Lisa

by Joan Van Every Frost

  “Why, what does he do when he’s different?” Lisa asked, impatient to know all she could of him.

  “I hope you never know,” was all she would say.

  Dinner early in the afternoon was presided over by Dr. Jarrell. After a soup course, there was a sizeable roast of beef done fairly rare, which Lisa wasn’t used to. Any meat Aunt Sarah got hold of was cooked through and then some. Roast potatoes, beets, carrots, preserves, white bread, and sweet butter — the meal was a feast. For dessert there was a frosted cake. She wondered what the special occasion was.

  They were midway in the soup course when a woman who must have been Eric’s sister came in. Her hair was golden brown, not reddish-gold, but she had the same grey eyes fringed with dark lashes and the same golden coloring. She was a strikingly beautiful woman, and Lisa couldn’t help wondering what she was doing hiding herself away in the country. Surely she wouldn’t have had much trouble getting another husband. Mrs. Stephens smiled conspiratorially at Eric, but ignored the doctor and Mrs. Lewis.

  Conversation was desultory until Eric brought up the subject of Lisa’s accent. Like Jarrell and Mrs. Lewis, he was curious as to how she had come by it. Without thinking, she launched into her farm dialect, then proceeded naturally into her imitations of the various people in the market. When she did the skit of the well-born lady buying onions, she had all of them laughing, even Mrs, Stephens. On the spur of the moment she did another skit that she made up as she went along, of Dr. Jarrell and a country woman patient, catching his intonation and use of words exactly, and ending with his “Well, I’ll be damned.”

  “How did we ever get along without you?” Eric asked her when the laughter had died down. “Do you have any idea how long it’s been since anyone laughed at this table? Can’t we keep her, Mark?” he asked his brother.

  “I’d like to at that,” Jarrell said. “Maybe she could cheer Cynthia up.”

  The meal over, everyone scattered. Dr. Jarrell disappeared into the study, where Lisa gathered he was working on a book about his medical specialty, Mrs. Lewis went to the kitchen to discuss supper with the cook, and Mrs. Stephens drifted upstairs. Eric asked Lisa if she would like to see the horses, and she accepted readily, glad of the chance to talk to him alone.

  The stables behind the house were painted white with green trim, and each horse had a roomy box stall. “This one is Cleopatra,” Eric told her, and she recognized the fine boned bay mare the doctor had ridden. She butted her head against Eric’s chest and playfully nibbled his collar. “That’s me, irresistible to women. Oh, if only I were.” He eyed her with mock slyness.

  Lisa felt her heart beating faster, but she tossed her head disdainfully. “ ’Appen y’d tike advantage of a pure young gurl like me.”

  He suddenly stopped smiling, and they looked at each other for a long, long moment. It was the first time she ever knew that the color grey could be so warm. “Lisa,

  I — ”

  “No, don’t,” she said, putting a finger against his lips. “We’ve lots of time. Don’t let’s hurry it.”

  He pressed her fingers against his mouth and then gave a smile that lit up his whole face. “You’re unbelievable. Absolutely unbelievable.”

  They went on from stall to stall, very aware of each other, but chatting casually. There were six horses: the doctor’s bay mare Cleopatra, Eric’s sorrel stallion Christian, a big brown gelding named Dancer, two matched sorrels named David and Jonathan, and a small black mare with a white star on her head called Twinkle. At Christian’s stall Eric opened the door and went in. The big horse nuzzled him until he found the apple in his jacket pocket. Eric laid his head against that of the horse, his face alight with love. Then Eric smacked him fondly on the shoulder and they went on.

  Eric was going to take her to see the small dam they had made to form a pool before the stream tumbled on its way again past the garden, down the hill, and underneath the road to Dunwiddleston. Lisa’s head had begun to hurt, though, and she begged off. Back at the house, he held her hand in his for a warm moment before she turned and climbed the stairs to go to her room.

  She must have slept because it was quite dark when Mrs. Lewis came in with a tray that she set on the table while lighting a lamp. Then she lit the fire that had been laid some time while Lisa was out. She had almost finished her supper of cheese, cold roast, and bread when Dr. Jarrell came in.

  “What’s this Eric tells me about your head hurting?”

  “I’m all right now. I think I just got too tired.”

  He held her head between his hands and looked first at one eye and then the other. She noted the deep cleft of scowl mark between his eyes, and the eyes themselves that were brown but with flecks of gold. His breath, smelling pleasantly of tobacco and brandy, brushed her cheek. He dropped his hands abruptly.

  “Your pupils are the same size. Do you feel dizzy?”

  “No.”

  “Nauseated?”

  “No.”

  He made her raise her right arm, then her left one. He scraped his thumbnail across the bottom of each bare foot, and nodded, pleased. “Well, go easy tomorrow, will you?”

  The nagging doubt that had been bothering her increasingly all day finally made her speak. “Dr. Jarrell, I’m worried about my aunt and uncle. Even to look for me they wouldn’t both have left the farm for three days. Today was Saturday, and they wouldn’t have missed a market day, I know. They would have come by.”

  Dr. Jarrell stood up. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll hitch up Dancer tomorrow and we’ll both go. You’re well enough to go home now, if you’ll just go easy for a while, and in a few days I’ll stop by to look in on you. And don’t forget, we have an appointment later on to operate on your hand.”

  When he had left, she could still feel his hands on her head, but it was Eric she was thinking of, not the doctor.

  At breakfast the next morning, the doctor announced his plan.

  “But Mark,” Eric protested, “you said she could stay.”

  “She belongs at home,” Jarrell said shortly. “There is nothing here for her to do.”

  “But you said she could cheer up Cynthia,” Eric persisted, “and God knows she could stand some cheering.”

  “Cynthia’s grief is much of her own making,” Jarrell replied coldly. “This household is bad enough for those of us who came into it with our eyes open. I’ll not have outsiders dragged in as well.”

  “Oh! So that’s it, is it? You’re afraid I won’t keep my hands off her.” Eric’s eyes blazed like new silver coins.

  “Maybe I always acted like that because there was no reason to do otherwise. Did that ever occur to you?” Jarrell’s expression was puzzling. “Isn’t it too late for that, Eric?”

  “But you don’t know, do you?” Eric retorted. There is no way of knowing. You were the one who told me that.”

  “When you know, Eric, it will really be too late.”

  Carrie Stephens broke in. “For heaven’s sake, Eric, why are you getting so upset over some ignorant little country tart? Let her go and good riddance. She’d only be after the money she thinks you have.” She looked at Lisa then, who was frozen in shock at all of these sudden outbursts.

  “Shut up, Carrie!” Jarrell was angry “Now, Eric, do you see why it’s best to keep ourselves to ourselves? We’re tainted, all of us, and we’ll taint anyone who has much to do with us. Come on, Lisa, it’s time to go and then some.” At the stable he was irritable, swearing at the harness buckles and kicking a pail out of his way. “Damned stable help, they’re worthless, the lot of them. Don’t know one end of a horse from the other and can’t even be trusted to muck out the stalls properly.”

  However angry he seemed to be, at least he didn’t take it out on the horse, Lisa was relieved to see, for she sensed a huge, frustrated rage burning in him most of the time. He coaxed Dancer back between the shafts of the buggy with a minimum of fuss and had the harness done up shortly. Then they were in the buggy and on their way, Dancer obviously
feeling his oats and stepping out in a smart trot broken now and then in the first half hour by pretended frights at things by the roadside.

  “I can’t imagine living anywhere else,” Lisa said almost to herself. “Do you know, for ten miles and more around our farm I’ve been on every trail and I know just about every clump of heather. I love this country.”

  “I might love it, too,” Jarrell said, “if I weren’t trapped in it.” He stared straight ahead, his face hard.

  “What’s wrong with you people?” Lisa cried. “You have plenty of money and that lovely house. How can you all be so unhappy?”

  “Lisa, Lisa, houses and money are just things. They have nothing to do with happiness. Sometimes you make me feel a thousand years old.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t mind trying on the having of those things you dismiss so easily,” Lisa retorted. “When you know what it is to live on oat porridge all winter because you’ve got to save the few eggs and other things there are to sell in the market, and when you have to go out in the freezing rain to help those silly sheep with the lambing, and when you have to sweat blood because the rain doesn’t come and you may starve without even so much as the porridge to eat, then you don’t give away houses and money so fast.”

  “Fair enough,” he answered, “but I still say that possessions have nothing to do with happiness. I was happy once, so happy it used to scare me. I had my work and I had my love, and I was sitting on top of the world. Now I’ve got neither, but I’ve still got plenty of possessions, for all the good they are.”

  “Why did you say that you were all tainted?”

  “Let’s leave it that there are things you are better off not knowing. But Lisa, stay away from Eric. I am warning you in all seriousness, you must keep clear of him.”

  “And if it’s too late for that?” There wasn’t anything, Lisa thought, that would make her stay away from Eric, as long as he wanted her.

  “Then I pity you with all my heart.”

  They jogged on in silence, each lost in their separate thoughts until they reached the lane that led to the farmhouse.

  “That’s strange,” Lisa said. “Tippy always comes out barking when anyone turns in here.”

  “Could they be at church in Dunwiddleston?” Jarrell asked.

  “They don’t go. It’s a three hour drive each way, and Uncle John says. he’s got to save the horse for the plowing and hauling. He always has prayers at home.”

  The farmyard was silent and deserted as they drove in. Even the chickens were out of sight and hearing. There was no smoke coming from the chimney, no rooster call, no whinney from the barn. Jarrell’s note was still pinned to the front door. Lisa shivered.

  In the house everything was neat and tidy. All of the dishes were put away, and except for a pitcher of milk so sour it had clabbered, there was no spoiled food. The barn was as Jarrell had described it — empty. Jim the horse was gone, as were the ewes. Then Lisa jumped as there was a sudden thud on one of the mangers, and Tommy the tiger farm cat ran up to her meowing.

  “Why, they must have forgotten all about him,” she exclaimed, “though he hardly looks to be starving.” He purred loudly as she rubbed him under his chin.

  They went toward the nearby pasture to see if they could find a clue to the old couple’s whereabouts, and Tommy following along. Suddenly he darted ahead and they could see him sniffing at something not far from the path. They went over to see what he had found, and saw some black and white fur matted in the dried mud. Lisa impulsively tried to pick it up before she realized what it was.

  “Oh Tippy!” she cried, looking at Jarrell with tears in her eyes. “That’s why he never barked when we came in the lane.”

  Jarrell knelt and began to scrape the still moist soil away with his hands, paying no attention to the increasingly unpleasant smell. At last he uncovered the dog’s head. He sighed, and Lisa saw that the skull was smashed flat. She and Jarrell looked at each other in dismay, neither wanting to say the words.

  “Is there a shovel in the barn?” he asked at last.

  “I’ll get it. I know where it is.”

  She came back with a shovel and a trowel. Jarrell took off his coat, and together they began to dig. After the dog was freed, Jarrell went on with the shovel, sweat making great wet patches on his white shirt despite the coolness of the day. All at once he stopped and picked up the trowel, clearing away loose soil and finally gently scraping away the dirt from something. Gradually there appeared the thumb and fingers of a human hand.

  “Oh my God!” she cried out.

  Jarrell stood and put his arms around her, stroking her hair and making comforting noises while she wept. At last she quieted, and he stepped back and took her by the shoulders.

  “Lisa, I wasn’t going to say this because there didn’t seem to be any reason to. Your memory loss is far more extensive than the blow to your head would warrant. You’ve done the same thing you did when you were a child. You’ve forgotten something unpleasant, perhaps even tragic, because you didn’t want to remember it. You’ve got to remember now, Lisa — for your own safety, you’ve got to.”

  5

  By the time they got back to Hartsite, Dancer was no longer interested in shying at anything. His coat was dark with sweat and lathered when the leather harness straps touched it.

  “I’ll leave you off here,” Jarrell said, “and put a saddle on Cleo. I’ll have a devil of a time scaring up that fool constable on a Sunday, let alone the butcher who calls himself a doctor. But if I wait until tomorrow, they’ll probably put me in charge for obstructing justice or some such nonsense.”

  Eric just then came out of the front door. “Lisa! You’re back! What’s wrong?”

  “Oh Eric!” she wept as she ran into his arms. “It’s Uncle John and Aunt Sarah. They’re dead. I think they were murdered.”

  “Murdered? But how? By whom?” Eric’s arms tightened around her.

  “I don’t know. Your brother seems to think I’m shamming not remembering what happened to me or how I got to Burresford, but I’m not, Eric, honestly I’m not.”

  “There, there, sweetheart, cry it out,” Eric said tenderly.

  Lisa looked past Eric’s shoulder and saw Mrs. Lewis, who was watching her stonily, contempt written broadly in her expression. “I hope you were more help to him there than you are now,” she said and whipped back inside the house.

  Her exit was punctuated by the clatter of Cleo’s hoofs on the drive, and Jarrell swept past them in a shower of gravel. He galloped to the end of the drive, then turned onto the track and settled into an easy canter that soon took him out of sight.

  Eric led her up to her room and sat with her, letting her talk. Before long, Mrs. Priddy the cook brought a tea tray in and lit the fire though the afternoon was only half gone.

  “They were such nice, harmless people,” Lisa said over and over again. “Who would want to kill them? Uncle John used to like sweets so, and Aunt Sarah every week would make a jar of them from boiled sugar. It was his only vice.”

  She went on and on, dredging up happenings from her memory and pouring them out, as if by remembering she could give the old couple some form of life again. Eric listened patiently, prompting her occasionally to keep her talking. By the time she was all talked out, it was full dark outside. Mrs. Lewis brought another tray with soup and toast, and encouraged her to eat it.

  “I’m sorry I said what I did,” she apologized. “And I’m sorry too about your aunt and uncle. I’m sure they’ll bring whoever did it to justice. Now take these pills and get into bed. A good sleep will do wonders for you.”

  Lisa woke once later that night to hear voices downstairs, but the pills had done their work well, and she drifted off once again. When she woke again, sun was streaming in the window and she knew it was late. The tap on the door that woke her was repeated.

  “Come in.”

  Dr. Jarrell, looking deathly tired, came in and sat on the bed. “This comes as no surprise, Lisa, but it
was in truth both your aunt and your uncle that were buried beneath the dog. They may have known fright, but not much pain, for they were both stabbed in the heart.” Lisa drew a hissing breath.

  “Later on I’m to take you in to Dunwiddleston. They think to have the funeral today, and I can see no reason to delay it, unless you want to for some reason.”

  Lisa shook her head.

  “Have you remembered any more, by chance?”

  She shook her head again, tears filling her eyes.

  He took her hand. “I meant it when I said you must try. While you aren’t really suspected of having done it, there is a lot they are going to want to know. There is reason to suppose also that whoever wished to do away with the Prices might want to do away with you as well. In any event, you certainly can’t go back there unless there is someone to stay with you. Frankly, I don’t think you should go back at all until this is cleared up.”

  “I know it sounds false, but I really can’t remember. “Don’t you think I would if I could?”

  “They tell me in the village that you were living with another aunt and uncle who had a shop in Burresford.”

  “But I haven’t seen them since I was thirteen. She laughed at me when I got sick on too much wine, and he pinched my bottom. Why would I be living with them?”

  “They also said that when you were back for a visit recently, you looked for work in Dunwiddleston but couldn’t find any. Could that have been why you were with them? You were working for them?”

  “I don’t know, I don’t know! Dear God, why can’t I remember?”

  “Well, we should know before too long because we’ve sent for them to Burresford. They should be in Dunwiddleston by the time we get there this afternoon. They are the nearest blood relations outside of the niece in Dunwiddleston, so it’s fitting they should be at the funeral. They may be able to offer some information.”

  “How — how long were they dead?”

  “It’s not my specialty and that doctor in Dunwiddleston is an idiot, but we agreed on something like three weeks. A good pathologist could put it closer than that, but the constable here seems satisfied. If they catch anyone, it will be because he walks up and confesses,” he added bitterly.