Domino

by Whitney, Phyllis A. ;

  “If this were my house, how I’d love to do it over,” Gail said. “It could be made modern and much more comfortable, but of course Mrs. Morgan won’t hear of anyone touching it.”

  I checked an impulse to exclaim in dismay over this woman’s idea of change, and bent to my dog. “Stay, Red. Be quiet now.” Then I looked up at the nurse. “When will I meet my grandmother?”

  “She’s impatient to see you. So it can be as soon as you’ve had time to settle into your room and refresh yourself from the trip.”

  “How is she? Mr. Hawes said—”

  The nurse, who appeared to be more than a nurse, just as Jon Maddocks was more than a ranch hand, shook her head. “She’s still holding on. Perhaps because she’s waiting to see what you are like.”

  Her words were far from reassuring. I didn’t want anyone’s life hanging by a thread connected to me, and I hoped she was exaggerating.

  When Jon appeared in the hall with my suitcase and carryall and Caleb looked into the parlor, I felt only relief. Gail Cullen made me more than a little uneasy.

  “Hello, Caleb,” she said. “Miss Morgan is tired from her trip. Perhaps you can take her bags up now?”

  Caleb regarded her coolly, and I sensed his instant and probably justified resentment. “Jon will take them up. But I’m not sure about a dog in the house.”

  Jon moved toward the stairs with my bags. “The dog can stay with me,” he said as he started up.

  I followed him, and both Caleb and Gail Cullen came after me. On the second floor Gail moved ahead of us. The hall above was dark, but she moved with a sure step toward the back. As she opened a door, light cut through the gloom and I was aware of a second flight of stairs, equally narrow and forbidding, mounting into more darkness above. The upper floor seemed utterly still, as though someone up there held her breath, listening. I shook off the notion. I mustn’t be influenced by Gail’s words about the house being spooky.

  Jon set my bags down just inside the open door and turned to me, ignoring the other two.

  “Red will be fine down at my place,” he said. “Dogs usually like me.”

  Which meant that he liked dogs. I thanked him, and he gave me a strange, long look before he turned away and ran lightly down the stairs to where Red awaited him eagerly at the foot. It was a look I had no way to read, though I felt that it asked something of me.

  “I thought you might like a view,” Gail said, crossing the room to pull up a plain green shade. The view she offered drew me at once, and I went to the window.

  This time recognition struck me like a blow that I had no chance to avoid. The vista was of an open valley in which the buildings and fences of my grandmother’s ranch formed a nearby cluster on the right.

  Ahead a high mountain meadow stretched away, with elevations rising on either side—gentle slopes thickly wooded with aspen and pine that might do very well for skiing. But it was the peak at the far end of the valley that arrested and held my attention.

  It was like nothing else nearby, but stood alone, a single cone rising high enough so that its top caught the last full sunlight, though its lower slopes were lost in shadow. A perfect cone with a bare, rocky head that pierced the bluest sky I had ever seen. I knew about Colorado skies. Somehow I knew. And I knew they could cloud over in the afternoon, though now this peak stood clear at its top, with the sky that pure, deep cornflower above and behind it.

  “I know that mountain,” I said softly. “It means something to me, but I’m not sure I remember what.”

  Behind me Gail was laughing as though I’d said something funny, but Caleb came to stand beside me at the window.

  “That’s where Malcolm Tremayne and Tyler Morgan struck silver,” he told me. “It’s up there that the mine was located. That’s Old Desolate.”

  V

  The name was part of my childhood, but not entirely a hurtful part. One of those strange flashes went through me and was instantly gone: a child with her hand in that of a tall, kindly man as they climbed the trail up Old Desolate. Not the boy I sometimes dreamed of—this memory was of a grown man.

  “I’ve been there,” I said. “I know I’ve climbed that mountain.”

  “More likely you went up on your pony.” Gail spoke behind me. “Your grandmother says you had one when you visited here. Suppose we leave you to get settled now. The bath is two doors down the hall.”

  Caleb remained at the door. “I’ll come for you in half an hour, Miss Morgan. Then I can take you to your grandmother.”

  I nodded, aware that the two of them still hesitated, watching me. Perhaps they could see that something had left me faintly dazed.

  “Are you all right, Miss Morgan?” Caleb asked again.

  “I’m fine,” I said quickly. “Thank you for meeting us in Denver.”

  Gail Cullen, poised to leave, turned back, her attention caught. “Us?”

  “A friend has come with me,” I explained. “An actor from New York—Hillary Lange. He’s staying at the Timberline for now.”

  “The Timberline—well!” Gail said. “That may upset your grandmother. Why didn’t you bring him here?”

  Again I wondered how she dared to be so forward.

  “I suggested that we tell Mrs. Morgan about him first,” Caleb said, still cool, and I sensed the antagonism between these two. “However, I doubt that Mrs. Morgan will want Mr. Lange to stay permanently in the enemy camp. Not that I feel Mark Ingram is an enemy. He’s being a benefactor to Jasper, God knows.”

  I thrust back a growing feeling of irritation with them both and looked out toward the mountain. “Was there a town over there—a town named Domino?”

  “It’s hardly a town anymore,” Caleb said. “It was never much more than a small mining camp on the far side of Old Desolate, below the mine. There’s not much left of it now.”

  Both the mountain and the thought of a town almost gone drew me. “I’d like to visit Domino,” I said.

  “That’s not a good idea.” Caleb spoke firmly. “The whole place is rotting and dangerous. The mine especially.”

  “Except that house in Domino where Malcolm Tremayne took Sissy as his bride,” Gail countered. “If I have to listen to that story one more time, I’ll go up the wall. But Caleb, I don’t see why I can’t take Miss Morgan over there if she can ride a horse. I can keep her out of trouble. The place fascinates me too.”

  Behind the cold shield of reserve Caleb Hawes wore, there seemed to burn a suppressed anger.

  “I’ll be back for you in half an hour,” he told me, and went away.

  Gail laughed softly. “Oh dear, I do get under his skin. He wants so much to take charge, and no one ever lets him. I’ll see you later. Let me know if you need anything.”

  When I was alone, I stood by the window for a moment longer, wondering about these two. Caleb Hawes, I was beginning to feel, was a conserver of secrets, while Gail appeared to be stepping far beyond her duties as a nurse. There was something altogether wrong here, though I probably wouldn’t stay long enough to find out what it was.

  Now I must get ready for the meeting with Persis Morgan. First, however, I moved about, examining the room. It was spacious and informal, with rag rugs on the floor, a patchwork quilt covering the walnut four-poster bed, a small dressing table with a ruffled flounce, and several comfortable chairs, one of them a rocker. A round marble-topped table offered a few worn and shabby books, and there was a huge mahogany armoire for my clothes, in lieu of a closet.

  I had stepped into a world that was closer to the past than to the New York I had flown out of this morning. The sharp change left me feeling a little disoriented, as though I couldn’t be quite sure of who I was in this mountain setting.

  Quickly I began to unpack. I hadn’t brought much with me. Just assorted slacks and jeans, blouses and sweaters, with one short dress and one long, in case I needed to dress up, which seemed unlikely.

  When my clothes were on hangers in the armoire, I went down the hall for a shower in an old-f
ashioned bathroom with cracked linoleum on the floor and fixtures that were wearing down to the brass. Back in my room I put on navy slacks, a pink blouse with a dark blue vest over it, and brushed out my hair, repinning it on top of my head with blond tortoiseshell combs. At least I looked familiar in the mirror.

  Nevertheless, I still felt uncertain about what might await me upstairs. The brief, almost psychical encounter I had experienced outside had shaken me. I wasn’t ready to think of her as my grandmother, yet she was my father’s mother, and she was the one who must tell me what I had come here to learn. I might turn away from letting anyone else speak the words, and tell myself that I need take only one step at a time. But now I had taken all the steps, and the time for the truth was almost upon me.

  When Caleb tapped on my door, I was outwardly ready. Inwardly my heart had begun to thump and my palms were damp. It did no good to tell myself that whatever had occurred when I was a child had no real power to affect me now, and that once the amnesia cleared I would have the strength to face whatever must be faced. I knew better.

  Drawing a deep breath, I opened the door for Caleb.

  Had I noticed before how thoroughly forbidding he could seem? Those creases down his cheeks gave him a harsh, unrelenting look, and I wondered if he ever smiled. Certainly he was not a man who was happy with his world, and I wondered why. Gail’s flip words about his wanting to take charge didn’t seem to be a full answer.

  “Mrs. Morgan wants to see you at once,” he told me.

  “I’m ready,” I said. “I think I’m ready.” He started away from me and I added, “Wait, please,” and he turned back.

  I had surprised myself a little with my sudden appeal, and knew I was trying to mark time.

  “Is there anything I should know before I see her?” I asked. “I feel so—so unprepared.”

  “You shouldn’t have come. But since you are here, you must see her and then take your leave as quickly as you can. I mean you must leave Jasper. Your presence can do nothing but disturb her. You aren’t needed here.”

  Strangely, his open opposition braced me a little, and I went ahead of him toward the stairs, walking briskly.

  On the top floor a narrowness of hallways again prevailed. Sissy and Malcolm had bothered little with such furbelows as gracious hall and stair space, but they had built generous rooms. A single light burned above the stairwell, and the rest of the hall stretched into shadow, with closed doors on either hand.

  “Does she stay up here all the time?” I asked, pausing at the top of the stairs.

  “These have become her royal chambers.” He seemed openly sardonic. “Of course that wasn’t the case in the past. Her rooms were below, and those long legs of hers took her all over the house—and the ranch. She used to ride the mountains as well as anyone I ever knew. I can remember her when she was strong and active, and believe me, she ruled Jasper when there was something here to rule.” The sardonic note was gone as he remembered the woman Persis Morgan had been.

  When I still hesitated, he spoke impatiently, as though I, too, had turned into someone he remembered—a child.

  “Go on, Laurie. She’s waiting for you. Your grandmother’s room is at the front of the house.”

  Reluctantly I moved to the door. Caleb stood beside me, his knuckles raised to the wood. A voice so faint I could scarcely hear it answered from beyond, and Gail Cullen came to open the door, her white uniform a patch of light in the gloom.

  I stood on the threshold of a room that was large and dim. Floor-to-ceiling windows ran along the far side and around one corner, filtering in what little daylight was left. The old woman had returned to a bed that stood half concealed behind the door.

  When Gail moved ahead to lead us in, the view of Jasper the room commanded assaulted me from the windows. A view that was nearly overpowering. The house looked straight down Main Street and took in the upper and lower streets as well, where lights were already coming on. Above, the mountains crowded in, looming dark against the sky, clear to the high pass through which we had come earlier this afternoon. Only their crests were still etched in a shimmer of gold, the massive slopes turned dull gray in the fading light.

  I could understand that Persis Morgan might prefer this room to any other in the house. If she couldn’t move around easily anymore, then such a view might lift her spirits.

  “No lights, Gail?” Caleb asked curtly, and the nurse raised her shoulder in a shrug, gesturing toward the bed.

  “You know I don’t like to be looked at, but turn on the lights if you must!” The voice from the bed quivered with impatience. “And you can leave us, Gail. I’ll ring if I want anything.”

  Gail Cullen bent over the bed for a moment, smoothing the coverlet, then slipped softly past us out the door. I wondered if it was only fancy that she looked at me slyly again, seeming to know so much more than I knew.

  Caleb touched a switch and led me toward the bed. “Mrs. Morgan”—he spoke formally, as though he addressed royalty—“this is your granddaughter, Laurie. As she told us in her letters, she prefers the name Morgan to Waldron.”

  A faint sucking in of breath reached me from the woman in the bed, but she said nothing, and even in lamplight little of her was visible. The bed was wide and plain—a four-poster of dark wood, with no canopy, and the woman lay beneath quilts on this warm day, with only her head visible, propped against a huge pillow. Gray hair framed her face, drawn from a center part into two long braids that lay upon the quilt. Her face was pale and cross-hatched with lines. Strong lines, I thought. The face of a woman who had known life and probably lived it to the hilt, even though she might now be approaching death. Slight movement beneath the covers brought forth a long-fingered, bony hand that she held out to me.

  “Come here, Laurie Morgan.”

  I went to her hesitantly, wanting to feel no pity. I wanted to think of her only as a stranger. But her hand was there, held out to me and quivering slightly. I took it and felt the cold shape of her bones in my own warm fingers. The touch repelled me.

  “Go away, Caleb,” said the voice from the bed, speaking more strongly now.

  He had no choice but to obey the command, and I didn’t look around as he went quietly from the room.

  In the lamplight the old woman’s eyes had seemed mere slits, set deep in shadowed sockets, the lids drooping with age at the outer corners. Eyes in a death’s-head, I thought. But now she opened them widely, and I was startled by the dark, snapping life that looked out at me. Above them, in accent, thick brows had resisted the graying and were still dark.

  She drew her hand from mine and pointed. “On the table over there—that framed picture. Bring it to me.”

  I turned to look about the room, seeking a distraction that would calm me, enable me to get through this interview. I hadn’t forgotten my purpose in coming to this room, but something traitorous in me was once more eager to postpone the answers that I sought.

  The furnishings were good. Again American Chippendale and Hepplewhite—perhaps brought long ago over the plains from the East. The carpet looked like an Aubusson, with faded tapestry roses against a deeper red. On the round walnut table to which she directed me stood a gilt-framed picture, and I picked it up. A young woman’s face, aureoled with bright gold hair—the likeness tinted—looked out at me, smiling. The photograph was old, and it had been made long before color photography.

  “Do you recognize her?” the voice from the bed demanded.

  I knew what she meant, and I stared in fascination. It was my own face that looked back at me. The same nose, the lips shaped into a smile in the picture, the curly fair hair that wanted to tumble in ringlets and that she, too, had worn pinned on top of her head.

  “It’s uncanny,” my grandmother said. “That is the first Persis—my mother, Sissy Tremayne. I didn’t resemble her. I was dark like my father, and I was never soft and round like Sissy. But you look like her. Except that she was small. You have her fine bones, but you’re tall—with my long le
gs. Well? What do you think?”

  I had no idea what I thought. I had no feeling in me except one of confusion and dread.

  “Never mind,” she said. “Put it away, and come here and sit down.”

  Clearly it was natural for her to speak in commands. When I’d returned the picture to the table, I drew up a chair beside the bed. I had nothing to say to this woman, I had only questions to ask. She had summoned me and she would have to talk. But for the moment all I wanted was to conceal from her how badly this meeting had shaken me. She mustn’t suspect this mindless quivering that went on inside me.

  “I thought I could never bear to look at you again,” she said. “But I have nowhere else to turn. I have an enemy out there. You must help me to defeat him.”

  Various retorts came to mind, but I could make none of them in the face of this old woman’s weakness. Only her amazing eyes seemed fully alive. In a sense I could understand why she spoke in commands. She had no strength to waste on amenities. Perhaps she had never bothered with them anyway.

  “Caleb says you’ve forgotten what happened in this house. Is that true?”

  Somehow I managed to speak. “I can remember coming here when I was small. I can remember the house a little. But everything else has been lost in an amnesia I suffered when I was ill. I didn’t want to come here now because I’ve been afraid of remembering.”

  “It’s better not to remember. Let it go. We’ll both start from this moment. It’s all I have, anyway.”

  This was the time. This very moment was the time, and I could allow myself no further delay. I gathered my last shreds of courage and spoke to her directly.

  “That won’t do. Letting it go, I mean. I don’t want to endure the rest of my life with something I’m afraid of buried in the past. I have to know. No matter what it is, I have to know.”

  Before my eyes she seemed to shrink still more into herself. “I’ll tell you nothing. You don’t know how lucky you are not to remember. I only wish I could forget.”