by Jane Toombs
Did she wish he had never found her? She stole a glance at Lucien’s profile. It would have been better for all of them, probably, but she felt an emptiness within her at the thought of never having known Lucien.
“I can’t be sure when the school group will leave,” she told him. “Maybe I should spend the night at Helen’s. I could take the bus. One goes right by both places.”
“I’ll wait for you. I can always amuse myself at Jesse Shephard’s house.”
She shifted uneasily in her seat. Was she foolish to fear having Lucien at Villa Montezuma? What could possibly happen with the school group present? Plus whatever other sightseers braved the rain.
“If you really want to stay,” she said, “all of Jesse Shephard’s books are there. Have you read them? I suppose you know he wrote under the name Frances Grierson.”
“I’m familiar with the books but not sure if I’ve read them all.”
“I’ll get them out for you,” she promised.
“Jesse knew music was the key,” Lucien said. “The link to another world of perception.”
“He called it transcendental perception,” she said. “I’ve never really understood what he was talking about.”
“Not even when you sensed the shadows in the Music Room?”
Janella shivered. “Jesse Shephard spoke of beauty, of a feeling of peace. The shadows are—they can’t have been what he meant.”
“Perhaps they guard the gate. If you go through, the shadows can be left behind.”
“Oh, no, you’re wrong, the shadows can never be lost, you may think they’ve disappeared but…”
Janella stopped, aware of Lucien’s stare.
“You do know something of the pathway to knowledge.”
She shook her head and turned away from him. What had made her talk of the shadows?
Doris met them in the Entry Hall. “I know you’ll remember to lock up. The caretaker won’t be back until late tonight. He’s got a key, of course.”
“I won’t forget,” Janella said.
“You’re a darling to take over for me. I do have to hurry…” And Doris was gone.
The tour group from Oceanside arrived and was shown through the house. Janella heaved a sigh of relief as the last child was counted into the bus by a harried teacher. She ducked back in out of the rain.
The house was dim in the late-afternoon dreariness. Where was Lucien? She hadn’t seen him during the confusion of herding thirty seventh-graders up and down the stairs and trying to make sure nothing was damaged. As she wondered where to begin looking, she thought she heard a noise from upstairs. Lucien? Surely not a leftover child.
She found no one on the second floor and she eyed the narrow steps to the Tower. “Lucien?” she called. There was no answer. Carefully she climbed the steep, twisting stairs and came into the Tower, where the rain fell on all sides. It was empty.
Janella looked out over the wet city and felt as she always did when she stood alone up here. Lonely, isolated, as though she were cut off from the rest of Villa Montezuma, as though the Tower had no base and floated by itself in space. The Tower drew her and yet she hated the feeling of dissociation that invaded her here.
The music insinuated a ribbon of sound that twirled around her until she was enmeshed in sadness. All alone, love me, come to me for I am lonely.
Slowly she descended the stairs, drawn toward the source of the melody whether she wanted to go or not.
As in a dream, she saw King Richard’s painted eyes on her as she went down the second flight to the main floor. I’ve done this before, come this way before, she told herself. I’m afraid. But still she persisted until she stood in the door to the Music Room and saw the gold of Lucien’s hair as he bent over the piano.
“Come to me, Janella,” he said without turning, and the melody urged her along until she stood next to him.
“What do you feel?” His voice wove in and out of the music so she scarcely understood what he’d said.
“I—I’m lonely,” she told him. “And you—you call to me…”
He whirled around on the piano stool to face her. The Music Room seemed to echo with sadness.
Lucien stood and took her hands. “Janella,” he said softly and pulled her close. His lips on hers were like nothing she had ever imagined. She clung to him, breathless, wanting never to leave his arms. But a chill crept along her spine, and she opened her eyes and the shadows were watching her.
She pulled away, and after a moment he let her go.
“What’s the matter?”
She shrank back. “The shadows… I want to leave. Can’t we go?”
“You see shadows?” The eagerness in his voice repelled her. “Where are they?”
Janella gestured toward the pillars of the piano niche. “Waiting,” she said.
“And I’ve called them out as Jesse Shephard used to?”
“I—I don’t know. I don’t like this room, Lucien. Please—let’s go.”
He caught her by the shoulders. “But don’t you understand? I’ve tried for years to cross the barrier with my music…”
“You were calling them—the shadows—with your playing, weren’t you?” she asked. Not me at all, not me, her heart mourned. She bit her lip to keep the tears back.
He saw her distress and touched her face. “Oh, Janella, you’re more important to me than you can ever realize.”
“Only because I see the shadows,” she said bitterly. “Was that why you married Aunt Toivi? Because she can, too?”
“I once thought she could. As to why we married—we both believed we saw something in the other that we needed, and we both were mistaken.”
“Love?” Janella’s voice was hardly above a whisper.
He shook his head.
“Then why…?”
“Why do we stay together? What can I do? She has to be looked after. Akki’s gotten too old. I hoped maybe you could take my place with Toivi, but instead…” He let the words trail away.
Janella freed herself and walked into the Entry Hall. After a moment Lucien followed.
“I won’t come here with you again,” she said. “I won’t listen to your music and see the shadows from Tuonela, from hell, as they writhe and twist toward me.”
“Hell shadows? No, Janella—you’re wrong. Another world, but not hell.”
She shook her head. “Evil. They want to—to possess me.”
“You’re confusing what you see with your own inner fears.” Lucien’s eyes were holding her, his voice was persuasive.
She wanted to sink into his golden world but knew she must not lose herself. “I think I—I’d like to spend the night at Helen’s, if you don’t mind taking me there,” she said. “I’d like to think about whether Aunt Toivi really needs me and whether I should go back to Mt. Helix at all.”
“I want you to come back.”
She dropped her eyes and turned away.
As they drove toward Helen’s, Janella felt depression settle into her very bones. How could she bear to leave Lucien, never see him again? But she must, it was the only way. Anything else was wrong. Helen might not understand, but her calmness would be healing.
The Helen they confronted a few minutes later was anything but calm. As soon as she saw Janella she flung her arms around her and wept.
“…have to go,” she cried incoherently. “I must go, there is no one else. She begged me before but I—but Arnie…”
Janella held her away. “Is something wrong with Arnie? Is he sick?”
“No, no— Oh, Janella, thank God you’re here to take care of him.” Helen wiped at her eyes with a sodden tissue. “I have to go. She’s dying, the doctor says she’s dying.”
“Who? Helen, let’s sit down. You’re not making sense; I don’t understand.” Janella tried to pull her stepmother toward a chair.
Lucien took Helen’s arm and led her to the couch. He handed her his handkerchief.
“Oh, thank you. I’m upset. I’m not making much sense,
am I?”
Janella sat down beside her. “What’s wrong?”
“I tried to call you but that woman kept saying you weren’t there. I tried and tried…”
“I’m here now, Helen.”
“It’s my sister, Mildred. We’re the only ones left, Mildred and I. And I’ve never been to see her in all these years—you remember when she came to see us, don’t you, Janella?”
“No, Helen, I’m sorry—I don’t.”
“But you must! I can see the two of you as clear as day, you looking up at her and Mildred saying, ‘Come, dear, and give Aunt Mildred a kiss.’ You ducked away and started to cry. ‘You’re not my aunt,’ you said. ‘I don’t have an aunt,’ you said.”
“I don’t remember,” Janella repeated.
“But you do have an aunt, after all. And poor Mildred… Will you take care of Arnie, Janella? I can’t take him with me—it’s impossible. You see, Mildred has cancer. She’s known a long time but didn’t want to upset me, so I haven’t been told until now. Her doctor called to tell me she’d like to see me before she dies, and he says she’s dying. I must go to San Francisco.”
“Of course you have to go. And I’m here; I’ll take care of Arnie. Don’t worry about him. Have you made a plane reservation?”
“No. I—when I couldn’t find you I went to pieces.”
Lucien spoke for the first time since entering the house. “I’ll call PSA for you, Helen.” He glanced at his watch. “Will you be ready to leave in an hour?”
“Oh, my. Yes, I suppose I can be.” She gazed frantically from Janella to Lucien. “I feel so—so confused.”
“Why don’t you start packing,” Lucien said. “I’ll drive you to the airport and see you get on the plane.”
Janella started to follow Helen out of the room, but Lucien stopped her. “Who’s Arnie?” he asked, his voice low-pitched.
She stared at him. Of course—he didn’t know.
“He’s my half brother. He’s not—not normal.”
“How old is he?”
“Arnie is twelve.”
“A big boy.”
“No. He—he never grew right. He’s physically and mentally retarded. He can’t get around at all, just lies there in a crib.”
Lucien was silent for so long she started to move away.
“Could Arnie be moved?” he asked finally.
She stopped. “Moved?”
“Yes.” He gestured impatiently. “Would it hurt him to be moved?”
“Well—no, I don’t think so. But what do you mean?”
“I’m proposing to bring Arnie to my house. You can care for him there.”
“Back to your house?” Janella’s voice rose in disbelief. “Helen wouldn’t consider such a thing.”
“We’ll see.”
“But you don’t understand. She’s funny about Arnie. I mean, she takes good care of him and all but she hides him. She’s ashamed. She’d never agree to having him moved, having strangers see him.”
“I’ll talk to her,” Lucien said.
Janella watched the two of them sitting together on the couch. Lucien held both her stepmother’s hands as they sat facing each other. As Janella stared in amazement, her stepmother was agreeing with every word Lucien uttered.
Arnie would be better taken care of in a place where there was a housekeeper to fix his formula, more than one person to tend to his needs, to watch over him. And Janella. Certainly she’d be far less nervous with such a great responsibility if she had other people to lean on. Nothing would go wrong, of course, but on the off chance, he, Lucien, would be available with a car to go anyplace necessary. And, selfishly, Toivi needed Janella, too.
Helen nodded and nodded again. “It will be a relief to me,” she told him, looking into his eyes longer than Janella felt appropriate. “I’ve been worried about leaving Janella alone here. Not that she isn’t capable, but…”
Janella moved restlessly under their combined gaze. No one had asked her if she wanted to go back to Lucien’s house. The two of them sitting there made her feel like an incompetent child. She realized with surprise that Lucien was probably closer in age to Helen than he was to her. Younger than Helen, but how much? And her stepmother didn’t have to hang on to his hands like a silly girl. Didn’t she see he was only getting his way?
She had to give Lucien credit—not a muscle in his face moved when Helen took him in to see Arnie. He leaned over the crib and touched the boy’s face gently with his fingers. “We’ll take care of you, Arnie,” he said softly. And, Janella, who hated the feel of her half brother’s dry, inelastic skin, barely repressed a shudder.
She stayed in Arnie’s room for a little while after Helen and Lucien went out. “Arnie, I’m sorry,” she whispered. He couldn’t hear her, wouldn’t be able to make sense of the words even if he could hear. But she was ashamed to feel such repulsion. She was glad they were going back to the Mt. Helix house—anything was better than being alone with Arnie.
Helen was in her room packing. “Your uncle is going to arrange for a trailer so he can take Arnie’s crib.” She smiled at Janella. “He’s a handsome man—and so nice, so comforting. I’m sure you must be happy with them. He told me how fond his wife—your aunt—is of you already.”
Janella smiled back. No use to try to tell Helen of the people in Lucien’s house, of Lucien himself. Helen was already worried about her sister, about leaving Arnie. What was the good of further disturbing her?
Nothing has happened to me, really, Janella told herself. I’m still all right. And certainly Arnie will be safe enough—probably he won’t even know he’s been moved to a different place.
But she was wrong. Though Arnie was quiet enough in the Jaguar on the way up, after Lucien had reassembled his crib in a corner of Janella’s bedroom and lifted the small body into it, the child began to whimper in the high whine he made when distressed.
Chapter Fifteen
Lucien looked at Janella. “What’s the matter with Arnie?” he asked.
“He’s hungry,” she told Lucien confidently, and he left them, assured of her competence. She tried to feed Arnie but he wouldn’t eat, letting the formula run from the corners of his mouth, not swallowing. He choked several times and she was afraid to keep trying. Still he whined, and she couldn’t decide what to do next. The shrill pitch of the noise got on her nerves, and she jumped when someone came up beside her.
“Oh—Akki—I didn’t hear the door open.”
The old woman didn’t speak, but stepped around her to stare at the small figure in the crib. “What is this?” she asked at last, speaking in Finn.
“He’s Arnie. My half brother.”
“Your father’s child?”
“Yes.”
Akki reached down, cupping her left hand over Arnie’s abnormally small skull. She closed her eyes and whispered to herself in a singsong. Janella couldn’t hear the words and remained silent, watching Akki.
Gradually the irritating whimper died away, becoming intermittent before stopping altogether. The old woman took her hand from the boy and turned away from the crib.
“What did you do?” Janella asked.
“He is an empty vessel. You should not have brought him to this house, to her. This deformity of nature will destroy us all.”
“Oh, Akki—he’s just badly retarded. Arnie can’t move at all—how can you think he’d ever be able to do harm? He can’t see or hear and his brain didn’t develop—he’s nothing, a vegetable.”
“I have very little power, yet I was able to quiet him.” Akki fixed her dark eyes on Janella. “I tell you he is empty and can be filled by another and used to magnify the other’s will. He is dangerous. You must take him away.”
Janella shook her head at the old woman. “Please don’t be upset, Akki. I have to take care of him—he has to stay here.”
“You will not understand. The boy is related by blood, even as you. He is not inside his head as you are—there is nothing inside, no spirit, no prote
ctor such as you have. You can resist being used; he cannot. And she will gather power she does not know how to control. Death waits for us.”
“Are you trying to say Toivi will hurt Arnie?”
“Why do you listen and yet not hear? She desires power, she married this man for his power and has never forgiven him for being deceived, though she deceived herself.”
“You mean Lucien?”
Akki nodded. “My poor Toivi is not meant to have the power and yet she will not rest content but searches always. Lucien flirts with danger but he knows too little to do harm. Toivi has found what is left of her brother. You. And now the empty Arnie. She will find a way to power through you or through him.”
“Even if I believed you, Akki, there’s nothing I can do. I don’t know what you mean when you talk of power.”
Akki came near to her and put three fingers of her right hand on Janella’s right temple. “Close your eyes,” she ordered.
Janella started to step back but the old woman’s left hand was viselike on her wrist. “Obey me!”
Janella shrugged and shut her eyes. Akki began a chant:
“Speak now to your protector
The man of ice
Of sininen palo, the blue wilderness
Ask him to protect his son also
That we may not perish
Tell him to lift the dark curtain
The time has come for you
The time for what is yours
By blood, by heritage, by right.”
Cold blue-gray swirling in her mind like fog, the chill creeping into her bones, and her father’s eyes as icy as Pohjala, cold as the ever-frozen Northland. Akki’s voice a faint sound from somewhere outside the blue haze, and she was Janny, little Janny. Her head hurt. The right side of her head was burning, and through the pain the voice said, “You are not a child.”
The words hung like smoke, blurring her father, driving little Janny away, and she knew something was wrong and her eyes opened.
She was on the floor in her room, with Akki crouched beside her, touching her temple. “I—I must have had one of my spells,” Janella said, struggling to rise.