“It certainly would. But don’t you see? He was lying to me all the time—or at least only telling me part of the truth. I can’t believe it.” Now she remembered what Byrl’s assumptions reminded her of—that whispered conversation she overheard on the beach. Could they have been referring to the Ryburg project? Debbie’s hands felt cold.
Now that she knew Ryburg was involved she looked again at the account of Margaret Larsen’s charges: Cover-up of fraud in high places—two years ago—When Gayle Mansfield was working in Salem? Who was covering up what?
The telephone rang, and Byrl reached for it. “Well, hello. You’re famous this morning. Or should I say notorious? … Debbie? … Well, I suppose, but I’m not so sure she wants to talk to you—or that you want to hear what’s on her mind if she does …” She held out the receiver to Debbie. “He says he’ll take his chances.”
Debbie took the phone. “Ryland? What—”
His voice was smooth and warm, with just a touch of humor. How could it sound so good to her when she was so mad at him?
“No, I really don’t think—” He wouldn’t listen to her protests. And she supposed it would only be fair to allow him to explain in person. “Well, I don’t think there’s any chance you’ll change my mind. But I guess we could have lunch. … Yeah, OK. Call me when you get to town. … Sure, I’ll still be here at the end of the week. … Talk to anyone? Who would I talk to? … Don’t be silly. I’m not political.”
After he’d rung off she sat there, frowning. “Why would he think I’d talk to Margaret Larsen? What would I say to her?”
Byrl pushed her chair back with a scrape. “Well, I don’t know about you. But I’ve got a thing or two to say. It suddenly occurred to me that helping Mrs. Larsen defeat Ryburg would be a great way to get back at that snake Alex. If there was any under-the-table dealing, it’s certain he was the bag man.”
“That’s great. You’ll be a big help to her. But, Byrl—”
“Hm?”
“Be careful.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know. But there’s a lot of money at stake. These people might play pretty rough.”
Byrl just laughed as she went out.
As she washed dishes Debbie wondered how Melissa was feeling. She would just give the cottage a quick cleaning, then go find out. As she got into the job, however, it seemed that there could be no such thing as a quick cleaning. Debbie hadn’t realized how she’d let things slip. How long had it been since she’d given the place a good turnout? She couldn’t really remember. And the way sand tracked in around here … How could she have put up with this? She must have been more distracted by Greg than she realized to have let her work go like this.
It was hours later before the entire cottage gleamed with waxed floors, shampooed carpets, washed windows … Debbie was deep in the hall closet, just thinking she really should pull everything out to get it absolutely immaculate, when she heard a distant jangling. She jerked up and turned quickly, knocking against a shelf. The ringing sounded above the clatter of falling boxes. Yes, it was the phone. “Don’t hang up, I’m coming.” But her attempt to hop over the jumble brought the real disaster. She bumped into the ironing board, knocking it firmly across the doorway.
She pushed at it in frustration, only lodging it more firmly against the doorframe. “Hold on.” But the phone went silent. With a sigh of exasperation Debbie turned to straighten the chaos she had created. Was that Greg reporting on Melissa? What if the child was worse and they needed her? Well, she’d just finish this quickly, then call them.
She was just closing the door on her completed job when the phone rang again. This time there were no barriers. “Hello, Greg?”
“Er—no. Who’s Greg? Something going on there I don’t know about?”
“Andy! Is that you? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong. That’s what I called to tell you. But who’s Greg?”
“He’s a friend. A neighbor.” No one. Everyone. She didn’t really know. “But tell me about you. How are you?”
“I’m great. That’s what I called to tell you. I’m going back to school.”
“Oh, that is great! What changed your mind?”
“I didn’t really change my mind. The job was just an excuse. But I knew there was no use going on with school unless I was going to do it right. Registration is next week, so I had to get it settled.”
“What?”
“My call to be a missionary. You remember, don’t you? I talked about it a lot when I was a kid. Well, it never changed. But I got cold feet, especially when Mom died and all that.”
“Yeah. I know. Mothers who desert their families have a lot to answer for.”
“What? Deb, you don’t mean that. Mom didn’t desert us. She died praying for us. I don’t know—maybe she’s still praying for us.”
Debbie was silent.
“Sis? Are you there?”
“I’m here.”
“You didn’t mean that did you? About Mom deserting us? You make it sound like she had a choice. She didn’t choose to die.”
Silence.
“Deb. You know what I’m saying is right.”
“My head knows. I still feel … I don’t know. Abandoned. Betrayed. Forced to do things I didn’t want to do.”
“You mean like taking care of Angie and me? I know we must have been a pain, especially me, but—”
“No, Andy. That isn’t at all what I mean. I don’t know what I mean. Anyway, I’m glad you’ve got your future sorted out. Really glad.”
“Yeah, me too. But, Deb, what about you? I mean, do you have anyone there you can talk to? You need to get your feelings—”
“Now don’t you start too. My feelings are just that. Mine. I don’t need anyone else telling me what to feel and not to feel.”
She hadn’t meant to hang up on him. She was really glad, so very glad for Andy. She knew his decision was right. But the fact that he almost missed it, that their mother’s death almost derailed him, too, just added fuel to the fire of her emotions. She had thought she would go see Melissa, but she didn’t want to see anyone right now. Besides, she really must finish her work here.
She looked around. How could this place feel so grubby when she had just spent hours cleaning? Oh, that was it. The kitchen cupboards. She would pull everything out, scrub the shelves, wash the contents, put in new shelf paper. Then they would be clean. Then she would feel better.
Byrl came in some time later and began digging in the newly cleaned refrigerator filled with freshness-sealed leftovers. She pulled out a dish and turned to the microwave while she enthused about her meeting with Margaret Larsen, about what a brave, dynamic woman she was, about how Byrl was going to write all the press releases for her campaign to run the casino gambling interests out of Oregon. Debbie nodded at appropriate intervals, but she wasn’t really concentrating.
She simply had far too much work to do here to think about anything else. And she hadn’t touched the bathroom yet. She would probably have to run to the store for a good strong disinfectant. Molds and things could really take hold in a damp climate like this. Thank goodness she’d done Byrl’s room when she had the chance. She heard her cousin’s door shut and knew she wouldn’t see her for hours—probably not until morning—once she got into her writing.
It was dark out. Debbie’s back ached. Her hands were raw. But at last she felt calm inside. Whatever she had been trying to scrub away was now safely tidied up. For the moment. She knew from experience that the compulsion to clean and clean and clean would stay quietly buried now until something else triggered it. She didn’t understand what it was or why it happened. She just knew that was the way of it.
There was only one thing left. Now she must clean herself. A hot bath. Wash her hair. Scrub her face. But most of all her hands. She was desperate to wash her hands. She almost ran to the sink, filled it with hot water, grabbed the bar of soap and ran it around and around and around in her hands. Lath
er bubbled through her fingers and dripped off her elbows. But she didn’t stop.
“What are you doing?” Byrl’s voice made her jump.
“There’s so much blood.” It wasn’t Debbie’s voice. She couldn’t have said that.
Byrl just stood there, looking at her, frowning. “‘Aye, there’s a spot. And another.’ Lady Macbeth.” She walked away, shaking her head.
Byrl’s words jarred Debbie awake. No, she’d been awake. Just thinking about other things. Lady Macbeth? What did she mean by that? Lady Macbeth was a murderer. Of course she had blood on her hands. She had killed. With her own hands. Why did Byrl say that? What did she know? But that was silly. There wasn’t anything to know. Debbie hadn’t killed anyone. Of course she hadn’t.
The house was dirty. She had cleaned it. The cleaning chemicals made her hands sore. She washed them off. What was the big deal about that? She would just finish her bath and then run over and see how Melissa was. She’d meant to do that hours ago.
But she didn’t calculate for dozing off in the tub. When she emerged from the bath it really was too late to go running next door. She would just eat an egg and some toast and go to bed. She could check on Melissa in the morning. Before leaving the kitchen, however, she pushed back the curtains and opened the window for a breath of fresh air. Fog was rolling in from the ocean, but she could see the light on in the cottage next door. If Greg was awake, she might as well give him a call to tell him about Andy.
The phone rang three times. She was just ready to hang up when Greg answered. He sounded amazed to hear her voice. “Debbie, how could you have known? I considered calling, but didn’t want to disturb you.”
“Know what? I called to tell you about Andy.”
“Andy?”
“My brother. You prayed for him.”
“Oh, yeah. Sorry.”
Greg sounded distracted, but she went on. “Andy called. He’s going back to college. It wasn’t the school or his job. He was fighting a call to the mission field.”
“Yep.”
“You sound like you knew that.”
“I was pretty sure.”
“How?”
“Went through it myself. Not missions—preaching. Listen, that’s great about Andy, I want to hear all about it. But I’ve got another problem here.”
“What? It is Melissa? I’m sorry. I should have come over earlier. Is she sick?”
“I don’t know, maybe. I went in to her because she was thrashing around. She’s calm now, but—”
“What?”
“Debbie, this isn’t easy to tell you. I found your compact.”
“My compact! Where?”
“Under Melissa’s pillow.”
“How’d it get there?”
“I don’t want to go into it all now, but there were problems before. She seemed so well this summer, especially after you came into our life. I thought—I really don’t know.” He sounded despondent.
“Shall I come over? It isn’t important about the compact. Tell her she can have it. No, wait, I’ll tell her myself.”
“No. Don’t come now. She’s asleep. I just don’t know what to do.”
“Greg, don’t worry. She’s only a child. She doesn’t understand about stealing.”
“I know that. It isn’t the fact of taking the stuff. It’s the need for security that the things symbolize. It hadn’t happened all summer. I thought—”
“Greg, are you sure you don’t want me to come over?”
“Yeah, I’m sure. I’m going to try to get some sleep too.”
Debbie glanced at her clock as she got into bed. No wonder Greg didn’t want her to come over. How could it possibly be so late?
The next time the phone rang Debbie didn’t even look at her clock. She didn’t want to know what time it was. She might have slept for two hours, but it seemed like two minutes. All she knew was that it was still dark outside. And her head ached abominably.
“Debbie, I’m sorry to bother you, but we’re at the hospital, and Melissa is asking for you. Could you possibly—?”
“Hospital?” she was as instantly awake as if she had been doused with a pitcher of cold water.
“Melissa woke up screaming about half an hour ago. They’re running some tests, but the doctor’s pretty sure it’s appendicitis. He says it’s unusual in a child her age, but …”
Debbie’s hands were icy. Perspiration stood out on her forehead. “Hospital?”
“I’m so sorry to bother you. I wouldn’t, except she really wants you. And I explained about her insecurities. Well, I didn’t exactly explain, but she really needs you.”
Debbie’s throat was closing. The room going dark. She leaned against the wall to keep from falling.
“Debbie, are you there? What shall I tell Melissa?”
She fought her way up as if from a long distance. Tell Melissa? About going to the hospital? She hadn’t even gone to the hospital when …
“Debbie?”
“Yeah, I’m here.” She cleared her throat and spoke louder. “Tell her I’m coming.”
“Do you know the way?”
“Oh, I hadn’t thought of that. Tell me.” She fumbled for paper and pencil.
He gave her the address. It was some Indian name she had never heard before and didn’t know how to spell. “Take the highway toward Cannon Beach. About four blocks past the junction turn toward the mountains. The road twists around, but there’s nothing else there, so you can’t miss it. It’s in the woods, but you’ll see the lights. I’d come for you, but I hate to leave Melissa.”
“No. No, don’t leave her. I’ll find it.”
Groping in the semidarkness she pulled on jeans and a sweater, awkward in her haste. She jammed her feet into a pair of sneakers. She was almost out the door when she thought of her hair. She turned back to splash cold water on her face and run a brush through her sleep-tangled mane. All the while she knew she should be praying. She tried. Tried to pray for Melissa, for herself, for Greg, for the doctors. But no words came. She tried to raise her mind upward but hit only a black ceiling.
A solid wall of cold, wet fog engulfed her outside the door. This was something she could pray about. Don’t let me get lost in this. It was too dark to drive without lights, yet the fog just threw them back at her eyes. She drove more by instinct than by sight to the highway, hoping that even a few blocks back from the ocean the fog might be thinner. But if anything, it piled up more thickly at the base of the mountains. Help me! Please.
A red light suddenly loomed before her. She threw on her brake and skidded into the intersection. At least she knew she was at Broadway now. Silly to have streetlights going at this hour. She was the only soul awake in the whole town. Could be the only one alive for all she could see. “Turn at the junction,” he had said.
Then with horror she realized she didn’t know which junction—the one at the edge of town or the one out on the highway? She searched her mind to recall Greg’s words, something about the highway toward Cannon Beach. Both junctions qualified. It sounded so simple when he said it. Her hands gripped the steering wheel, stiff with the penetrating cold. Her headache returned. Just get me there.
She counted four streets past the first junction and turned to the left, even afraid to breathe as she did so. If this was the wrong choice, she could drive for an hour in the forest and never find anything. She considered getting out and searching for a sign. If this was the way to the hospital, it must be marked. But she didn’t have a flashlight. Finding a sign in almost zero visibility seemed hopeless.
Better just to keep on. She realized she was holding her breath and forced herself to breathe. Slow, deep breaths to calm herself. No. That was what they had told her to do … No. NO. She shook her head. No. She wouldn’t think of that. She gulped air in rapidly.
If only the engine would warm up, so she could turn on the heater. Her feet were numb all the way to her knees. She had been cold like that—No, stop that. She looked at the heater gauge. It sti
ll registered below cold. Are You there, God? I need You.
All at once her headlights caught the trunks of heavy, dark pine trees right in front of her. Was this the end of the road? She threw on her brakes. What now? There wasn’t even a turnaround. Then, as her eyes probed the fuzzy darkness, she realized the road hadn’t ended. It turned sharply left.
Her attention riveted on the road ahead, driving almost by Braille, she crept down the road, aware that thick forest surrounded her on either side. She was encased in mist and uncertainty. Surely no one would build a hospital in such a remote place. Greg must have meant the second junction. And now she’d be too late. Melissa would go to surgery without her. She hadn’t meant to abandon Melissa.
She hadn’t meant to. She’d fought as hard as she could. She didn’t want Melissa to have to go through that alone. Not without a mother. Debbie knew how that felt. Mothers should be there when they were needed.
Then a dim flicker of light appeared through the murk. It seemed like hours since she’d seen any sign of civilization. It couldn’t really have been more than a matter of minutes—15, maybe. But it seemed a lifetime. Leading her like a beacon, the single light became two. Then three. Then, with a shout of joy, Debbie turned in at a brightly lit, efficient-looking brick building clearly marked Hospital. Thank you.
Greg was standing just inside the glass doors watching for her. He held the doors open. She ran into his arms. For a moment she forgot where she was and why she was there.
Greg released her and led the way down the hall. “The fog is awful. I thought I’d never get here. Am I too late? Have they taken her in?”
He replied, but Debbie couldn’t focus on his words. The smell hit her first. That awful smell of death. She put her hand over her nose and closed her eyes. A streak of red slashed the inside of her eyelids. A cry.
“Are you all right?” Greg took her arm.
She blinked at him. Where was she? “Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little woozy. I don’t like hospitals.”
Greg pushed through a swinging door to a white room with a high metal bed in the center. “Just made it.” He pointed to the small figure in the bed. “Her blood count is high, abdomen hard. They’re going to take her to surgery in about five minutes.”
All Things New (Virtuous Heart) Page 15