Andy signaled to the waiter standing near the desert cart. “Check please,” he mouthed.
They took off their shoes and trudged along by the water’s edge. Andy glanced at Jenny as she strode along beside him, her long dark blonde hair blowing behind her. He longed to put an arm around her and pull her to him, but didn’t dare. One wrong move on his part and she would be gone. This was no ordinary girl from the village or anywhere else. There was nothing ordinary about her. Oh, she’d cried on his shoulder and grasped his hand in the restaurant, but he’d recognized those acts for what they were. She was grieving over the loss of her parents and had perhaps come to the Lakes to get away from the sadness, then realized too late she’d brought it all with her. In a weak moment, she had reached for him. Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something else was worrying her.
When they came to a stream that emptied into the lake, they sat on a rock facing the water.
“You’re a hard one to figure out, Jenny,” he said. “I’ve got this strange feeling about you. It’s as if you’re looking for something. Then there’s this thing with Biddy.” He leaned back against the rock but didn’t take his gaze away from her face. “Something was going on between you two the other day. She was abrupt and rude, even acted as if she knew you, or at least knew of you. And what was all that talk about a photograph? Was it you or wasn’t it? And why would you care that she used to be a midwife?”
He gave her a lopsided grin, taking any bite out of the words. “You’re not working for the CIA are you?”
“No, and I’m not working for the FBI either.” She tried to put a smile in her voice. “I couldn’t care less that Biddy was a midwife. Just surprised that’s all. And I wish she’d stop thinking I’m somebody I’m not.”
They sat quietly for a few minutes, then when Jenny got to her feet and stared out across the lake, she reminded Andy of a figurehead on the prow of some ancient sailing ship.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked.
She looked down at him. “You. You’re very nice, you know.”
She reached for his hand to pull him up. “Come on, it’s chilly. Let’s go home.”
***
Something woke her in the night, the wind perhaps or the rain pelting against the cottage windows. She put her hands behind her head and stared into the blackness, trying to get her thoughts in some sort of order. Finally, she got up and made a pot of tea on the little stove, then sat in front of the window and stared out at the sleeping English street, while she concentrated on her mother and Charles Woodleigh. Surely they had sat at this very window and looked out at this exact same scene. The feeling came from out of nowhere, the strange sensation the cottage was bewitched, that it was trying to ensnare her in the same web it had trapped her mother all those years ago. Jenny’s skin prickled as she turned to look over her shoulder into the room. Of course there was nothing there. She sipped the tea as her thoughts turned to Biddy. She was over the shock of finding out the woman had been a midwife, the only one in Stoney Beck when Jenny was born. In a way it helped to know, somehow inching her closer to solving the mystery.
But Jenny hadn’t bargained on meeting Andy Ferguson. When her father had been diagnosed with Huntington’s disease, she’d steered clear of romance, never even had a steady boyfriend. And now that she’d been freed of her fear, Andy had come along. But he was causing problems. As Jenny felt sleep overtake her, she made up her mind to cool it with him before it was too late. He was already suspicious of Jenny’s explanation of why she had come to Stoney Beck and was asking too many questions. The last thing she needed was to make the same mistake as her mother and fall in love with an Englishman.
***
The next day Jenny watched through Malone’s window as Andy threw Pete’s Frisbee high into the air on Hallveck Common. After a dozen throws and a dozen perfect catches by Pete, Andy did no more than raise a finger, and his dog changed into his other self, walking sedately beside his master toward the garage. When Andy looked across at Malone’s and saw her, he headed for the shop.
“I’m driving to my brother’s tonight in Kendall,” he said, as he picked up the Daily Telegraph from the rack. “I’ve got a clock he’s interested in, then staying for supper. His wife’s Indian and cooks the best curried lamb you ever put in your mouth. Will you come with me?” His voice was confident, probably still thinking of last night.
“I’m sorry, Andy, can’t make it tonight. Can I take a rain check?”
A shadow crossed his face. “Is everything OK? You sound different. Last night, you were—”
“Yes, I know, and thanks for your shoulder. Still, I wouldn’t read too much into that if I were you.”
He dropped forty-five pence on the counter and folded his newspaper into a tube. “I wouldn’t dream of it. Maybe some other time.”
A timid cough came from a customer at the back of the shop. “Excuse me, love, can you give me a hand. I’ve told Ada to put the prunes down lower, but she never listens. We’re not all six feet tall like she is.”
As Jenny handed the cans to the old woman, she heard the lonely jingle of the bell as Andy went out the door.
An hour later, over their third cup of tea that day, Jenny told Ada how surprised she’d been to learn Biddy used to be a midwife.
“Aye, but that was a long time ago,” Ada said. “Biddy was different then. Oh, never very friendly or anything, you understand. Still, Angus Thorne who was our doctor back then, said she was good at her job.”
Jenny kept a politely indifferent look on her face as she pulled an order pad out of her pocket, and pretended to check the assorted brands of tea on the shelf while Ada prattled on about Angus and Gladys Thorne’s stone cottage in the south of France.
“That’s where they are now,” she said, “at least they were until this morning. They’ve gone on a fortnight’s cruise round the Med.” She smiled at Jenny. “Nice work if you can get it.”
“Do they come home much?” Jenny asked.
“They spend about half the year here and the rest in Provence. They’re coming home in about six weeks.” Ada walked to the window and pointed up the brow. “They live in that big white house opposite Andy’s, the one with the weathervane on the roof. Dr. Thorne is Andy’s great uncle.”
“Andy’s great uncle,” Jenny blurted out. “But he never said.” She bit her lip when Ada swung round, eyebrows raised to her hairline.
“Why would he? Does it matter?”
“No. I guess I’m just surprised, that’s all.”
The phone rang and Ada went to answer it. Talk about being saved by the bell. Jenny stood at the window and stared at Dr. Thorne’s house. She felt like a marathon runner with only those last three hundred odd yards to go. This had to be the doctor who had her picture. Ada had said he would be back in the village in six weeks, but that was a long time to wait. Perhaps Jenny could get the phone number for his place in France, or if he had a computer, maybe she could even e-mail him. She had seen a laptop in Andy’s garage, and there was another one in the Hare. She shoved the scratch pad into her apron pocket and stuck the pencil behind her ear. She didn’t need Biddy after all.
By the next evening, Jenny had changed her mind. Dr. Thorne was a thousand miles away on some ship in the middle of the Mediterranean and even ten days seemed a long time. After work she put on her running shoes and jogged toward Glen Ellen. She raised her hand to knock on the kitchen door, and jumped when it was yanked open by Biddy as if she had seen Jenny coming. Jenny forced a friendly smile. “I told Ada I would be jogging up this way and she asked me if I’d check on Sarah. Is it OK if I come in for a few minutes?”
Biddy folded her arms and stood in the center of the doorway. “No it isn’t. And it’s strange Ada didn’t mention you coming. She rang me herself just a couple of minutes ago.”
Jenny stared down at her Reeboks. “I guess she forgot.”
“If that’s all you came for, I’m going back inside.” Biddy made to close
the door. “It’s chilly standing here.”
“So, how is Sarah?” Jenny said, stopping short of sticking her foot in the door. “She doing OK?”
“What do you think? She’s not as daft as she looks. It’s the attention she’s after. Anyway, I’m taking her to Dr. Hall tomorrow for a checkup.”
Biddy lit a cigarette and squinted at Jenny through a swirl of smoke. “Looks as if you’ve trekked all the way up here for nothing.”
“Not for nothing,” Jenny said. “There is something about my being here that’s really bothering you. I don’t understand. You don’t even know me.”
Biddy took a deep drag on her cigarette and blew the smoke out of the side of her mouth. “So, now it comes, the real reason you’re here. You’re no more concerned about Sarah Fitzgerald than I am. She’s just an excuse for you to stop and nose around here isn’t she?”
“Nose around for what? What’s this big secret you’re hiding from me? I’m totally in the dark. I didn’t even know my mother had sent the doctor my picture until the night she—”
“Until the night she what?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It does to me. Is she dead?”
Jenny stared at the vein throbbing in the woman’s neck. “Yes.”
When Biddy let out a long, satisfied sigh, Jenny turned to look at the tree, pretending to be interested in a huge crow perched on one of the dead limbs.
“What are you looking at?” Biddy’s voice was suddenly shrill.
Jenny swung round to face her. “Excuse me?”
“Why were you staring at the tree.” Biddy leaned on every shaky word.
“I wasn’t. Just looking at that crow. Why?”
“None of your business.
Jenny felt a sudden chill at the woman’s bizarre dialogue. “I know you used to be a midwife,” she said, trying to get the conversation back on track. “You tended to my mother didn’t you? Was there some mystery about my birth?”
Without a word, Biddy dropped the cigarette end and ground it into the kitchen tile with her foot.
“Don’t underestimate me,” Jenny said. “I’ll find out and I’m not leaving Stoney Beck until I do.”
“If you hang around here, you’ll be sorry,” Biddy said before she slammed the door in Jenny’s face.
Chapter Nine
Sarah had her cup of tea and two pieces of toast ages ago and was dressed and ready to go. She lifted up the tea cosy and felt the pot. Still warm but it wouldn’t be much longer if Biddy didn’t soon wake up.
The big red and brown bird, its wooden wings flapping, hurled himself out of the clock on the wall and cuckooed ten times before he was yanked back in and the door slammed in his face.
Sarah’s Daddy had bought the clock the last time they’d gone to the Black Forest. It had been her favorite thing in the entire house when Mummy and Daddy had been alive and even now she’d laugh sometimes when the doors flew open and the bird shot out. She sat on the edge of the chair and drummed her fingers on the kitchen table. Dr. Hall was in his surgery for only a couple of hours and if she and Biddy didn’t leave soon, it would be too late. He opened again in the evening, but that was too late for Biddy who never went anywhere after five. She’d been dipping into the mother’s milk again. There’d been all the usual signs last night. At first she’d put the bottle back under the sink after each drink, but later hadn’t seemed to care whether Sarah saw her or not. When Sarah begged her to put the bottle away, Biddy had laughed right in her face then staggered up the stairs, swinging the bottle as she went. Sarah remembered Mummy scolding Biddy for drinking the mother’s milk and for a while she d been more careful. Lately though, she’d gone back to the old ways and drank it any time she felt like it.
Sarah heaved herself out of the chair and held on to the banister as she climbed the stairs. She knocked softly on Biddy’s bedroom door then opened it. The mixed smells of stale cigarettes and mother’s milk filled the room. There lay Biddy sprawled across the bed, the empty bottle on its side on the nightstand, next to her false teeth. A glass lay shattered beside the bed on the hardwood floor. Sarah got the dustpan and brush from under the sink in the bathroom and swept up the glass so Biddy wouldn’t cut her feet. She emptied the overflowing ashtray into the dustpan and blew away the loose ash coating the bedside table.
Gently, she shook Biddy’s shoulder with her free hand. “Wake up, Biddy, wake up. You’ve got to take me to Dr. Hall’s. You promised.”
Biddy grunted and shifted position.
Sarah carried the dustpan downstairs and emptied it in the pedal bin by the sink, then sat at the kitchen table while she wrote a note to Biddy. She used her red pencil and wrote it extra big so Biddy would be sure to see.
Could not wake you so I am going to the doctor’s by myself. I will be back soon. Sarah.
She read it three times to be sure she’d got it right, then after adding two crosses for kisses, she propped it between the salt and pepper shakers. She picked up the beige leather bag that had been her Mother’s favorite, and after one last look around, walked out the kitchen door.
She crossed the lawn to the tree, seeing it as it once was, full of leaves, and remembering the summer days she’d sat with Mummy and Daddy in its shade, drinking lemonade and eating sandwiches. The white bench that encircled the trunk was still there, even though the paint was peeling now and some of the slats were gone. She looked up through the branches thinking of the Christmas Daddy had climbed the ladder for the mistletoe way up at the top, and Mummy had begged him to come down before he got himself killed. He’d hung the mistletoe over the dining room door and surprised Mummy when he’d come from behind. When he’d grabbed her, she’d squealed, until he put his arms round her and gave her a great big kiss. Sarah had laughed so hard she’d almost wet her knickers.
Biddy was afraid of the tree and kept the curtains on the front of the house closed so she couldn’t see it. She never looked at it when she went out. One day when Sarah asked why she did this, Biddy had said the silliest thing. She kept them closed because Sarah’s parents were up in the tree. Sarah said how could they be in the tree when they’d been killed in a wreck in Spain. Biddy wouldn’t listen though and told her she was too stupid to understand.
Sarah gently pushed the swing that still hung from the lowest limb as it had since she was a little girl, then patted the tree one last time before she headed down the drive. When she reached the lane, she stood by the hedge, suddenly unsure. She had never walked all the way to the village alone, never in her whole life. But Dr. Hall had said he wanted to see her and what would he think if she didn’t come. She took a great big breath, looked back at the house just once then set off down Vallhellyn Lane. She swung her arms and sang a little song. Up the airy mountain, Down the rushy glen, We daren’t go a hunting for fear of little men— She stopped singing, suddenly seeing the little men tearing after her. They all wore white coats, and screamed with laughter as they pulled that paddy wagon of theirs behind them. She sang another song her Daddy had taught her. Roll out the barrel, we’ll have a barrel of fun— The song cheered her and made her sad at the same time. She saw again her daddy walking along beside her, laughing down at her in that way he’d had, delighted she’d remembered the words.
Walking and singing at the same time made Sarah breathless and she slowed her pace still more. She knew from the signpost by her house it was three miles to the village and even though it sounded a long way and she’d never done it before, it wasn’t all that far. Not by a normal person’s standards, and hadn’t Jenny done it just yesterday. Sarah would not have known about this because Biddy had not said a word about it, but Sarah had heard the door slam and when she looked out the window, saw Jenny jogging back toward the village.
Sarah leaned against a stile to catch her breath. Almost there now, almost there. She could see the village church just up ahead, and once she reached the Post Office and turned the corner, Dr. Hall’s surgery was just on down Market Street. The d
ay was warm and she felt a slick of sweat trickle down between her breasts. She reached for the hem of her skirt to wipe her sweating face. At the same time she prayed the nausea rising in her throat would go away as it sometimes did and she wouldn’t have to throw up on the side of the road. She stopped in mid-stride and her mouth went dry when she saw four or five village boys walking toward her. They were laughing and nudging each other as they came and she prayed they would keep going and leave her alone.
“What’s daft old Sarah doing out by herself?” one of them wanted to know.
“Does Biddy know you’re out, Sarah?” asked another.
“How’d you like to come in the field and fuck?” asked the biggest boy of all.
Sarah wrapped her arms across her chest. “You shouldn’t say that,” she sputtered. “It’s a very bad word.”
“Aw, don’t be like that, Sarah. C’mon and try it. You might like it.”
They all laughed.
“You’re very naughty boys.” She wagged her finger at them so they wouldn’t see she was frightened. “I’ll tell your mothers, just you see if I don’t.” She tried to raise her voice but the effort made her cough.
The biggest boy pushed her. “Tell your own mother, dopey,” he said, index finger pointed in the direction of the cemetery. “She’s over there in the bone yard. See if she cares now.”
The other boys had become uneasy, Sarah could tell, and one dragged the really naughty boy along with him. “Come on, let’s leave her alone,” another one said. “Can’t you see she’s sick.”
Sarah watched them go until they disappeared round the bend, then she turned and plodded on until she finally reached the Post Office. She leaned hard against the lamppost on the corner. The cool metal against her face eased the ache in her head. On down Market Street she could see Dr. Hall’s shingle hanging outside his house. She walked very slowly now, from garden gate to garden gate, leaning on each one before moving on.
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