Mrs. Tolbert walked with her to the door. "Take care, Callie, and don t hesitate to come see me. I don t seem to be much help, but I can listen."
Callie went home. She looked up at the house, its windows glowing soft amber from the lights within, promising the warmth and happiness that had once been and was no more. She turned away toward the woods. If Stephen were ever to come to her again, she was certain it would be in that clearing by the stream. She had been going there daily since he left. She pulled her cloak more tightly around her as she sat down on the log at the stream's edge. She remained there looking into the water, wishing he would come and hoping he would not. She loved Stephen, but she knew as well as he that no matter how often they met or how deeply they loved, she'd return to Peter and Jamie.
At nightfall she walked slowly back to the house, feeling she had left behind at the stream's edge the joy of life, the laughter, the quiet joyous peace that lived tranquilly inside her, making each day bright as long as she knew he was nearby.
Supper was over. No one had eaten at the table because she hadn't been there to see that they did. Jamie
had eaten in the playroom. Natalie was closed within her rooms. Peter sat alone in his study as locked away by his terrifying memories as Natalie was by her phantoms.
"Hello, Peter," she said as she came from hearing Bea's account of the afternoon. "Bea said you didn't eat Would you like something now?"
"You look tired, Callie."
"It's been a long day. Sam Tolbert asked after you."
"How is Sam?"
"He's fine. He's going to take Jamie with his sons on a trip to the mountains."
"I should be taking him," Peter said quietly. "I don't know how to do the things I want . . . it's always there with me . . . stopping me. I . . ."
"You will."
Peter leaned forward against the windowsill, staring blankly at the barren trees robbed of their autumn colors, sapless and dormant in winter stillness.
"I was just going up to tell Jamie about the trip. Perhaps you would like to tell him."
Peter shook his head, remaining at the window.
Callie went to Jamie's room, prolonging her visit Jamie happily repeated the stories Peter had told him of England and of the Cantii that had first lived-roaming the Weald and the chalk hills and the forests. He blissfully mixed the Kentish countryside in atrocious confusion with bits of information about New York and the Hudson valley. He chattered incessantly, interspersing questions about the coming trip with Sam. Callie smiled as he listened. However Peter failed to free himself, he was building in Jamie an awareness of a bright world filled with promise and expectation.
Callie stayed until Mary Anne stood cross-armed and stern-visaged at the side of Jamie's bed. "How
long are you going to keep this child from his rest?" she scolded.
Callie got up, still smiling. "We've been naughty, Jamie," she said, kissing him and helping him into bed. "Sleep well."
"Aunt Callie?"
"Yes?"
"How long till Friday?"
"Three days. Three little days that will pass before you know it."
Peter spent most of the night in his study. In the morning he was tense and pale when he came to breakfast with Callie. She hadn't seen that look on his face for a long time, and she didn't know what had caused it. It was the same expression of dreading determination he had had when Stephen had first told him he must join them at supper.
When Jamie joined them, Peter's tension eased as though some great milestone had been passed. He told Callie he'd be taking Jamie for the day—out of the house. Callie approved, and Jamie had the good sense not to mention school if the adults did not.
Peter spent most of the next three days with Jamie, walking the farm, hunting in the woods, and fishing in the cold streams.
"I think you'll be showing Mr. Tolbert's boys a thing or two on this trip," Callie said as they both came home slightly damp and very cold the third evening.
Jamie danced in place, warming his feet. He had his secret smile all over his face as he kept his hands behind his back, guarding his surprise between himself and Peter. "Papa knows everything," he announced, beaming up at Peter. "He can catch fish with a spear-and I did too! See!" he chirped, thrusting the half-frozen fish at Callie.
"Ohh! It's a lovely fish. The loveliest I've ever seen caught with a stick."
"A spear," Jamie corrected.
"A spear, indeed. Suppose I tell Bea to cook your fish for supper?"
Jamie looked at Peter, smiling at the nodded assent given.
'Then get over to the fire. Ill get you dry clothes, and then we'll tell Bea to cook your fish."
"We'll go up," Peter said, getting down on his haunches so Jamie could climb on his back for a ride up the stairs.
Callie told Bea to fry the fish, then followed after Peter and Jamie.
As Peter turned to go down the upper hall to Jamie's room, Natalie stepped out of hers. "Put him down!"
Peter stopped as though an invisible leash had tightened. He glanced over his shoulder at his sister. She was hardly recognizable these days. The elfin charm was lost in the soft-fleshed distortion of her features. Only her hollow, burning eyes had any familiarity, and that of a terrible night in Kent when James Berean had died. Peter put Jamie down, then picked him up again, holding him securely in both arms. "What do you want, Nat?"
"Put him down! He's mine! Put him down!" Natalie said, crouching slightly and edging toward Peter and Jamie.
Callie heard Natalie's last screamed command. She ran the last of the steps, calling to Peter to take Jamie to his room. Peter turned hurriedly with Jamie.
Natalie ran down the hall, grabbing hold of Jamie's leg and arm. Jamie cried out in fright, pulling his arm free of Natalie and taking a strangle hold .on Peter's neck.
Peter struggled, holding fast to Jamie with one hand
and trying to break Natalie's hold on his leg with the other. Callie ran down the hall, taking hold of Natalie from behind. Between them they freed Jamie momentarily.
"Hurry, Peter!" Callie cried as she saw him hesitate, not knowing whether to help her or take Jamie to his room.
"You're evil!" Natalie hissed, lunging after Peter.
"Get in your room!" Callie grunted, dragging Natalie a step at a time back down the hall.
"I'll get her," Peter said as he ran back to Callie. Natalie flailed, clawing and writhing as he tried to pick her up.
"Get her to her room," Callie panted as Peter dodged Natalie's clawing nails until he got hold of both her hands. He carried her to the bedroom.
"Don't wait!" Callie cried, pulling at him. "Get out." She slammed the door shut, holding fast to the knob as Natalie pounded in fury from the other side.
Peter looked dazedly at the door, then at Callie. "How long has she. . . . Has she been like this ever before?" he asked breathlessly.
"No. No . . . never this bad. Ifs been getting worse recently. I don't know what to do anymore."
"She's insane," he said disbelievingly. "I always thought I had been the cause of ... I mean I never believed her when she'd tell me . . ."
"That's why Jamie is going on the fishing trip," Callie said quickly. "I had to do something. I'm afraid. I never know . . . what could happen."
Peter moved slowly toward Natalie's door. "Don't! Don't go near her. Not until I've had a chance to talk to you about her, Peter. Please. I've got to see to Jamie now, but stay away from her until we talk. Promise me."
He glanced at Callie, then at Natalie's door. "I'll be downstairs."
She stopped before entering Jamie's room to be certain Peter went downstairs as he had promised.
Mary Anne had Jamie calmed, warm, and in dry clothes when Callie came in.
"What was goin' on out there? This child was scared out of his wits!"
"Keep Natalie away from him, Mary Anne—all the time. Don't let him near her for any reason."
"Miss Natalie? Why, she dotes on the boy. What harm-"
>
"Keep her away from him!" Callie said shrilly.
Mary Anne's lips tightened in disapproval. "Whatever you say, miss."
Callie rubbed her head. There was no use. "Only for a day or two, Mary Anne. Please. I can't manage alone."
Jamie sniffed. "I don't like Aunt Natalie when she's mean."
"I don't either, Jamie." Callie hugged him, then asked quietly, "What name does she call you, Jamie?"
"I'm not supposed to tell," he said, shaking his head and glancing at the door. "She said I couldn't—not ever."
"Is it Bertie?"
"I didn't tell!" he howled, his face puckering up.
Callie closed her eyes, letting him climb up onto her lap. "Jamie . . ." she said softly. "You must always tell me things like that, because what Aunt Natalie did was very wrong. Did you know it was wrong?"
"Aunt Natalie said I wasn't allowed to tell you."
"It is wrong to keep secrets from people you love, Jamie. No matter what anyone says, you always tell me when something is wrong."
"But she said pretending was all right. We were pretending . . ."
"Oh, Jamie . . ." Callie breathed, sitting back limply as Jamie told her of their pretenses of Albert and Natalie and Bertie, and of the evil man who wanted to steal Bertie away. She held him close until he fell asleep.
When she came downstairs, Peter was waiting for her.
"Is he all right?"
"Yes, he's all right." She looked worriedly at Peter's anxious face. "Peter, don't go near her."
"You don't need to protect me from my own sister, Callie."
"No, no, you don't understand," she said urgently and explained to him what had begun in Kent with Natalie's miscarriage. They talked about Albert's and Rosalind's death and what Peter's thoughts had been at the time and Callie's and Stephen's. Finally she told him about the violence and hatred that seemed to have come alive in Natalie again as soon as Peter had returned home.
Both Peter and Callie fell into a deep, pensive silence, going back over the years. Then Peter said, "She's been like this since you left England?"
"Oh, no—no. It's only when she thought you were coming home. She is afraid you'll take Jamie . . . Bertie ... I don't know what she thinks really. She is far beyond me now. I can't keep her in her room, nor can I calm her this time."
Peter sat rigidly tense, staring past Callie, seeing what she couldn't imagine. "You'll put her in an asylum," he murmured.
Callie got up, nervously adjusting the figurines on the tables, dusting with the tip of her apron. "You and Stephen will have to decide," she said finally, her lips tight. "I'm going to send a message to him at the brewery tomorrow after I take Jamie to the Tolberts'.
He can come to dinner and then . . . then you two will have to decide . . . what will be done."
"Locked in an asylum," Peter murmured in revulsion.
"Peter, I went to the asylum ... to see if it was as horrible as ... I know what it's like! Do you think I want to see her there! We brought her here with us to keep her from one in England. I don't know what to do! I don't want to put her there, but she can t stay here."
He said nothing. Biting on her lip, feeling guilty at the thought of coldly locking Natalie away for the remainder of her life to slowly rot away, Callie looked beseechingly at him. "Am I wrong? Do you think it is safe for her to be near Jamie ... or you?"
"No, I don't want her near Jamie!" he said in agitation, then calmed slightly. "We'll take her away. But not to one of those places . . . not . . . one of those places."
Next morning Callie packed the bundle of clothing Jamie would need for his trip. The last thing she did before leaving for the Tolberts' after lunch was to check the lock on Natalie's door.
Natalie worked at her door, sticking into the lock anything she possessed, including a large assortment of keys she had taken from all over the house. One by one she tried them without success. Then she began to work on the hinges, trying to remove the hinge pins. Two she removed easily. The third was frozen in place as the weight of the door pulled the hinges out of alignment. She went back to the keys, trying them with less haste and a diabolical concentration. Succeeding, she took Callie's bread knife from under her mattress and slipped out through the door hanging crazily on one hinge.
She edged down the hallway to Peter's bedroom. Enraged to find it empty, she slashed at the bed, tearing the coverlet and pillow to shreds.
Peter finished his coffee. He left the dining room having decided to walk to the brewery to see Stephen himself. There was no need to send a message, and it was time he spoke to Stephen about Natalie, and about his prolonged absence from home. He started up the staircase, preoccupied, trying to plan the simple trip to the brewery to find Stephen in an orderly fashion. He felt as he had the first time Rebecca had let him free to go into Hobart Town alone. He had been terrified; but finding Tom Baker had been important enough to override his fear. Today Callie and Stephen and Jamie were important enough for him to try again.
Natalie slithered along the wall, quiet and intensely alert to every sound in the house. She crouched at the corner of the wall where the steps reached the top landing—waiting, controlling the laughter and the moment of intense triumph that was so near.
Peter came within four steps of the second floor when she flew at him laughing maniacally, the knife held firmly pointed at his throat
His arm went up, and Natalie hit him at the same time. They both fell with uncontrollable force down the stairs.
Mary Anne ran from the back of the house. She saw them both at the base of the stairs on the hall floor. Peter s arm was soaked in blood where the knife had gouged him. Natalie lay beside him, a broken doll. The knife was on the floor.
Mary Anne screamed at the top of her lungs, quivering in shock.
Peter dazedly opened his eyes, grimacing and holding his head. Her screaming cut through him. Then he moved quickly, getting to his feet, staring in glassy-eyed horror at Natalie. He put his hands out, his eyes imploring Mary Anne. She cowered away from him, finally breaking her fright to run from the house shouting to the field men to get the sheriff.
Peter was still huddled against the stair wall shaking and staring down at Natalie when Callie came up the front walk from having taken Jamie to the Tol-berts'.
She stepped inside the foyer, taking off her coat and hat, hanging them neatly and straightening the others before she entered the main hall.
She swayed, her eyes growing dark as she looked at them. She compelled herself to cross the hall, going down on her knees beside Natalie, knowing before she touched her that she was dead. "Why? Why didn't you stay away from her?" she asked in anguish.
Peter began to shake his head mindlessly. "No . . . No . . . I didn't . . . I . . ."
Callie looked at him in shocked understanding. "I know you didn't," she said. "Oh, Lord, Peter, it wasn't you. I know that." As she looked at him and felt his bewildered pain, she began to gather her senses. She got up, coming around Natalie to him. She took his hand, felt the hot moistness of the still bleeding wound, and led him to the study.
"I didn't want her to be hurt. I tried to catch her," he said, looking at Callie. "She . . . she threw herself at me . . . she . . ."
"Drink this," she said and handed him a glass of brandy. She began to clean and dress the knife wound.
Though it was quite some time, it seemed they had no more than a few seconds before the sheriff and
several men from the fields burst into the house led by Mary Anne hysterically babbling her story.
Peter laid his head against the back of the sofa, all expression drained from his face. If the taut look of despair hadn't been imprinted on his features, she would have thought him asleep. She stood between him and the door to the hall. She heard the voices of the sheriff and the other men mixed with Mary Anne's high tremor.
"Watch yourselves. He's got to be here somewhere. Don't take no chances."
Callie heard the sheriff's instructions and stepped out i
nto the hall, leaning against the closed door to the study. "Sheriff ..."
"It's all right, Miss Dawson. Don't you worry none. We'll get him."
"Sheriff . . . Natalie tried to kill Peter. He did nothing to her."
The sheriff looked at Mary Anne. Mary Anne looked sorrowfully atCallie. "I don't know about that. But it's Miss Natalie who's dead, and he was with her."
"Natalie tried to kill Peter," Callie repeated, fighting to keep control of her voice. She stood as she had been, her back to the study door, guarding it
"Were you here too?" the sheriff asked, confused and no longer certain.
"She was at the Tolberts'," Mary Anne said.
"Then how do you know what happened?"
"I know."
"He tell you?"
"He didn't need to tell me, but he did."
The sheriff nodded to his deputy and two of the men from the fields. "Well, he'll get his say at his trial. You just step aside, and well get this over with just as quick as we can."
"You don't need Peterl He did nothing!" she said, her voice rising. She pressed harder against the door.
"Step aside, Miss Dawson," the sheriff said firmly.
"You cant take him." She was pleading now.
"Step aside, Miss Dawson."
"No! No! I won t let you. You can't do it!" she cried, cornered and frantic. The sheriff took her arm, pulling her away from the door. "You're blocking me from doing my rightful job, Miss Dawson. We'll find out if he's guilty or innocent of this, but either way, he's a wanted man by the English. I got to take him. Now you stand aside or I'm going to have to see you do."
The other man opened the door to the study. Peter sat where he had been, unmoving, his eyes closed. "Callie!" he said in alarm as she broke free of the sheriff.
She darted into the study, trying to block the men. "Get out of my house! You have no right to come in here!"
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