by Jane Toombs
But the words wouldn’t form in her mind and come down to be spoken from her mouth. Her head refused to move in a nod of assent. A roaring began in her ears as of a wind coming from far off, a chill wind, a rush of malignant air such as she had never felt. The cold made her eyes blur until she couldn’t see the white room or the black eyes. She was chilled deep inside herself, inside her mind where cold shouldn’t reach. And a face began to form—icy blue eyes, pale hair, the high-cheekboned face of her father, but terrible as she could not ever remember seeing it. The thin lips opened, thrusting a word into her mind, a word she found unfamiliar at first, then knew to be a dreadful one. And she took the word against her will and flung it at Toivi.
“Hiisi!” she shrieked, forcing her body up and off the bed. “Demon!”
Chapter Six
Janella ran from the white room, from the frightening image of her aunt, plunged down the stairs, nearly falling headlong, and yanked at the front door. For a moment the door seemed stuck but at last it swung open and she raced around the house and into the avocado grove, stumbling in the heavy wet ground. Finally she leaned gasping against one of the trees.
She couldn’t go back to the house. No one would expect her to return—not even Helen. Money wasn’t enough, and as for love—who would ever be able to love an aunt who was—who had…
What had Toivi done? Made her see her mother, made her remember a little. And then—no, she didn’t want to think about her father, the way Toivi had made her see him as a frightful being. But why had Toivi showed him to Janella if his only purpose was to denounce Aunt Toivi as a hiisi, a demon. The word came easily to her mind as though it had been there many times before. Hiisi—demon, hyvasti—goodbye, yksi—one, tahti—star, Punaparta—Red Beard, the devil was red-bearded. Words crowded into her mind, each one entirely comprehensible, words she seemed to have always known. But how?
Toivi said she’d taught little Janny Finnish words. And so had her father, of course. “Our last name, Maki, means hill. The first Makis were hill dwellers—lots of hills in Finland, in Suomi.”
Clutching at a low limb of the avocado tree for support, beginning to shiver in the outside chill, Janella heard her father’s voice in her head. “And Marja—which might be translated as Mary—really means berry. Like in the story about this young girl named Marja who didn’t care for the men who came to court her…” Yes, sitting on her father’s lap watching his intent face as he recalled the old tales, a face ready to smile at the funny parts, because Finn heroes often did silly things—oh, yes, Janella remembered. But Daddy never had a cold face—the word “julma,” “terrible,” came to her. He hadn’t turned a terrible face to little Janny like the one she’d just seen in her mind in Toivi’s room.
And who had taught Janny about the dreadful hiisi and the tuoni, the grave spirits, the ghosts? And Terhen Neiti, the Fog Maiden who gathered you up and hid you from all finding, maybe taking you to old Louhi, the witch woman of the North. Pohjala, the dismal, ever-frozen Northland.
Frightening stories to tell a child. Had her father told them? Or Toivi? And why? Was this the reason she had blocked them from memory—their scariness? But why block out Mother, too?
Janella shook all over from cold and reaction. She couldn’t stay here, hidden in the grove. The trees shut away the feeble sunlight but were no real protection. She should walk out to the road, ask to use a neighbor’s phone, call Helen…
But Helen had no car and, face the truth, she wouldn’t believe such a queer-sounding story anyway. Janella could almost hear her words.
“Have you been having one of your spells again? Oh dear. I had hoped you’d outgrown them…”
What then? She had no money with her to find a bus. But she couldn’t stay here. She took a step and froze. What was the noise she heard? A familiar sound—chopping, wasn’t it? Who was chopping wood? Surely not Lucien.
As she moved between the trees, the sound became louder, and then she saw motion ahead of her and began hurrying, ready to call out. She neared the woodchopper and he caught a glimpse of her movement and arrested his own motion. He rested the axe blade on the ground and ran his hand through his red hair as he watched her approach. When she was close enough to see the glint of admiration in his eyes, she also knew she couldn’t fling herself at him and blurt out her distress. Red was working here, working for Lucien and Toivi. She must be careful.
“Just in time,” Red told her.
“For—for what?” It was a real effort to focus on something other than her fright.
“To do me a favor.”
“Well, I…”
“Only involves carrying a few chips into the house.” He gestured to the scattering of oak chips at his feet. “I’d go myself but DuBois doesn’t like me inside.”
How odd, Janella thought. If Red worked for Lucien wouldn’t he be in the house sometimes?
Red didn’t take his eyes from her, and the unswerving gaze of those mocking brown eyes was making her nervous.
“You look cold,” he said. “Forget your coat?”
“Why, no, I…”
What was she to do? Tell Red what had happened? No, Red was too much of an unknown quantity. The most practical course was to go inside and find Lucien, talk to him. Why hadn’t she sought him out right away?
“I’m going in,” she told Red.
“Wait.” He bent to wrap some of the chips in a blue bandana. “Just leave them in the living-room fireplace.”
“Bandana and all?”
“That’s right.”
She raised her eyebrows.
“The chips are for the old lady,” he said. “I’ll get my bandana back.”
Janella tried to imagine Akki coming out and bargaining with Red for oak chips. “Do you know Finn? I thought she didn’t speak any English.”
“We get along. For some reason she doesn’t want DuBois to know. Just a few chips off the fireplace logs? I can’t see where it makes any difference. So I hack some off for her now and then.”
Janella was shivering and anxious to be back inside now that she’d come to a decision. What was the harm in carrying the bundle of chips into the house?
“I’ll be around tonight in case you’d like to get away from here for a while.”
“I don’t…”
But Red didn’t give her the chance to refuse. He picked up the axe and swung it into the chopping block. “See you,” he said, and loped off toward the avocado grove.
She stared after him, exasperated. Why would he think she’d come out to meet him at night?
The sharp scent of the newly cut wood was in her nostrils as she circled the house to enter by the front door. I hope I don’t meet Lucien while I'm carrying these chips, she thought. How could I explain? And I hope I’m right going back inside the house at all. But where else can I go? Janella shook her head. Maybe she’d been hasty, frightened by her own images. Perhaps Toivi hadn’t meant to scare her. Though it was true Toivi had done something to make her lie on the bed, she didn’t remember lying down. Had she been in a trance? Hypnotism? But could you be hypnotized if you didn’t want to be—unknowingly?
Janella opened the front door, wondering if she’d shut it when she rushed out earlier. She sidled through, conscious of the bundle she carried, and closed the door quietly. She walked as softly as she could across the entry and into the living room, glancing all about her with a feeling of distaste for her furtiveness. Now she was in a conspiracy to deceive Lucien—and all over a few chips of wood. She stuffed the bundle into the fireplace with relief. There. As she straightened and turned to leave, she thought she saw a flicker of motion in the entry.
“Lucien?” she called hesitantly.
No answer. When she came through the doorway she saw no one but thought she heard a thin thread of music. Involuntarily she turned to look back at the empty piano stool, but at the same time she knew the melancholy notes were drifting down from upstairs. Not played on a piano, but on the same odd stringed instrument s
he’d heard before. A lute? Maybe—she’d never heard a lute.
She glanced into the entry mirror and tried to smooth her hair before starting toward the kitchen. Ruth Barnes might know where Lucien was.
The older woman was peeling potatoes in the sink. She turned and looked at Janella, an evaluating look. “Been outside?”
Janella touched her windblown hair. “I—went for a walk. There was a red-haired man chopping wood out in back. Is he the handyman?”
“Oh, yeah, Red. Well, he used to be. Right now we’re getting along without anyone. Lucky Mr. DuBois didn’t catch him—he’s run Red off for good.”
Janella stared at her. “Then Red doesn’t work here?”
“Not anymore.” Ruth smiled a small secretive smile. “Good-looking, maybe that’s why. Too much competition. Mr. DuBois wants to keep the girls closer to home.”
What was Ruth hinting? “Girls?” Janella repeated.
“Your aunt’s—companions.” Ruth managed to make the pause suggestive. “Kind of isolated up here even if you are in the city and all. The girls didn’t get much life of their own. Not that the last one seemed to mind, that Chris. She found a lot to interest her here. Maybe you will, too. You are kin, of course.”
Was Ruth hinting Uncle Lucien had affairs with Toivi’s companions? And that she expected Janella to be no different? How many girls could there have been in only three months? She eyed Ruth, decided she wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of asking.
“Do you like working here?” she said instead, all friendliness gone from her voice.
Again the secret smile. “It pays good.” Ruth glanced uneasily over her shoulder. “Some things I don’t like, but it pays good.”
“Do you happen to know where Mr. DuBois is?” Janella said.
“Just down the hall when you leave the kitchen. There’s two doors—knock on the second to the left or you’ll get his bedroom.” She snickered. “You don’t act the type who’d want that. Now Chris…”
But Janella didn’t wait to hear about Chris. “Thanks,” she said, and hurried out into the hall. She mustn’t get into the habit of gossiping with Ruth about her uncle.
Second door to the left. She knocked. There was no answer. Janella waited a moment, then raised her hand to knock again, but the door swung away from her touch and she looked into Lucien’s face.
“Yes?”
“I—I’d like to talk to you.” She saw him frown, and then his expression changed, became concerned.
“You seem upset.”
“Well—yes. I’ve had—that Is, Toivi…”
He stepped back and motioned her inside, closing the door behind her. “Sit down.”
Janella found herself at last in a room belonging to someone. Lucien’s study, office, whatever he called it, was a warm room done in browns and tones of yellow and gold. He moved among furniture indisputably his, draperies that must have been chosen to match his eyes. By whom? she wondered.
All the chairs appeared comfortable and she chose one where she could curl her legs up under herself. She felt safe in Lucien’s room, as though it provided a haven from her fears. And she felt protected in his presence. He seated himself across from her, amber eyes watchful, and she glanced away quickly. Careful. Best, really, to trust no one.
“Has Toivi frightened you?”
Almost as if he’d expected this. She looked down, running a finger along the smooth upholstery of the chair arm. “In a way, yes.”
“How?”
“I—well, I saw my mother. I mean, like in my head—you know? And I knew it was my mother when I’ve never even seen a picture of her. But I wasn’t afraid. It was—I was happy to have her there in my mind, even though I knew Toivi did something to put her there. Nothing mattered because it was my mother. But then…” Janella twined her hands together, twisting them.
“Then?”
“My father—his face—and then I found myself lying on Toivi’s bed and I don’t know how…”
Lucien leaned forward. “You’re an extremely good subject for hypnosis, Janella. I’ve watched you fall into a self-induced trance. Do you often do this?”
Her head jerked up. “Self-induced? You mean I put myself into a—I hypnotize myself?” Her voice rose, incredulous.
“All hypnosis is self-induced. Any so-called hypnotist simply assists you in getting there. When I saw you fall in the Shephard house I didn’t realize at first what had happened, and I’m still puzzled. Don’t you find it dangerous to go out so quickly and completely? You were still standing and could have been hurt. Surely you’ve been told the proper controls, the safe…”
She stared blankly at him and his voice trailed off. He got up from his chair and came over, kneeling beside her chair. She turned her face the other way.
“Look at me.”
She shook her head. “I can’t. I’m afraid.”
“Look at me, mielikki—I won’t harm you.”
His voice was soft, compelling, and the word he used blossomed in her mind. Darling, he called me darling. But she brought her hands up in a childish gesture to cover her eyes.
He touched her arm gently. “What happens when you look into my eyes?”
“I—I spin. Everything becomes golden…”
His hands closed on her wrists. “Listen to me, Janella. I’ve never knowingly tried to put you into a state of hypnosis. I won’t do it now. There’s something in your own mind making you do this, causing you to put yourself into a trance.”
Tears began to roll down her face and she hunched forward, sobbing. “I’m afraid. Oh, Lucien, I’m so afraid.”
Chapter Seven
Lucien stood up and pulled her to her feet, holding her against him until she stopped trembling and her tears ceased. “It’s all right, mielikki, don’t be frightened, it’s all right.”
Janella felt she could stay in his arms, safe forever. Then she wondered if Toivi’s last companion had thought so too? Did Lucien comfort each of them the same?
He seemed to feel her withdrawal, because he released her before she tried to push away. “Now look at me,” he commanded.
She raised her head and saw him all blurred by the tears still in her eyes.
“You’re so woebegone,” he told her, smiling. “Here—this is a clean handkerchief.”
She wiped her face and blew her nose, thinking she must be an awful mess. Lucien waited until she finished and then gripped her chin with one hand, holding her so she had to look at him. She caught her breath but gazed into the amber eyes, suddenly aware of the pulse beating in her throat, faster and faster. And this time there was no feeling she was drifting off, hypnotized. She saw his pupils widen and thought hers must be doing the same. Her whole body was aware of him, of his closeness, and she wanted to take the step—one step—that would close the space between them, wanted his arms back around her, wanted…
His face came closer and she closed her eyes. He moved his hand down her throat gently and she couldn’t breathe. Then the feel of his lips on hers, light. She shivered, waiting.
Then he was no longer touching her. She opened her eyes.
“Sit down again, Janella.” He reached for her hand, pulled her back to the chair, and sat across from her as they had been at first. “I must tell you about my poor Toivi,” he said.
She felt as though he had slapped her. How could she have let herself forget this was her Uncle Lucien? Married to the sick woman upstairs who was her aunt. What kind of a person was she to forget that? You’d think after Curtis she would have learned about men. She had the familiar sensation of something crawling on her skin as she remembered the last night with Curtis.
He’d been a detail man, a salesman, for one of the big drug companies, and she’d met him when she worked for Dr. Johnson, the pediatrician. Older than she was but he’d seemed so nice, taking her out, being interested in her, in what she had to say. And she liked the early stages of the lovemaking when it started—the kissing, being caressed. She felt warm and lo
ved. But he was insistent, he wanted more, and she didn’t, she wouldn’t. His urgency scared her a little, was slightly repellent.
But the last night. They’d had wine at his apartment. Wine and easy music flowing around them and the shag rug soft beneath her bare legs when he began to undress her. Her head dizzy with the wine, pleasantly fuzzy when the phone rang. Even the jar of the intruding sound hadn’t brought her out of the erotic daze. But when Curtis got up to go to the kitchen and answer the insistent ringing, muttering that he should’ve remembered to take the damn thing off the hook, she followed him, half-naked, wanting him to hold her while he talked on the phone. He thought she was still back on the rug, waiting, and hadn’t looked around as he cupped the mouthpiece with his hand and talked in a semi-whisper. If she hadn’t been right behind him she wouldn’t have heard him tell the caller to bug off, there was this chick here and he finally had it made with her, so for Christ sake bug off, man. She stood behind him, next to the refrigerator, and suddenly felt as cold and white and stripped as it was. Then he turned and saw her and caught her in his arms, and she fought to get away, to get back to her clothes, out of the apartment. He’d been nasty when he finally realized she wasn’t being coy but was genuinely upset. What did she think he’d wasted all the time and money for? For her conversation, for Christ sake? Back at home, at Helen’s, two showers later she still felt dirty, felt her skin crawl with remembering. Was she a chick to Lucien, too?
He was talking. “…sorry to keep you waiting. I wish I knew how to begin, what to tell. For a start, you mustn’t be afraid of Toivi. Watchful, perhaps, but not afraid. Try to control your own tendency toward self-hypnosis if it frightens you. Tell yourself you don’t want to relax, to spin away…”
“She made me count. I know the words now, I always knew them, only I’d forgotten they were Finn, forgotten they were one, two, three, four, five…”