by John Saul
In the back corner of the cloakroom the aide struggled with Sarah. The battle had come to a stalemate.
When she spoke, Mrs. Montgomery’s voice was very low and completely controlled, but it held a note of authority that Rose Conger was sure had cut through worse confusion than confronted her now.
“Philip,” she said, “what’s happened here?”
Immediately the struggle stopped. The aide, who couldn’t have been more than twenty, straightened and stepped away from Sarah.
The child was a mess. Her shirt was torn in several places, and she was covered with some sort of yellow substance. As soon as the aide let her go, Sarah’s hand moved to her mouth, and she began chewing. Rose stared at her, and it was a few seconds before she realized what her daughter was doing. The yellow substance was chalk, and Sarah was chewing on a piece of it. Philip watched her for a second before turning to the small group that hovered in the doorway. Rose started to move toward her daughter, but Marie Montgomery’s hand held her back.
“It’s all right,” she said quietly. “A little chalk isn’t going to hurt her.”
“It’s not a little,” Philip said. “She’s been at it ever since you left. She must have eaten almost a full box by now.”
“And you tried to stop her?” Marie asked.
The young man nodded. He looked miserable. “I couldn’t do it, though. I was afraid of hurting her.”
“You probably scared her half to death,” Marie said. “If you’d let her alone, she might have stopped of her own accord. A little chalk won’t hurt her.”
“But a whole box?” Jack said. He took a step toward Sarah. The child shrank back farther into the corner of the tiny room, and began to gnaw on another stick. Her teeth made a strange grinding sound as she crushed the chalk into powder. She swallowed some of it, but most of it cascaded, mixed with saliva, into her lap. Jack felt a queasy feeling developing in his stomach.
Rose broke free from Mrs. Montgomery’s grip, and quickly moved past her husband to pick up her daughter. Sarah let herself be lifted, but refused to open her hand when Rose tried to remove the chalk she clutched. Rose seemed to be about to struggle with her when Mrs. Montgomery spoke again.
“Let her have it, Mrs. Conger. Really, it won’t hurt her. If she’s had too much, she might throw it up. Otherwise, it’ll pass right through her. If it could hurt her, we wouldn’t use it here. Our kids do that all the time.” She looked accusingly at the aide, who seemed to wither.
“It just seemed like she was eating so much of it.”
“So you scared her half to death, and wrecked the room?” the teacher inquired drily. “Don’t you think the cure was a bit worse than the illness?”
“I guess I just …” Philip trailed off. “Didn’t think,” he finished lamely.
“I guess you didn’t,” Marie said, but the chill was gone from her voice, and she was smiling again. “Well, next time, keep in mind that chalk doesn’t hurt children, and that desks cost money. And you can think about it while you clean up my room.” She turned and led the Congers out of the room, walking with them to their car.
“Are you sure it won’t hurt her?” Jack asked again as he turned the key in the ignition.
Mrs. Montgomery shook her head. “She might throw up, but that’s all.” She waved to them as they drove away, then turned back to the building. She’d changed her mind, and was about to help Philip clean up the mess.
Rose, holding a now passive Sarah on her lap, was still trying to get the scene out of her mind when the vomiting began. She wasn’t sure it was going to happen at first; she felt a couple of involuntary flinches in her daughter, but then Sarah lay still again in her mother’s arms. Then, without warning, it came.
The yellowish stream shot out of Sarah’s mouth and ran down into her lap, where it overflowed. Rose could feel the heat of it as it soaked through her wool pants. She felt more than saw Jack glance over to see what had happened.
“Don’t look,” she said tightly. “Just keep your eyes on the road and get us home as quickly as you can. Mrs. Montgomery said this might happen.” She was trying to reach into her purse for the package of Kleenex that was always there, when the second convulsion hit. As she felt more of the vomit flow over her legs, she realized the Kleenex would be futile. Instead, she used her free hand to roll the window down.
The cold air hit her face and cut through the sickening sweet-sour smell of the vomit, and Rose began to fight down her own nausea. Then Jack had opened his window, too, and she felt more fresh air. It wasn’t until Sarah began to throw up again that Rose realized their mistake. There was a window open, and Sarah was struggling to reach it.
“Dear God, this can’t be happening,” Rose said to herself as the mixture of freezing air and vomit washed over her face. She was sure she was going to lose her own battle with nausea as she began to struggle to get Sarah’s face out of the wind.
The girl was crying now, and Rose began to panic as she realized what could happen to Sarah if she began to choke on her own vomit.
“Jack,” she said. “I think you’d better try to stop the car. Don’t look. Just stop the car.”
“There’s a rest area just up ahead. Can you make it?”
“I’ll have to,” Rose said.
She felt the car surge forward, then swerve to the right and brake sharply. She had the door open before the car had quite stopped. She swung out of the car and set Sarah on the asphalt of the parking lot She was just able to get off the lot and onto a patch of bare earth when the first retching began. Mortified, she stood with her forehead resting against the trunk of a tree, her own vomit mixing with Sarah’s as it splashed against her legs. In a couple of minutes, it was over.
She turned back to the car, and her teary eyes told her that for her daughter it was not yet over.
Sarah sat miserably in the spot where Rose had left her, and the convulsions were beginning again. Frantically, Rose looked for her husband. For a second he seemed to have disappeared, but then she saw him coming from the men’s room, a sodden paper towel in his hands. Ignoring her, he went directly to Sarah, knelt beside her, and began bathing her face with the dripping towel. Rose watched the scene in silence, then began making her way to the women’s room.
For a long time she ran cold water, scooping it up and pouring it over her face, as if the water could wash away the experience that preceded it. Finally she returned to the car.
They saw Mrs. Goodrich standing on the porch when they turned into the driveway. The Congers glanced at each other, and their eyes held for a moment There was a sudden warmth between them that neither of them had felt for a year. When Rose spoke, it was not to wonder why Mrs. Goodrich was on the porch.
“I’m sorry about all that,” she said quietly.
“It’s all right,” Jack replied, his voice gentle. “It’s nice to know that I’m still good at something, even if it’s only looking after my sick womenfolk.”
Rose saw the pain and tenderness flash in his eyes. She looked away, her gaze coming to rest on Sarah, who had fallen asleep in her arms.
“Do you think I ought to call the doctor?” She shifted Sarah’s weight so that the child’s head was cradled on her shoulder.
“If it’ll make you feel better. But I suspect it’s all over now. She’s got all that crap out of her system. I think we can wait till she wakes up at least. Then we’ll see.” He stopped the car in front of the house, got out, and went around to open the door for his wife. Mrs. Goodrich had left the porch and was coming toward them, her ample figure moving as quickly as her age would allow. As Jack pulled open the passenger door, she stopped.
“Lord have mercy,” she muttered, her eyes taking in the mess that covered the inside of the car, Sarah, and Rose. Involuntarily she took a couple of steps backward.
“It’s all right, Mrs. Goodrich,” Rose said, disengaging herself carefully from the car so as not to disturb Sarah, in her arms. “We had a little trouble, but it’s over with now.�
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Mrs. Goodrich surveyed the mess stoically. If she wondered what had happened, it didn’t show in her face. “I’ll have to take a hose to the inside of that car,” she said, almost making it sound like a threat.
“I’ll take care of it, Mrs. Goodrich,” Jack began. “We can’t really ask you—”
I’ve cleaned up worse than that in my time,” the housekeeper snapped. “Besides, you’ve got other things to do.” There was an edge to her voice that captured Jack’s attention. Rose had already disappeared with Sarah into the house.
“Other things? What other things?”
“It’s Miss Elizabeth,” the housekeeper said. “I think she’s been playing where she’s not supposed to.” Jack waited for her to continue, and eventually had to prompt her.
“Well,” Mrs. Goodrich said. I saw her come out of the woods not too long ago. “I don’t know why, but I’m sure she was playing on the embankment. She denied it, of course.” The last was said with the certainty of one convinced, by a lifetime of hard experience, that children will deny anything and everything, even when caught red-handed.
“Elizabeth’s usually pretty honest,” Jack said gently. He was reluctant to nettle the old woman; when he did, it usually showed up at dinner in the form of overcooked food. Mrs. Goodrich peered at him over her glasses and stood her ground.
“I’m well aware of that, young man,” she said, and Jack prepared to give in. Ever since he had been a child, he had known that when Mrs. Goodrich called him “young man” she meant business.
“Nevertheless,” she went on, “I think you’d better speak to her. She knows she’s not to go into those woods, let alone anywhere near the embankment And I know she was in the woods. I saw her come out.”
“All right,” Jack said. “I’ll talk to her as soon as I clean up. Where is she?”
“In the field,” Mrs. Goodrich said dourly, indicating that as far as she was concerned, the field was almost on par with the woods and the embankment She pointed off to the distance, and, following her gesture with his eyes, Jack saw his older daughter. She was squatting down, and seemed to be looking at something.
He started to move toward the house but, seeing the glare Mrs. Goodrich was giving him, turned toward the field instead.
“No time like the present,” he heard the housekeeper mutter behind him.
Elizabeth didn’t see him until he was less than twenty feet from her. She suddenly looked up, as if she had heard something, but Jack was sure he had been silent. When she saw him a smile lit her face, and Jack could feel its glow brighten his spirits. He stopped, and the two of them studied each other for a moment. With her hair flowing free, Elizabeth looked more than ever like the girl in the portrait.
“How’s my favorite daughter?” he said, breaking the silence.
“Am I?” she said, the smile growing even brighter. “Well, if I am, you deserve this for telling me so.”
She stooped, and when she stood up there was a single buttercup in her hand. She ran over to him and held the flower under his chin.
“Well?” he said. “Do I glow?”
“I’m not going to tell you.” Elizabeth laughed. “Did you bung Sarah home with you?” He nodded, and when Elizabeth turned and began to walk toward the house, he stopped her.
“Hold on. Can’t you spend a little time with your favorite father?”
Elizabeth turned back to him. “I just thought—” she began.
“Never mind,” Jack said. “Sarah had a little trouble on the way home, and your mother’s cleaning her up. It’s nothing serious,” he added hastily as a look of concern twisted Elizabeth’s face. “Just something she ate. She had a bit of an accident on the way home.”
“Yuck!” Elizabeth said. “Does the car stink?”
“Mrs. G’s cleaning it up. She wants me to talk to you.”
“I thought she would,” Elizabeth said. “She thinks I was out on the embankment today.”
“Were you?” Jack tried to sound unconcerned.
“No,” she said. “I wasn’t I don’t know why she thinks I was.”
“She said she saw you coming out of the woods.”
“I know,” Elizabeth said. “And I don’t know why she thinks that either. I wasn’t in the woods.”
“Were you near them?”
Elizabeth nodded. “I thought I saw Cecil, and I was following him. But I don’t think it was Cecil. It looked like him, but then, just as he was about to go into the woods, he jumped. ‘Cecil’ turned out to be a rabbit.”
“How could you mistake a rabbit for Cecil?” Jack asked. “Of all the un-rabbitish cats I know, Cecil is the most un-rabbitish of them all.”
“Search me,” Elizabeth said. “But he sure looked like Cecil till he jumped.”
“Well, I’m glad he did,” her father said. “If he hadn’t, you might have followed him into the woods.”
“I’d have noticed,” Elizabeth said. She was silent for a moment; then: “Daddy, why aren’t I allowed to go into the woods or to the embankment?”
“It’s dangerous, that’s why,” Jack said, his tone indicating that he would like to leave it at that. But Elizabeth was not to be put off.
“But, Daddy, I’m thirteen years old now, and I can take care of myself. I don’t see how the embankment can be any more dangerous than the quarry, and you let me go there any time I want to.”
“I’d just as soon you stayed away from there, too,” Jack said.
“But why?” Elizabeth pressed. When there was no answer she said, “It’s because of Anne Forager, isn’t it?”
“Anne Forager?” Jack said guardedly.
“All the kids are talking about it They say something awful happened to her, and that it happened out here. Is that true?”
“I don’t know,” Jack said truthfully. “I don’t really think anything happened to her, and if it did, I doubt very much if it happened out here. At any rate, that doesn’t have anything to do with you. It’s just that the embankment is very dangerous.”
“Not any more than the quarry.”
Jack shook his head. “If you slipped at the quarry, you’d at least have a chance. You’d fall into deep water, and you can swim. With the embankment, you wouldn’t hit water. You’d hit rocks and surf. That’s a whole different story.”
“I suppose you’re right,” she said. Then she looked up at him, and there was a glint of mischief in her eyes. “But in five years I’ll be eighteen. Then I’ll go see just what’s at this embankment, and you won’t be able to stop me.”
“That’s five years,” Jack said. “In five years you could change your mind.”
“I won’t,” Elizabeth assured him. Then she slipped her hand into his, and together they walked back to the house.
* * *
Dinner was a quiet affair for the Congers that night, at least at the beginning. Out of respect for the delicate stomachs of Rose and Sarah, Mrs. Goodrich had put together a light omelette, which she had restrained herself from binning. Conversation was dilatory, much of it in the form of encouraging remarks directed toward Sarah by her parents. Sarah seemed not to hear; instead she concentrated on her plate calmly shoving each forkful of egg into her mouth, chewing stoically and swallowing. To Elizabeth, Sarah seemed to be as she always was.
Mrs. Goodrich cleared away the plates and brought in the dessert.
“Here we go again,” Elizabeth said.
“Hmm?” Rose inquired, turning her attention from Sarah to the older girl. Elizabeth grinned at her.
“I said, ‘Here we go again.’ We had the same pudding at school today. Except this is better.”
“Oh?” Rose said. But she was not really interested; her attention was back on Sarah. “How was school?”
“Not bad. We got our history tests back. I think Mr. Friedman must have made a mistake. He gave me a perfect score.”
Now both Rose and Jack turned to Elizabeth, and she could see the pleased expression in their eyes. But before they could s
peak, a sound rent the air.
Elizabeth turned, then ducked just in time to avoid the bowl of pudding that was flying toward her from her sister’s place. The glass bowl shattered on the wall behind Elizabeth, but the sound of its crashing was inaudible over the shrieks and wails emanating from Sarah.
Her face contorted in rage, Sarah snatched all the silverware within her reach, and in a moment it was scattered across the room. One of the heavy silver knives shattered a pane in the French door and clattered to rest on the veranda outside. Her voice building, barati continued to howl as her arms moved wildly over the table, searching out other things to throw.
Rose sat as if frozen and stared at Sarah. Sarah had been so calm, and now— She began to rise as she saw Sarah’s fists clutch at the tablecloth. She tried to prepare herself for the destruction that was imminent if her daughter followed through on what she apparently intended to do.
And then, over the din of Sarah’s howling, she heard Jack’s voice shouting.
“For God’s sake!” he yelled. “Will you get her out of here?”
Rose’s eyes widened, but the impact of his words seemed to free her from her chair. Wordlessly she swept Sarah into her arms, somehow freeing the clutching fingers from the tablecloth, and carried her from the room. As she passed Jack she sensed more than saw him slump weakly in his chair.
The dining room was suddenly silent, and the two of them sat there, Jack avoiding words, Elizabeth with nothing to say. Then, visibly, Jack began to pull himself together.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered, more to himself than to Elizabeth. “Every time she does something like that I get the most horrible feeling. I get the feeling that I made her nuts.” He began sobbing, but silently.
“And I guess I did,” he mumbled. Then he too left the room, and Elizabeth was suddenly alone.