“Yes, of course.” The somber look was back, and I hated to see his excitement fade. He didn’t believe I could find the answers. Yet this was a barrier he wouldn’t try to cross.
Our waitress brought my fruit salad and Rick’s lamb chops, and I began to eat with no great appetite. I disliked what I’d done to quench enthusiasm—in myself, as well as in him. Though it was true that I must follow through on my purpose in coming here. But the reason I couldn’t give him for my hesitation was the fear of my own emotional involvement. With Rick. How strong a woman was I? Was I willing to test myself?
“You seem to have gone a long way off,” Rick said gently. “I don’t want to pull you into something you’re unwilling to try.”
“Of course I’m not unwilling,” I told him, accepting my own challenge. “There are arguments against doing this that I’ll have to work out with myself—if they can be worked out. Right now, there’s no reason I shouldn’t begin in a small way. I can look for answers about Jed at the same time.”
Again he held out a hand across the table, but this time it was as though he meant to reassure me, to erase whatever it was that had happened before. “Agreed. I promise not to push you too hard.”
I took his hand impersonally, shaking on a business agreement, and I felt pleased with myself and not a little relieved. I was still in charge—of me.
A distraction in the dining room caught our attention. Two people were being directed toward a table farther along the terrace—Sybil and her satellite, Brian Montgomery.
My sister saw us. Her look flicked across our table and returned coldly, but then she might have gone by with no more than a careless greeting, if Brian hadn’t stopped.
“Hello, Lindsay,” he said, cheerfully informal. “Hi, Rick. Has anything new turned up about what happened last night?”
“Nothing,” Rick said, and offered no invitation for them to join us. The two moved on to take a table a little distance away, and Rick’s look followed them thoughtfully. “Brian’s been single-minded for a long while about saving Oak Creek from pollution,” he said. “Somewhere along the way he got Sybil converted, and she’s taken off and made it her own project. It’s the sort of thing she enjoys sinking her teeth into, and of course it’s entirely worth doing. I can only give it my blessing.”
“This is a new side of Sybil,” I admitted. “I’m glad she can take on a cause.” Then I was silent again, because Clara’s words were sharp in my mind—that Rick wanted a divorce and Sybil had refused him, so that their life together had turned into a stalemate.
I had sensed before this that Rick could be quickly perceptive, and perhaps my sudden silence told him something.
“Clara’s been talking, hasn’t she?” he said.
“She felt I ought to know, since Sybil is my sister.”
“Clara’s a privileged friend. In any case, it’s hardly a secret. So whatever she told you is probably true.”
“Then I may have come here at the wrong time for you both,” I said. “Would it be better if I moved somewhere else for however long I stay?”
The quick irritation that I’d seen in him before reappeared. “If I want you to stay in the guesthouse, that’s where you’ll stay. It’s standing empty. God knows, we don’t entertain much any more, and besides, Sybil has nothing against you.”
I knew perfectly well that this wasn’t true, whatever Rick believed. Sybil had always held a grudge against me, and I saw no reason for her to turn into a loving sister now. I’d already seen evidence that she was furious because I’d come. I’d been invited only at Rick’s insistence. There was no need to disturb him any further now.
“I’ll be glad to stay, if you feel it’s all right,” I told him. “I couldn’t be more comfortable. Once I’ve been able to shop, and perhaps rent a car, I can take care of my own meals.”
“That won’t be necessary,” he said, still irritated. “We’ll expect you for lunch and dinner, unless you’re out. Sybil will expect you. I’ll see to it. And I’ll see about a car for you as soon as possible.”
“Thank you, Rick. I’d like to get to work right away on some designs. Especially something using that blue cloth. I’ll need a few things to work with. The tools of my trade. Perhaps some of them can be borrowed?”
“It’s a bargain. I’ll take you back to Tlaquepaque now, and you can make a list of what you need. You’ll be working in that empty shop for now, though we’ll soon put in whatever furniture will make you comfortable.”
“Does it belong to you—that room?”
“I rented it some time back. Originally, Clara and I thought we might use it for an extra gallery. When I knew you were coming, this idea seemed more important.”
“I’d like to go there now. The feel of the place will tell me what I need to get started.”
As we returned to Tlaquepaque, I sensed a truce between us. Rick knew very well that I hadn’t agreed to go along with his plans as far as he wished. I wasn’t sure I could ever do that. At least emotion that had threatened for a moment to get out of hand had been properly subdued.
When we’d started through the complex again, Rick took a key from his pocket. “This is yours. Now you can come and go as you like. I want you to meet Alice Spencer—Rainsong—soon.”
“Does she live in Sedona?”
“No. In Flagstaff. I’ll see if she’s willing to meet you.”
That was a strange way to put it. “Why shouldn’t she be willing?”
He didn’t answer until we were climbing the tiled steps to the upper level above the store, and he seemed vaguely uncomfortable.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have put it like that. You’ll understand when you meet her. She’s the heart of this entire plan. Rainsong is not only an artist, she’s also a gifted weaver herself, and she can help you develop your ideas. Besides, her one quarter of Hopi blood is reassuring. She’s very close to these relatives. Deliberately close.”
“You mean that she rejects her white blood?”
“Not exactly. She’s a complex woman. Perhaps ten years older than you are but, like you, she’s still looking for herself. In a way, she’s a rather shy person, though sometimes she’s angry and not too sure of the direction of her anger. Like you?”
He was being perceptive again, and I clung to the impersonal. “She’s a talented artist. Can she make a living with her painting?”
“No, but she’s been teaching at Northern Arizona University at Flagstaff. I’ll tell you more when I take you to meet her. As soon as we can make plans, I’ll let you know.”
He opened the door of the upper room for me, and then placed the key in my hand. In a strange way, the gesture seemed symbolic. The opening of a door to which I now held a key—the door, perhaps, to an altogether new life. If I could ever accept all it might involve.
I went into the big room ahead of Rick, thinking absently of the implements of my trade, and what I would need in order to get to work. Rick’s sudden exclamation startled me, and I looked around.
Someone had been here. Someone had unrolled a length of the blue cloth, cut it off raggedly with shears that must have been dull, and then, with a painstaking wickedness, had cut the turquoise fabric into bits that cast blue confetti over the table.
It was a vicious, mindless act of vandalism.
5
Frozen with shock, I could only stand there staring at this evil destruction.
Rick was already on his way into the rooms at the rear. “There’s a window open on the balcony,” he called to me. “Whoever it was could have come in here. I’ll lock it now.”
A window slammed shut and the sound grated across my nerves. I touched the bits of blue cloth, feeling shaken by an act that was so mean and vicious.
Rick returned and saw my face. “Look—you mustn’t think this was intended for you. Someone is probably tring to get at me. It could even be—” He broke off, and I knew he was thinking of Sybil. By this time, he would know how vindictive she could be.
&
nbsp; But I couldn’t agree. I was Jed’s daughter, and my reason for coming here was known—or could be easily guessed by anyone with a guilty conscience. Someone was worried about me. Afraid of what I might stir up. There had been that rock last night—perhaps a portent.
“You’re not the target,” I told him. “This is an effort to scare me. And whoever’s doing it just might succeed. I was frightened last night on the terrace, when that rock barely missed me. But somehow this seems even worse. Rick—how can I stay if it’s going to be like this?”
“If you’re Jed’s daughter, you’ll see it through.”
Again, that was the wrong thing to say, and I answered heatedly, “Jed always quit and ran! He hated trouble, and he never stayed around for a fight. Or a finish!”
“Sometimes he did.” Rick’s tone hardened. “I’ve seen him stand against high odds.”
“I can’t admire him blindly as you do!” I cried. “He managed to cause a great deal of damage to a lot of people in his life. Clara Hale said that maybe he got what was coming to him. If I stay to see this through, it won’t be because I loved him without question. I know exactly what he was like and what he did to my mother. And to me. Perhaps to Sybil too. But I still owe him something. Perhaps it’s a debt of life. That’s what he gave me.”
I’d attacked an idol, and Rick’s coolness continued as he spoke. “Shall I take you back to the house now?”
“I still have a list to make—if I stay—and some thinking to do. I might as well look through those books you left for me downstairs. So I’ll go back to the shop.”
He stood for a moment longer staring at the mutilated bolt of cloth. Then he let me out the door ahead of him and pulled it shut, trying it against the automatic lock. Without another word, he walked downstairs with me, and at the door of the shop I told him I’d call a taxi when I was ready to go back to the house. He needn’t come for me. He nodded indifferently and went away, leaving me with an ache inside that I didn’t want to accept.
Why had I flown so heatedly into the face of Rick’s loyalty to my father? Why did the very mention of Jed’s name arouse emotions in me that I didn’t want to feel, and couldn’t handle? What was I really running away from?
But I knew—I knew very well. I’d taught myself long ago to be self-sufficient, and I’d learned against high odds. To let down my guard, to let other people in, might be to destroy everything I’d built up.
You need me now, the insidious voice in my mind whispered. You need me to help you get what you really want.
I could answer without speaking aloud. I don’t need you at all. Leave me alone!
She wouldn’t accept that. Of course you need me. You’ll find out.
I didn’t respond, and she was quiet again.
When I walked into the shop, several people were looking around. Connie, Clara’s young assistant, had come in and was waiting on a customer. The moment Clara saw my face, she beckoned me toward the rear. I followed her into her office and sat down.
“Something’s happened?” she said.
I told her about the blue cloth, and she shook her head. “That’s pretty nasty. Somebody really wants you gone, I’d say. Are you going to take the hint?”
I was rummaging in my bag for notebook and pen. “I don’t know. Rick wants me to do a—a designing job. I expect he’s told you.”
“Then you’re planning to stay and go through with this?”
“I’m not sure yet. Probably the wise thing would be to leave at once. I—I’ve never been a target before. I’m not sure I can take it.” Again, I was giving the wrong reason—the only reason that could be stated.
“Smart thinking,” Clara said.
“On the other hand, I don’t like to run out on Rick.”
She shook her head despairingly. “You’re not much like your father, are you? He could make up his mind in seconds.” Suddenly she grinned at me. “And in twenty different directions in one day.”
She returned to the shop, and I began to make jottings in my notebook. I would need tissue for patterns, unbleached muslin for draping and pinning a toile, good shears, of course, a yardstick, pins—the usual implements of my trade. A dress form could be borrowed. If I stayed, of course I would buy my own.
If I stayed.
A half hour went by before I recognized that I was no longer concentrating. Wherever I looked I seemed to see the jagged bits of blue cloth that had been left so spitefully for me to find. And I could see Rick’s face—remote and cool because I was disappointing him.
Since I felt too tense to sit still, I jumped up and went to a shelf, where several decorative sculptures were displayed. One in particular caught my eye.
Carved out of a chunk of Sedona’s red sandstone, it stood about a foot high. At first glance it looked like some of the red rocks I’d seen since I’d come here—those tall, weather-worn cliffs that rose on every hand. But as I looked closer I saw that several standing human figures had been carved side by side into the stone. Tall figures that were part of the rock, their heads and faces detailed, while the touching bodies faded into crevices of stone. I could count five heads, all with strong, clearly defined features, all grim and forbidding, yet different from one another. The central face in particular seemed touched by the red light of sunset, so that it glowed more than the others. Due, perhaps, to the curious effect of polishing on that one face? The eyes looked at the sky—and knew what was there.
A sense of awe touched me and I jumped when Clara spoke from the doorway. “You’ve found Marilla’s favorite—the fire people. What do you think of them?”
“Marilla’s? But she couldn’t have—”
“No. I only mean that she thinks of them as hers, out there in the rocks. The real ones. Jed only copied them.”
“You mean my father did this piece? But I didn’t know he’d ever sculpted anything. How could he have a talent like this without everyone knowing?”
“Oh, you needn’t get the notion that he was a great sculptor. You can’t be a great anything without applying yourself. He played around with it, and he could be pretty good at times. But only accidentally. He never worked at anything long enough to develop his talents because he got bored with whatever he was doing, if he did it for more than five minutes. This piece was a fluke. The way once in a blue moon a new writer can turn out a single masterpiece, and then never repeat—because he doesn’t know how he did it. Marilla’s Fire People out there in the rocks are pretty impressive, and I guess they caught his imagination.” Her words carried unveiled scorn.
“I don’t understand. If you disliked him so much, why have you kept this?”
“Because I respect the art, even though I learned to detest the man. I suppose it was meant to repay me for some of what I lost in that damned scheme of his.”
How angry she was—this small, lively woman, with the big dark eyes and surging emotions. She made me uncomfortable with her judgments, even though there was justification in her anger against my father.
“This sculpture might even do that,” I said. “Pay you back, I mean. It could be a valuable piece.”
“That’s not the way value is made. There needs to be an artist’s reputation behind it. And that’s not achieved by one piece.”
I’d had enough of emotion—my own and others’, and because my knees were feeling surprisingly uncertain, I sat down. “I’ll phone for a cab,” I said. “I’d like to go back to the house now.”
“Here it’s the cab,” Clara said dryly. “We’re not a metropolis. But don’t bother. I’ve already called Parker, and he’ll drive you to Rick’s. Have you finished the list of what you need?”
“More or less.”
I showed her my jottings and she read them through, nodding. “Leave this with me. You may need to shop in Flagstaff for a few of these things. I’ll see if I can find some of them at home.”
“Don’t bother,” I said. “I was only killing time. I’ll probably leave in a day or two.”
Clara lo
oked around. “Here’s Parker now.”
Her husband, looking loose-limbed, cheerful, and slightly ruddy of face, came through the store and back to where I waited. As before, I had a feeling that his eyes held a certain suspicion of the world around him, in spite of his easy smile.
Clara gave her husband an affectionate look. “Don’t let him talk your ear off, Lindsay,” she warned me.
“You ready to go, Miss Phillips?”
“Yes—thanks for the lift.”
We went out to where he’d left his car, and before we’d driven far, I began to sense that at this moment Parker’s cheerful exterior covered a surprising anger. Perhaps an anger as great as his wife’s.
“I’m making you a lot of trouble,” I apologized. “I’m sorry. I really meant to call a cab.”
“Don’t worry.” He was curt. “I’m not going out of my way. I’ve been summoned.”
I didn’t know what he meant, and as we drove toward town he glanced at me. “When Mrs. Adams whistles for us, we jump,” he said dryly. “She’s giving a dinner for you Saturday, as you probably know. And she wants me to prepare it.”
I’d forgotten about Sybil’s dinner. I dreaded it now, with my new knowledge, and so much else hanging over me.
“Do you do this often?”
“Now and then. Why not? Since it’s what I do best, I might as well work at it professionally. It’s not out of the goodness of my heart, you know. All the same, this time I’d like to tell her where to get off. And I don’t much care if you let your sister know how I feel.”
So here was someone else who despised Sybil. She certainly wasn’t winning any popularity contests. But then—she never had.
“You’d better tell her yourself,” I said. “Surely you don’t have to do this dinner just because she expects it.”
“If I don’t do what Sybil Adams wants, she’ll make it even tougher for Clara,” he admitted. “And she’s already doing quite a lot in that direction.”
“How can she? Rick depends on your wife. She’s his partner, and even in the short time I’ve been here I can see how valuable she is. Rick’s talents lie in another direction.”
Vermilion Page 9