power rule it? Not even God?

  Beside the candle lay a green book with gold lettering on its front. It hadn’t been there when she’d left.

  Dizziness assailed her as she slipped from her bed and she sat quickly in the desk chair.

  The gold lettering read “Diary.” Unlike most of her friends, Brandy’d never kept a diary. Had someone used her room while she was away?

  Knowing she shouldn’t, she opened it. The handwriting was messy and unfamiliar.

  Dear Brandy, I hope you will return to your body when I leave it. I don’t know where you’ve been but I feel you must know what’s gone on here while you’ve been gone.

  Brandy looked up. Shay. While I’ve been her, my granddaughter has been me. No wonder Sophie showed no surprise at her return.

  She read on to find that she was already Mrs. Corbin Strock. That she’d “had sex” with Corbin only once so probably wasn’t pregnant. That his mother, Thora K., was really a “neat old broad,” and would Brandy please be kind to her. It appeared that her body was now at the Gingerbread House, because Shay returned with it for John McCabe’s funeral.