Suffer the Children

by John Saul

  “Well, she has a right to be,” Rose said. “Upset, I mean.” She looked at the drink in Jack’s hand and was suddenly sorry she’d criticized him.

  “If I apologize for snapping at you, would you mix me one of those?” She smiled.

  Jack mixed the drink, and they sat in front of the fireplace, waiting for Ray Norton’s arrival. “I wonder what really happened,” Jack said finally.

  Rose glanced up at her husband, and saw that he wasn’t looking at her but at the portrait of the little girl. She, too, stared up at it for a moment.

  “What do you mean?” she countered. “You mean to her? Who knows? Who even knows if there really was a girl such as Dr. Belter was talking about And even if there was, there’s no way of knowing if that’s the girl.”

  “If there was a girl, that’s the girl,” Jack said positively.

  Rose looked quietly at him, trying to fathom what was going on in his mind. “You sound so sure,” she said at last.

  Jack’s lips pursed, and he frowned a little. “Yes,” he said slowly. “I do, don’t I. And you know what? I am sure. I can’t tell you why, but I’m sure there was a girl and that that picture is the girl. And it terrifies me.” Then they heard the sound of a car coming up the drive, and Jack stood up to go to the front door. While he was out of the room Rose examined the portrait once more, and thought about the legend.

  What nonsense, she thought. What utter nonsense.

  Ray Norton closed his notebook and smiled at Elizabeth. “I wish all witnesses were like you,” he said. Once more he ran through Elizabeth’s recounting of what had happened that afternoon.

  “And you’re sure you didn’t hear my wife calling to you?” he said.

  “I’m sorry,” Elizabeth said. “But we didn’t. In fact, we were both listening for her. Kathy said she’d have to go in if Mrs. Norton called her, even though we were early, I’m sorry we didn’t hear her.”

  Ray Norton nodded noncommittally. Norma hadn’t called to the girls as they passed the house, hadn’t even seen them. Ray liked to throw a curve now and then, just to see if a witness would change his story. But Elizabeth hadn’t. They’d been alone, and they hadn’t seen anybody or anything unusual, but of course, as Elizabeth explained, they hadn’t been looking for anybody, either. Except while they were passing the Nortons’, they had been engrossed in talking about Jeff Stevens.

  “And you didn’t turn around and wave?” Ray said once more.

  “I cut across the field,” Elizabeth said. “So I couldn’t have seen Kathy anyway. The woods would have been in the way.”

  “Okay.” Ray sighed. He looked at Jack. “I’ll have that drink now, if it’s still around. I probably shouldn’t, since I’ll have to go into town, but I hate things like this.” He caught Rose’s frown and remembered that Elizabeth was still in the room. “Not that anything has happened,” he added hastily. He took the drink that Jack was offering, gratefully. “Thanks.”

  “Can I ride into town with you?” Jack asked. “As a newspaperman, not as a friend. I’d like to be on top of this one, after what I took from Martin Forager. Besides, I still have all of this afternoon’s work to catch up on.”

  “Fine with me,” Ray said, draining the drink. “But I can’t guarantee what time you’ll get back.”

  “I’ll find a way,” Jack said. He went to find a coat, and while he was gone Ray looked up at the portrait.

  “It looks just like you,” he said to Elizabeth.

  “I know,” Elizabeth said. “But it isn’t it’s somebody else. She’s not at all like me.”

  Rose and Ray Norton stared after her as she left the room.

  “Now what did that mean?” Ray said, puzzled.

  “Don’t ask me,” Rose said. “She and Sarah found an old Ouija board up in the attic. Maybe she’s been talking to ghosts.”

  “Right,” Ray said with mock seriousness. “I’m sure that’s what it is.” Jack returned, his coat buttoned up to his chin.

  “See you when I see you,” he said, and kissed Rose perfunctorily. The two men left the house, and seconds later Rose heard Ray Norton’s car grinding away down the driveway. Not knowing why, she fixed herself another drink.

  Ray Norton pulled the car up in front of the Port Arbello Courier, but didn’t turn off the engine.

  “Looks like you got burglars,” he commented, pointing to a shadow moving across the drawn curtain of Jack Conger’s office. Jack smiled.

  “Looks like Sylvia is trying to catch up on my work, is what it looks like.”

  Ray Norton shook his head ruefully. “Sure wish I could get a secretary like that. At the station they don’t even want to do their own work, let alone mine.”

  “Yes,” Jack said easily, “it is a problem, isn’t it. On the other hand, Sylvia can do my work better than I can, and your girls can’t do your work at all. Any idea how long you’ll be?”

  “None whatever. Call me when you’re through, or I’ll call you. If you wander over later, and ask me nicely, I’ll fill you in on what’s happening with Kathy Burton.”

  “What do you think’s happening?” Jack asked.

  The police chief looked grim. “If we’re lucky, it’ll be the same story as Anne Forager. But we won’t be lucky.”

  “You sound awfully sure,” Jack said.

  “Call it a hunch. And knowing kids. Don’t quote me, but I tend to agree with the people who say nothing happened to Anne. She’s always been that kind of kid. Kathy Burton’s different, though.”

  “Oh?”

  “Norma and Marilyn Burton have been friends for years, ever since they were kids. So I know Kathy. She’s a good kid. Responsible, not the kind that would have let Norma down the way she did today, unless something happened. Been that way ever since her father died.” Norton shook his head sadly. “That was a tough break, for Kathy and her mother both. I really hand it to them.”

  “It was a hunting accident, wasn’t it?”

  “Yup. Just about three years ago. Really dumb one. He wasn’t wearing the colors, and someone mistook him for a buck. I tell them the same thing every year: Wear the colors. There’s always one or two who don’t listen. But Burton’s the only one who ever caught a shot for his trouble.” The chief glanced at his watch. “Well, enough jawboning. Got work to do.” He shifted the car into gear as Jack got out. “See you later.”

  Jack watched him pull away and head around the square to the police station. It was one of the things he liked about Port Arbello—being able to watch the whole town from his front door.

  He had been right: Sylvia Bannister was in his office, and she was trying to do his work. She smiled at him as he came in.

  “You just wrote one of the best editorials that’s ever come out of this office,” she told him.

  “Oh? What’s it about?”

  “Read it yourself,” she said, handing him a sheaf of papers. “Pure dynamite. You are fearless, courageous, and willing to put your reputation on the line. But modest and humble.”

  “Sounds great,” Jack said. “But what am I being all this about?”

  “Rose’s plan for the armory.”

  “How’d you hear about that?” Jack asked, puzzled. “That’s supposed to be a secret.”

  “Not in this town,” Sylvia said. “Anyway, you’re against the plan.”

  “I am?” Jack said blankly. “That’ll be great for me at home.”

  “It won’t hurt. You couldn’t very well be for it—everyone would accuse you of corruption. This way, you get credit for being honest and courageous and Rose gets her plan talked about.”

  “Have you talked this over with Rose?” Jack said doubtfully.

  “Of course,” the secretary said. “Who do you think thought of the idea? Didn’t she tell you about it?”

  “She doesn’t tell me about much,” Jack said, and a sudden wave of despondency flowed over him. He saw Sylvia’s face cloud over.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I thought maybe things were getting be
tter.”

  Jack smiled, but it was a wry smile. “I thought they were. But you can never tell One day things seem to be going well, and the next all hell breaks loose.”

  “And today all hell broke loose?”

  Jack shrugged and slumped into a chair. He folded his hands over his stomach and stretched his legs. He was comfortable, and he hadn’t been comfortable for a long time.

  “Not really, but it might yet. The night isn’t over.”

  Sylvia looked at him curiously, and he filled her in on the disappearance of Kathy Burton. When he was finished the seemed puzzled.

  “Well, I’m sorry to hear about Kathy, of course, but I don’t see how it could have any bearing on you and Rose.”

  “Rose has problems with reference to me and young girls,” he said quietly. He saw the outrage flash into Sylvia’s eyes, and it pleased him.

  “But that’s ridiculous,” Sylvia declared. “For God’s sake, she’s been with you all day. What does she think, you spend all your time, even when you’re with her, making trouble for children?”

  Jack held his hands out helplessly. “I know. But it makes her nervous. And I suppose I can’t blame her, all things considered.”

  “Well, I think it’s awful,” Sylvia said, and Jack could hear indignation boiling in her. “Is she going to hold one incident against you the rest of your life? I don’t think you should stand for it. Really, I don’t!”

  “My God, Sylvia,” Jack said. “You sound really angry.”

  “Well, I guess I am,” the secretary flared. “I guess I just don’t think it’s right We know you didn’t really do anything to Sarah, and we know you weren’t responsible for what happened. Not really. You were drunk …” She trailed off.

  “But I am responsible,” Jack said quietly. “I wasn’t that drunk, and I guess I did beat her. So I do deserve some punishment.” His voice grew quieter. “But it gets hard sometimes,” he said softly. “You have no idea.”

  “Oh, I might have some idea,” Sylvia said gently. She came to stand behind him, her hand resting gently on his shoulders. As she continued to talk, her fingers began massaging the tight muscles of his neck, and he relaxed under her touch. “I’m not inhuman, you know. I hurt. I carry some pain and guilt with me, too. And I do the same thing you do. Try to hold it in, and try to deal with it. Sometimes I wish I could do what you do and get drunk a few times.” She smiled wanly. “But I don’t. I’m not allowed.”

  “What stops you?” Jack said quietly.

  “Me, I suppose. Me, and my puritan background, and my high ideals, and all the other stuff that got bred into me and keeps me from liking myself.”

  Jack reached up, and his hand closed over hers. He felt her stiffen, but she did not pull her hand away. Slowly he drew her around until she stood in front of him and he was looking up into her eyes. They were blue, a deep blue, and Jack had the feeling he had never seen them before. He stood up.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered, and put his arms around her.

  “Sorry?” she said. “For what?” She tried to keep her eyes on his, but she couldn’t. After a moment she broke their gaze and leaned her forehead against his chest.

  “I’m not sure,” Jack said above her head. “For everything, I guess. For all the trouble you’ve had, and for all the things I haven’t been able to give you.” He tilted her head up and kissed her.

  It was a soft kiss, a tender kiss, and it surprised Jack. He had not planned to kiss her, nor had he realized he wanted to. But as he kissed her it became very clear that he did want to kiss her and did not want to stop with a kiss. He felt a heat flood through him that he had not felt in a long time. And then he felt Sylvia pull away, and he was ashamed.

  “I’m sorry,” he repeated, and this time he was sure she knew what he meant. And then he had the distinct feeling that she was no longer in a serious mood, that, indeed, she was laughing at him. He looked at her, and there was a mischievous delight playing in her eyes and at the corners of her mouth.

  “I thought you weren’t supposed to be able to do that,” she said suppressing a giggle. Jack felt his face flush as he realized what she was saying.

  “I haven’t, for the last year,” he said nervously. “I certainly didn’t expect—” He began floundering. “What I mean is, I hadn’t intended—”

  “Don’t apologize.” Sylvia laughed. “Be happy. At least you know the problem isn’t all yours. Apparently it’s your wife you don’t turn on to, not everybody.”

  Jack stared at her, and he felt a weight lifting off his whole being. Maybe, he thought, things aren’t so bad after all.

  “Now what do we do?” he said.

  She shrugged and walked from the room. “Nothing,” she tossed back over her shoulder. “Not for a while, anyway.” He heard her close the front door of the office behind her, and realized she was right. He would need time to think. So, he hoped, would she.

  16

  Port Arbello sat up late that night.

  At ten o’clock, when she was usually in bed, Marilyn Burton found herself getting into her car and driving out the Conger’s Point Road to spend however long it took with Norma Norton. The two women sat drinking coffee and talking quietly about anything except their children, each of them mentioning several times that the coffee would surely keep them awake all night. They carefully avoided mentioning that they expected to be awake all night anyway. Instead, they simply went ahead and drank the coffee.

  Shortly after eleven, Martin Forager appeared at the police station, his breath reeking of whiskey and his manner truculent.

  “Well,” he demanded. “Now what have you got to say for yourself?”

  Ray Norton glanced up at Forager, and his finger stopped dialing the telephone on his desk. He was in the last stages of organizing a search party, and Marty Forager’s interruption was annoying. But he put his annoyance aside and spoke mildly. “About what, Marty?”

  Forager sat heavily in the chair opposite the police chief, a surly expression darkening his face. “She hasn’t showed up yet, has she?”

  “No,” Norton agreed, “she hasn’t. But I still don’t see what you’re getting at.”

  “I know what this town thinks,” Forager challenged. “I hear the rumors too. They think my Annie lied. That nothing happened to her.”

  “By now Anne was home, wasn’t she?” Norton replied quietly. He glanced at his watch. “Unless I’m wrong, Anne came in at eleven. It’s nearly eleven thirty now.”

  Forager glared at him. “You wait,” he said. “You just wait, and you’ll see. Shell turn up, and she’ll turn up with the same story.”

  “I don’t care what story she has,” Norton said. “I just hope she turns up.”

  “She will,” Marty Forager repeated. “You just wait.”

  “I will, Marty,” Ray Norton said as the man opposite him got to his feet “Where you heading?”

  “Saw Conger’s lights on,” Martin Forager said thickly. “I thought I’d go over there and see what he’s up to.”

  Ray Norton put on his best policeman manner. “I think I’d go on home if I were you,” he said, his voice turning it from a suggestion into an order. Forager swung slowly around to stare at the police chief.

  “You telling me what to do?”

  “Not really,” Norton said affably. “But it’s a busy night around here, and I think it’s a busy night at the Courier, too. And it doesn’t concern you, Marty. Go on home, and talk to Jack Conger in the morning if you still think you want to.”

  “You and he are pretty buddy-buddy, aren’t you?” Forager said suspiciously. “And you both live out on the Point Road, where all the trouble seems to be, don’t you?” He leered drunkenly at the policeman, who considered the advantages of putting him in the one cell Port Arbello possessed to sleep it off. He decided against it. Instead, he smiled agreeably.

  “That’s right, Marty. I thought you knew. Ever since I got to be chief of police and Jack Conger took over as editor of the Courier,
we’ve been entertaining ourselves by kidnapping little girls. The woods are full of the bodies, but nothing will ever be done about it, because everybody knows that Jack and I are buddies and covering up for each other. In fact, and don’t spread this around, we’re queer for each other, and the real reason we’re out messing with little girls is so that no one will suspect that it’s really each other we turn on to.” He stood up. “Now, why don’t you go out and spread that one around, even though I asked you not to? It’s at least as plausible as the story your daughter told.”

  He immediately regretted his last statement, but then he realized that Forager was too drunk to put together everything he’d said.

  “That’s all right,” Forager muttered under his breath. “You’ll see. Something’s going on in this town, and it started with my daughter. You’ll see.” He shambled out the door, and Ray Norton stepped out from behind his desk to see where Forager was headed. He watched until he was sure the drunken man wasn’t headed toward the offices of the Courier, then went back to his desk. On an impulse, he picked up the phone and dialed quickly.

  “Jack?” he said when he heard his friend’s voice answer. “If I were you I’d lock my front door.”

  “What are you talking about?” Jack Conger said, and Ray Norton thought he heard a sharpness that didn’t fit with the light tone in which he’d couched his suggestion.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to scare you. Marty Forager’s wandering around tonight, and he’s pretty drunk. He was just here, and he said he was going to see you next.”

  “Is he headed this way?” Jack asked.

  “Nah. He looked like he was heading for the tavern, but after a couple of more belts, he just might forget what I told him. Or worse, he might remember.”

  “What’d you tell him?” Jack asked curiously.

  Ray Norton recounted the ludicrous story he had made up for the benefit of the drunk, and was surprised when Jack Conger didn’t seem to think it was funny.

  “That’s great,” Jack said, annoyance twisting his voice.

  “Well, I wouldn’t worry about it,” Norton said uneasily. “I imagine he’ll forget all about it by morning.”