The Winter People

by Whitney, Phyllis A. ;

  He turned his head to stare at me, questioning, and I stared back, knowing that we were thinking the same thing. There was only one person who might place a trap here on purpose—with me as the intended victim. For an instant I was back in Glynis’s room with a green glass ball hurtling toward my face. The thing was too dreadful to contemplate.

  “Oh, no!” I cried. “It can’t be—”

  “Oh, yes, it can be!” He was still wrathful. “Malicious injury was intended here. Come along, if you can manage. We’re going up to the house.”

  He pulled me through the difficult places, swung me over a fallen log, and once when the hillside grew rough and difficult, he lifted me in his arms and carried me to the higher level where walking was easier. I resisted the pain, held onto him, pretending for a little while that memory was real and I had an old friend.

  When we reached the house I tried to thank him, not wanting him to go in, wanting to escape, afraid he would make everything worse. But he was not the sort to listen when his mind was made up.

  “I’ll come in with you,” he told me, and we climbed the steps together.

  He knew the house well, knew the door would be unlocked. As he swung it open voices from the drawing room reached us and Jezebel hurled herself past as though she could not bear to linger in the hallway.

  Trent took my hand and squeezed it lightly. “Don’t worry—I’ll handle this.”

  The drawing-room door opened at his touch. He thrust me ahead of him into the warmth of firelight, where Colton Chandler and his family were having their afternoon tea. I stood near the door, with one leg of my slacks rolled up and Trent’s stained handkerchief in view, waiting while four faces turned in our direction.

  7

  Colton sat upon a sofa of royal purple, Sèvres cup in hand. Nomi was in her turquoise chair, pouring for Glen, who stood beside her. Glynis was there too, tall and slim in fawn-colored trousers as she stood before the painting her father had done of herself and her brother when they were young.

  All four stared as I hobbled into the room. Nomi set her teapot carefully on the coffee table, and Glen put down the cup she had handed him.

  Colton was the first to speak. “Good afternoon, Trent. I’ve wondered when I’d see you. What has happened to Dina’s foot?”

  Glynis swung away from the picture and came to stand beside her father, arms akimbo on her hips, her dark eyes bright with malice.

  “Obviously there’s been an accident,” she said.

  Trent glanced at her briefly, but he spoke to Colton. “It was not an accident. A trap was set for her on the shore path. It was hidden in a pile of dead leaves, so that only the merest chance saved her from being, injured when it snapped shut.”

  Almost imperceptibly something was happening in the room. Glynis was already at her father’s side, and Glen stood just beyond her. The three Chandlers were drawing together, forming a guard against all outsiders, erecting a wall to protect their own. They might quarrel among themselves, these three, but they were a clan when it came to the rest of the world.

  “What do you mean—set for her?” Colton challenged.

  Nomi made a stifled sound as though she thrust back indignation.

  Trent looked at her. “You’re right, Nomi. Keith wouldn’t have set it there. But I think we know who did.”

  Glynis gave her father’s arm a slight pat and came toward Trent. It was not I who interested her now. A flush tinted her cheeks, and she challenged Trent’s gaze with her own.

  “Dina has a talent for finding knights errant, hasn’t she? Fancy your coming upon her in the woods in time to rescue her and bring her home!”

  “You got the trap from Keith,” Trent accused. “You set it on that path yourself.”

  “Oh, come off it!” Glen broke in. “We know you resent the Chandlers, but this sort of wild claim—”

  “Your wife could be in the hospital with a broken foot,” Trent snapped. “I suggest that you take better care of her after this.”

  He touched me lightly on the elbow and for an instant his eyes softened. “Bernardina,” he said. I did not want his pity and I was afraid I might cry. As he let himself out of the drawing room and out of the house, I had the feeling that I had lost everything that might protect me against the Chandler clan.

  Glen put an arm about my shoulders, lowered me gently into a chair, and knelt to examine my ankle.

  “It’s not a hospital matter, Dina. An abrasion; I would think, perhaps a bruise.”

  I felt impatient, a little angry as I had not been before. “Of course it’s not a hospital matter! Trent only said that it might have been. The trap grazed me when it snapped shut on a branch I poked it with.”

  “And why should you go poking at a trap?” Glynis asked.

  I met her look, and if there had been any doubt left in me, it was gone. She was baiting me now, just as she had baited the trap with that empty pop bottle which any stroller would retrieve to dispose of. Though no one strolled down there but me. First the witch ball in sudden anger. Then the trap, with more calculated intent.

  “Your sister wants to be rid of me,” I said to Glen.

  Again there was that sense of the Chandler tribe drawing together for mutual support against so foolish an outburst.

  “If you don’t mind,” Colton said, ignoring my words, “I think we might continue what we were discussing when we were interrupted.”

  He could be as cold as his daughter, I realized. And Glen had already forgotten me at his father’s words. “Yes,” he said, “I’m all for the showing right away. I’m ready.”

  “But I’m not!” Glynis said. “I’m not satisfied with my sketches of Keith. I’ve tried crayon and watercolor, and I’ve half finished an oil, as well as doing half a dozen pencil sketches, and I’m not satisfied.”

  “Then this is a good time for me to see what you’ve done,” Colton said. “I’m driving to New York early tomorrow to take in my pictures, and I’ll be gone a day or two. So this afternoon we’ll have one of our showings—just as we used to do. Have I been your tutor most of your lives, or have I not?”

  Glynis looked sulky, but Glen turned to me in delight. “Come up to the attic, darling. There’s a bit more I want to do before Colton is ready for us. Your foot won’t bother you on the stairs, will it?”

  Through all this Nomi had sat quietly by the fire, but now she rose and pushed Glen away, a small, determined figure, with her coronet braids giving her height. “How inconsiderate can you be? Come with me, Dina. And remember what I told you. No Chandler ever really sees anything except other Chandlers. You should hear the uproar if one of them gets hurt. Come out to the kitchen and I’ll get bandages and warm water to fix up your ankle. She’s not climbing stairs right now, Glen. I won’t have it.”

  But in the end I climbed the stairs after all. When my ankle had been bathed and Nomi had finished her more expert bandaging, my foot felt a great deal better. It would probably be bruised and swollen for a day or two, but it didn’t hurt me very much now, and I was already righting myself psychologically. From now on I must be on guard against Glynis, because I would clearly have little help from Glen. However, if he wanted me upstairs, then I must go. Nomi had explained to me while she bandaged my foot what was meant by a “showing.”

  When the twins were young and still learning to paint, their father had allowed them to be secretive about their work to a certain extent. Neither one was allowed to interrupt, or criticize, or even praise the other’s work up to a point. But there was a time when the project was well launched and Colton would call what he termed a showing. He would even submit his own work in progress to the scrutiny of his children, and he would expect from them the critical eye of the professional in judging it.

  “It was his way of keeping control over everything they did,” Nomi said. “Though I’ll give him credit for not interfering or putting his own tastes to the fore. He recognizes what is good, even if it’s not to his personal liking. But he won’t suffer
the mediocre without chastisement, so the twins are a bit afraid of this sort of ordeal. Of course he hasn’t been able to inflict it on them for some time.”

  It was hard for me to think about sculpture and painting at the moment. “What do you think about the trap down on the shore path?” I asked her.

  She wrapped adhesive about the gauze to hold it in place, and did not meet my eyes. It was as it had been when Glynis had flung the witch ball at me—she would not talk. I wondered why she was afraid of becoming involved, of taking sides, when ordinarily she spoke her mind freely enough.

  “They didn’t really care about the trap,” I mused in wonderment. “I don’t think either Glen or Colton cared whether Glynis put it there to harm me, once they knew there was no serious damage.”

  “They’re realists. You weren’t badly hurt, so they went on to other matters. If anyone did set the trap on purpose, they won’t admit it, so they’ll waste no time on that. It’s lucky for you Trent McIntyre came along and helped you home.”

  “He’s been kind to me more than once,” I said. “Even though I’m a Chandler.”

  Nomi snorted. “You’re no Chandler, and never will be.

  Any more than Elizabeth was. Or I will ever be. That’s a good thing to remember. It will keep you from counting on protection from one of them against the others. They close forces, you know. You saw it today.”

  “It’s not a serious hurt,” I reminded her. “If it had been, Glen would have been more upset.”

  “I’m sure of that,” she agreed. “If your foot had been broken he’d have his best model in the hospital by now. And he’d not enjoy that.”

  I drew away from her hands, forced my suede shoe over the bandaged foot and buckled it loosely. “That was an unkind thing to say. I don’t think it’s true.”

  For the first time I saw something soft in her face—something gentle that wavered toward tears and old pain. She patted me lightly on the cheek.

  “I know, child. My tongue’s had too much use as a knife and a prod. Don’t let the same thing happen to you.”

  “I’m going to the attic,” I told her. “I don’t use that sort of knife. I want to help Glen, and I can make the stairs now.”

  He was there, working on the alabaster while he waited. His eyes lighted at the sight of me.

  “How are you feeling, darling? Nomi loves to nurse us and boss us around when anything’s wrong. I’m glad you let her.”

  I had nothing to say to that. I wanted to ask him what he really thought of the trap, but this was not the time, so I went to my chair on the dais and Glen turned me for the angle he wanted. When Glynis and her father climbed the stairs, Glen was working with a gouge and a mallet. Glynis did not glance in our direction, but went to her own studio area. Colton stood in the middle of the attic in neutral ground and boomed out his pronouncements. I could see him from where I sat. He looked a great, handsome figure of a man with his mane of silvery hair and his strong face, with scarcely a wrinkle in it.

  “The weather report promises heavy snow moving in from the west,” he said. “It will be here by evening, so I’m going to New York today. By tomorrow we may be snowed in. As soon as we’re done here, Glen, you can help me move the pictures down to my car. But first we’ll all have a look at what you two have been working on. Come along, Glen, Dina—we’ll see Glynis’s work first.”

  I think Glynis was unwilling. She still wore her sullen look, and she made no move to bring out her work and set it on her easel until her father told her to do so. Then she placed her efforts for us to see, one by one, and I was puzzled by the sketches and paintings she presented.

  Apparently she had approached Keith as a subject in various ways, but despite her talent nothing she touched had truly come to life. In the watercolor he stood against a tree in the woods much as I had seen him when he waited for her the day of her arrival. The butt of his rifle rested on the ground, and he held the barrel in his right hand. The face caught Keith’s likeness, but somehow it was wrong.

  “No life to it,” Colton said, and turned to his son for confirmation.

  Glen looked at his sister unhappily. “I’m afraid it’s true, Glynis. This isn’t up to you.”

  She showed us the oil. This time the boy stood on the path along the shore, grasping a rabbit by the ears in one hand, the gun in the other. The detail was meticulous, and it looked rather a pretty picture but—she had left the face blank, after working it over several times.

  “Your landscape things are better,” Glen said. “Perhaps you’re too fond of the boy to paint him in your own way. You know you like to see through humanity when you paint. There’s always something wicked about what you do. This is bland, flavorless.”

  Glynis picked up a paint brush and broke it in two.

  “None of that!” Colton said sharply. “You’ve been spoiled, my dear. We’ve always praised you to the skies—and justifiably—but every artist has his off periods when things won’t come right. This is obviously one of yours. I suggest more action to what you’re doing. Both the water color and the oil are static. For you that won’t do. You’re a creature who moves, my dear. You prowl—you don’t stand still—and your work should move.”

  “You could show Keith skinning that rabbit,” Glen said dryly. “I’m sure the boy will oblige if you want.”

  Glynis wrinkled her nose. “I can’t bear the butchering sort of thing. I don’t like skinned animals.”

  “No,” Glen said, “you like them better shot or trapped.”

  It was the first time he had alluded to the trap. Glynis removed her efforts from the easel and tore them up one by one. Her father gave her a look of distaste and crossed to Glen’s side. Almost protectively, Glen moved toward the alabaster head, and I knew that he dreaded his father’s criticism, his possible derision. He was far more accustomed to harsh judgments than Glynis was, but this piece meant much to him, and I was as fearful as Glen, lest his father quench the spirit that had charged him creatively ever since we’d come to Gray Rocks Lake.

  We need not have worried. Colton knew excellence when he saw it. He walked around the head, his eyes shining, his face alight. He examined it from every angle, and I found that now I could look at it too. I had been so afraid for Glen, so terrified lest his high hopes should come to nothing. But now I could see what a splendid thing he had done.

  Nevertheless, I could not visualize it as part of me. It was as if I’d had nothing to do with this creation, sitting there in my chair posing for him. The face was mine, and it was not mine. The head was shown with the chin lifted in an eager acceptance of transformation to flesh by this creature of ice. He had used a cut-off lower than the throat. One bare shoulder just emerged from icy alabaster, and that too was slightly lifted—as though the imprisoned dryad sprang upward and outward, freeing herself of the cold substance that held her. There was life in the face—a pure, cold life that was somehow untouched by humanity. A face beautiful and pure because life had not yet reached it. Surely it was not my face. Not even a child could be as coldly innocent as this—if what was there was really innocence.

  Stone still encased the left shoulder, and I knew Glen meant to leave it that way. Stone held the left side partway up the throat, before all the rest emerged. A few strands of hair rested upon the visible right shoulder, as though touched by a breeze, and the fall of hair over the head and down the back seemed amazingly alive for stone. Much of the piece was uncompleted, but what was there was good.

  “Of course it’s not finished,” Glen said hurriedly. “There’s more to be done on the detail of the face, the entire head. And I’m still trying to get the hair to come right. Like Dina’s.”

  Colton stilled his booming, almost as if he spoke in awe. “It’s remarkable. You’ve found yourself, Glen. This is going to win you a name. And you won’t lose your touch after this. Young Dina has helped you recover it. Hold onto her. Hold onto her and—”

  “—and keep her out of traps,” said Glynis behind us, he
r tone as cold as white alabaster. Cold white—flecked with the green of jealousy?

  “That’s all the time I can give to this now,” Colton said, ignoring his daughter. “I must be on my way. Help me with the pictures, Glen.”

  Before Glen could move to his father’s assistance, Glynis came close to the head and touched it lightly with long-fingered hands. What she said surprised me.

  “It’s good, Glen. Awfully good. The best you’ve ever done—except the black marble. I wonder if you know why?”

  Glen turned to her so eagerly that my heart twisted. He must know by now that she could not be trusted. Or was he the only one who dared to trust her?

  “Tell me what you mean,” he said.

  Even Colton’s interest was caught, and he paused to hear what she had to say.

  Gently, almost caressingly, Glynis ran her hand over the face that was mine—yet not mine—sensing its contours with her own sensitive fingers as though her eyes were blind.

  “This is the opposite number from the black marble, Glen, but it’s also the counterpart. It’s not Dina you’ve caught in your block of ice. You know that, don’t you?”

  Glen had turned quite pale, and he shook his head vehemently. “No—no, you’re wrong, Glynis. That’s not what I intended.”

  His sister stared at him for a moment, and then quite without warning she burst into tears and fled from the attic. We could hear her clattering down the stairs, hear the banging of distant doors.

  Glen’s pallor was that of illness, but his father did not notice. “The pendulum has swung,” he said. “She goes back while you go forward.”

  He came to look at the head once more, to study it in pleased surprise.

  “Now that was very perceptive of her,” he said. “She’s cut through to the truth, whether you recognize it or not, Glen.” He rested his hand on the alabaster head. “You’ll never be free of each other—you two. So try not to make your sister bleed any more than you need to. Come along now and help me to the car. With that foot, Dina’s of no use to us on a job like this.”