Rattlesnake Hill
Page 7
All this seemed to take a long time. When Garth was finally taken away in the shrieking ambulance, Lapsley came over to them.
“Is he—” In her nervousness, Kathryn forgot Alan’s advice to let him do the talking.
“Still alive, but . . .” Lapsley shook his head.
“Thank God! I—we were afraid—” She began to shiver uncontrollably.
Alan put an arm around her. “Why don’t you wait in the car?”
From the car window, she watched them confer. Lapsley shook his head a few more times, circled the pickup with Alan and briefly investigated the area on other side of the road before returning to the Volvo. He not only walked around the car but bent to examine the tires and bumpers. Kathryn knew it was irrational, but she couldn’t help feeling a twinge of guilt, as if they had caused the accident. Finally, Lapsley left and Alan joined her in the car.
“How did it go?”
Alan ran a hand through his hair, mussing the white streak. “He was a bit suspicious. These country cops usually are when it comes to outsiders. It didn’t help that he couldn’t find any trace of the deer that idiot hit. Said he’ll come back to search for the deer in the daylight, and took my contact information in case he has more questions. But I don’t think there’ll be a problem.”
“I hope not.”
“I thought for certain we were going to hit that deer ourselves,” Alan said.
Kathryn shuddered as the image of Garth’s bloody, glass-studded face rose in her mind. She reached for Alan and they hugged each other.
“So did I. Luckily you yanked hard on the steering wheel, and the deer moved out of the way.”
“It did?”
“I think so.”
“It probably just looked that way: when the car turned, the deer seemed to move, too.” Alan sounded skeptical.
“Maybe, but I think the deer was the same one I saw in the woods today.”
“The white stag?”
“Yes. Didn’t you see it?”
“I saw a deer but I couldn’t swear it was white. It could’ve been the effect of the light shining on it.”
Of course, there were rational explanations for what she’d observed. The key chain with the plastic vial and its sliver of bark jangled when Alan stuck the key into the ignition. “Do you still want to go to Great Barrington?”
“No.”
Back at the house, she heated canned soup, and Alan poured glasses of Merlot. They spoke in fits and starts: periods of silence broken by bursts of talk, thoughts exploding into words, as they tried to make sense of the day’s events. Around ten, Alan remembered he’d promised to call Sophie to say good-night. He was disappointed but not overly concerned when no one answered. Sophie was probably asleep, and the housekeeper had turned off the ringer to keep the phone from waking her. At least nothing worse can happen, Kathryn thought when they finally crawled into bed.
*****
In the middle of the night, the ringing phone wrenched them into consciousness. Alan grabbed the handset. “She’s where?” he shouted. “I’ll get there as soon as I can.”
Kathryn shot up in bed and grabbed his arm. “What is it?”
“Sophie—she’s in the hospital with meningitis.” Alan pulled on clothes, and thudded downstairs, untied bootlaces snapping like whips. Kathryn caught up with him at his car. “Shall I come with you?”
“No, I’ll call you.” The door slammed and the Volvo roared down the driveway. She stumbled back into the house. Things were happening too fast, spinning out of control. She needed to stay still and get her bearings. She went upstairs and lay on the bed.
When she awoke again, it was nine a.m. She wished Alan would call, but it might be too early. Poor Sophie. She was a quiet, watchful child with a shock of blonde hair thick as lamb’s wool, and large, staring blue eyes. Kathryn knew Sophie had been deeply hurt by her mother’s desertion, a hurt she understood from her own childhood with only one parent. Still, she wasn’t about to offer herself as a replacement mom. She and Sophie were polite but cautious around each other, both afraid to get too close lest things didn’t work out between Alan and her.
Kathryn had breakfast, then to occupy herself while waiting for Alan’s call, she decided to visit Emily. Now that she’d been to the house and mill sites, surely the old woman would have to answer her questions about the photograph.
Chapter 17
No one answered the door at the small, white house with a wraparound porch and gingerbread trim. The cars parked in front of the meeting house next door told Kathryn Emily was probably at church. She sat on a rickety wicker chair on the porch to wait.
After a while, she glimpsed Emily with Millie by her side, threading her way through the crowd of people streaming from the meeting house doors. Emily wore a green wool coat with a spotted fur collar that looked as if mice had nibbled around the edges. On her head was a bright green hat with green feathers. She reminded Kathryn of an exotic bird.
“You’re back,” Emily said when she saw Kathryn. Millie looked at Kathryn questioningly through dark-circled eyes.
“Emily’s been helping me with my research on the Cutter family,” Kathryn explained. Emily humphed past them into the house.
“Thank you and your friend for acting quickly and calling the ambulance last night,” Millie said. “Garth might’ve died if you hadn’t come on the scene.”
“How is he?”
“In critical condition, but the doctors think he’ll pull through.” Millie pursed her lips. “The strange thing is that although Garth must have hit a deer, Hank Lapsley hasn’t been able to find the dead animal or any traces of a wounded one.”
“That is strange.”
From the house came banging. “I’d better look after her,” Millie said. Emily was in the kitchen, opening and shutting cupboard doors. She’d removed her coat but still had her hat on.
“Where’s my dinner?” Emily’s blue eyes flashed laser-sharp under the green plumage.
“Sis left a casserole in the fridge. I’ll microwave it for you,” Millie answered.
Sis? That stick of a girl, who carried her pregnancy in a high, round knob like a gall on a branch, actually looked after Emily? Maybe it was the only job she could get.
“Why isn’t she here?” Emily grumped.
“She’s at the hospital, remember? Garth had a bad car accident.”
“Garth Barker, that little hellion. He can’t be old enough to drive.”
“He’s thirty-five, Emily.”
Millie helped Emily into a chair at the kitchen table, where a place had been set. She microwaved a piece of tuna noodle casserole and put the plate in front of Emily. “Careful now, it’s going to be hot.”
Disregarding the warning, Emily stuck a finger into the casserole. “Hot!” she cried like a baby.
“Why don’t you start with your Jell-O while it cools?” Millie replaced the casserole plate with a bowl of cubed, lime Jell-O that matched the feathers on Emily’s hat. Kathryn marveled at Millie’s patience.
Emily spooned a Jell-O cube into her mouth. “Where’s Sis?”
“At the hospital,” Millie said without a trace of weariness.
“Is she having her baby?”
“Not yet.”
“When will I see her?”
“Later this afternoon. I can stay with you a while longer, if you like.” Millie stole a glance at her watch, obviously torn between remaining with Emily and returning to the hospital.
“I’ll stay,” Kathryn volunteered.
“That would be a big help. Is it okay with you, Emily?”
“I suppose so,” Emily replied sulkily.
Millie motioned Kathryn to follow her to the door. “I shouldn’t be gone more than an hour or so. Will that be a problem?”
Kathryn hesitated, thinking of the anticipated
call from Alan. If only there were cell reception, she wouldn’t have to worry about missing it. Now, she’d have to wait until she returned to the house to see if he’d left a message on the answering machine.
“If you need to go sooner, Bessie Todd across the street can look in on Emily,”
“All right.”
“You’re a peach.” Millie flashed her a grateful smile.
In the kitchen, Emily held a noodle in front of her open mouth. Her lips made a sucking sound as they closed around it. A fishy odor mingled with the sickly sweet odor of household cleaner. Kathryn’s breakfast rose in her gorge. She swallowed hard. “Did you bring the photograph?” Emily asked suddenly.
Kathryn removed the daguerreotype from its bag and set it on the kitchen table, well away from Emily’s greasy fingers. “I visited the mill ruins and the foundation of the Cutter house like you told me to. Now will you tell me who she is?”
Emily sucked tuna into her mouth. “Did you really go there?”
“Here’s the proof.” Kathryn showed her the pictures on her digital camera.
“Haven’t changed much,” Emily commented.
“When were you last there?”
“Several years ago, with Diana. She was very interested in the past, wanted me to show her all the old places. And once she knew the way—oh dear, I wish I’d never . . .” A troubled look came over Emily’s face.
“What’s the matter?”
“Why doesn’t Sis come?” Emily’s voice rose plaintively.
“She’ll be with you later. I’m here now.”
“You?” Emily stared blankly at Kathryn.
“Kathryn Stinson. The Cutters were my ancestors. I’m trying to find out who she was.” Kathryn pointed at the portrait.
“You want to know about Marguerite?”
Marguerite. Finally! And a lovely name for a lovely young woman. Flushed with success, Kathryn pressed on. “Tell me about her.”
“I’ve already told you everything I know,” Emily replied crossly. “It’s on the tapes.”
“You told Diana, not me. And the tapes are missing. Do you know where they are?”
“Don’t you have them?”
Kathryn wanted to throw up her hands and scream. Instead, with Millie’s forbearance, she began, “Emily—”
“Hush. Finish your dinner, then it’s nap time,” Emily said in a high, girlish voice like Sis’s.
Kathryn made two more attempts to find out about Marguerite. The first time, Emily acted as if she didn’t hear Kathryn. The second time, a noodle caught in Emily’s throat. She coughed and whitish matter splattered down the front of her dress like droppings from the parrot perched on her head. Kathryn’s stomach turned. She’d never be able to look at a tuna noodle casserole again.
Emily stared at the mess, her blue eyes wide with surprise, then stricken with shame. The next moment, shame gave way to feistiness. “You forgot my bib. Over there on the counter.”
Kathryn dabbed at the front of Emily’s dress with a moist towel then attached the bib, a striped dish towel with safety pins, careful not to stick Emily. She stopped trying to find out about Marguerite and let Emily eat. Emily used a spoon for the Jell-O, her fingers for the casserole, slowly bringing each morsel to her mouth, slowly gumming it. Her tongue clicked against her palate. The ancient electric clock on the wall whirred away the seconds, minutes, hours, days, years, or so Kathryn imagined. She would grow old trying to learn the truth about Marguerite. She was growing old just watching Emily eat.
“All done!” Emily proclaimed with childish pride when her bowl and plate were finally empty.
“Ready for your nap?” Kathryn didn’t know about Emily, but she was exhausted from her mealtime vigil. She helped Emily into the bedroom and onto the bed, propping up pillows behind her and spreading a quilt over her legs. Emily still had her hat on, so Kathryn removed it. Stripped of her brilliant plumage with her hair crushed against her skull, Emily looked more shriveled and ancient than ever. Still, life burned in her blue eyes and crackled in her voice. “Where’s Marguerite?”
“On the kitchen table.”
“Well, bring her in here and put her on the dresser where I can see her.”
Kathryn retrieved the photograph and positioned it on the dresser. Emily frowned. “Next to him,” she ordered. Seeing Kathryn’s look of incomprehension, Emily pointed at a gold medal in a domed glass case.
When Marguerite and the medal were side by side, Emily turned to Kathryn. “I’m so glad you’re here,” she said in a faint, watery voice. Then her face opened into one of the most beautiful smiles Kathryn had ever seen. It was like a burst of sunshine after days of gray drizzle, a sudden blessing that made her forget her earlier annoyance. She wanted to bask in the warmth of that smile forever. Gradually the light faded from Emily’s eyes, her smile lines vanished, and her features became indistinct shapes, over which the flesh was loosely draped like sheets over furniture in a house closed for the season.
Kathryn tiptoed from the room. She washed Emily’s dishes and put them in the drainer, wiped off the kitchen table, and swept the crumbs from the floor. It was quiet except for the whir of the electric clock. One-thirty. She hoped Millie wouldn’t be gone much longer. She went into the living room and sat in an overstuffed armchair with faded red brocade upholstery and yellowed crocheted coverings—antimacassars, she thought they were called. An old-fashioned word like the room itself, which was more parlor than living room with its drawn curtains and heavy dark furniture.
Framed family photographs covered the table top next to her. One showed a solemn-faced Emily in a wedding dress; another, a man, equally solemn-faced, wearing a suit and bow tie, presumably Emily’s husband. There were pictures of two girls at various ages, then grown-up with grandchildren. Finally, there was a color photo of Emily and a much younger woman, who must be Diana, standing in front of the Farley house. Diana was beautiful, with long, raven-black hair, a porcelain complexion, blue eyes, and a radiant smile. She had her arm around Emily, who beamed with pleasure.
After a while, Kathryn got up and wandered into a small adjoining room that served as both sewing nook and study. On one side stood an ancient Singer sewing machine, on the other, a narrow desk with a typewriter under a cloth cover with the embroidered motto: “The pen is mightier than the sword.” Slipping off the cover, Kathryn tapped the letter “k” idly. The key still stuck as it had in Emily’s letters to her Aunt Kit.
She glanced at her watch. Almost two p.m. Millie should be back soon and then she could leave. First, she’d look in on Emily.
The old woman lay on the bed, a skeleton in a green dress, her skin a grayish white like old wax, her mouth a gaping black hole. The only sign of life was the wheeze-whistle of air passing in and out of her nose. Kathryn wanted to shut the door on this vision of an old woman edging toward death. But something held her there. The afterglow of that beauteous smile bestowed on her like a benediction? Or a fear that if she left, Emily’s spirit would slip from her body and drift away, as if her presence were the anchor that kept Emily moored to the world?
“I’m so glad you’re here,” Emily had said. Had she meant Kathryn personally, or had she momentarily mistaken her for Sis or even Diana? Did it matter? Kathryn couldn’t imagine her own grandmother saying she was glad Kathryn was there, as death approached. And her grandmother had certainly never smiled at Kathryn the way Emily just had. Aunt Kit might have done so, if only she had been with her at the end. Regret tore at Kathryn.
On the dresser top Marguerite smiled her wistful smile, almost as if she understood what Kathryn was feeling. Why had Emily wanted the photograph next to the medal? Kathryn was about to return it to her tote when Emily moaned in her sleep. She held her breath, feeling like a thief. Ridiculous; the photograph belonged to her. Still, she waited until she’d counted ten wheeze-whistles before depositing it in her bag.
*****
Voices roused her. “Kathryn?” A doorknob clicked. Millie entered the room, trailed by Sis.
Emily’s eyes popped open. “Is that you, Sis?” Millie nudged Sis forward. Emily smiled happily. “Have you had your baby?”
“No.” Sis’s face contorted; she began to whimper.
“What’s the matter, dear?” Emily asked gently.
“Garth’s gone blind.”
Millie slipped an arm around Sis. “That’s not quite true. The doctor said Garth will lose the sight in his right eye, but with surgery he thinks at least some vision in other eye can be restored.”
“Yeah, but he ain’t making no promises the operation’ll work. And who’s gonna pay for it? Garth ain’t never gonna see his baby.”
His baby. That was a surprise, though it explained certain things. Like the tension between Cheryl and Sis when she’d come upon them in the road. Also possibly Garth’s angry response to her at The White Stag. He might have been afraid that she, an outsider and therefore suspect, would find out he’d knocked up his sister-in-law and make trouble somehow. Not that she would have. Nevertheless, Millie shot her a cautionary look, as if to deflect an expression of shock on her part. Millie needn’t have worried. Kathryn’s surprise gave way to sympathy when Sis collapsed, sobbing, onto the bed beside Emily, who offered these strange words of comfort: “Don’t worry, child, Aurelia will take care of your baby, too.”
*****
No message from Alan awaited Kathryn at the Farley house. She stared disconsolately at the zero on the answering machine. Zero. Zip. Nothing. Nada. The phone rang.
“Alan, thank God! How is she?”