She closed his door quietly and decided she would set her alarm for every hour and doze in between. But first she went through the house performing the same ritual as the night before. She locked the doors, doused the lights, pausing to look out the front window to Fairfax Street. A light snow was falling. She could see the thin, whispery flakes in the light of the streetlamp.
She stood still for a moment, listening for the old house’s groans and creaks. It did not disappoint. With everyone gone, the feeling of shadowed secrets returned, but not with as much force as the night before. She wondered if she’d simply grown used to the atmosphere, as they all seemed to have. She climbed the stairs, still feeling like a character in a gothic romance.
The bedroom doors were closed, the hallway dim. Her imagination, always overactive, conjured up a wraithlike figure. It was so real, Bridie could almost swear she saw rather than imagined it. The ghost was slim and graceful, with Samantha’s face. She hovered outside the children’s rooms, her hands pressed against their doors, powerless to enter in and help them.
Fourteen
Bridie opened her eyes and shut off the radio alarm. It was one o’clock and time to check on Reverend MacPherson. She got up, pulled on her robe, and went to his room. She pushed open the door and walked softly to his bedside. His face was red and hot again. So hot it frightened her, but she managed to get two aspirins down him. Then, after filling a basin with water, she sponged his face and hair, trying to cool him off. She threw the blankets off the bed and pulled the sheet down to his waist, gently wrestled him out of the T-shirt he wore, then dampened his chest. She was rinsing the washrag in the pan of cool water when he cried out.
“Oh!” His voice was loud and fervent, his gaze fixed on her with hot intensity. “Oh!” he cried again.
She dropped the cloth and leaned over him, jumbled thoughts of heart attacks and exploding arteries competing for her attention.
“What is it, Alasdair?” She used his name without intending to. “Alasdair, what’s wrong?”
His expression became radiant. His eyes were dark polished sapphires, shining with fever and whatever hallucination was bringing him such joy. “You’ve come back,” he said in an awed whisper.
“I’m here,” she soothed and took his outstretched hand.
“You’ve come back.” He murmured the words this time, but with such intensity and passion that Bridie felt embarrassed. He kissed her open palm, then pressed it against his heart. She felt the mat of hair on his chest, the heat of his skin, could even feel the thumping of his racing pulse. She felt a rush of strong emotion, confused with the knowledge that she was playacting, standing in for some character from his dreams or his past. He reached the other hand toward her and caught a handful of her hair. “You’ll give me another chance, won’t you?”
Another chance. Someone else wanted another chance and wanted it so desperately she could feel his breathless pain pierce her own heart. Her eyes filled. She nodded, only part of her remembering she was nothing more than a substitute, a figure in a poignant dream.
His face darkened and filled with pain. “Can you ever forgive me?” He sat up and reached the other arm toward her.
“Yes, I forgive you. Of course,” she soothed, taking both his arms and lowering him back onto the bed. “Lie down, now.”
“You won’t leave?”
“No. I won’t leave. Now you lie down.” She gently lowered his arms to his sides. “Here, drink.” She held the glass to his mouth and wiped away the dribbles when he was finished. He allowed it, and that particular dream must have passed, for the next time he opened his eyes, they were without the profound joy. He was going on about budgets now. Later it was mowing the lawn. He had accidentally mown down Mother’s daisies, and on and on it went, all night long. She sat beside him in the chair, dozing in between offering him sips of water or soda and sponging him off.
In the darkest part of the night, between three and four, she was awakened by the sound of crying. He was weeping. Deep, racking, dry sobs. His fever had robbed him of tears.
Bridie tried to soothe him. “Alasdair, come on now,” she said. “It’s all right. Everything’s all right.” She patted his face, held his hands, but now it was as if he was oblivious to her presence. She sat back down beside him, helpless, and in desperation she thought about calling the paramedics. He was a very big man and strong. What if he became violent? What would she do then? She felt like crying herself. Why had she come here to this terrible, sad place?
If she believed that God would answer her, she would have prayed over him. Perhaps that would have comforted him. That’s what Grandma would have done. And Mama. She thought of nights when she’d been sick or frightened and her mother had sat beside her and calmed her. And she remembered how she had done it.
“Have mercy on me, O God, have mercy on me,” she quoted from that long-ago Sunday school project, raising her voice so it could be heard above his crying. “For in you my soul takes refuge. I will take refuge in the shadow of your wings until the disaster has passed.”
It might have been wishful thinking, but it seemed as if his sobs lessened in intensity. She wiped his face with the damp cloth and quoted another psalm before he could start in again.
“I call to God and the Lord saves me. Evening, morning and noon I cry out in distress, and he hears my voice. He ransoms me unharmed from the battle waged against me.”
He turned his gleaming eyes on her, and they calmed a little; their burning light drew down. When he tried to moisten his cracked lips, she offered a drink and another verse.
“Cast your cares on the Lord, and he will sustain you; he will never let the righteous fall.” Her voice was soft and soothing now.
Alasdair lay still. She went on.
“He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty. I will say of the Lord, ‘He is my refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust.’ ”
He closed his eyes. She sat back down in her chair.
“The Lord is compassionate and gracious,” she recited, the words coming from someplace deep inside her now, “slow to anger, abounding in love. He will not always accuse, nor will he harbor his anger forever; he does not treat us as our sins deserve or repay us according to our iniquities.”
His face relaxed.
“For as high as the heavens are above the earth, so great is his love for those who fear him; as far as the east is from the west, so far has he removed our transgressions from us.”
Alasdair’s breathing became deep and regular. He was asleep, but she went on just the same. On and on throughout the rest of the night, she recited the hundred verses. Every time Alasdair stirred in his sleep, he seemed to hear her voice affirming the ancient promises, and he would rest again, comforted.
It must be true that God didn’t give you more than you could bear because the babies slept through until seven o’clock. She must have dozed off herself, for she was startled awake by their cries. She sat up in the chair she’d pulled close to the bed and carefully disentangled her hand from Alasdair MacPherson’s. He was pale but cool, and sleeping peacefully. She looked at him for a moment, wondering if he would remember this night, then pulled the blanket over his bare shoulders and crept out to see to his children.
Fifteen
Bridie swung open the heavy front door of the parsonage and couldn’t help smiling. Carmen, hair apouf and dressed in a black leather miniskirt and jacket, was leaning back against the porch railing, taking one last, long drag on her cigarette. She ground out the butt in the potted Norfolk pine.
“Well, if it isn’t Mary Poppins,” she said.
Bridie’s smile spread even wider, and impulsively she opened her arms for a hug. Carmen grinned back and walked into them. Bridie’s nose tickled from the feather of sprayed hair that brushed it.
“The old Bag and Save’s been pretty dull without you,” Carmen said, giving her a squeeze and releasing her. “And so has home.”
B
ridie felt a moment of uneasiness. She hadn’t been back to the apartment since she’d taken the job over a week ago. “I have the money for this month’s rent in the kitchen,” she said quickly.
“Save it.” Carmen waved her away, then looked a little awkward herself. “Newlee’s been staying over since you’ve been gone. He’s helping out.”
Bridie nodded. She’d been replaced. She supposed she should have seen it coming, but still. Carmen seemed to read her mind.
“Your room’s still yours as long as you want it,” she assured her.
Bridie nodded. She tried not to think any farther ahead than her nose these days. “Thank you. I’ll be here at the parsonage more often than not until the reverend gets on his feet, though. And after that he’s off to Boston for a week. He’s speaking at a theological conference,” she said, giving the words the emphasis they deserved.
“Woo-hoo-hoo.” Carmen raised an eyebrow. “Look who’s hanging out with the hoity-toity.”
Bridie grinned. “It’s good to see you,” she said, and was surprised to find how deeply she meant it. “Thanks for helping me out with the children.”
“Are you kidding? I wouldn’t miss this for the world.” Carmen stepped all the way into the foyer, draped her jacket over the stair railing, and slung her purse into the corner. “This setup reminds me of that movie where the governess comes and this guy’s got his crazy wife locked up in the attic.”
“Jane Eyre?” Bridie supplied.
Carmen snapped her fingers and pointed at Bridie. “That’s the one.” She craned her neck up the stairs as if she were listening for insane laughter, then headed toward the sitting room, gawking every step of the way. Bridie, shaking her head, followed after.
“This place is a real piece of work. Who’s that? The first wife?” Carmen pointed to the oil portrait of Alasdair and Lorna’s stern-faced mother hanging in the hallway.
Bridie gave her a look calculated to squelch.
Carmen only grinned again. “I’m playing with you,” she said and walked around the dining room, hands behind her back, ogling everything. “Don’t worry. I’ll behave once I get this out of my system. It’s just that I’ve never been in a real-life blueblood’s house before. This is a new experience.”
“For me, too.” Bridie made a little face.
Carmen’s eyes lit with sympathy. “You look tired.”
“It’s been a long week.” She felt a stab of guilt that it had taken her and Lorna so long to get around to dealing with Samantha’s school situation, but even though there had been no bad nights like a week ago, the reverend had just begun perking up yesterday. Samantha had taken a cold as well, and Lorna had decided to keep her out until they could talk to the principal. Bridie had been hoping that the reverend would be well enough to see to things himself, but even though he was mending, he was still too weak to do much.
“Mrs. Tronsett will see us tomorrow,” Lorna had said yesterday, and just as Bridie had been about to beg off tagging along, she’d glanced at Lorna’s face. It had looked so grim and defeated that Bridie hadn’t had the heart. Besides, from what Lorna had been telling her, the reverend would have his hands full when he recovered. His church was trying to run him off.
“I’d better go,” Bridie said, glancing at her watch. “Our meeting’s at ten. Come into the kitchen and I’ll show you what’s what.” Carmen followed, looking only too happy to have a new area in which to nose around.
“I been thinking about the kid. Why don’t you just let her hang out?” Carmen suggested. “It’s almost Christmas vacation anyhow. By January her pop will be up and around, and he can deal with things himself.”
Bridie nodded. The thought had occurred to her, too. It would make one less thing for her to worry about. “It’s up to them,” she said. “I’m along for moral support.”
It only took Bridie a few minutes to orient Carmen. Her friend was quick and apparently had taken care of lots of younger brothers and sisters. She took to the twins right away.
“You are such a doll,” Carmen said to Cameron and was rewarded with one of his brilliant smiles. He looked like his father, Bridie could see, now that the little face had grown familiar. His hair was the same dark brown, his eyes the same smoky blue. His medicine was working, too. No more runny nose.
“And you look like a little princess,” Carmen cooed to Bonnie, who charmed her by lifting tiny arms. Carmen picked her up and nuzzled the downy hair. She turned to Bridie. “I can see why you’re in love.”
Bridie felt embarrassed for no good reason. “Samantha’s reading in her room,” she supplied quickly. “Cameron’s medicine is in the refrigerator. He needs another dose at lunchtime. I meant to make sandwiches, but I ran out of time.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Carmen promised. “What about his holiness? Will he need anything?”
Bridie rolled her eyes at Carmen’s nickname for the reverend. “Take him a tray. Soup, crackers, juice. I’ll be back before naptime.”
Carmen nodded and gave her a knowing smile. “Naptime, huh? You’re starting to talk like a mama.”
****
Lorna maneuvered the reverend’s huge station wagon out of the garage onto Alexandria’s narrow, icy streets. They were crowded with Christmas shoppers and looked cheerful and bright in spite of the sleet and rain. White lights twined around the antique streetlamps, and swags and wreaths of evergreen and holly adorned each shop window and door. Bridie felt a moment of excitement that time and circumstance had failed to dampen. It was almost Christmas.
“I should fill you in on a little family history,” Lorna said, not sounding as if it was something she relished.
“All right,” Bridie said, equally unsure she wanted to hear it. Every fact she knew, every event she took part in, became a thread that tied her to this ragtag little group. What would happen when she was bound tight? She had no idea what the future held for her. But whatever her fate, it would not include these people that she was coming to care about. This was a temporary arrangement, she reminded herself, hardening her heart once again. In fact, come the new year she would see about extricating herself from this web. She would help them find a new nanny, someone permanent. Then she would be free. But somehow that fact didn’t give her the happy feeling it should have.
“Samantha’s mother, Anna, passed away a little over two years ago,” Lorna said, glancing at Bridie as she steered the car onto the arterial.
Bridie nodded. She knew that much.
“Samantha was at school, and Alasdair at the radio studio taping his program. I’d taken the twins to my house for a few hours so Anna could get some rest. They were ten days old.”
Bridie felt a stirring of dread.
“Apparently Anna decided to run errands and go to the grocery. She wanted to get some chocolate chips so she and Samantha could make cookies. That’s what her note said. But she must have become disoriented. She skidded into the river. Several people saw the car go in. One man dove in after her, but he couldn’t get her door open. Finally the divers came, but by the time they got her out, it was too late.”
Bridie blinked. She’d had no idea what the circumstances of Mrs. MacPherson’s death had been. And now that she knew, she had no idea what to say. It was an awful, awful story.
“Things were terrible,” Lorna said. Her voice was ragged, her cheeks wet. “So dark. My husband and I were still together, and I wasn’t working. I stayed over most nights and took care of the twins.”
Bridie said nothing, just continued to listen. The sleety snow had turned to freezing rain. It pelted the car windows. The windshield wipers thumped a comforting rhythm against it, and the warm air from the heater felt good against her legs.
“At first Samantha was distraught, as you might imagine. Very angry, almost wild. Then she settled down, and I thought—” Her voice broke, and Bridie reached across to comfort her. “I’m sorry,” Lorna said, taking the tissue Bridie handed her from the packet in her purse. “You’d think after all t
his time I’d be able to talk about it, but it’s so hard.” She pressed the tissue against her nose for a moment, then cleared her throat and went on. “I thought she was recovering. I can see now that things were too perfect. I suppose it was her way of trying to make things right again. Her grades were perfect. Her room was perfect. Her clothing was perfect. Her manners were perfect. She must have needed things. Things she couldn’t ask for. But Alasdair was trying to keep the church afloat. I was busy with the twins. I guess we all just forgot about Samantha… .”
“When did she start acting different?” Bridie asked after a moment.
“About six months ago. Right around the time she turned thirteen. It was as if someone flipped a switch. Instead of our sweet, compliant child, she became angry, defiant, hostile. Her grades started slipping, then crashed. She began sneaking out to meet boys, but her friendships with the other girls ended, and badly. They talked about her. You know how girls that age will gossip.”
Bridie remembered what Samantha had said. Being labeled homicidal wasn’t exactly what she’d call typical teenage backbiting.
“Anyway,” Lorna finished, sounding sad, almost despairing. “I’ve prayed so long and often, and yet things just seem to be getting worse. Until you came,” she added, her voice lifting in hope, and Bridie felt a warm thrust of happiness at bringing something good to this sad little group.
“How has Alasdair done with it all?” Bridie asked boldly, feeling her cheeks heat.
Lorna answered without looking up from the road. “Sometimes,” she said, her voice quiet, “I’m not sure he even knows Anna’s gone.”
****
Mrs. Tronsett was around sixty years old, and an old, not a young sixty. She wore a no-nonsense navy polyester suit and low-heeled pumps, a Timex watch with one of the little black string bands that probably hadn’t been sold since 1965. She reminded Bridie of any number of tight-permed, blue-haired little ladies from her past, but the moment Mrs. Tronsett opened her mouth, the resemblance was gone. She was a combination of intelligence and plain talk, and Bridie liked her at once.
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