Well, if the images continued to be a problem, they'd just have to find something else for entertainment. It wouldn't be too hard to find Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm. She walked into her own room and put the storybook aside.
The bed looked soft and comfortable, but the fear of her daughter being in peril had rattled her so badly she knew she wouldn't be able to sleep for a while. She turned on the light on her dressing table, then sat down in front of the mirror to brush her hair. She didn't want to bother doing that in the morning while trying to get Heaven ready and then make it to the office on time.
Once she had taken great care with her dark brown hair, curling it just right with the hot irons. Now she allowed a more unkempt style. She figured there was an outside chance it was attractive that way. By neglect, she had achieved the look teenagers worked so hard for.
As she pulled at the tangles, she went through her regular ritual of checking for wrinkles. She was twenty-nine, still slender, except for a little poundage around the hips that couldn't be helped. Her breasts also were a bit heavier than she would have liked, although some would argue that was no flaw.
Things like those faint lines beside her eyes made her aware of how rapidly years passed. And Heaven was no longer a baby. It seemed to have taken Gabrielle no time to become a mother, then a divorcee and career woman.
Yet not so long ago she had been in college, falling in love with Dave.
It had all passed faster than a television commercial break, including the experience with Martin last spring, something she had chalked up to her vulnerability.
Dave had not been a bad man, and he had not been a bad husband, but after a time they had realized they were not right for each other. Their interests, their ways of approaching things, even their ways of thinking were different. While many marriages survived such problems, they had decided to move on. He had not wanted to let go, not even when he had realized it was over, but finally he had accepted reality with limited bitterness.
His work had recently taken him out to the West Coast to a better job. He wrote infrequently and sent Heaven cards, but he didn't seem terribly disturbed about the distance. In a way it was almost as if he had never existed, yet Heaven had his blond hair and blue eyes as reminders.
It had been hard the first few months, not just recovering from the feeling of amputation divorce created but getting on her feet again. Finding a decent house to rent at a reasonable cost had seemed impossible. She'd also had to switch jobs. While she was married she had worked for a small commercial art company, but the pay wasn't enough to get by on, not on her own. No alimony was part of the agreement, and the child support Dave did contribute came erratically, so she couldn't continue earning something akin to minimum wage just because she enjoyed what she was doing.
In addition to working in the shop, she'd been doing the bookkeeping, putting her college business classes to work, so it hadn't been that hard to make the move over to an accounting firm. Working with payrolls and doing audits didn't have a great deal of appeal for her. She'd wanted to major in English, but her father had warned her about the impracticality of such a degree and she'd wound up in business, struggling through endless hours of economics and management classes.
She'd applied herself and learned the material well, and now, at least from a food-on-the-table standpoint, it was proving useful. Even if she couldn't say she loved her work, it did allow her to keep Heaven in nice clothes and faddish lunchboxes. What more could she ask?
Maybe there was supposed to be more in life, but she wasn't sure. Love and romance hadn't worked out, yet she had been rewarded for the attempt with Heaven. She could not imagine life without her little girl.
Heaven had been like a little doll at first, something she could dress up and plan for, a tiny little creature for her to nurture. Watching her daughter grow, watching her learn, had been fabulous.
Heaven was always surprising Gabrielle. Her impressions of things, her ideas, her knowledge always seemed to exceed what Gab expected. Television was responsible for some of it, and Heaven had picked up a great deal in play school as well.
She could already recite the alphabet, and would probably rival some first graders in comprehension. Kindergarten should be no problem for her when she started in the fall.
Not intellectually at least. She had a few problems on the social level. That blond hair and those blue eyes were already drawing catty remarks from the other little girls. Gabrielle had never known such things started so early.
She hadn't been beautiful as a child and had never given much thought to beauty being a problem, but apparently it could.
Perhaps the pressures exerted by the other children were related to the nightmare. The band of Gnelfs might represent Heaven's anxiety about classmates who supposedly were friends but who exhibited contradictory behavior.
Gab put down her brush. Thank you, Mrs. Jung. If the nightmares continued she might have to look into a checkup for Heaven, but that would wait. There was always the possibility things would get better on their own. They usually didn't, but one could always hope.
By morning, all seemed well again. Sunlight streamed in, bringing April’s bright glow, and the day began with the typical Wednesday routine.
The alarm buzzed at six, and Gab dragged herself from beneath the covers and padded down the hall to rouse a reluctant Heaven, who had apparently dozed soundly for the remainder of the night. Rubbing her eyes, Heaven moved from her room and into the small bathroom at the end of the hall, making no mention of Gnelfs.
Good enough, Gab decided. Trusting the child to take care of the basic preparations for school, she moved into the kitchen and began breakfast.
Neither of them had a stomach for much in the morning, but she always insisted Heaven have something to carry her through the day. Chex cereal was the compromise.
Gab always managed to put down her frequent demand for the highly advertised cereals, those with high sugar and marshmallow content. Once in a while she allowed Frosted Flakes, but most of the time that box was kept hidden in the pantry.
Again no mention was made of the Gnelfs when Heaven came to the table. Gab watched her carefully, and asked her a few questions. The child's responses were routine.
The small portable television Dave had bought for Heaven sat on the kitchen counter. Most mornings she asked that it be turned on, but not today. Gab didn't remind her. Gnelfs were available on early morning TV, as were other creatures such as talking dinosaurs. Gab had no way of determining what was frightening to children.
She tried to protect Heaven from Freddy Kruger ads, but her daughter seemed to know about werewolves and their ilk. Somehow kids learned about those things, though so far Heaven hadn't been traumatized by them. No, she was being scared to death by benevolent imps.
Of course it was never the things you worried about that scared a child. It was the little things out of left field. One of Gab's friends had a son in grade school. He'd been frightened to death that he was going to be shipped off to a mental hospital because he'd seen some public service ad that warned bad behavior might be an early sign of some disorder. Having recently been punished for misbehaving, he'd believed a mental hospital was the next step. Mental health commercials or cartoon favorites, the milkman or Uncle Earl; with children, you never knew who your enemy was.
She watched Heaven eating, using her fingers to arrange cereal squares on her spoon before shoveling them into her mouth. It seemed such an innocent move, and she thought of how much she loved her, how much she wanted to protect her and spare her from pain.
The world is not an easy place for children.
The ride to school was also uneventful. Heaven made no mention of Gnelfs, even though she was carrying her official Gnelfs lunch box. When Gab dropped her off, she saw her fall in line with her friend Terry Guillory, who began to chatter and laugh. He was a slightly overweight kid and had whatever type of crush five-year-olds develop on the opposite sex. They were a good pair, really. Heaven
thought of him as a friend. While she was quiet and introspective, Terry was quick to expound on his thoughts. Slightly pudgy, with short brown hair and glasses, he was something of an outcast, but he towered over Heaven like a protective giant. Perhaps they are friends because they are both ostracized, Gab thought. Terry was the weird kid, and Heaven was too beautiful. Remarkable how socialization worked.
She patted the dashboard, urging the aging compact station wagon to move onward.
Around noon Gabrielle went to lunch with Katrina Johnson, the receptionist. Katrina’s opinions always made the meal hour more interesting. And she had two children of her own; Gab wanted to check her thoughts on Heaven. Although Katrina, the daughter of a local civil rights attorney, made an effort to seem down-to-earth, she was a keen observer of humanity and the best authority Gab had on what was normal about children's behavior.
"You think the same things scare black babies as scare white babies?" Katrina asked as they sat down at a table in Foster House, an elegant little restaurant with windows overlooking a courtyard. She was relaxing her formal tone as she frequently did when she was with Gab. With clients her tone was sleek and precise, just like her appearance. She was unquestionably beautiful with high cheekbones, perfect complexion. She worked out to keep her lean figure under control, and her hair was always pulled back in a sleek bun.
"Our kids seem to be a lot alike," Gab said, sipping the iced tea the waitress had delivered.
"Maybe so, but I wouldn't worry about hoodoo," Katrina said. "Kids are kids. Stuff scares them."
"I guess I'm just feeling guilty because she was so frightened."
"Like it's your fault she doesn't have a father? Dave’s the one went to California."
"I know. It's just that it's got to be hard on Heaven, and I'm trying to be sensitive to her problems."
Katrina raised her Diet Coke, shaking her head as she drank. Her bright red lipstick rubbed off on the straw. "You don't want to treat her too delicate. She'll start expectin' it."
"Maybe you're right."
"My little monsters are always up to something. I'm always right where kids are concerned."
"I hope so, and I'm not overlooking some deep hidden stress syndrome in her or something."
"Gab, the kid's not even five years old. She's interested in dolls and playing. There're just too many damn books full of ideas that make you worry these days. If we just let babies be babies it'll be all right. If she's scared of those green monstrosities the kids all like, get her some of those books about that French elephant or something." She sipped some more of her drink. "You think you got problems you ought to try to find a black doll in this town. I ought to go to the ordering clerk at Toy World and let him explain to my little girl why she doesn't have a baby doll with skin the same color as hers."
Eventually their sandwiches arrived. They were finishing the last bites when a silver-haired woman strolled into the room and, noticing Katrina, extended a hand to wave.
"Barbara Richardson," Katrina said. "Dr. Richardson's wife."
"Friends?"
"Clients."
The woman now stood by their table, a broad smile on her face. "How are you doing today, Katrina?"
"Wonderful." The formal tone had arrived, and Gabrielle knew Katrina's forced smile when she saw it.
"I'm glad I ran into you," Mrs. Richardson said. "I wanted to invite you to a function my writing club is sponsoring."
"How nice," Katrina said. The “nice” was exaggerated.
"It's on Saturday morning, at eleven, and you just have to come."
"Well …"
"Oh, you'll love it. We have Jake Tanner lined up to read from his new book."
Katrina frowned. "Tanner? Tanner? Where do I know that name?"
"He's the mystery writer that lives in town. He wrote The Spanish Moss Killings, Tuesday's Alligators and all those. They aren't best sellers, but they are fairly popular."
“I don't think I'll have time Saturday—"
Mrs. Richardson turned to Gabrielle. "And who's your friend?"
"Gabrielle Davis. She works with me."
"Well, that's wonderful. Why don't you come along, dear?"
Gab gave her a nervous smile. "Actually it sounds interesting. I've always liked books."
"Have you read any of Mr. Tanner's?"
"I'm afraid not. I haven't even heard of them."
"That's no problem. You can pick one up at the Book Palace. I'm sure he'd be glad to autograph it for you. He's a wonderful young man."
"I see," Gab said. “Even though he does have a harsh imagination. Aligator killings, ooohh. We meet at the library. Just join us."
She turned and fluttered from the room.
"Social butterfly strikes again," Katrina said, returning to her less formal tone.
"She seemed nice enough," Gab said.
"She is, really," Katrina conceded. "I just tend to get tired hearing about her writing. She wants to do romances, but she's not really very good. That poor writer is probably going to wind up reading some thousand-page epic she's working on."
"I think I'd like to go," Gab said. "I didn't know we had a writers' club—or any writers around here."
"I forgot. You're the paperback queen."
Gab usually had a book in her purse, and that qualified her as an avid reader in Katrina's eyes. Katrina read Danielle Steel almost exclusively.
Most of Gab's books came from used shops of late since books were low on the necessity list, but she had always harbored a desire to write.
Maybe slipping out to the meeting would be good for her. She had been somewhat reclusive since the divorce, pleading Heaven as an alibi when she was invited to parties or other activities.
Finding a place for Heaven to spend a little time on Saturday shouldn't be a big problem. If Katrina didn't want to go she'd take care of her. Provided Heaven wasn't showing any more signs of being upset.
Heaven sat with Terry on the bench at the edge of the playroom, a broad space akin to a gymnasium. Black electrical tape had been stretched on the floor to designate various play areas, and several different games were going on. But as usual Terry and Heaven had been excluded.
Some bright orange blocks sat around them, but they didn't do much with them. Heaven had been quiet all morning, and Terry had not protested. He was always tolerant of Heaven's moods, even when she withdrew.
She was his only real friend. The boys teased him about being friends with a girl, but they teased him anyway so he ignored the taunts. He had perceived that all of them thought Heaven was pretty, and it seemed that by paying attention to him, she afforded him what little respect he got from the others.
Halfheartedly he placed one block on top of the other while Heaven cradled her doll, silently rocking it. Before long they would have lunch, then a nap, and that would kill some of the time until he could go home and get back to his coloring books.
"Terry," Heaven said unexpectedly.
He looked up, surprised. "What?"
A slight frown marred her brow, and she continued to sway the doll back and forth in her arms. "Do you think the Gnelfs would hurt anybody?"
He laughed. "Of course not. Gnelfs are good guys. Didn't you see the one where the dragon had the teddy bears trapped in a cave, and they uncorked the waterfall and put out his fire breath?" He extended his hands, making broad gestures as his excitement grew. He went on for several seconds before he realized Heaven wasn't paying much attention to his synopsis. She was lost again in her own thoughts.
His mother kept telling him he shouldn't get carried away and tell people about shows, but sometimes his enthusiasm overwhelmed his judgment.
"I had a dream about the Gnelfs," she said after he had hushed.
"Really?" His face brightened, eyebrows shooting up and cheeks curling to form dimples.
"It was bad," Heaven said.
"How could it be bad if it was about the Gnelfs?"
"They were mean."
"Ah-uh. Not the Gnelf
s." He shook his head.
"They looked like the Gnelfs, and they laughed at me, just like the kids did when I tripped on the pencil."
"Gnelfs wouldn't do that," Terry said defensively.
"Well, they did it," Heaven said. "And they said bad things about Mommy."
"They were green?"
"I guess. Gnelf Master was there, and he had a big pitchfork. He said I was a bad girl and that he ought to use it on me. Then he said I was bad because Mommy was bad and I was her daughter. He even called Mommy a bad word I think."
"What was that?" The thought of a forbidden profanity struck him as exciting.
Heaven sniffled, combating a sob. "He said … he said she was a bitch." A single tear trickled from the corner of her eye before she got herself under control.
"That’s a pretty bad word. They said it on a show on HBO and Mama turned it off," Terry said.
"What's it mean?"
"A bad woman."
"That's scary," Heaven said, tears flowing now. "In the dream, Gnelf Master said 'bitches must suffer.'"
Chapter 2
Heaven reported no nightmares the rest of the week, and although she seemed a bit quiet and introverted, Gabrielle considered her behavior normal for a four-year-old. Children couldn't be happy all the time, and Heaven was probably still confused about the divorce.
By Saturday, the child's spirits had brightened. Since the tension had died, Gabrielle decided it was safe for an outing. Besides, Heaven seemed to like the idea of dropping by and playing with Katrina's children. Gab dressed her, or helped her dress herself, in lavender slacks and a striped, pullover blouse with long sleeves. It was spring, but there was still a chill. With the Velcro straps on her shoes sealed into place, Heaven bounced about the house as they prepared to leave, more energetic than she had been in days. Her hair fluttered about her head as she twisted and twirled her arms.
They took no Gnelf icons along.
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