The Other Child

by Joanne Fluke

  “Some of it is.” The housekeeper leaned against the door frame. “Take that table in the dining room . . . you don’t find wood like that anymore. All the furniture is beautiful. It must have been wonderful to live in this mansion back then.”

  “Exactly!” Karen smiled. “Restoring this house makes me feel like I’m living back then. Sometimes I almost imagine Dorthea’s here, just waiting for me to put the house back the way it was so she can come home again.”

  “Well . . . I don’t know if I’d go that far.” Mrs. Schmidt laughed nervously. “That’s almost like wishing for the dead to come back to life.” She paused, looking uncomfortable. “Well, standing here talking isn’t going to get the work done. I’ll go put up that roast now, Mrs. Houston.”

  Karen sighed as the housekeeper hurried away. Mrs. Schmidt was a nice woman, but she didn’t really understand about this house. She wasn’t trying to bring the dead back to life; that sounded so grim. Perhaps she was bringing a dead age back to life by restoring the house. She was reliving the times and experiencing the events that had belonged to her house in the past. Was there any harm in that? But sometimes she did feel that Dorthea was alive, watching her and approving the work she was doing. She guessed she was keeping Dorthea’s memory alive, or her spirit, or something like that. In any event she didn’t have time to think about all that now. She had to get to work on the second floor.

  Mrs. Schmidt shook her head as she seasoned the roast and turned on the oven. All that talk about Dorthea Appleton was crazy. And Mrs. Houston was forever trying to make everything old-fashioned. There was nothing wrong with antiques, but she was going overboard. And she’d been talking to that picture. It was a good thing Leslie wasn’t home. It wasn’t good for a little girl to hear her mother talk to pictures just as if they could talk back.

  “She’s a strange woman,” the housekeeper muttered under her breath. Mrs. Houston didn’t seem to care what Leslie did as long as it didn’t interfere with her decorating. If Leslie were hers, Mrs. Schmidt knew she would have tanned her bottom for cutting her hair, but Mrs. Houston hadn’t even batted an eyelash. The child was running wild and it seemed no one cared but her. Mr. Houston was never home to take charge, and Mrs. Houston was too busy with her antiques and her silly notions. That poor child would be better off anywhere but here.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Of course she’d heard all about it the night before. Her mother had been on the telephone for hours, getting the latest news from the hospital. But Taffy’s eyes were still red and swollen from crying about what had happened to her friend. She had trouble believing it was true.

  Poor Bud! Taffy glanced over at the empty desk on her right and blinked back tears. He was still alive, but he would never be the same. His left arm was gone from the elbow down, sliced off by the flying glass, and his legs were injured so badly the doctors said there was a chance he’d never walk again. And only yesterday he’d been running and playing games with her at the picnic!

  “Class? Attention, please!” Mrs. Ogilvie stood in front of the class and immediately the room was quiet. Their teacher looked older than ever, and Taffy noticed that she had trouble looking directly at them as she faced the class.

  “I know all of you have heard about Bud Allen’s tragic accident.” Mrs. Ogilvie cleared her throat. “I think it would be nice if we wrote letters to Bud for our English lesson today.”

  Several students nodded and Taffy heard Mary Ellen sniffle into a handkerchief behind her. A few of the children looked tearful, frightened. Bud had been the most popular boy in the class.

  “Now let’s try to write cheerful things that will lift Bud’s spirits for his stay in the hospital,” Mrs. Ogilvie went on. “I’ll be glad to help anyone with spelling.”

  Taffy blinked back tears as she picked up her pen. Dear Bud, she wrote. Then she stopped, unsure what to say next. She wanted to ask him how it had happened, to tell him that she’d cried all night because she was so sorry for him, but she didn’t have the words. She looked out the window and saw the baseball field in the distance. Bud would never play baseball again. How could any letter she wrote make up for that?

  Tears were filling her eyes again and she blinked hard. This had been a summer of unhappy accidents. First Gary Wilson had been hurt at the swimming hole, and now Bud, too, had suffered a terrible injury.

  Thinking about Bud’s accident made Taffy feel sick inside. No one really knew how the car had started rolling. There weren’t any witnesses. Mr. Allen had been in the office with a customer. Bud had been all alone on the sidewalk when it happened. Poor, poor Bud!

  There was a sigh from the seat next to her, and Taffy glanced over at Leslie Houston. Leslie’s blond head was bent over her paper and her pen was moving steadily. Taffy drew in her breath sharply as she stared at Leslie. A cold chill crept up her back as she remembered what had happened after school yesterday. Everyone said there were no witnesses, but what if Leslie had followed Bud to his father’s car lot? What if she’d seen everything that had happened?

  Taffy shuddered and her heart beat painfully in her chest as she had another, even more hideous thought. What if Leslie had somehow caused Bud’s accident? Was it possible? Leslie had really been scared when Bud chased her with the snake. Could she have done this horrible thing to get even with him?

  The thought was so frightening that Taffy felt weak. Her hand shook violently and her pen dropped from her fingers, clattering on the desktop. She had to go home right away and tell her mother.

  “Yes, Taffy?” Mrs. Ogilvie saw her raised hand at last and called her up to the desk.

  “Please, Mrs. Ogilvie, I don’t feel good!” Taffy could feel the tears of fright run down her cheeks. “I want to go home!”

  “My, my!” Mrs. Ogilvie felt Taffy’s forehead and clicked her tongue. “You feel a little warm to me, Taffy. Go straight to the office and have Joyce call your mother to pick you up. You shouldn’t be in school if you’re coming down with something.”

  Taffy sat miserably in the office while her mother signed the release slip. She shivered as she walked out to the car. She’d never go to school again with Leslie Houston there. Leslie knew she had helped with the snake. Something awful might happen to her, too!

  Twenty minutes later Taffy was home and in bed. Her mother tucked the covers around her and took the thermometer out of her mouth.

  “It’s normal.” Marilyn squinted at the thin silver line and held the thermometer close to her eyes to recheck the tiny numbers on the side. “It’s 98.6, Rob. She’s not running a fever.”

  “I told you she wasn’t sick.” Rob came in from the hallway, where he’d been waiting. “Now, what’s all this about, Taffy? You know you should be in school if you’re not sick.”

  “Tell us what’s wrong, darling.” Marilyn sat on the edge of her daughter’s bed and stroked her forehead. “Are you in trouble at school?”

  “No.” Taffy glanced nervously at her father. She had hoped that he wouldn’t be home. It seemed every time she said anything about Leslie Houston her dad got angry. Her mother understood, but her father always sided with the Houstons.

  “Well . . . come on, Taffy.” Rob frowned slightly as he stared at his daughter. Taffy seemed more frightened than ill. Something must have happened at school; and the sooner they knew what it was, the sooner they could clear it up. It was probably some silly girl’s thing that Marilyn was perfectly capable of handling by herself, but he wanted to make sure. It just wasn’t like Taffy to get upset over nothing.

  “It—it all started at the picnic yesterday.” Taffy drew a deep breath and shivered. “You know how stuck-up Leslie Houston is, Mom.”

  Taffy looked to her mother for encouragement and Marilyn nodded. She’d heard this before.

  “Well . . . Leslie was even worse yesterday. She brought her camera and Mrs. Ogilvie thought it was wonderful. She got treated like the most important kid in the class, and the rest of us got mad. Leslie was acting all snotty and . . . we
ll . . . some of us got together and decided to snub her.”

  Rob’s lips tightened, but he didn’t interrupt Taffy’s explanation. He wanted the whole story before he said anything. As far as he was concerned, Leslie was a fine little girl. She’d had a real bad break when her mother lost the baby, and now Mike was gone most of the time, working. It was a pity the kids couldn’t be more understanding. Leslie needed friends, but she had three strikes against her here in Cold Spring.

  “Well, we . . . we were just playing around and having fun, and we—I mean, Bud—chased her with a snake!” Taffy blurted it out and her face turned red. It made her nervous that her dad wasn’t saying anything.

  “I know we shouldn’t have done it, but we didn’t hurt her or anything. Bud didn’t even touch her with the snake. Then, when Bud was walking me home, she kept following us. We told her to go home, but she wouldn’t. She just kept following, and it was spooky, Mom!”

  “She kept following you?” Marilyn was curious. She didn’t understand why Taffy was so upset over such an ordinary occurrence. “What did she say, darling? Did she want something?”

  “She didn’t say anything!” Tears were now rolling down her cheeks. “That’s what scared me! She didn’t say a single word. She just followed us all the way here, and she stood right outside until Bud left. Then she followed him. I think she stayed behind him all the way to Mr. Allen’s car lot. I know she was mad at him for the snake, and I think she made that glass fall on him on purpose!”

  Rob couldn’t help it. He snorted and shook his head. He’d never heard anything so farfetched in his life.

  “You think Leslie caused Bud’s accident? Taffy ... I just can’t believe you said that! It’s absurd! Leslie had a perfect right to be angry with Bud, but she couldn’t possibly have caused the accident. Don’t you know how it happened? One of the cars in the showroom wasn’t blocked properly and it started rolling. The car hit the glass and Bud was standing right outside. Now, surely you don’t think Leslie ran into the showroom and pushed that two-ton car through the window, do you?”

  Taffy began to sob and Rob raised his voice.

  “Now, Taffy, be reasonable! Even if Leslie wanted to get even with Bud, she couldn’t push that car. You’re just imagining things, honey. Leslie probably followed Bud partway and then went home. I’m sure she didn’t even see the accident.”

  Rob stood up and patted Taffy lightly on the shoulder. “I know you’re all upset over Bud, honey. It’s perfectly normal to be afraid for your friend, but don’t you see how silly you’re being about Leslie?”

  “I—I guess I was being silly.” Taffy gave her dad a sheepish smile. “It just seemed like . . . well . . . I don’t know, Dad. It just scared me, that’s all.”

  “Bud’s accident was enough to scare anyone.” Rob’s voice was kind. “It scared me, too, honey. Just remember that sometimes, when we’re upset, we make mountains out of molehills. If you really would only try to get to know Leslie, you’ll find she’s a sweet, friendly girl. And she’s got some family problems that are pretty tough for her to handle. I really think you should try to be nice to her. Leslie’s probably just as upset over Bud’s accident as you are.”

  “Well . . . maybe . . .” Taffy’s voice trailed off and she gave a tired, little whimper. “I still don’t like her, though, Dad. I just can’t help it. I don’t think she’s as nice as you say she is.”

  “I’m not asking you to like her, Taffy,” Rob explained patiently. “I’m just asking you to be polite to her. Do you think you can do that—just for me?”

  “I guess so.” Taffy closed her eyes and sighed. She really did feel a lot better now. Her dad was right. She’d been silly thinking that Leslie had hurt Bud. Of course that was impossible. She was just tired from crying all night.

  “You get a little sleep, honey, and I’ll see if I can get my work done early at the office.” Rob smoothed back Taffy’s hair and kissed the top of her head.

  He was going through the door when Marilyn grabbed his arm, whispering, “Downstairs. I want to talk to you! I’ll be right down.”

  “Taffy’s not the only one who’s upset.” Marilyn sat on the edge of her favorite living-room chair and sighed. “Just listen to me for a minute, Rob. Doesn’t it make you suspicious that Leslie was there at the scene of an accident again? Remember what I said? I told you that if there was another accident, Leslie would be right in the middle of it! Now I’m positive that there’s some kind of connection.”

  “Oh, Marilyn—not again.” Rob sighed deeply. “I thought we went through all this! You’re just tired, dear. You’ve been up all night worrying about Bud and the Allens and you’re letting your imagination run wild. You heard what I said to Taffy, and it made perfect sense. Now, think about it for a minute. Do you really believe that Leslie Houston is running around making accidents happen?”

  “I guess not.” Marilyn shook her head slightly. “But there was Gary Wilson’s arm, and now Bud Allen. You don’t know how terrible I feel, not being able to do anything for Roberta. I just wish there were some way I could help.”

  “There is.” Rob patted his wife’s shoulder. “You can help, dear! I think it would be wonderful if you started a community fund to help pay for some of the hospital bills. You’d be just the person to organize that, Marilyn. No one else could do it as well. Why don’t you start on it right away this morning?”

  “Why . . . yes, dear.” Marilyn looked thoughtful and then she beamed at her husband. “That is a good idea! I’m sure I could get some of the other women to help with the telephone canvassing. There’s no reason why we can’t make it two funds—one for Gary Wilson and one for Bud. I could even get Taffy to help organize the elementary students. There’s a lot they could do: bake sales . . . paper drives.... I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before.”

  When Rob left the house, Marilyn was already on the telephone, a list of hastily penned names spread out on the table in front of her. Rob gave her a wave and escaped through the door. After fifteen years he’d finally learned how to handle Marilyn when she got on one of her stubborn, irrational streaks. All he had to do was suggest something useful to be done and she was off and running. And Marilyn was a wonder when it came to raising money for community affairs. She loved to be in the limelight and she was good at it. At least organizing the fund would keep her mind off her crazy suspicions. Imagine blaming little Leslie Houston for those accidents!

  TWENTY-FIVE

  It was Friday night, his first night home after his boring trip to Duluth. Mike was amazed at everything Karen had done during his three-day absence. The parlor was fantastic, and she was ready with the dining room, too. She must have worked day and night to get all this finished.

  “Leslie?” Mike turned to his stepdaughter and smiled. “Rob told me about a ballet teacher in St. Cloud. I think we could take you in on Saturdays if you still want to take lessons.”

  “Ballet?” Leslie looked shocked. “Oh, Mike! That’s really nice but . . . well . . . I think I’m going to give up on ballet. It just doesn’t seem very important any- more.”

  Mike shrugged, smiling at her across the table. She had certainly changed in the past couple of weeks. She’d eaten second helpings of everything tonight and now she was sitting with her elbows propped on the table, looking like a little tomboy with that short haircut. She was turning into a regular kid right before his eyes. The dainty, ladylike manners she’d always shown had all but disappeared. That was good. It meant that Leslie was adjusting to country living.

  Mike’s eyes turned to Karen and he frowned slightly. She worried him a little. She was changing, too, but he wasn’t sure he liked it. It could be the shock of losing the baby, but she was so distant lately. The only thing she wanted to talk about was the house. Of course he was glad the work was going so well. Still, when he mentioned putting in a tennis court, something she’d wanted desperately when they first moved in, she hadn’t even wanted to consider it. They couldn’t destroy a sect
ion of the grounds, she said. The Appletons hadn’t needed a tennis court and she didn’t, either. She didn’t want to change anything from the way it had been in the past. Karen was making this house into a living museum, some sort of a shrine to the Appletons.

  “Seconds, Mrs. Houston?” Thelma Schmidt held the platter filled with her delicious fried chicken.

  “No, thank you.” Mike gave her a big smile. Hiring Mrs. Schmidt was the smartest thing he’d ever done. She was a great cook and she’d taken charge of the house beautifully. It was a relief not having to worry about Karen and Leslie when he was gone overnight.

  He should take them all out for some fun tonight, Mike decided, sipping the last of his coffee. They hadn’t done anything together in ages. They could go into St. Cloud and take in a movie. Leslie could stay up late. It was the weekend and there was no school tomorrow. Karen and Leslie needed a break from the redecorating.

  “Will you help me with my school project, Mom?” Leslie spoke up as Mrs. Schmidt served the dessert. “My teacher wants me to write a paper on the history of this house for class.”

  “Oh, that sounds like fun!” Karen smiled. “We could go through Dorthea’s journals tonight and copy out the important events. You’d let her take some prints of the miniature to show her class, wouldn’t you, Mike?”

  “Sure,” Mike replied shortly. He speared his Dutch apple pie savagely with his fork. He might have known it. Leslie and Karen were going to go over old books again tonight. All they ever did was talk about this damn house!

  “I thought maybe you two would like to see a movie tonight. We could go to the drive-in in St. Cloud and I’ll spring for a tub of buttered popcorn.”

  “No!” Karen reacted immediately and drew a deep breath as Mike stared at her curiously. She hadn’t meant to be so vehement, but going to a movie was out of the question. There was no way she could leave the house.