by John Saul
Or perhaps (and much more likely, she told herself) she was simply suffering from her pregnancy, which, despite her insistence that she was feeling fine, was beginning to bother her. Though she wouldn’t admit it to Phillip, she was secretly glad that Dr. Blanchard had insisted that she get at least two hours’ rest every day.
If nothing else, at least it provided her with an escape from the tensions of the house.
She slipped into the bedroom, and closed the door behind her. Lying down on the bed, she stretched luxuriously, and then let her eyes wander out the window to the enormous maple that stood a few yards away, its leaves completely blocking out the sunlight.
Concentrating on the cool peacefulness of the greenery, she drifted into sleep.
At the other end of the house, in her rooms that were almost an exact mirror image of those her daughter-in-law occupied, Abigail Sturgess was wakeful and wary. She was staring out the window, her eyes focused angrily on the forbidding building that had represented so much tragedy for her family.
More and more, she was becoming convinced that her husband had been right.
There was something evil about the mill, and though she wasn’t yet sure what it was, she had made up her mind to find out.
Beth pedaled away from the mill, but instead of heading out River Road to start the long climb back up to Hilltop, she turned the other way, riding slowly along Prospect Street, then turning up Church toward the little square in the middle of the village. Once there, she slowed her bike, looking around to see if any of her old friends might be playing softball on the worn grass. But the square was empty, and Beth rode on.
Almost without thinking about it, she turned right on Main Street, then left on Cherry. A minute later she had come to a halt in front of the little house in which she’d lived until she had moved to Hilltop.
The house, which had always seemed big to her, looked small now, and the paint was peeling off its siding. In the front yard, weeds were sprouting in the lawn, and the bushes that her mother had planted along the front of the house didn’t have the neatly trimmed look of the gardens at Hilltop.
But still, it was home to Beth, and she had a sudden deep longing to go up to the front door, and ask whoever lived there now if she could go into her own room, just for a few minutes.
But of course she couldn’t—it wasn’t her room anymore, and besides, it wouldn’t look the same as it had when she had lived there. The new people would have changed it, and it just wouldn’t feel right.
She got back on the bike, and continued down the block, looking at all the familiar houses. At the corner, she turned right again, then left on Elm Street.
In front of the Russells’ house, Peggy was playing hopscotch with Rachel Masin, and Beth braked her bike to a stop.
“Hi,” she said. “What are you guys doing?”
Peggy, whose lager was in one corner of the number-four square, was concentrating hard on keeping her balance in the number-five, while she leaned down to pick up the key chain she had won from Beth herself last summer. Finally, snagging the chain with one finger and taking a deep breath, she hopped quickly down the last three squares and out of the pattern.
“Playing hopscotch,” she announced. “And I’m winning. Rachel can’t even get past number three.”
“But I’m using a rock for a lager, like you’re supposed to,” Rachel protested. “Anybody can do it with a key chain. They always stay right where you throw them.”
“Can I play?” Beth asked. She leaned the bike against a tree, and fished in her pocket for something to use as a lager. All she came up with was the key chain—identical to the one she had lost to Peggy—that held her house key. “I’ll start at one.”
Peggy looked at her with open hostility. “How come you’re not out riding your horse? Peter says you go out every day now.”
Beth’s heart sank. Why couldn’t Peter have kept his mouth shut? Now Peggy thought she was just like Tracy. “I don’t have a horse,” she said. “It’s Uncle Phillip’s horse, and all he’s doing is teaching me to ride it. And we don’t go out every day. In fact, we’ve only been out a couple of times.”
“That’s not what my brother says,” Peggy challenged, as if daring Beth to contradict her big brother.
“Well, I don’t care what Peter says,” Beth began, and then stopped, realizing she sounded just like Tracy Sturgess. “I … I mean we don’t really go out every day. Just sometimes.” Then she had an idea. “You could go with us sometime if you want to.” Peggy said nothing, but her face blushed pink, and Beth belatedly remembered what Peter had told her. “Uncle Phillip wouldn’t fire Peter,” she blurted out. “Really he wouldn’t.”
The red in Peggy’s face deepened, and her eyes brimmed with tears. “Why don’t you just go away?” she demanded. “We were having fun until you showed up!”
“But we’re supposed to be friends,” Beth protested. “You’re supposed to be my best friend!”
“That was when you lived on Cherry Street. You were just like us then. But now you live up on the hill. Why don’t you be friends with Tracy Sturgess?”
“I hate Tracy!” Beth shot back, on the verge of tears herself now. “I hate her, and she hates me! And I’m not any different than I ever was! It’s not fair, Peggy! It’s just not fair!”
Rachel Masin, looking from Peggy to Beth, then back to Peggy, suddenly stooped down and picked up her lager. “I gotta go home, Peggy,” she said hurriedly. “My—” She searched around for an excuse, and seized on the first one that came to mind. “My mom says I have to baby-sit my little brother.” Without waiting for either of the other girls to reply, she ran off down the street and around the corner.
“Now look what you did,” Peggy said, glowering at Beth. “We were having a good time till you came along.”
“But I didn’t do anything. How come you don’t like me anymore?”
Peggy hesitated for a moment, then planted her fists on her hips, and stared at Beth.
Beth stared right back.
The two girls stood perfectly still, their eyes fixed on each other, each of them determined not to be the first to blink. But after thirty seconds that seemed like ten minutes, Beth felt her eyes beginning to sting.
“You’re gonna blink,” Peggy said, seeing the strain in Beth’s face.
“No I’m not!”
“You are too. And if you do, you owe me a Coke. That’s the rules.”
Beth renewed her concentration, but the harder she tried not to blink, the more impossible it became. Finally giving up, she closed her eyes and rubbed at them with her fists.
“You owe me a Coke,” Peggy crowed. “Come on—you can ride me down to the drugstore.”
The spat forgotten, Peggy climbed onto the rack that was mounted over the back fender of the bike, and wobbling dangerously, Beth pedaled them away. Ten minutes later they were in their favorite booth in the rear corner of the drugstore, sipping on cherry Cokes.
“What’s it really like up there?” Peggy asked. “I mean, what’s it like living in that house? Isn’t it scary?”
Beth hesitated, then shook her head. “It’s not really scary. But you have to get used to it. The worst part is Tracy Sturgess.”
Peggy nodded wisely. “I know. Peter says she’s the meanest person he ever met.”
“She is,” Beth agreed. “And she really hates me.”
“How come?”
Beth shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess she thinks Mom and I are just hicks. She’s always acting like she’s better than everybody.” Then she grinned. “But wait till next year—she’s going to be going to school right here!”
Peggy’s eyes widened in astonishment. “You mean she isn’t going back to private school?”
“That’s what I heard.”
“Wow,” Peggy breathed. “Wait’ll the other kids hear about that!” Then she snickered maliciously. “And wait till the first day of school. I bet everybody cuts her dead.”
“I hope they do,”
Beth said, her voice edged with bitterness. “I hope they’re all just as mean to her as she is to me.”
Peggy nodded, then sighed despondently. “But they prob’ly won’t be. They’ll prob’ly start kissing up to her just because she’s a Sturgess.” She sucked the last of the Coke through the straw, then tipped the glass up so that the crushed ice slid into her mouth. She munched on it for a minute, then looked across the table at Beth again. “Do you know what really happened to Jeff Bailey?”
Beth felt a slight chill go through her. “I—he just tripped and fell, didn’t he?”
“Search me,” Peggy replied. “But I heard my parents talking about it last night, and they kept talking about the other boy that got killed in the mill—”
“Uncle Phillip’s brother,” Beth put in.
Peggy nodded. “Anyway, my mom said that she didn’t think it was a coincidence at all. She said there’s always been stories about the mill, and she thinks maybe there’s something in there.”
Beth hesitated, then nodded. “There is,” she said.
Peggy stared at her. “How do you know?” she asked.
Beth hesitated, then made up her mind. “Come up to Hilltop tomorrow, and I’ll show you something. And I’ll tell you what’s in the mill. But you have to promise not to tell anyone else, all right? It’s a secret.”
Peggy nodded eagerly. “I promise.”
“Cross your heart?”
“Cross my heart,” Peggy repeated. “Cross my heart, and hope to die.”
13
Eileen Russell looked at her daughter doubtfully, then shook her head as she slid two perfectly fried eggs out of the skillet onto the child’s plate. “I don’t know. I just don’t like the idea of Peter getting into trouble over it.”
“But Peter won’t get in trouble,” Peggy insisted. “Beth promised. She even said I could go riding with them sometime, if I wanted to. With her and Mr. Sturgess!”
Eileen’s gaze shifted to her son. “Well?” she asked. “Does that sound like Mr. Sturgess to you?”
Peter shrugged noncommittally, but at the pleading look in his sister’s eyes, he nodded his head. “He’s pretty nice, and he takes Beth riding sometimes. I don’t think he’d care if Peg went along.” Then he grinned. “But Tracy’d piss her pants. She hates it bad enough when her dad goes riding with Beth. If Peg was along, she’d shit.”
“Watch your language, young man,” Eileen said, more out of habit than any particular prudery. She turned the matter over in her mind once more. She knew how much Peggy had missed Beth over the last few months, but her main concern was still that nothing threaten Peter’s job. Jobs, particularly in the summer, were scarce, and they needed the money. Her job hostessing at the Red Hen barely covered the bills, and if something should happen to Peter’s job—
Finally she decided to compromise, and call Carolyn Sturgess. Except that even something as simple as that suddenly presented a problem. It was stupid, and Eileen knew it. After all, when they’d been growing up together, Carolyn Deaver had been one of her best friends, and after Dan Russell walked out on her about the same time Carolyn had divorced Alan Rogers, they’d become even closer.
But then Carolyn had married Phillip Sturgess, and moved up to the mansion on top of the hill, and everything had changed.
Still, Eileen had to admit that part of the problem was her own fault. She’d gone up to Hilltop a couple of times, but the very size of the house had made her uncomfortable, and old Mrs. Sturgess had been blatantly rude to her. Finally she’d stopped going, telling herself that from now on, she’d invite Carolyn to her own house.
Except she’d never really done it. She’d tried to tell herself that she just kept putting it off because she was busy, but she knew that the real reason was that in comparison to Hilltop, her house was little more than a slum. And after getting used to the splendor of the mansion, Carolyn would be sure to notice the shortcomings of Eileen’s place. So the invitation had never been issued, and as the months went by, Eileen thought about it less and less.
Still, there was no reason why Peggy and Beth’s friendship should end simply because their mothers’ had withered. She picked up the receiver and dialed the number that was still written in pencil on the wall next to the phone. To her relief, Carolyn herself answered the phone on the second ring, sounding sleepy. With a sinking heart, Eileen realized that there was no longer any reason for Carolyn to be up by seven A.M.
“It’s Eileen,” she said. “Eileen Russell. Did I wake you?”
Instantly, the sleepiness was gone from Carolyn’s voice. “Eileen! It’s been months!”
“I know,” Eileen replied. “And I’m sorry. But—well, you know how it goes.”
There was an instant’s hesitation before she heard Carolyn’s reply, and some of the enthusiasm seemed to have gone out of her voice. “Yes,” she said. “Of course. I … I understand, Eileen.”
“The reason I’m calling,” Eileen plunged on, “is that Beth ran into Peggy yesterday, and invited her to come up to Hilltop this morning. I just wanted to be sure it wouldn’t be any problem.”
“Problem?” Carolyn echoed. “Eileen, it would be wonderful. Beth’s missed Peggy so much, and so have I. You know she’s welcome here anytime.”
Suddenly Eileen felt ashamed of herself. Carolyn hadn’t changed—hadn’t changed at all. Why had she been so sure she had? Or was she herself busy being a snob, attributing to Carolyn airs that she herself would have taken on in the same situation? She had to admit that the possibility existed.
“Okay,” she said. “She’ll be up sometime in the middle of the morning.” She hesitated, then went on. “And maybe this afternoon I could come up myself. We haven’t had a talk for a long time.”
“Could you?” Carolyn asked. “Oh, Eileen, that would be wonderful. What time?”
Eileen thought quickly. “How about three-ish? I have to do lunch at the Hen, but it’s a split shift. I don’t have to be back until seven.”
“Great!” Carolyn agreed.
When she hung up a moment later, Eileen grinned happily at Peggy. “Looks like the drought’s over,” she said. “You can go up anytime you want.”
Peggy, winded from the hike up the hill, paused when she came through the gates of Hilltop, and stared at the mansion while she caught her breath. It still seemed to her impossible that anybody could really live in it. But Beth? That was really weird. Beth should still be living on Cherry Street, where they could run back and forth between each other’s houses four or five times a day. Up here, just the driveway was longer than the whole distance between their houses used to be.
She started toward the front door, then changed her mind, and skirted around to the far end of the house. Somewhere, she knew, there had to be a back door, and all her life she’d been used to using her friends’ back doors. You only went to the front door on special occasions.
Finally she found the little terrace behind the kitchen, and knocked loudly on the screen door. A moment later, Beth herself appeared on the other side of the door. “I knew you’d come around here,” she said, holding the door open so Peggy could come into the kitchen. “Want a doughnut or something?”
Peggy nodded mutely, and Beth helped herself from the plate on the kitchen table, handing one to the other girl. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s get out of here. I want to show you something.” They pushed the screen door open, and let it slam behind them, Beth calling out an apology even before Hannah could admonish her. Then, with Peggy following behind, Beth led her back around the corner of the house, and across the lawn toward the trail to the mausoleum.
Patches snorted, pawed at the stable floor, then stretched her neck out over the half-door, whinnying eagerly.
“Not yet,” Tracy Sturgess told the big mare. “Not till I’m done grooming you.” She gave the horse’s lead a quick jerk, but instead of obediently backing away from the door, the horse only snorted again, and tossed her head, jerking the lead from Tracy’s hand.
>
“Stop it!” Tracy snapped, grabbing for the lead, but missing. “Peter! Come make Patches hold still.”
“In a minute,” Peter called from the other end of the stable.
“Now!” Tracy demanded. She moved carefully around Patches, then grasped the horse’s halter, and tried to pull her back into the stall. Again, the horse snorted, reared slightly, and tried to pull away.
“What’s wrong with you?” Tracy asked. Then, her hand still clutching the halter, she looked out into the paddock to see what had attracted the mare’s attention. The paddock, though, was empty.
Tracy raised her eyes, and then, past the rose garden, saw the movement that had distracted the horse.
It was Beth, walking across the lawn with someone else, a girl Tracy didn’t recognize. Tracy frowned, then jerked the horse’s lead again. Patches whinnied a loud protest, but a moment later Peter came into the stall, took the lead from Tracy, and gently pulled the animal away from the door. Tracy remained where she was, staring out at the retreating figures of the two girls.
“Who’s that?” she asked, her back still to Peter.
“Who?”
“That girl with Beth.”
Peter shrugged. “My sister. Her name’s Peggy.”
Now Tracy turned around to glare angrily at the stableboy. “Who cares what her name is? What’s she doing up here?”
Peter reddened slightly. He’d known this would happen. Now he’d be in trouble for sure. “Beth invited her up.”
“Who said she could do that?” Tracy demanded. “This isn’t her house. She doesn’t have the right to invite people up here.”
“Her mom said it was okay. She said Peggy could come up anytime she wanted to.”
“Well, she can’t!” Tracy exclaimed. “And I’m going to tell her so!” She stamped out of the stall, leaving Peter to finish the job she’d begun, then ran through the rose garden and around the corner of the house just in time to see Beth and Peggy starting up the trail toward the mausoleum.