The Summer of Mrs. MacGregor

by Betty R. Wright

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  The Summer of Mrs. MacGregor

  Betty Ren Wright

  For Stella Williams Nathan

  Chapter 1

  When Caroline’s mother was frightened, her freckles popped out and she looked no older than her daughters.

  “Linda’s worse,” she said. “It’s just like the last time—those awful bluish places under her eyes—” Her voice broke, and she put a hand to her mouth, a familiar gesture that meant talking didn’t help. “This room is an absolute mess, Caroline.”

  Caroline Cabot looked around, startled. Her completed miniature rooms, each in its own box, were stacked against one wall. School notebooks were heaped on the floor next to the desk, ready to be packed away for the summer. She couldn’t stack them on the desk because the floor plans for a dollhouse were spread out there, where she’d left them last night. Next to the desk, a newspaper-covered cardtable held carefully carved bits of wood, scraps of cloth, tubes of glue, an Exacto knife, and a box of tiny tacks. The room didn’t look messy to Caroline, just pleasantly used.

  “I can’t clean it up now,” Caroline protested. “I’m right in the middle of—” She stopped. It was no use describing the rocking chair she was making. Her mother had crossed to the window and was staring blankly into the bright June sunshine.

  “Go in and talk to her, will you?” Mrs. Cabot said, as if Caroline hadn’t spoken. “Tell her she must eat. She’ll never get stronger if she doesn’t eat.”

  “Okay.” Caroline longed to comfort her mother, but she didn’t know how. There was something about that rigid, grieving spine that always made Caroline feel clumsy and stupid. She hurried out of the room, pausing for a moment in front of the hall mirror. You’re not really invisible, dummy, she told herself. It just feels that way.

  She took a deep breath and turned toward the big corner bedroom that was her sister Linda’s. Sunlight met her at the door. It glowed through organdy curtains and lay in bands across the pale rose carpet. It sparkled off the crystal bottles on the dressing table and turned Linda’s blond curls into a halo against her pink pillow. The room held sunlight the way a fishbowl held water. It was the perfect Linda-type room, Caroline thought for the thousandth time. Blue jeans and T-shirts, gluey fingers and shaggy hair didn’t belong here.

  Not that her sister wasn’t always glad to see her. “Hi,” she said now, and lifted one thin hand in greeting. “You’re just in time, Carrie. You like chicken noodle soup. You can have this—all yours, free of charge.”

  “Eat it yourself.” Caroline crossed to the bed and curled up at its foot. “Mom’ll feel bad if you don’t. She likes her daughters fat. Look at me.”

  “You’re not fat,” Linda said. “You’re just right for twelve.” She slid the soup bowl across the footed bed tray in Caroline’s direction. “I honestly can’t swallow it,” she said. “I can’t! Please, Carrie?”

  Caroline squirmed.

  “Just this once. You’re a lifesaver,” Linda added.

  “I’m a garbage can,” Caroline said, but she picked up the bowl and drank the broth quickly. Then she ate the chicken and noodles, putting the spoon back in the bowl after each bite in case their mother came in unexpectedly.

  While she ate, she studied her sister. Linda had lain back against the pillows and closed her eyes. She looked like a porcelain doll propped up in the center of the wide bed. She had a doll’s golden hair and too-white skin. Looks like an angel and acts the way she looks. That was what Joe, their stepfather, always said about his older adopted stepdaughter, pretending to tease but meaning every word of it. No one could refuse Linda anything for very long, and Caroline was sure that would be true even if her sister weren’t seriously ill. Linda was the kind of person people loved without question and wanted to please.

  The long-lashed eyes opened. “What are you staring at? What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. I was just thinking.”

  “Mama’s worried, isn’t she? I can tell.”

  Caroline shrugged and looked guiltily at the empty soup bowl. “She just wants you to eat. I’m supposed to be encouraging you right now.”

  “You tried,” Linda said. Her fingers twisted the rose-sprigged sheet. “I couldn’t get my breath last night,” she said in a low voice. “I was afraid to go to sleep because I might stop breathing.” She reached up to the headboard and clutched Teddy D. Bear, who always sat next to her pillow. For a moment, she buried her face in his scruffy tummy and hugged him, as if she were five instead of fourteen. “It was awful, Carrie. I was so scared.”

  Caroline felt her own color draining away at the thought of not being able to breathe. “You should have called us,” she scolded. “Why didn’t you?”

  Linda lifted her face from the teddy bear. “What could you do? What could Mama do? Or Joe? I’ll have to go back to the hospital again—I know it.” She sounded much older and like someone else, not gentle, uncomplaining Linda. “I’ve done nothing but lie here and rest for months, and it hasn’t helped. I’m going to die, Carrie. Nobody wants to say so, but it’s true.”

  “No!” Caroline struggled to keep panic out of her voice. “It’s not true! You just had a bad night.…”

  Quick footsteps sounded in the hall, and Mrs. Cabot came in. Her face was set in the smile-mask she always wore in this room. Caroline wondered if Linda guessed how quickly the mask slipped away outside the door.

  “Now, how are things going in here?” At the sight of the empty soup bowl Mrs. Cabot clapped her hands, a single sharp clap. “Wonderful!” she exclaimed. “I think your appetite is picking up, sweetie.”

  Caroline pretended to see something interesting out the window. Linda picked up her milk and took a sip to make up for cheating on the soup.

  “What are you two going to do today?” Mrs. Cabot demanded. “It’s the first day of Caroline’s vacation—let’s plan something special.” Caroline thought of birthday parties where you were expected to have a good time even if you’d much rather be home reading a mystery.

  “I don’t think—” Linda began in a small voice.

  “I can pick up a new movie at Video Fair. What would you like to see? And Carrie can make popcorn—doesn’t that sound like fun? An old-fashioned movie-and-popcorn afternoon.”

  Caroline looked at Linda. She was as white as the milk in her glass, and her lips trembled, as if all that forced enthusiasm exhausted her.

  “I was going to work on the rocking chair I started last night,” Caroline said. “It’s the last piece for the family room. And then I’m going to weave a little rug.”

  “Well, Linda can help you.” Mrs. Cabot sounded as if this was an even better idea than her own. “We can bring the card table in here, and the two of you can have a great time—”

  “No,” Linda interrupted. There was something so definite, and so sad, in the single syllable that Mrs. Cabot stared at her in dismay.

  “I can’t do anything, Mama. My chest hurts and it’s hard to breathe. I just want to lie still.”

  Mrs. Cabot’s smile slipped. Then it righted itself, and she leaned forward to touch Linda’s forehead. “I think I might call Dr. Krieger,” she said casually. “We haven’t checked with him for a while, have we? Not that there’s anything to worry about, but I’m sure he’d want to know if you’re especially tired.”

  Caroline expected Linda to protest, but her sister lay quietly, eyes closed, as if she’d stopped listening. Mrs. Cabot hurried from the room.

  “Now I’ll go ba
ck to the hospital,” Linda said in a low, flat voice. “That’s what Dr. Krieger will say.”

  “Maybe not,” Caroline whispered. Cheer her up, dopey, she thought. Say the right thing for a change. “You don’t know for sure that you’re worse.”

  “I do know,” Linda said, her eyes still closed. “It’s okay, Carrie. And thanks for eating the soup.”

  Though the day was as warm as midsummer, the paramedics wrapped Linda in two blankets. Still, she trembled with cold. Caroline stood stiffly next to the stretcher. She wanted to bend down and whisper good-bye, but she didn’t do it. There were too many nosies watching from their front yards and picture windows.

  “All set, beauty?” Joe had rushed home from the plant when he heard the news. He touched Linda’s forehead with his fingertips, like a priest giving a blessing. “Mom’s going to ride in the ambulance with you, honey, and I’ll be right behind in the car. Don’t worry about a thing.”

  Linda nodded to show she’d heard.

  “I’ll ride with you, Joe,” Caroline said. But he shook his head and pulled her out of the way so the paramedics could lift the stretcher into the ambulance.

  “You stay here and call your aunt Grace, kiddo,” he said. “And Grandma Parks. We don’t want them to hear about this from somebody else. Better give the Martins a call, too.”

  Mrs. Cabot came running down the front walk, clutching her handbag, a sweater, and Teddy D. Bear. She scrambled into the ambulance and crouched on the floor, her face close to Linda’s.

  “There’s a bench you can sit on,” Caroline called, just before one of the paramedics climbed in and slammed the door. The other man ran to the driver’s seat, and the ambulance swung away from the curb, with Joe’s battered blue sedan right behind it.

  Caroline stood on the sidewalk, watching the red lights signal trouble trouble trouble, listening to the siren slice up the quiet of Barker Road. When she turned away, finally, the neighbors were returning to their own affairs. The house seemed to have changed in some subtle way, so that she dreaded going back inside.

  “Hold it, please. This will make a terribly moving shot.” The rich, gravelly voice spoke from behind her. “It’ll have everything—grief, loss, loneliness. If you could see yourself, dear, you’d know what I mean.”

  Caroline whirled around. Who would dare talk like that—as if she were just pretending to feel bad—when she was hurting so much? Years later, she would recall that moment and the fiery explosion of anger that wiped away despair, at least for the moment, and marked her first glimpse of Mrs. Lillina MacGregor.

  Chapter 2

  She was at least a head taller than Caroline, and very slim. Her skirt was palest lavender, her blouse was white, and a sprig of purple lilac was pinned in her copper-red hair. Most of her face was hidden by the camera she pointed at Caroline.

  “Cut that out!” Caroline, who never made scenes, was shouting. It felt good. Shouting was better than crying, and she’d been very close to tears a minute before. “I don’t want my picture taken!” she roared. “Who are you, anyway?”

  The camera came down. The girl raised elegantly arched eyebrows. She looked surprised but not angry. “That was rude of me, I suppose,” she said after a moment of thought. “It’s just that when an artist sees so much raw emotion … Forgive me, little one.”

  “Little one!” Caroline’s voice squeaked with outrage. “I’ll be thirteen in October. How old are you?”

  “Seventeen. And I’m quite old for my age. When you’ve lived a lot, age doesn’t mean a thing.” The girl smiled, a dazzling smile that lit her tilted brown eyes. “My name is Lillina Taylor MacGregor, by the way,” she said, and advanced on three-inch heels to hold out her hand. “Mrs. MacGregor. What’s yours?”

  Caroline gritted her teeth. “Caroline Cabot,” she said, trying for cool dignity. “Miss Caroline Cabot.”

  “I suppose they call you Carrie.”

  “Caroline. My name is Caroline.” She’d never shaken hands with another girl before, and she felt as if the neighbors must all be back at their windows, watching. “I have to go in,” she said. “I’m supposed to make phone calls.”

  “Of course, dear. You run along.” Lillina touched her long, shining mane. “What’s wrong with whoever-that-was in the ambulance? Your sister? Is she going to be all right?”

  Caroline shivered. It was not a question she wanted to think about, certainly not one she wanted to discuss with this irritating stranger. “She has a weak heart. Sometimes she has trouble breathing and she has to go to the hospital. My father—my real father—had the same sickness. He died when we were small. That’s all I know.” She bit off the words, then discovered to her astonishment and confusion that there were tears in Lillina’s eyes. Caroline saw her own pain reflected in the slanty eyes as clearly as if she were looking into a mirror.

  “That’s really dreadful,” Lillina said. “Caroline, if you’d like me to come in with you for a while, I can spare the time.” She laid a hand along one narrow cheek. “Actually, you’d be doing me a favor. My skin is so incredibly delicate, and I’ve been out taking pictures for hours.”

  Caroline hesitated. She dreaded going into the empty house alone, and most of her anger had dissipated at the sight of those unexpected tears. Still, there was something disturbing about this girl. She talked like—like a film star, maybe, or a member of the jet set. And she asked nosy questions.

  “The thing is,” Caroline said, “I don’t really know you. Just your name.”

  Lillina nodded, as if she approved of this kind of caution. “I’m practically a neighbor of yours, dear,” she said. “For the summer, anyway. I’m a house guest of the Restons. Mrs. Reston is my aunt Louise. She’s a darling, isn’t she?”

  Caroline pictured large, square-jawed Mrs. Reston. She wore her hair in a crown of tight braids, and she had a loud, no-nonsense voice. “Darling” was not a word Caroline would have chosen, but it didn’t matter. Mrs. Cabot liked her.

  “You can come in if you want to.”

  It was a cool invitation, but Lillina didn’t seem to mind. She followed Caroline through the front door, looking around with an odd hunger.

  Caroline pointed to the living room. “You can sit in there,” she said. Then she slumped into the chair in front of the telephone niche in the hall and dialed her grandma Parks.

  Grandma cried. She cried hard, and Caroline knew she was thinking that it had been only three months since the last trip to the hospital. “I’m sorry, Grandma,” she said. She watched Lillina so she wouldn’t cry herself.

  The living room was two steps lower than the rest of the house. It had always seemed to Caroline a good way to break your neck if you weren’t expecting the steps, but she knew her mother loved the sunken living room. Lillina loved it, too. She paused at the first step and pointed her toe. Then she put out her hand as if someone were waiting to kiss it, and she sort of drifted down the steps. Her spine was very straight and her head was high, and when she turned she was wearing a haughty little smile. Caroline blinked and blew her nose, impressed in spite of herself. Lillina looked like Miss America about to receive her crown.

  Aunt Grace was next on the list to be called, and Caroline had to listen while her aunt ranted about the Cabots wasting time and money at the local hospital when they should be going to the Mayo Clinic or to some other big, important medical center. Caroline reminded her, as politely as possible, that Linda had been taken to the Mayo Clinic two years ago, and the doctors there had said Grand River Hospital was doing all that could be done for her. Joe always said Aunt Grace refused to believe that some things couldn’t be changed. He said she believed that if you did thirty sit-ups every morning, ate enough fiber, and voted Republican, you’d live forever.

  The Martins weren’t home.

  By the time Caroline had completed her calls, Lillina had made her way all around the living room. She’d examined every vase, lamp, and trinket, stopping for a full minute to study the gray-brown sandpiper huddle
d on the coffee table. When she came back up the steps to the hall, she looked at Caroline with the same concentration.

  “It’s so strange,” she murmured. “That little bird makes me think of you, for some reason.”

  “The sandpiper? What do you mean?”

  Lillina looked back at the bird again. “My parents have this marvelous beach house,” she said. “I simply love the sandpipers there—they are my favorite birds. They’re timid, of course, but they can take care of themselves beautifully. They dash about through the waves, doing what they want to do, and they don’t pay any attention to the big seagulls bustling around. They’re really smart—and independent!”

  Caroline decided not to be insulted. “Where do you live when you’re not at the beach house?” she asked.

  “New York. Manhattan, to be exact.”

  “You live in New York?”

  Lillina picked up her camera and pointed it in the direction of the sandpiper. Then she put it down on the telephone table again. “That’s right,” she said. “Our apartment is at the top of one of the tallest apartment buildings on Fifth Avenue. I’m just visiting the Restons for a few weeks this summer. My mother and Mrs. Reston were best friends at school, and when the difficulties began—about Frederick, that’s my husband—they decided I should spend the summer here. Not that I minded terribly, you see. After the initial pain of being separated from Frederick, I knew it was the best solution to the whole problem.”

  A half-hour before, Caroline had been sure she’d spend the rest of the day moping in her room. At this very moment, Grandma Parks was crying and Aunt Grace was muttering to herself, and awful things were being done to Linda in the hospital. Yet Caroline was beginning to feel almost cheerful. She couldn’t stop asking questions, even though she’d been annoyed with Lillina for doing the same thing.

  “What kind of problem?” she asked. “Are you really married?”

  Lillina flashed a stunning smile. “Really and truly. I’ll tell you about it, if you want to listen.”