It hadn’t seemed to matter very much then. She looked down at the words once more. “They will be formed from the good parts of us, and in the end they will teach us. We will be the children again.”
Was this what he believed now? Was this why he was so blind to what they were doing? He thought they possessed some natural goodness, a goodness that he had brought out and that he now expected would lead him to greater things. It must have been something his father had taught him, something she might even have heard him say, but something she had never digested.
Alex had to be made to see that the children weren’t all goodness and light. Perhaps they were better behaved, but they were evil, as evil as the day each was brought to the Manor. It wouldn’t surprise her a bit to learn that they had talked him into calling her to the den for that terrible inquisition. It must have been their idea to embarrass her that way. They were turning him against her more and more.
She put everything but his letter neatly away and went back downstairs, determined to be stronger than ever. She wanted to challenge the children, to stand against them in some way that would make Alex see what they really were. They were all outside again, working like little devils, being perfect. The harder they worked out there, the more defeated she felt. There had to be something she could do, but what? What?
Finally, it came to her. It was a horrible thing to do to Alex, but she had to do it for his own good. If she did it right, he wouldn’t know she was responsible. It was the only way. She didn’t know what else to do. If Tillie Zorankin, an ordinary layman, could suspect the problem, there had to be something to it.
First she looked for Alex and saw that he was walking down to the dock with little Donald. He was well away from the house, and none of the other children were near enough to see or hear what she was about to do. She had gotten so she was paranoid about them. If any one of them was only a dozen feet or so from the building, she wouldn’t do it.
Confident she was safe, she retreated quickly to the kitchen and took the phone book out of the drawer under the counter. She looked up the number, listened again to be sure no one was nearby, and then dialed. She was surprised that the person answering was a male.
“Is this the Child Protection Agency?”
“Yes, it is.”
“I must speak with Mrs. Hoffman. I must.”
“Who is this?”
“Tell her Sharon Gold, Alex Gold’s wife.”
“Oh yes, Mrs. Gold. Just one moment, please.”
When Mrs. Hoffman came to the phone, Sharon put her left hand around the mouthpiece instinctively and lowered her voice.
“Hello,” she said.
“I must have your word that you won’t tell my husband I called you,” Sharon said.
“What’s that?”
“You’ve got to promise me.”
“What’s wrong, Mrs. Gold?”
“Promise.”
“This is very unusual, but all right, Mrs. Gold. I promise. Now what seems to be the problem?”
“I want you to make an unexpected visit to the Echo Lake Manor,” Sharon said. “I want you to make it tonight between eight-thirty and nine. Can you do it? Will you do it?”
“What…what for, Mrs. Gold?”
“You will see when you get here. You will understand. Please. It’s important. It’s important to Alex.”
“Well, why didn’t he call himself?”
“He mustn’t know about this, Mrs. Hoffman. After it’s all over, I promise I’ll explain.”
“Well…all right. Between eight-thirty and nine?”
“Yes. Thank you, thank you,” Sharon said, and she hung up.
She stood there trembling, not believing she had done it. But she had, and now there was work to do.
11
Sharon went to the front and looked out at Alex and the children again. He, little Donald, and Elizabeth were still down at the dock. Richard and Carl were painting the rear of the tool shed. Everyone looked involved in something. She felt safe.
She returned to the rear of the house and went out the back door. Some gardening tools were always kept on the small screened-in porch. Alex and the children had already started this year’s garden. It was nearly twice the size of last year’s. He had had to buy extra fencing to keep the deer and rabbits from the crops.
She took the shovel in hand and opened the screen door as quietly as she could. She descended the small wooden steps and went around to the side of the house. From this angle no one in the front could see her or see where she was going. When she reached the old plank door, she stopped to listen.
She could hear little Donald’s shouts and laughter echo off the lake. From the sound of it, he and Alex and Elizabeth had gone for a boat ride. That was good, she thought. That was very good. She opened the old door and went inside.
With the door wide open daylight penetrated the old room. This kind of light—brighter, more diffused—weakened the place, made it seem less intimidating, less frightening. It looked more like what she thought it really was—a small, dry area of the old house, dirty and stale, the shelves and the roof timbers looking as though they could crumble into dust at the slightest touch. The stone entranceway steps had chipped and broken considerably, and the wooden doorjamb sagged. Only in the dark corners where insects and field mice dwelled did she notice any wetness. The earthen floor everywhere else was pale and dry as stone.
Now, stripped of its mystery by the discerning rays of the invading daylight, the room looked so much smaller than she had thought it to be. It looked more like an afterthought, or an accidental arrangement of stones and wood that had resulted in this large storage room. Maybe this was why Pa and now Alex usually came to it only at night. It held no magic for them in the daytime.
Anyway, what she had suspected was true—Alex had covered the makeshift grave where she and Dinky had uncovered it. The ground had been smoothed over, but the area was still obvious. She went right to it and began to shovel away the dirt. Alex would not be permitted to hide what he had done in this room. Tonight the children would come to it and there would be a terrible scene. Their wonderful decorum, their controlled behavior, their facade of responsibility and decency would crack and it would all happen in front of Mrs. Hoffman.
She was so buoyed by that possibility that she was able to put aside for the moment the horror of what she was doing. Today, bathed in light, the skeletons looked more pathetic than terrifying. Even so, she worked quickly, neatly, until she was satisfied that she had uncovered enough. Then she retreated to the entrance and took one last look at the room. To think that someone could come to it and find something spiritual here was ludicrous. Perhaps the children would sense that, too, and there would be a rift between them and Alex—a rift she desperately wanted.
She looked out before stepping into the open. There was no one in sight. She closed the old plank door behind her and made her way back to the rear of the house where she placed the shovel back in its spot. Then she went inside and took a shower. She wanted to do her hair a little nicer and put on something more dressy in anticipation of Mrs. Hoffman’s arrival. She put on a light blue print dress and brushed out her hair, clipping it in the rear so the strands fell loosely but orderly over the back of her neck. Then she did something she hadn’t done in a long time—she put on a little lipstick and rouge.
Satisfied and pleased with her appearance, she went downstairs to complete the preparation of dinner. She heard Alex and the children come in and go up to shower and dress for dinner. Nobody said anything to her or came back to see her until it was time to eat. When she shouted that all was ready, Alex and his brood paraded in, looking as content and as smug about themselves as they usually did. When they saw her though, they were surprised.
“You look very nice tonight, Sharon,” Alex said. “Doesn’t she, children?”
“Yes,” Elizabeth said, but she looked more amused than impressed. Sharon resented the expression on her face. Through it she was saying, “
Who do you think you are? Do you really think you can turn a plain face into something attractive?” She felt the girl’s condescension and that reinforced her hope that soon she would be able to bring them all down and show them for what they were.
The boys said nothing in particular. They went at the food with their usual aggressive appetites. The dinner table conversation was mostly about the work they were doing around the Manor. The only time that Sharon got into it was when Elizabeth said the kitchen had to be modernized.
“You should have a microwave installed and you’ll probably need a bigger freezer if you’re going to cook for guests as well, won’t she, Alex?”
“I suppose so.”
“I don’t like microwave ovens. Good things need time.”
“Oh, that’s so silly, so old-fashioned, isn’t it, Alex?” Elizabeth asked. She was in pursuit. Elizabeth could sense that she was trying to drive Alex between them. As she spoke, she fingered the ring he had given her. She wore it ostentatiously around her neck. Sharon had seen it there before, but she had decided not to ask about it. She thought that he might have given it to her to cheer her up after the teacher’s murder.
“Not entirely,” Alex said, “but there’s going to be a definite need for a microwave oven. I can see that.”
His answer was enough of a victory to please Elizabeth. Sharon saw her gloat over the success. She wanted to say something or do something in response, but checked herself. How belittling it would be to have to compete with a teenager for her husband’s attention, she thought, and yet, wasn’t that what was happening?
Alex was oblivious to it. He began to tell the boys some old Pa stories, stories about his father’s exhibition of great strength, his ability to hand wrestle any man down, the time he swam across the lake and back, the time he had a fight with two men at the old feed mill.
“He wasn’t one to use his strength freely,” he said, “but when he was aroused and the need was there, his heart never let him down. They don’t make men like that anymore,” Alex said, and Sharon thought, “Amen.”
The children were as efficient as usual after dinner. Everyone did his part quickly and well. Sharon said nothing and did nothing to interrupt the flow of things. She wanted the regimented schedule to go on the way it always did. Everything was on time. The children went up to do their schoolwork and their reading, even though they had no school that day. She had been confident that they would. Alex wanted his time in the den, his hour of meditation and reading. She went into the living room to read and watch television herself and to wait.
Almost to the exact minute, the children came down the stairs to tell Alex they were ready. Sharon smiled to herself. It was all going as she had planned. Alex emerged from his room and the five of them slipped quietly out of the house. She got up and turned off the television set and waited by the front window. Her heart raced madly. Would Mrs. Hoffman come, as she had promised she would?
The answer came in the form of a pair of headlights. Mrs. Hoffman’s car came up the driveway slowly. Sharon took a deep breath and got up to greet her at the door.
“Thank you for coming, Mrs. Hoffman,” Sharon said, as soon as the head of the agency appeared in the porch light. The thin woman, dressed in a light brown cardigan sweater, a blouse, and a dark brown skirt, smiled her greeting and looked about.
“Very impressive house.”
“Yes, isn’t it? Come on, come in.”
Sharon stepped back to let her enter. Mrs. Hoffman, who had appeared small to Sharon when she was in her office, looked even more fragile and weak here in the Manor, away from the trappings of the government building and the agency she headed. Sharon had a rush of despair.
“What a job it must be to care for such a place.”
“It is, even though we use only a small portion of the Manor. Please, go into the living room.”
“Everything looks vintage,” Mrs. Hoffman said as she looked over the furniture.
“It is. Alex doesn’t like to replace anything. He’s trying to hold back time.”
“How charming,” Mrs. Hoffman said, but that wasn’t what Sharon had meant. “Where is everyone else?”
“I wanted you to get here before they returned,” Sharon said quickly. “Have a seat. Please.”
Mrs. Hoffman chose one of the big easy chairs and immediately looked childlike and diminutive swallowed within the heavy cushions and large arms. She sat back. Sharon didn’t take a seat.
“Why did you want me to come at just this time?”
“You’ll see. Alex and the children live on a schedule. They rarely vary it. When they come home, they do their chores around the house. He’s rehabilitating the Manor, making it into a major project, and he’s gotten the children quite involved.”
“How wonderful.”
“Yes, if that were all there were to it. Then the children shower and dress for dinner. Sometimes Elizabeth helps set the table.”
“Really?”
“Don’t be surprised. She does more than that, but oh, how clever she is, how terribly clever.”
“I don’t follow.”
“We eat, and then they all help clean up. Each has a task, and I do almost nothing.”
“You have plenty to do as it is, I imagine.”
Sharon nodded and finally sat on the edge of the couch.
“The children go right up to do their homework. There are no arguments about it. Everyone goes to his room, except when the older children help the younger ones.”
“Sounds marvelous.”
“All the while my husband is in the den, where he reads his father’s old books over and over again. The books are filled with his father’s writing.”
“Writing?”
“Philosophy.”
“Oh? Sounds…interesting.”
“He listens to this chanting, this music. It’s always the same.”
“Uh huh.”
“And then the children come down,” Sharon said. She lowered her voice and leaned toward Mrs. Hoffman, who raised her eyebrows. Sharon appeared neat and attractive to her, but there was something wild about her eyes and mouth. Mrs. Hoffman sensed the nervousness.
“Come down?”
“They tell Alex they’re ready and then they all go out. They go out every night. He’s teaching them things,” Sharon added, “things his father taught him. Only, I think the children are humoring him. I don’t think they really care, you see. My husband is intense about these beliefs and he doesn’t see how he’s being humored. Used, I should say. The children are clever, Mrs. Hoffman. You know how clever they are, and you know what they’re capable of doing.”
Mrs. Hoffman didn’t say anything. Sharon was clutching her hands, washing them like Lady Macbeth in the final stages of insanity. Sharon looked toward the front door of the house as though she had heard something. Mrs. Hoffman waited for her to turn back.
“Are you saying your husband is unhappy Mrs. Gold? Does he want to get rid of the children?”
“Oh no, no. He doesn’t understand. He doesn’t see what’s happening, don’t you see? That’s why I wanted you to come over tonight. I wanted you to witness them now. It’s better if it comes from someone else, someone who is a professional, like yourself. Then he might believe.”
“Believe…what exactly?”
“How clever they are, and how they’re manipulating him.”
“But from what you’re telling me, Mrs. Gold, it looks more like he’s manipulating them—they work around the place, they do their homework, they’re helpful. You know their backgrounds.”
“No, no, you don’t understand,” Sharon said, feeling the frustration. “My dog…was drowned deliberately. A rope and a rock was tied around his neck and he was thrown into the lake.”
“Oh, my God. And you think the children might be responsible for that, is that it?”
“Yes, partly.” Sharon turned back toward the door. This time she was positive she heard footsteps. “Wait. You’ll see them now. You’ll s
ee what I mean.”
The door opened to the sound of children laughing. Sharon’s mouth dropped open with surprise. They must’ve gone to the secret room; they must’ve seen what she had done. They couldn’t be happy. Alex had to be angry. It was important that Mrs. Hoffman see how disturbed he was and how vicious the children could be.
Little Donald appeared in the living room doorway first. His face was smudged with chocolate ice cream. The other children gathered behind him, and then Alex appeared. No one looked upset.
“Well,” Alex said. “What a nice surprise. Whaddya say, kids?”
“Hello, Mrs. Hoffman,” they said in chorus.
“Hi. Where’s everyone been?”
“Oh, I decided to treat the gang to some ice cream. We walked to town and had some custard. The stand’s opened for the season,” he said, turning to Sharon. “So what brings you to Ivory Castle on a night like this?” he asked, imitating Boris Karloff. The children laughed and Mrs. Hoffman smiled widely. She looked to Sharon, who seemed stunned and unable to react to anything.
“I was just passing by and thought I’d drop in to see how things were going. I’ve gotten good reports from school on everyone,” she said. “Does anyone have any problems?” For a moment no one said anything. Then Richard stepped forward.
“Everything’s going very well, Mrs. Hoffman. We’re grateful to be here. Mr. and Mrs. Gold couldn’t be any nicer if they were our real father and mother.”
“That’s very nice, Richard. You certainly have enough living space. Well,” she added, standing up.
“Can I get you something, Mrs. Hoffman?” Elizabeth asked. “A cup of tea, perhaps?” Mrs. Hoffman smiled.
“No, thank you, Elizabeth. I’ve got to be going.”
“I’ve got some reading to do,” Richard said. “Goodnight, Mrs. Hoffman,” he added, and started away.
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