by Lea Wait
Kayla opened the door at Whitcomb House. She was twenty-two, but looked older. Her black family hadn’t approved of her marriage to a white man, but her daughter, Katie, was a stunning and exuberant combination of brown skin and wavy black hair. Now Kayla’s husband was her ex-husband, an army corporal stationed in North Carolina. He paid child support occasionally, Maggie knew, and sent postcards to Katie. Kayla was one of the few single parents in the house in touch with their child’s other parent, although she made it no secret that she was actively looking for a new father for Katie, and a new husband for herself. She was wearing jeans and a form-fitting top today, but her clothing style was not as provocative as Tiffany’s.
Kayla’s cup of coffee was on the kitchen table. “Would you like some coffee, Professor Summer? Or I can heat water if you’d like tea. Or cocoa? The kids love it, so we have boxes full. Mrs. Whitcomb is always bringing us more.”
The practical Formica-topped table was large, piled with books and papers and several boxes of cereal that must have been out for breakfast. Most of the cabinet doors were open; two drawers of silverware and kitchen tools were dumped on the counter. A pile of dirty dishes filled the sink. “Cocoa sounds great,” Maggie agreed.
Kayla turned on the kettle while she pulled a box of instant cocoa packets from a cabinet.
Maggie noted that the dozen hand-colored 1840s steel engravings of apples, pears, and plums that Dorothy had carefully selected from Maggie’s collection and framed for Whitcomb House’s kitchen were now almost totally covered by crayoned children’s drawings taped on the glass. Crayoned drawings also covered the refrigerator and most of the kitchen cabinets. With six small people proud of their work, there was never enough space to display it all.
Would her kitchen someday sacrifice her favorite Cassell roosters to drawings of purple houses and people without legs? Maggie smiled to herself. She could live with that.
“I stopped at Wee Care on the way here. Aura looked fine, but she’s upset that her mother’s not home.”
“Of course she is. And so are we.” Kayla sat down to wait for the kettle to come to a boil. “We talked late last night, after you left.” She hesitated. “People were pretty nervous. Someone had to have given her something that made her sick. But we couldn’t think of a reason why she’d be a target.” Kayla paused. “Now we know for sure that she was poisoned. But it all seems unreal.”
“Could someone she knew before she came here want to hurt her?”
“No one anyone of us knew about. And even if there were someone like that, how could it have happened? She was here all day yesterday until we went to the Whitcombs’ together. No one at the party had any reason to be angry at her.”
Kayla was right; who would have had both motive and opportunity to poison Sarah? And based on what Dr. Stevens had said, the poison had worked quickly. So the source must have been here, at the house, or at the Whitcombs’.
“The police went all through the house…” Maggie suddenly connected that the open cabinets and piled-up food might not have been left that way on a typical Monday morning. “They dumped Sarah’s room, and the study area and bathroom she shares with Tiffany. They took Sarah’s address book, her calendar, and some papers from her desk. I overheard one of them say so. They told me to stay in the living room while they searched. I felt so stupid, not to be able to help. Or to stop them from touching everything.”
Kayla wiped her eyes and turned to pour the now steaming water from the kettle into the cocoa powder in Maggie’s cup. “Sarah likes her things to be neat. I picked up some of her clothes and remade her bed, but her room is still a mess. I would have cleaned more”—she waved her arm to indicate the mess in the kitchen—“but then I saw this morning’s paper, and I couldn’t concentrate on cleaning. I had to talk with you.” A rumpled copy of The Star-Ledger was on the table.
Maggie picked it up. The article’s headline was “Unwed Mother Poisoned at Somerset College Affair.” Maggie winced. How had the newspaper gotten the information about the poisoning so quickly? There had to be a direct line from the police station to the news bureau. No wonder President Hagfield had told her not to talk to reporters.
She was sure Max was wincing at the “unwed mother” line, too. “Single parent” he could cope with, but…
“It makes all of us seem awful,” said Kayla. “Immoral. Some of us weren’t ‘unwed’ when we had our babies! And the police said they were going to check the backgrounds of everyone Sarah knew. Will they do that? Do they have the right?”
“Until they find the person who hurt her.” Kayla was the second person today who had implied she didn’t want to be investigated. Maggie understood the desire for privacy, but couldn’t think of anything in her own life that would be unearthed by any inquiry. I must have a boring life, she thought to herself. Nothing to hide. Dorothy, though, and now Kayla…
“I don’t have anything horrible in my past except a bad marriage,” Kayla continued. “And my family’s being embarrassed to know me. Nothing the police could dig up that would look like a motive to hurt Sarah. But that’s not true for everyone.”
“The other people in Whitcomb House?”
“We’ve all had some problems. I know some things, but I think you’d better ask the others yourself. Or the police will. But Sarah…”
“Yes? You and Sarah are close, aren’t you?”
“Sarah isn’t really close to anyone. Of course, she knew Tiffany before she came here. But she doesn’t talk that much even to Tiff. She doesn’t share a lot.”
“She knew Tiffany before she came to Somerset College?”
“They shared an apartment last summer for a couple of months. Tips weren’t good at the diner where Sarah worked, so she advertised for a roommate. She knew she’d be coming here in late August. I think Tiffany found out about Whitcomb House from her. Neither of them talk about it much. I got to know Sarah more because Aura and Katie became such pals.” Kayla smiled. “They’re so alike—so full of energy and fantasies—yet so different.”
“Like two wonderful four-year-olds should be,” agreed Maggie. “You and Sarah are good mothers to them.”
“Katie has a father, too. Even if he isn’t here a lot.”
Maggie remembered Dr. Stevens’s question. “What about Aura’s father, Kayla? Did Sarah ever say anything about him?”
Kayla hesitated. “Not by name. I got the impression he was older. Maybe married. Remember that lawyer you brought in to talk to us about parental rights and obligations?”
The lawyer had emphasized that both parents had moral and legal responsibility for their children. That even if the father or mother of your child had taken off, they should accept some of the financial burden. One parent should not have to shoulder that alone.
“Some of us were talking after that. Maria said Tony’s father, Eric, might settle down and come back to them. You know she’s always believed that?”
Maggie shook her head. She hadn’t ever heard Maria mention Tony’s father. “Tiffany said she was definitely going to sue Tyler’s father for child support. But that it would be better to find a new father for him. Or a more consistent source of money.”
“What did Sarah say?”
“That she didn’t want Aura to ever know who her father was. That he was pond scum, and he could stay in the pond.”
“So she knows who he is.”
“It sounded that way. Definitely. Knows who he is and wants Aura as far away from him as possible. But that’s why I called you this morning. I remembered something else.”
“What?”
“About a month later I was in Sarah’s room, getting Katie so I could give her a bath. Aura and Katie had been playing together. They were coloring all over papers they’d found in Sarah’s wastebasket.” Kayla hesitated. “This may mean nothing, Professor Summer. But I picked up the papers and put them back in the wastebasket before I took Katie to our room. One of them was a fancy envelope addressed to Sarah here at the college. The
return address sounded like one of those ritzy law firms—lots of names one after the other. The return address was somewhere in Princeton. I noticed it because most of the other mail was the usual college notices and ads.”
“Was there anything in the envelope?”
Kayla shook her head. “I shouldn’t have looked, but I did. It was empty. I put it back in the wastebasket. I was just surprised Sarah would get a letter from a place like that.”
“Maybe it was junk mail. Sometimes those letters look pretty official.”
“Maybe. But Sarah lived in Princeton once, you know. With her last foster family. She used to joke about how she had ‘gone to Princeton.’ She meant she’d gone to live there.” Kayla shrugged. “Maybe it doesn’t mean anything. But I thought I should tell someone. And the police would probably think I was paranoid. Or, worse, making it up. They don’t seem to think too highly of us.”
Maggie reached out and touched Kayla’s hand. “You’re not crazy. Maybe it doesn’t mean anything, but I’m glad you told me.”
They both sat silently for a few minutes. Suddenly Maggie remembered something. “Just before Sarah passed out last night she mumbled a few words. I thought I heard her say ‘Simon.’ Has she ever mentioned anyone with that name?”
Kayla shook her head. “I don’t think so. I wish I knew more that would help!”
“You’re doing fine. If you think of anything else, make sure you let me know. Or the police.”
“Okay. You know, Maria’s going to be really pissed when she gets home this afternoon,” added Kayla. “The police took her gun.”
Chapter 11
Passiflora (passionflower). Hand-colored engraving from A. B. Strong’s American Flora, 1846. 6.5 x 9.5 inches. Price: $50.
“Her gun? Maria had a gun here at Whitcomb House?” Maggie was appalled. “In a house with all these children? Aside from the fact that guns are never allowed in the dormitories!”
“It was okay.” Kayla realized her mistake in telling Maggie. “Maria kept it unloaded and hid the bullets somewhere else. The gun was on a really high shelf in her closet. None of the kids could reach it.”
Maggie thought of Heather’s son, Mikey, who was tall for six. “Why did she have a gun?”
“For protection, she said. Professor Summer, I shouldn’t have told you. It’s just that Maria’s going to blame me when she gets home and finds out the police took it.”
“Maria could be thrown out of the college for having a gun! Have you any idea how crazy it is to have a gun around all these kids?”
Kayla looked down. “I shouldn’t have told you.”
“Well, you did. But I don’t think you or I will have to do anything about it. The police will do that.” That was just the kind of additional publicity President Hagfield would be thrilled about: one of his students had a gun in her room. In a house where six children lived. “Has Maria ever used the gun?”
“No! At least not that I know of. She just had it…in case.”
It was clear Kayla wasn’t going to say anything else.
Maggie left Whitcomb House and headed for the hospital. Maybe Sarah was better. Maybe the doctors would know more about the poison.
Dorothy Whitcomb was at the hospital ahead of Maggie, sitting on a straight chair in the waiting room reserved for families of those in intensive care. “I’m glad you’re finally here, Maggie,” she said. “Dr. Stevens says Sarah can have one or two visitors for five minutes every hour. I get nervous going in alone. She’s so still.”
“Has there been any change?”
Dorothy shook her head. “She doesn’t respond at all when I speak to her. But they say sometimes people in comas can hear things even when they seem to be unconscious.”
“I’ve read that.”
“So I think someone should be with her as often as possible.”
“If Dr. Stevens feels that’s best.”
“He should be back soon.”
Maggie sat on the blue vinyl couch next to Dorothy’s chair. A selection of well-worn six-month-old Field and Stream and People magazines littered a laminated wooden table in front of them. This waiting room had no TV. Maggie squared her shoulders. “Dorothy, you called me this morning, after we met.”
“I just wanted to see if you’d heard anything else, Maggie. The students trust you.”
“I haven’t heard anything new.” Maggie thought about the police finding Maria’s gun. But that had nothing to do with Sarah; Sarah had been poisoned, not shot. Why tell Dorothy something that would upset her and wasn’t directly related to the current situation? “I didn’t learn anything about Sarah. But the police searched Whitcomb House this morning and questioned Kayla Martin, who was the only one there at the time. They left the place pretty messed up.”
“Those poor young people! Coping with Sarah’s illness, and now this.” Dorothy looked at Maggie. “Do you think they’ll want to search my house, too?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. That’s where Sarah collapsed.” It could be the crime scene, Maggie thought. “I don’t know exactly what they’re looking for. Has Dr. Stevens found out what kind of poison Sarah took?”
Dorothy shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
A tall nurse with short brown hair under her cap joined them. “You’re here to see Sarah Anderson? You can go in now, for a brief visit.”
Sarah was lying in a small alcove curtained by off-white sheets. Her body was connected by an assortment of wires and tubes to several softly beeping monitors. Her face and hands were pale even above the white sheet covering her. Her uncombed light red hair was the only splash of color in the room.
“Sarah,” Dorothy said quietly, “it’s Dorothy and Professor Summer. We’re here to see you. We care about you. Please try to wake up and talk to us.”
Sarah didn’t move.
Maggie tried. “Sarah, I went to see Aura this morning. Kayla and the others at Whitcomb House are taking good care of her. She looks fine, but she misses you. She’s going to draw a picture for you. Next time I come I’ll try to bring it with me. Aura’s fine, Sarah, but she needs you.”
The nurse indicated they should go. The visit had been brief, but it had been long enough to scare Maggie.
What if Sarah didn’t recover? What if she came out of this brain-damaged?
I’m Aura’s guardian, Maggie thought. I have to start thinking about what it would mean to have her move in with me. To be a second mother to her.
She’d been thinking about making a home for a child who had no one. What changes it would make in her life; how it would work for both her and her child; how she could change her guest room into a child’s room. But all of a sudden that time seemed as if it might be frighteningly close at hand.
Maggie shook her head. She couldn’t let herself think about this. Not even a little. She wanted so much to be a mother, to have a child to love and care for and to prepare to go out into the world. But not this way.
Lost in her own thoughts, Maggie suddenly realized that Dorothy was crying.
Chapter 12
Undine. Lithograph by Arthur Rackham of the main character in the book Undine. A girl stands, terrified, in the dark of a forest, surrounded by dead tree branches that appear to be reaching out for her. A raven is above her; a castle is high on a distant hill, bathed in pink skylight. 1909. 5 x 7.25 inches, with larger printed mat. Price: $75.
“Dorothy, what’s wrong?” Maggie sat next to her on the hard waiting-room couch. They were the only people in the waiting room. The beeps and buzzes and footsteps and intercom announcements of the hospital continued in the background.
“I don’t know what to do, Maggie,” she sobbed. “I just don’t know how I’ll cope if Sarah dies.”
Sarah’s being poisoned and falling into a coma was horrible, to be sure. It was catastrophic to Sarah and Aura. It was of great concern to those who knew Sarah and cared about her. It could be a source of embarrassment for Somerset College.
But, even given all of that,
Dorothy was overreacting. Was her life so empty that the students at Whitcomb House meant everything to her?
“You’ve created a wonderful program, bringing young parents together and sponsoring their scholarships and living arrangements. I don’t know what’s happened to Sarah, but, whatever it is, you will go on, and Whitcomb House will go on.” Maggie reached out and put her hand over Dorothy’s. “It’s an awful situation, I know, but you can’t let yourself get so distraught. Students have problems; sometimes they’re involved in tragic situations. But the school will still be here, and I’m sure the work you’ve started with Whitcomb House will go on. Somerset has already received inquiries from other schools; the program you’ve started may turn out to be a model for other colleges.”
“You don’t understand, Maggie.” Dorothy reached into her brown leather Coach pocketbook and pulled out a handful of tissues. “I planned Whitcomb House around Sarah and Aura. If they don’t benefit from it, then Whitcomb House will be a failure.”
“You planned Whitcomb House around the needs of a wide variety of single parents in Somerset County. I listened to your proposal, and so did the rest of the community. Giving young single parents the opportunity to live in a supportive environment was a wonderful idea. You made it possible for them to prove themselves. Now they can get two years of community college behind them and be in a position to get better jobs. They’ll be better able to support their families, or even to go on to a four-year college and get their bachelor’s degrees. And helping the parents also helps their children. Whitcomb House was your idea, and it will leave a lasting legacy.”
Dorothy nodded as she blew her nose and wiped the tears from her face. “I said all that, didn’t I?”
“And you worked with a consultant to prepare all the facts and figures to prove your theory. It was very persuasive, Dorothy. The only doubt anyone had was where the money would come from to begin such a program, and you provided that. In fact, not only did you provide the money, but you provided the dormitory and the furnishings, and the funding to support this first group of scholarship students. You made it happen.”