In less than half an hour, Jenny was standing in the kitchen doorway, looking worried as she waved them on their way. Frank explained to Margot that the surrounding ranches shared the expense and the use of a single telephone. “Your father asked if there would be any way to reach us if he needed to. I told him he could call there, and someone would let us know.”
“I appreciate the foresight. This is nerve-racking, though.”
Frank took one hand off the wheel to briefly hold hers. “I know, sweetheart. I’m sorry.”
“It could be Blake. I worry about his heart.”
“Too soon to worry, Margot. Wait until you know.”
“You’re right. I know that.” Still, she found herself jiggling her foot against the floorboards, and clenching and unclenching one hand against her thigh.
“Could you eat a sandwich? There’s tomato and cheese, and I think fried egg.”
“It’s so sweet of your mother, Frank, but I couldn’t. Not yet.”
They drove on through fields of hay and wheat, and once or twice Frank waved to crews working near the road. “One Horse, they used to call Florence. Funny old name, isn’t it?”
“One Horse? What does that mean?” Margot knew he was trying to distract her, but she welcomed it.
“You might think they called it that because it’s so small, but in fact, they named it for a creek that runs nearby. Then someone renamed it after his daughter. It’s not much more than the general store, a filling station, and a tiny little church.”
“The only telephone in all this country?”
“That’s it,” he said. He braked, and turned into a dusty road that led across a dry, empty field. In the distance, she could just make out a cluster of buildings set against a hillside. “Could be a while before one of the telephone companies decides it’s worth it to string wire out here.”
“We take so much for granted in the city,” Margot said.
“Good to remember that sometimes.”
They pulled up in front of the general store, and Margot made herself wait for Frank to turn off the motor, to get out, to hold her door open. She climbed out onto the running board, and straightened her skirt before she took his hand, and stepped down onto the packed dirt of the street. The heat was already rising, but the interior of the store was dim and cool. The air smelled of burlap and coffee and the tang of cigar smoke. Frank led the way to the back, where the telephone was hung on the wall. He spoke to the proprietor, Bill, the same man who had driven all the way out to the Parrish place with the message, and then he nodded to Margot. “Go ahead, sweetheart.”
“I’ll reverse the charge, Frank.”
“That would be easiest. Otherwise, we’ll leave some money.”
She picked up the receiver, and held it to her ear while she waited for the exchange. She gave the switchboard operator the number of Benedict Hall, and the woman said, “I’ll connect you, but it will take a few moments. This is the Missoula exchange, and we’ll need Seattle.”
“Shall I hang up the receiver?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll ring you back as soon as I reach your party.”
While she waited, Margot paced the aisles of the little store, until Frank came and put an arm around her shoulders. “Take it easy, sweetheart,” he said. “I’m sure it’s going to be all right.”
“I can’t help myself,” she said.
“Come on, Bill has a coffeepot on. Drink a cup.”
Obediently, Margot followed him to the counter, where Bill, with a hand-rolled cigarette hanging from his lower lip, poured coffee into a heavy white pottery mug, and offered her a glass jar of the yellowest cream she’d ever seen. The coffee was strong, but the cream was sweet and rich, and the combination tasted good. She took two or three sips before the telephone emitted a shrill ring. She set down the mug, and strode back to answer.
“Yes,” she said into the mouthpiece. She had to bend slightly to speak into it. “Yes, this is Dr. Benedict.”
“Margot! Oh, thank goodness.”
“Ramona? Is everything all right there? Blake? Louisa?”
“Yes, yes, everyone here is fine. I told Father Benedict I would get a message to you, though. It’s hard where he is—”
“Where he is? Isn’t he in Seattle?”
“No, he’s in Walla Walla.”
Margot’s heart skipped a beat. She had always thought when people said that, they meant it figuratively, not literally, but in this case, she felt the slight pause of her heart muscle, and the flutter in her chest when it resumed. She had to swallow through a suddenly dry mouth. “Walla Walla,” she said. Her voice was steady, but her thoughts raced.
This was a problem that was supposed to be resolved. It was the burden she had carried too long, that had shadowed every part of her life. It had been—presumably—lifted.
She said, “What’s Father doing there, Ramona? Is Mother with him?”
“She went alone,” Ramona said. “She slipped out in the middle of the night, we think. And she took Miss Morgan with her.”
“Miss Morgan? Who’s that?”
“It’s a long story, I’m afraid. Some friend of Preston’s, from before. . .” She didn’t finish the sentence, but Margot understood. She knew precisely what she meant by “before.”
Margot set her teeth, trying to accept that Preston still had power. That he was still tormenting the family. She drew a tight breath through her nostrils, and said in a hard voice, “What happened, Ramona?”
“I don’t know, Margot, I really don’t. Mother Benedict disappeared, and your father guessed where she’d gone. Bronwyn—that’s Miss Morgan—disappeared at the same time. Blake drove your father to Walla Walla, and apparently Mother Benedict had collapsed by the time they got there.”
“Dr. Dunlap is with her, isn’t he?”
“Yes, but Father Benedict—he wants you, Margot. He says he needs you. He’s afraid to attempt the long drive home without you being there to take care of your mother.”
“Of course. Can you call him? Is he at the sanitarium?”
“The Dunlaps have put them up there.”
“Tell Father I’ll be there as soon as I can. Wait just one moment, and I’ll ask Frank.”
She lowered the earpiece, and turned to find Frank standing close behind her. “Could you hear?” she said.
“Most of it. Walla Walla?”
“Yes. Father needs me.”
“We can fly, Margot. There are fairgrounds there. Other pilots have used them.”
“How long?”
“We can get away this afternoon. The weather’s good. We can be there before it’s too dark to land.”
She lifted the earpiece again. “Ramona, tell Father we’ll be there by tonight. As soon as we can. Tell him we’ll land at the fairgrounds.”
“I will. Thank you, Margot. And thank Frank for me—for all of us.”
“Of course. But, Ramona—what did Preston do? Did he hurt anyone?”
“I don’t know. Father Benedict says there was a scene. Your mother had hysterics, and then collapsed.”
“A stroke?”
“No one said that, Margot. I just don’t know anything further.”
“What about this girl? This Miss Morgan? Where is she?”
“I wish I knew. Her parents are here, and they’re frantic.”
Margot’s first flight had been on their honeymoon, when Frank took her up in one of the Jennys he had been studying. Before then, her experience of flight had been limited to treating the injuries of pilots who had crashed, or come to grief in some other way. She had been anxious, that day at March Field, but eager, too. Her heart pounded with excitement as Frank helped her up into the forward seat and adjusted the straps around her. As the propeller began to turn and the Jenny bumped forward along the packed dirt of the airfield, she had felt terror and delight in equal parts. Once they were in the air, her fear was forgotten in the exhilaration of soaring above the green California valley, grinning at the curious birds t
hat dipped and darted around the airplane.
She had enjoyed their flights from Seattle to Spokane, and then on to Missoula. Frank was right that the Model 21 was almost too easy to fly, and when he allowed her to take the controls, the sensation was unlike anything she had ever felt. She loved sailing high above the mountains, flying through clouds, tasting the wind in her teeth. She meant to learn, one day, everything about flying an airplane.
But today, all that mattered was its practicality. By air, the distance was just over two hundred miles. She and Frank would reach Walla Walla in a fraction of the time it would have taken to drive, or to go by train.
Jenny and Robert didn’t speak of their disappointment over the abrupt end of their visit. Robert filled the Model T with gasoline while Jenny helped them pack the few things they had brought. They were off again in short order, with Robert at the wheel, to drive back to Missoula, where they had left the airplane. Jenny had to stay behind to cook for the haying crew. She gave each of them a brief, hard hug, and stood on the porch in her apron, the collie at her knee, shading her eyes with her hand as they rattled away down the lane. Margot waved until she couldn’t see her anymore.
Frank had arranged in advance to have fuel in the airplane, so once they reached it, they said a quick farewell to Robert, and were in the air soon afterward. Frank had studied the maps as they drove back to Hale Field, and pointed out their route to Margot.
“We’ll head straight west at first,” he said. “You’ll be able to see the confluence of the rivers—the Bitterroot, the Blackfoot, and the Clark Fork. When we’re over the mountains, we’ll follow the Snake River Canyon, and where the Snake meets the Columbia, we’re there.”
She could see all of that clearly once they were aloft. The weather was fine, the patchwork of fields below them laid out as if by a talented painter, green and yellow and brown, with an occasional road running between them like a narrow dark ribbon. Frank pointed to one of those, and called, “We could land if we had to. Just so you know.”
Margot tried to enjoy the flight, to put off worrying about her mother until she could assess her condition for herself. She gazed down at the ranches and farms beneath them, and felt a stab of nostalgia for the Parrish place, for the friendly, easygoing people she had met, and for her mother-in-law. In her medical bag, she carried a tiny bag of dried herbs, which Jenny said might help to calm Edith. It was a mixture of lavender and skullcap and belladonna, meant to be steeped into a tea. Margot thought it was worth trying. In the year Preston was believed to be dead, her mother had taken enough laudanum to last anyone a lifetime. Margot feared the excess of laudanum had permanently affected Edith’s mind.
They flew through the heat of the day, but the air, once they climbed above the green flanks of the mountains, was pleasantly cool. Margot was glad of the goggles that shielded her eyes from the unfiltered sunshine. Well before the sun began to sink in the west, they spotted the town, nestled among yellowing fields. Ten minutes later they were circling the fairgrounds, searching for the open field where they could land. As Frank guided the airplane to a stop near a cluster of low barns, Margot saw the Cadillac waiting for them in the road beyond. It was so dusty its color was all but obscured. As they climbed down, Blake came across the rough ground to meet them. He had his cane in his hand, but he used it sparingly.
As Frank busied himself securing the airplane, Margot hurried to meet Blake, pulling off her goggles and helmet as she walked. They didn’t embrace, but she put out her free hand, and he took it in his strong grip, squeezing her fingers, nodding acknowledgment of the haste of their meeting.
“How is she?” Margot asked.
“We’re told Mrs. Edith suffered a long bout of hysterics,” he said gruffly. “By the time Mr. Dickson and I arrived, yesterday evening, she had stopped all of that. Now, she just—she just stares. She hasn’t spoken.”
“Not a word?”
He shook his head.
“Did she sleep?”
“I don’t know, Dr. Margot. The Dunlaps very kindly secured me a room behind the kitchens. Mr. Dickson and Mrs. Edith stayed in one of the upper rooms, and I believe Mrs. Dunlap attended Mrs. Edith through the night.”
Frank reached them, and he and Blake greeted each other as all three of them started toward the automobile.
Blake opened the rear door, and held it. Margot paused on the running board. “Blake, what about Preston? Did you see him?”
“No. Mr. Dickson did, but only through the window of his room. He was—he was restrained, Mr. Dickson said.”
“I see.” Margot sat down, and moved over to make room for Frank. “It must have been bad,” she said, half to herself.
Blake was climbing into the driver’s seat. As he pressed the starter, he spoke over his shoulder. “I think it must have been, Dr. Margot. Mr. Dickson wants to speak with Preston, but he thought it best to wait for you.”
“Poor Father. He’s had a terrible night.”
“Yes.” Blake pulled out into the road, and turned away from the fairgrounds. “I have to say, though, if you’ll permit me, I’m glad to have you both safe on the ground.”
“Fly with me one day, Blake,” Frank said. “Then you’ll know you shouldn’t worry.”
Yellow dust billowed around them as they drove, and the Cadillac jounced on the dirt road. Margot thought wistfully of the sweet air she had so recently breathed, and sighed.
Blake said, “There’s a Thermos of coffee on the seat, Major. If you and Dr. Margot could share the cup?”
“Thoughtful of you, Blake. Thanks.” Frank found the Thermos, and poured coffee into the attached cup. They took turns sipping it.
“Are you hungry?” Blake asked.
“My mother sent us with some sandwiches,” Frank said.
“I hope you found your parents well?”
“We did. It was a good visit.”
Margot added, “It was marvelous, Blake. A wonderful vacation.”
“I know Mr. Dickson was sorry to make you cut it short.”
“That’s all right,” Frank said. “We’ll go back again when—when things are settled.”
Margot cast him a grateful glance. “I haven’t had a chance to say, Frank, but I’m sorry, too. And sorry to miss flying home with you.”
“Another time, sweetheart,” he said, and patted her hand.
She turned hers over, and wound her fingers through his. “I love it there,” she said quietly. “I didn’t know I would.”
“So glad,” he said.
Margot’s heart sank when she saw her mother. Edith’s face was blank. Her eyes were open, but empty. She was sitting in an upholstered chair, her hands limp in her lap, her chin slightly dropped. Someone had brushed her hair and washed her face. It had been some time since Margot had seen her mother without cosmetics, and the lack of them made her seem somehow exposed. Naked. She wore a linen frock, the material bedraggled and in need of laundering. Her brooch was one of her favorites, emeralds and rubies in a flower spray, one she kept for special occasions. Seeing it made Margot’s throat ache with sorrow.
She crouched beside her mother, taking her hand, speaking gently to her. There was no response. She lifted her eyelids, one by one. The pupils looked normal, and Edith’s color was adequate. Margot lifted one of her mother’s hands to feel her pulse, which was a little bit rapid, but strong enough. When she released it, it fell into its original position as if there were no strength at all in the muscles.
Margot straightened, and found Dr. Dunlap in the doorway. She said, “Just one moment, Doctor.” To her father, she said, “There’s no immediate danger. I’ll speak with Dr. Dunlap, and be right back. Frank, do you mind—”
“I’ll be right here, Margot.”
Dickson said, “Thank you for coming, daughter. And you, Frank.”
Frank said, “No thanks necessary, sir. Glad you could reach us.”
Comforted by this exchange, Margot stepped out into the corridor. “Dr. Dunlap. Something happened
, I gather.”
“Your brother—he was—well, he was agitated. Extremely agitated. It was upsetting to Mrs. Benedict, and I have to say, as I’ve explained to Mr. Benedict, that we’re not really equipped to deal with—with—”
“Mental illness.”
“Yes.”
“There’s no need to be tactful, Doctor. I know my brother’s condition very well.”
He pushed his spectacles up on his nose. “We deal with issues of general health here, Dr. Benedict. Lung cases, or anaemia. Patients come to us for rest and recuperation.”
“We appreciate the special arrangements you’ve made for Preston.”
“Yes. We felt we had to shackle him at first, for which I apologize. Once he was sedated, we fitted him with a restraint jacket. It’s a bit more comfortable, I believe, and it keeps him safe.”
“I’m sure my father has no complaint.”
“The thing is—we didn’t expect Mrs. Benedict, and we certainly didn’t expect this young woman. It seems the two together were too much for the patient, and he—he simply—well. Of course I knew he had problems, or he wouldn’t be here. But I have never seen anyone so angry.”
Margot had seen Preston angry many times. She knew what his outbursts could be like. She suspected that now, with all his power gone, they were the only outlet for what troubled him. It seemed pointless to discuss it. She said only, “My mother was frightened? Did she think Preston was going to hurt her?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “She was hysterical for quite some time, and when neither my wife nor I could calm her, I gave her a sedative I sometimes use for patients who are having trouble sleeping.”
“What drug was that?”
“Tincture of valerian. We administered four ccs.”
“That’s quite a small dose.”
“Yes. I don’t see how it could account for her present condition.”
“What about this young woman you mentioned, Dr. Dunlap?”
“She was introduced as Miss Morgan, and she arrived with Mrs. Benedict. That’s all I know about her. It was she who seemed to—to be the cause.”
The Benedict Bastard (A Benedict Hall Novel) Page 26